Chapter 10 And Watch the Shell Come Unravelled

Even if I have to break you.

There were many insinuations behind his words when looking at individual trees, but Bulma could see the entire forest and knew that his ulterior motive was to drag her over to the dark side, to make her stoop to his level, so that they would move at his pace.

No matter what, that couldn't happen. She couldn't let him manipulate her.

Rushing into an attack against someone like Frieza (someone strong enough to make Vegeta, the guy who'd almost crippled three of the strongest fighters on her planet by himself, appear as weak as herself) was the equivalent of downing a whole bottle of painkillers.

As bleak as their future looked in that moment, and as horrifically as she missed her dead loved ones, Bulma did not want to join them in the afterlife anytime soon. More importantly, she couldn't allow an innocent child to join their friends any time soon. So if she had to butt heads with Vegeta every day for as long as it took for them to grow stronger, then she would.

Was there anything she could do to keep that from draining her, though? Could she mentally protect herself in some way from his manipulation and mind games?

If she couldn't protect herself, which she definitely couldn't because aside from her watch, she was psychically completely defenceless against Vegeta, then the very least Bulma knew she could do was find a way to go against him mentally – and their spats didn't count. He basically walked all over her each time, merely because Bulma didn't want to suffer the consequences if her smart mouth pushed him too far.

She needed something other than the watch to put him in his place when necessary, to give her more confidence to go up against him and make her voice heard. Arguing with Vegeta was getting her nowhere. What Bulma needed was for him to take notice of her and respect what she had to say, for it would surely help their teamwork run more smoothly in the long run.

Weapons were hit or miss simply because she couldn't test them out to know what a saiyan could withstand (since she didn't want to actually kill the guy) – she could make her own damn armoury but the potential of it all being useless was way too high for Bulma to ever be comfortable with the idea. Not to mention it'd make a guy like Vegeta extremely suspicious of her.

That left her with only one other option.

And as ridiculous as she felt for even entertaining such a thought, part of her heart was comforted by the notion of taking up a hobby her friends had been so passionate about.

All Bulma had to do was find a way to ask.


It's now or never, she told herself upon entering the kitchen area, the words flying from her mouth without a second of hesitation. She'd never been one to beat around the bush.

Her request was purely impulsive and held no real purpose, since even if she decided to humour her and accepted, it wouldn't make much of a difference in the grand scheme of things, just take Vegeta by surprise if he backed her into a corner. But it was… Bulma knew it was ridiculous, but it was something he – they all – loved and now that none of them were around to protect her anymore, she knew it was finally time to step up and protect herself.

"Okay."

Okay? That was it? "What, no argument?"

Remaining stood at the overloaded area beside the sink, the younger woman didn't so much as glance over her shoulder at Bulma – hadn't even flinched at the request. It was almost as though she'd been expecting something along those lines.

Chi-Chi sighed at the question, though her hands never once faltered in scrubbing the dishes, continuing her quick and efficient washing. Just as fast as the pile had formed, it disappeared, not for the first time reminding Bulma that she would make an awful housewife, since it took her four times as long to wash just a tenth of what Chi-Chi had to do (and that wasn't including the hour-long prep talk that was needed to get her ass into gear). That was probably why she no longer asked for assistance in the kitchen, though Bulma also supposed she was used to catering for a full blooded saiyan and a half saiyan. A human's appetite was nothing in comparison to that.

Shooting a glance towards the door from the corner of her eye, she said almost completely under her breath, "I don't like the way he's sniffing around you."

She'd noticed that too?

Swallowing, Bulma drifted closer to the younger woman until she had her hip propped up against the counter, however, she never dared to interrupt the constant flow of washing, instead staring in awe at the rapidly disappearing pile.

"What makes it worse is that even with Gohan here, we're no match for a monster like him," Chi-Chi spat hatefully, though continued to keep her voice low. "And then I hate myself for even considering having my own son fight someone like that, especially after the last time he went against him."

She could only remain silent, knowing that no matter what she said, it wouldn't alleviate Chi-Chi's anxieties – anxiety Bulma knew she'd had a hand in putting on her. Sure, it wasn't all plain sailing and happy-go-lucky before Vegeta's joining them, but since he had, it was evident how his presence impacted the mother more than anyone. And how wouldn't it? Vegeta had a hand in the deaths of their friends, he singlehandedly almost killed not only her husband, but son and another friend. And his whole invasion of their planet was the reason behind its downfall, behind the deaths of the family they'd had no other choice in leaving behind.

"Restraints or not, we're at his mercy," she hissed down at one particular dish, making Bulma wonder if Vegeta had eaten from that one specifically. Then, like Chi-Chi realised how angry she'd gotten so suddenly, for the first time since joining her, she faltered in her cleaning, placing her hands on the edge of the counter so that she could take a deep, calming breath, seemingly not noticing when suds splashed upwards at the abrupt dropping of the dish back into the water. "I accept your reasons for involving him. I accept that he may truly be our only way of saving my husband."

Bulma bit her lip at the momentary silence before reluctantly asking, "But?"

"But I won't hide my feelings for his sake," she told her without leaving any room for arguments.

It was only fair, Bulma supposed. Besides, she highly doubted he even felt bad about all he'd done in his lifetime, even if he was a product of his environment or a victim of Frieza's tyranny. She'd already seen for herself that he held no remorse for the horrors he'd created around the universe and enjoyed tormenting those who were much weaker than himself, so why should Chi-Chi hide her disdain and accusations? Why would she try and make his life easier for him?

Vegeta deserved judgement on his past and all he'd done.

"Just…" Sighing, Bulma set to putting the dishes away, finally deciding to lend her friend a hand even if she didn't want it. "Just don't go challenging him, okay? I kind of need you alive, Chi-Chi."

The dark-haired woman scoffed, the sound bringing her out of her horrible mood and bringing forth a chuckle which soon erupted into full blown giggles at her next words. "Like I would let a man like that kill me."

Bulma didn't doubt her words, and fully expected Chi-Chi to survive the whole ordeal out of sheer stubbornness.

"Thank you," she added quietly after several minutes of silent cleaning, pausing to meet the brunette's eye. "I know it's crazy thinking it'll make even the smallest of changes, but…"

Something in that eternally stern expression cracked, and Chi-Chi offered her a small smile of empathy. "Goku always said that it's a good thing you're not a warrior – he was scared enough of you as it was."

The words would have made her laugh had it not been for the weight in her heart. "I'll make sure to give him hell for calling me scary."

Dark eyes grew glassy, features a mixture of hope and despair. "Good."


They were set for a minimum of three months' worth of travel (not including their own supplies that they'd brought from the previous ship), and Bulma was in awe of how the technicians in Frieza's army managed such an impressive feat. Their previous ship had needed constant reconfiguration, maintenance and restocking – granted, it was older than Master Roshi and from a completely different planet to wherever Frieza was from, but it was impossible not to compare the two.

Oh, who was she to complain when Earth was even further behind than Namek? Even their old ship was far superior to anything Earth created, for they lacked the materials to produce anything capable of travelling into space.

With little else to do until after lunch when her first session with Chi-Chi started, Bulma busied herself with the capsules in her tin, taking herself to the training room since it was big enough to allow room for mistakes. She didn't have to worry too greatly if she accidentally released a capsule home, or needed to in order to grab furniture from inside of one (which she totally planned on doing). If she was lucky enough, perhaps she'd even have more clothes in a few of them.

The only downside was that she had a limited amount of time to get as much done as possible before Vegeta was finished with his breakfast. Chances were, she would have to get everything she wanted over the span of a few days. It was ridiculous, but Bulma knew not to push her luck. She was lucky to even get access to the training rooms as it was and she was definitely factoring in Vegeta finishing breakfast early just to yell at her.

"Miss Bulma?"

Oh, goody. Just as she was beginning to question how she would move so much heavy furniture by herself (risking her recently painted red nails), a perfect candidate entered the equation and eased her concerns.

"Gohan, just the person I needed," she greeted warmly, smiling. "Care to lend a hand? I'm trying to make this place feel more like home."

"More like home?" Despite his uncertainty, she was grateful for the kid approaching without hesitation, looking to her with an expression that screamed he was happy to help. So much like his father, Bulma thought with a wave of sadness. "But why? We shouldn't be here for too long now that Vegeta has joined us, right?"

Nope, not right at all, was what she should have said. Instead, Bulma forced herself to smile levelly, hoping that it didn't look as strained as it felt. "Sure, kid. But in the meantime, I'm feeling really homesick and want some home comforts. You know how you love your mom's cooking?" He nodded, grinning at just the thought of the grand meals. "Well, that's what my belongings mean to me. They're like going home to your mom's cooking."

No further convincing was needed on her part and Bulma smiled triumphantly when Gohan darted inside to retrieve anything she could list off the top of her head. Then, as she was forced to enter the homes and point out the items that she wanted, he doubled his time, carefully placing everything to the far wall of the training room.

They managed to replace the majority of the furniture in her bedroom and the living area, and Bulma gleefully added tens of new outfits to her wardrobe. She'd also happened to find makeup, although half of it hadn't been sealed, meaning it was used at some point and no telling how long ago, either. That was a bummer, although she supposed without her specially designed products to cleanse her face, it was for the best that she didn't wear any.

"This is a lot of stuff, Miss Bulma," Gohan pointed out. "Are they all home comforts?"

"Yep," she replied cheerfully. Absolutely not her being superficial or a lowkey hoarder.

Arm coming to rest atop his head after a playful ruffle of his hair, Bulma maintained her cheery grin as she assessed the belongings her parents had kitted the capsule homes out with, even when it felt like she was shattering inside.

Definitely not a hoarder, she reminded herself shakily.

She hadn't anticipated the sudden waves of grief that crashed into her at the sight of the carefully picked furniture. It was so stupid, Bulma told herself repeatedly, internally screaming at herself that she was being way too sentimental over it all. All she was supposed to feel in that moment was relief for having stylish, comfortable furniture in an alien spaceship. Instead, all she could picture as she looked at it all was her mother's thinking pose as she scoured catalogues until deciding none of them were good enough, soon bringing out her sketchpad to design her own. All she could see was her father with that stupid cat of his, asking it if they had enough yet while petting it.

"C'mon, Bulma," she could almost hear Yamcha saying with a nervous chuckle. He'd always been unsure about confronting her. "You don't need all this stuff."

But she did. She needed it all.

It was all she had left of them.

"Miss Bulma?"

Don't let him see you're upset, she warned herself fiercely.

"Let's get started with moving it all," she suggested with what was no doubt way too much enthusiasm, blinking away the tears. "Vegeta will be finishing his breakfast soon."


Fixing her sports bra to rest more comfortably, Bulma admired herself in the body length mirror.

Gods, she had a nice waist. And she was willing to bet Vegeta's controller that it was only going to look better after a few of Chi-Chi's sessions. She'd be ripped like her fighters in no time!

She left her room with a flick of her ponytail, forgoing the shirt she'd originally planned on wearing and choosing a vest top instead. Why would she want to drown her figure when she looked as good as she did, especially after such a huge meal that should have made her feel sluggish, bloated and gross?

Chi-Chi was already waiting for her when she entered the space chosen for their training session – of course, they weren't allowed to use the actual training room. That was reserved for the prince of all two and a half saiyans and if they dared to intrude or step on his holy ground, they would undoubtedly be pulverised – verbally, of course.

The area they were forced to use was a storage space, and she assessed the carefully stacked boxes of non-perishables that were strapped to the walls, granting them more room to move around. Bulma believed it to be more than enough room for them both, especially considering they had no intentions of going any further than self-defence.

Stretching her arms out languidly, she offered the younger woman a grin, undeniably feeling hyped about the training sessions.

Bulma was well aware that she would never be up to the levels of her friends – hell, she would be lucky if she gained even half of Chi-Chi's strength, considering the younger woman had been training more or less her whole life. But something was better than nothing, she repeatedly told herself, channelling her friends' positivity. That way, she wasn't totally defenceless.

"Stretch properly," Chi-Chi ordered, shocking her with the sudden change to her tone. While always a stern woman, she'd never been so… Was there even a word for it? Bulma could only stare in shock, mouth parting slightly. "Well? What are you waiting for?"

That got her ass into gear and she was quick to copy the stretches, not wanting to evoke the wrath that was seemingly surface level. Briefly, Bulma wondered whether she'd crossed paths with Vegeta (his face always seemed to piss her off beyond belief) but didn't have long to think it over due to the switch up in pace.

"Don't think I'll be going easy on you," Chi-Chi warned her during their warmup, and she could feel her critical stare assessing every inch of her body. Was this what it felt like to be self-conscious, Bulma wondered? "And if you whine about it, I'll make it ten times harder."

Poor Gohan, she thought with a bead of sweat running down her temple. How did he cope with a mother as strict as she was? Wait, he didn't, did he? Gohan simply did everything she asked to avoid her wrath, wasting his youth away sat at a desk, studying.

Oh Gods, was that to be her fate on the ship now? Trapped in the storage room, training? They were only five minutes in, if that, and already Bulma was beginning to regret her decision, her lack of cardio already evident as she struggled to maintain her careful breathing she'd learned from yoga. And damn it, she was developing a horrific stitch too!

"That's enough of the warmup," Chi-Chi said, sparing Bulma as she dropped her hands to her knees and panted harshly. The daring side of her wanted to demand in what world that was considered a warmup, though shied away from doing so at the serious gleam in the dark-haired woman's eye. "I just want to clarify before we get started: don't expect any miracles from this training. I've never been skilled enough to master the art of using my ki, meaning I won't be able to properly teach you how to either."

Bulma nodded, a question she never even realised she wanted to ask, finally and unknowingly being answered. After all, it was odd for the wife of a powerful martial artist such as Goku to not know how to use her ki, or how to fly or shoot those blasts from her palms, wasn't it? Especially considering how young her son managed to master said techniques?

"Most importantly: this is all on you. I can only teach you so much. You have to want to become stronger for it to happen."

Again, she nodded, finally managing to regulate her breathing and stand up straight, meeting the other woman's eye determinedly.

"So don't get cocky," warned Chi-Chi seriously and a flash of concern shone through that seemingly unwavering intensity. "These lessons won't make you even a fraction as powerful as those guys, but I agreed because at least this way, you're not wholly defenceless. It could buy you time."

In other words: don't go picking fights with Vegeta.

Duly noted.

"Even better, you're smart and have the chance to make some kind of weapon powerful enough to take down monsters like Vegeta or Frieza." Lowering herself into a fighting stance that filled Bulma with dread (because this was actually happening and Chi-Chi looked deadly as hell), the younger woman gave her all of two seconds to prepare herself before lunging forward. "Dodge everything!"

Shit.

Oh shit!

How in the seven hells was she supposed to dodge everything when Chi-Chi's speed was insane? And that was without the strength in her blows threatening to knock her off balance, telling Bulma from just a clip on her forearm that the other woman was holding nothing back. If she took a single punch, if it hit her in just the right spot, she would be knocked out cold.

Somehow, crazily enough, she heard the sound of Chi-Chi's fist connecting against her arm before she even felt it, but when the pain hit, it had her blue eyes widening comically and she dropped, miraculously missing the next punch that was aimed for her head.

"Holy shit, Chi-Chi," she yelled at her, flinching when she registered more movement even though the other woman was merely stopping in her onslaught.

Bulma cradled the abused arm to her chest, the automatic response to hurl obscenities and sob her heart out almost impossible to ignore. Damn it, how did anyone in a fight not drop from the pain? Was it adrenaline? Where was her adrenaline? Why didn't she possess any fight or flights tendencies? Why did she simply give up, just barely keeping herself from curling up into a ball? Was that why Vegeta picked on her so much? Was she easy pickings?

How had she even survived so long?

"You can't stop to cry during a battle," came the harsh teaching. "Get up!"

Nope. She couldn't. It hurt way too much.

"Bulma!"

"Stop shouting at me!"

"Get up then!"

She couldn't do it. She should have known that it was a bad idea from the start. What the hell was she even thinking? Her? A fighter? Gods, if only Yamcha could hear and see her now – he would've laughed his ass off at the absurdity of it all, saying something along the lines of, "C'mon, babe. Fighting isn't your style."

Tears filled her eyes, but whether it was due to the agony or the memory of her dead boyfriend or her horrific morning in general, she wasn't entirely sure. All Bulma knew was that she'd messed up and wanted to crawl back to her lab or room filled with memories to nurse her bruised pride, for it surely hurt far more than her arm.

And at the sight of her tears, Chi-Chi's hard shell cracked, her dark eyes softening. "Bulma…"

Trying to learn self-defence, trying to understand what was so fucking good about beating the shit out of each other, filling her room with superficial items that she secretly couldn't care less about, teaming up with a mass murdering psychopath in the hopes of bringing down some tyrant who may or may not have taken her oldest friend captive, after ordering the destruction of her planet…

Chi-Chi said it herself: even with the lessons, she had no hopes in going against anything outside or inside their ship.

It was pointless. All of it. None of it mattered.

"Look, let's take a break," suggested Chi-Chi quietly. "We can try again tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" she demanded brokenly, grip tightening even when it made the pain in her arm flare. "Are you blind? Can't you see me right now?" Silence had Bulma gritting her teeth angrily, legs trembling as she dragged herself to her feet. "They'd all be laughing at me right now–"

"Don't you dare say that," she snapped in response, the irritation returning tenfold. "I'll admit that it was under questionable circumstances that we all came together, and rare for our friends to all be together under one roof, or for us to even remain in contact until some kind of event brought us together again. But they were always supportive of each other and of us."

A new round of tears formed and her lips pursed, features trying to scrunch up.

"They would be proud of you for even trying to learn how to defend yourself considering what we're facing right now!"

No. She was done. And to try and save what little was left of her pride before she dissolved into a full scale emotional breakdown, Bulma turned and left the storage room in a hurry, hand covering her mouth to remain silent.


When she awoke, it was to a blaring headache, crusted eyes and a knee-buckling weight in her heart. Oh, and a forearm that sported a bruise roughly the size of Chi-Chi's fist, its deep splotches shades of purples, reds and blues that were astonishing and eye-catching.

Rather than get up to figure out what time it was, Bulma turned to lay on her back, arm raising pitifully and gaze drawn to the horrendous bruise that hurt just to look at. It felt like the injury was bone deep.

Breaking down the way she had was just… Gods, how was she supposed to face Chi-Chi after that? Yes, the punch hurt and yes, it was evident from the size and colouring of the bruise that the other woman hadn't held back in the slightest, but to more or less lose her shit was so below the person she'd become since the destruction of their planet.

Whereas she'd always lingered in the background and cried and yelled and generally gotten in the way of her warrior friends while on Earth, Bulma liked to believe that she'd grown more self-sufficient during their mission.

She was the one who made the executive decisions, who controlled their goals and agendas, who basically ran the entire ship singlehandedly. Weakness and emotional fragility was not an option, especially not with an impressionable young boy aboard who just wanted his dad back.

But… It looked as though her pitiful old self who relied so heavily on the others and cried when life stopped going her way was back, or at least, scratching at the surface of the façade she wore. And Bulma had no idea how to shove her back in her cage or lock her away for good.

She didn't want to be that person anymore.

Blue eyes narrowed on her arm, fist slowly clenching until pain flared all the way up to her elbow and forced Bulma to relax.

Changing was easier said than done. How could she essentially rewire herself when said wires were so tangled that she cringed at the mere thought of approaching them?

Then again…

Hadn't they all come together in similar ways? By rewiring themselves and changing for the better? Although, if she wasn't mistaken, it was always that same idiotic, caring man who brought out the best in people, who made them see the error in their ways.

Goku wasn't around to help her change like he had the others. He–

Gods, she thought in exasperation.

"Get a grip," Bulma scolded herself and stood up. "I'm Bulma Brief!"

Like she needed to rely on someone to change her! Where the hell was the point in changing for someone else? No. It was solely for herself (maybe a tiny bit for Gohan and Chi-Chi too, since they would no doubt be stranded if she was murdered out in space).

No. She had to be stronger for all three of them, both physically and mentally.

First things first, however: she needed a drink. There was no point in fretting over how to change herself if she was going to dehydrate in the process and acquire dry ass skin. No, her new self was going to be perfect in every way – she would make damn sure of it.

One of the worst parts about travelling through space was losing concept of time, for even as Bulma traipsed through the ship towards the kitchen, it was impossible to tell whether the others had settled down for the night. Due to Chi-Chi's constant need to live in a sterile environment (which'd been kicked up several notches since they left Earth and would have been unbearable, had Bulma not noticed it was a coping mechanism), everything was in perfect order. They could have had dinner only an hour or two ago and she wouldn't have been able to tell.

Hopefully, the universe was working in her favour for once and the others were all in bed, saving her from further embarrassment. While her inner prep talk was good for getting her ass out of bad, she knew her wounded pride still needed nursing a little while longer and wasn't up to visitors during the healing process.

The kitchen was in pristine condition when Bulma entered and she made a beeline straight for the refrigerator, where a jug of filtered water awaited her along with an unnecessary number of bottles of the strange drinks Chi-Chi purchased before they found Vegeta. What made it worse was that there were crates of the stuff in the storage room, having been capsulised along with anything else they'd wanted to keep from the old ship (which was a good thing, she supposed, as Vegeta seemed to enjoy them too).

The insistent growling of her stomach forced Bulma to realise that there was another downside to travelling through space – they couldn't snack as much as they did on Earth, as everything was obviously rationed. Most of the food they possessed were non-perishables from Earth and her mother was courteous enough to store away tonnes of frozen meat (in her words, Gohan was a growing boy and needed all the protein he could get), but snacks? Unhealthy junk food her body craved during that time of month? Nope. According to her mother, the temptation to devour it all was much too high, and her self-control was severely lacking.

Gods, what she wouldn't give for just a chunk of chocolate. Not even anything fancy, either. Just plain old milk chocolate. Even if every bite produced a huge blemish, Bulma knew she would savour it, allowing it to simply sit there and melt away on her tongue and just–

"What the hell are you doing?"

She jumped in response to his harsh voice, ripped cruelly from her daydream. Thankfully, she managed to save the water she almost dropped and threw a glare in the direction of the doorway as Vegeta darkened the kitchen with his domineering presence.

"What the hell are you doing sneaking up on me, Stupid Saiyan?"

Almost instantaneously, his gaze zeroed in on the horrific bruising covering her forearm, informing Bulma in the back of her mind that a guy like Vegeta would always notice a change in his environment, even if it was something as simple as a new mark. What else had he noticed, she couldn't help but fret over, swallowing at his darkening gaze. Had Vegeta noticed anything new about her watch, despite the outward changes being minimal?

"What are you staring at?" she demanded, attempting to steal his attention away from her arm, since it coincidentally happened to be the same arm where her watch resided. "Stunned by my natural beauty?"

There was no bark of harsh laughter like she expected there to be. Much to Bulma's horror, Vegeta's reaction was to drag his gaze from her arm and up the length of her body languidly, expression unreadable, just like her own reaction suddenly was for she couldn't understand it in the least.

Her initial response to Vegeta's clear intentions was repulsion, was to shy away from the interested stare of a coldblooded murderer. But the lonely and utterly vulnerable woman within her wanted to reluctantly remain in his line of sight, recalling the simple way he'd just barely touched her two days prior and how her body responded so sensitively.

It was ridiculous how starved of touch she'd become after so little time, and part of Bulma hated herself for feeling such a way, especially over a man like Vegeta.

After Yamcha's death, with the knowledge of there being no more dragonballs on Earth, she'd been so certain that there wouldn't be anyone else for her – or, at least, no one for a few years as she mourned her boyfriend's death. Arguments or not, whether they were on a break or not, Yamcha was her first love and she held said love close to her heart, cherishing it dearly.

It was wrong to look at another so soon after his death, wasn't it?

Refusing to be choked up in front of the stupid saiyan, Bulma clenched her jaw and turned, busying herself with what she presumed to be a plate of dinner made up for her by Chi-Chi.

"Maybe I am," came the seductive whisper that was much, much closer than she'd anticipated and Bulma flinched. If it weren't for one of his hands reaching around her to catch the plate, ensuring to graze her ribcage along the way, it would have shattered to the ground. "Would that bother you, Little Human?"

She… wasn't sure.

For the most part, yes. Yes, it bothered her, but more due to who he was than anything else and the realisation filled her heart with a scalding guilt that took her breath away.

The part of her that wasn't bothered in the slightest wanted Bulma to lean back, to feel the source of the heat that warmed her back, and she damned that side of herself to the seven pits of hell for even considering it.

"No, it wouldn't," he murmured, making a show of breathing in her scent deeply.

She shut her eyes, attempting to ignore the natural response of her weak willed body trying to relax backwards, but while she worked hard to suppress that, Bulma let a delicate shiver slip and regretted it instantly, knowing Vegeta was about to take full advantage of it.

And he did, his nose faintly brushing the expose skin of her neck.

"Stop," she muttered, disappointingly without much malice or authority.

The sound of the plate gently being placed down in front of her had Bulma peering down at it unsurely, then watching the hands that came to the edge of the counter with a mixture of frustration and anticipation as he caged her in.

"Would you rather be alone, Little Human?"

…Damn it, he knew of that weakness, didn't he? How she'd expected any differently when she could barely even control her emotions, Bulma wasn't sure, but what she did know was that he would exploit that weakness now.

Blue eyes widened and she gasped, legs weakening at the sinful sensation of his tongue running up the length of her neck.

Don't fall for it!

"Well?" Vegeta questioned lowly, still refusing to close the remaining distance between their bodies. No, he would want her to make that move, wouldn't he? "Bulma?"

She gripped the counter next to his hands, hold tense.

Her name had no right to sound so… so

"Why would you want that?" came his seemingly harmless question before he hit her with, "Knowing this is as close as you'll get to being with another who resembles your own race?"

In her chest, her heart gave a painful squeeze, completely fanning out the flames he'd slowly stoked to life.

"Knowing that all that awaits you is the solitude of your entire race being dead, save for the one other person on this ship and a half breed brat?" he murmured lowly into her ear, so carelessly like he hadn't just swept her legs out from under her with his brutal words. "What is holding you back? The weakling Nappa killed?"

Her eyes stung viciously.

Yamcha…

"You won't even remember his name once I'm done with you," came his low growl and she swallowed hard when Vegeta suddenly stepped forward, pinning her hips to the counter and forcing Bulma to feel the hardness digging into the small of her back.

Once more looking to the plate of food Chi-Chi had set aside for her, Bulma's teary eyes narrowed hatefully, upper lip curling and throat burning horribly.

It was when Vegeta's hand fell to her waist that she spun, simultaneously grabbing the plate and thrusting it with all her might into his face. As she should have expected, however, he effortlessly caught her arm and the plate shattered the moment it fell to the tiles, covering them with broken porcelain and food. The noise easily hid her distressed gasp, the feeling of his rough hand closing over her injury shooting all the way up to her elbow and back. That aching only increased when he turned her to face him fully, using her arm to force her back against the counter.

"Pitiful," sneered Vegeta.

"You–"

"You're nothing more than a spineless, sentimental human," he spoke over her coldly, the intensity of the hatred directed down at her almost enough to make Bulma shy away from him. "Where is the point in your clinging to the faces of your past if you refuse to do anything to avenge them?"

Gritting her teeth, she tugged on her arm despite the pain it caused. She needed to get away from him. She couldn't stand to be in his presence any longer, not when he was more than happy to kick her while she was down and she was one meagre, minor inconvenience away from breaking down all over again. No matter what, he couldn't see that.

"Let go of me!"

"I would have thought you'd have more fight in you to take down the cause of such destruction, yet you can't even deny me – the man who merely played a part in your world's destruction."

He was baiting her. She knew he was. Like he'd told her two days ago, he wanted to break her, wanted her to copy his tunnel vision for taking down Frieza and damn it, the grieving part of her wanted to. The lonely, touch starved part of her wanted to throw everything to the wind and give in to that darkness. She wanted to abandon everything else and destroy him.

But she couldn't.

She'd made a promise to Gohan that he would see his father again, meaning they had to be smart about their next move.

Having him releasing her arm was a losing battle, not to mention risky with her watch being mere inches from his powerful hand, so Bulma's next move was to throw a knee upwards, only to hiss and buckle when his own knocked it away.

"You can't even handle training with a woman who doesn't possess a fraction of the strength I have, never mind Frieza," he continued harshly, glaring down at her. "What is the point in your being here, Little Human?"

Pitifully, she pushed against his weight with whatever strength she could muster, her attempts to put more distance between them growing in urgency when he smirked down at her.

"Let go–"

"Make me," he dared darkly. "Show me you have the will to go against the people who destroyed your planet and killed your lover."

Adrenaline mixed with rage coursed through her veins at his words and refusal to release her, and Bulma was certain that the scorching rush was the reasoning behind her renewed strength. It granted her with the ability to push harder, to reach out with her free hand and catch his face with her nails, immediately leaving angry red scratches in her wake, a tiny trickle of blood oozing to the surface of one of them. It'd meant to be a slap, but she was more than happy with the damage she'd caused, knowing a slap would have been even more ineffective.

She was tired of being shoved around and walked all over. She was done with being his plaything and walking on eggshells. Even while knowing he wouldn't kill her, she still feared the consequences of running her mouth and in turn, kept what she truly wanted to say from him.

"That barely even tickled–"

"Bastard…!" she snarled, throwing her weight into him with the aid of her foot pushing against the cupboard, hoping it would grant her with some kind of advantage. "I hate you for what you've done to them!"

He didn't budge. Not even by a centimetre.

But she didn't let that hold her back.

Arms shaking with the struggle when Vegeta shifted his grip to her hands, Bulma switched to her legs. First with a stomp of her foot to his, then with another attempt of kneeing him in his most sensitive area – the one place she knew she could inflict damage.

"Finally," he growled with annoyance, effortlessly pinning her hands to the cupboard behind her. "It's about damn time you quit acting so pitifully."

There was only one other body part she could use to attack him with and with his head being so close to hers, Bulma didn't think twice about leaning back, snarling out another curse as she threw her head forward.

He caught it with his shoulder without so much as a wince, chest pressed tightly to hers, his lips on her ear.

Her breathing stopped.

"Hold onto that anger and hatred, Little Human," he whispered seductively and Bulma struggled once more against his hold, pretending like she hadn't shivered once more at the feeling of his hot breath and lips on her. "It will be what drives you."