All rights belong to Akira Toriyama, Toyotarou and Toei Animation

This is based on the manga cannon, so there may be some discrepancies with the anime.

"Are you sure you're not going to train Vegeta, Whis? You were really insistent on keeping him here." Goku commented after Vegeta, and Beerus, had left the dining room.

"I will not train him, no. He is far too weak now for an angel to pay attention to."

Goku couldn't help but feel indignant for his friend. Maybe if that angel had been more helpful, this whole situation could have been resolved with less heartache on all sides.

"Then why keep him here?"

"I do not intend for him to remain here indefinitely. Not at all. It is best for him to be exposed to his family, I believe. He used to care deeply for them."

Goku nodded. Vegeta had indeed cared a lot about his family, although he did his best to disguise and deny it. Until one of them got hurt. Then all hell would break lose.

"Once I deem him fit for it, we will return him to his family, where hopefully they will be able to make more progress where we have been unable to."

And so a few weeks passed in relative silence and hostility. Vegeta continued to train on his own, snapping back at Goku whenever he tried to engage him in conversation. He maintained an aloof posture, taking his leave as soon as he had finished eating.

Eventually, though, Goku had to concede defeat.

"He's not getting any better, is he?" Goku asked Whis as the prince stormed off yet again.

"No, I believe his recovery has plateaued. It is time for him to return to his family."

"Is that a good idea? He's not going to attack them, is he?"

"I do not think so, no."

Vegeta had made no moves towards violence since he had emerged from his madness, and a fortnight previously he had been allowed the privilege of going about his business without the restrictive clothing Whis provided. The saiyan had insisted, rather forcefully, on donning it while training, however, no matter how exhausted it made him.

Goku had, over the course of the last month, been both fascinated and repulsed by Vegeta's inclination towards self-annihilation in the pursuit of his goals. No matter how much Goku cajoled, Vegeta steadfastly refused to slow down.

He'd driven himself to the point of fainting on more than one occasion, something which Goku had never seen him do.

It was both worrying and mesmerising, and Goku found that he could not look away.

But he was going to have to, because Vegeta would be returning to Earth, while Goku would remain –

"Can I go with you? When you drop him off, I mean."

"Certainly."

He had to be there when the transfer occurred. Had to make sure Bulma was warned, prepared, and to be honest he didn't really trust the angel to do an adequate job of that. Whis seemed all too ready to wash his hands of the matter.

Was this what it meant for an angel to be neutral? Goku couldn't help but resent it, but he wasn't about to let that show to his master.

And so it was, with a sense of nervousness that was absent in his battles, Goku joined Vegeta on the lawn a few days later, ready to travel back to Earth. Goku wished someone on Earth was powerful enough to sense even this far away, but with Vegeta beside him (hating every moment of it) and significantly weakened in any case, there was no other way back except via Whis.

So the two would be forced into close proximity for several hours.

That would certainly be a test for Vegeta.

Neither of them were carrying anything, since Goku had teleported them there without a thought for luggage. He had other concerns on his mind at the time! But it did mean that they had been beholden to Whis whenever their clothes needed washing, something which had clearly grated on the hyper-independent Vegeta's nerves.

"Are you ready to go?" Whis asked, his voice devoid of all the gravity of the situation, because really, they were inviting a whole tonne of drama with their decision.

"Yep."

"Get on with it!"

Whis was supremely unconcerned with his former student's disrespect, and simply gave them his back to latch on to. Which they promptly did, Vegeta scowling all the way.

"Keep away from me," he warned his fellow hitchhiker as Whis took to the skies.

Goku snuck glances at Vegeta instead of the once spectacular show of hues and brightness which had long since lost its shine. Colours and lights played about on the prince's features, at times making him seem malicious, others, merely pensive. Vegeta had always been tight-lipped and serious, but there was a darkness to his eyes now that set Goku on edge. Both remained silent, but Goku could not stop fidgeting. The travelling was so boring! He hadn't had to worry about such things much since being taught instant transmission.

He didn't want to meditate, though, because the way Vegeta's muscles were bunched and taut made it difficult to relax. The prince seemed about to leap on him at any moment.

Maybe this hadn't been such a good idea, after all.

But Goku needn't have worried, because they landed at Capsule Corp without incident and without leaving Vegeta abandoned in some far off galaxy.

The familiar sight of Bulma's backyard seemed to physically hurt Goku somewhere in his stomach. He could see the place, looking very different in the daylight, where Vegeta had paid the ultimate price for their sakes.

He nearly threw up, in spite of the company, when he noticed the garden was still upturned, with broken pots littering the ground, undisturbed for a month, like a memorial.

Vegeta had leapt away from his former master and friend as soon as they touched down, heading determinedly to the gravity room which stood sentry, waiting patiently for its occupant to return. He had almost made it when a cry from the house made all of them pause.

"Vegeta!" It was Bulma, racing out of the back door clad in her lab coat and frazzled hair. Goku couldn't help but notice her make-up seemed a little heavy, but he certainly wasn't going to comment.

That would be dangerous.

"Vegeta!" she gasped, catching up to him in a flurry of movement, arms wide enough to envelope him in a long-awaited hug.

But something in those eyes, in that face, must have stopped her, and thank goodness for that. Instead, she stumbled to a halt, looking uncertainly at her husband, as if really seeing him for the first time.

"What do you want, woman?" he bit out, face completely absent of any sign of fondness. But it wasn't filled with loathing or rage, which Goku noted as a good sign. He had looked at Goku, Beerus and Whis like they were a combination of his worst enemy and his next meal. Comparatively speaking, this was an improvement. Bulma didn't seem comfortable with the change, however.

"I – Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," the man growled, making to move away from her again. Returning to the place he felt more comfortable in. The gravity room, as opposed to the house with his family.

Vegeta usually spent some time with them upon his return from training.

But this wasn't the Vegeta they knew.

"Wait!" Bulma urged, "You must be hungry. Come inside and I'll order some food."

"I'll hunt my own," he sneered, taking off into the cloudless sky without any warning.

"Woah, Vegeta," Goku tried, but the other saiyan had already disappeared in a trail of white. "Damn."

Having reached Bulma himself, Goku could see her eyes fixed longingly in the direction Vegeta had flown off in. Her hands found each other and she squeezed them vigorously, turning to her old friend.

"Goku," her voice wavered threateningly, "I thought…I thought you'd brought him back because he was well."

Goku sighed heavily, scratching behind his head as was his custom, "I'm really sorry Bulma. There's good news and bad news, I'm afraid. The good news is that he's not attacking everything anymore. He's pretty angry and stuff, but not violent. The bad news is, we…ahh…we've reached a bit of a stand-still on his recovery. Whis thought he might do better here."

"I should think so!" Bulma huffed, "What he needs is time with his family! If he'll let me…" she muttered, looking into the sky again. Her hands parted, one rubbing her stomach absently as she contemplated where her husband had disappeared to.

"He was like this when he first came here, you know." She whispered, "All standoffish and independent. Wanted nothing to do with us or what we could offer him, except training equipment. That he viewed as part of a sort of…defence contract I suppose."

Goku listened with rapt attention, having never heard the story of how the unusual pair had bonded. He doubted anyone had, now that he thought about it.

"Training equipment in return for protecting the Earth. Saw himself as a stationed soldier. As I understand it, he had a few of those assignments under Frieza. But it took a year before he would take regular meals at our table."

"A year?!"

A year without Panchy's amazing food? Goku couldn't imagine holding himself back from those heavenly delights. How had Vegeta managed? Was his pride that strong?

Who was he kidding? Of course it was.

"And he stayed in the Gravity Room, which you know has living quarters, for a full six months even though we gave him a room in the house."

"Goku, I –" she looked down at the hand on her stomach, loose hair twisting in the wind, "I don't want to go through this again," she confessed, voice strained as she searched his face with those sorrowful eyes.

"I don't want my husband to be a stranger again. I can't – I can't do this again!"

And then Bulma, one of the strongest and surest people he knew, broke down in front of him, grasping the front of his quite smelly gi and shoving her face into it.

The sound of her harsh sobs seemed to echo in Goku's ears as he placed a tentative hand on her quivering back, patting it uncertainly.

"It'll be okay, Bulma."

He hoped.

As Vegeta hoed into a dinosaur leg he had cooked with his own ki, he contemplated his current predicament.

What to do?

How to behave?

Well, obviously the answer to the first question was train. The gap between his and Kakarot's power was absolutely intolerable. It would simply not be borne. The quicker he could reduce and then eliminate that disparity, the better. That would mean training near constantly, which was exhausting but certainly not something Vegeta was going to complain about.

The only problem was her.

Bulma.

Her presence was undesirable because he didn't seem to find it problematic – and that in itself was a problem. Whatever he still managed to feel for her after the fusion with the Darkness had to be squashed; it would only slow him down. He wasn't even sure what she made him feel, only that it needed to go. He couldn't afford attachments if he wanted to be the strongest. But her presence was guaranteed around the gravity room, the best piece of training equipment this side of the galaxy.

Then he remembered.

It was also a spaceship.

With that thought Vegeta rapidly made his way through the last of his dinner, before launching himself into the evening sky. It was vexing that the focus he needed to use was that same woman, whose energy signature was so hauntingly, achingly and irritatingly familiar. The brat often left the property to go on adventures with his annoying shadow, Kakarot's clone, so was not guaranteed to be there, while Bulma worked in her labs in the basement at home.

No, not home. Not anymore. Vegeta would not allow himself to succumb to that delusion. He would not grow comfortable there, not when the sweet solitude of space beckoned him.

Under the cover of night, his way lit by the stars he was soon to re-join, Vegeta slipped inside the gravity chamber. A few months ago he might have allowed himself a small smile at the nostalgic hum it made upon booting up, but this Vegeta would not.

Metallic clunks filled the stagnant atmosphere as his boots roamed the familiar surface. It was hard to believe that a month previously he had stood and permitted his wife to berate him viciously, then attempt to murder him. She would certainly not get away with such behaviour now, but he wasn't going to have anything more to do with her anyway.

Or so he thought until he checked the fuel gage.

The operating systems in the ship/room could be loud at times, and Vegeta himself could break a person's ear drums with his frustrations, so Bulma had soundproofed the craft to the best of her ability. Consequently, it seemed no one would be forcibly woken by the round of obscenities Vegeta unleashed as he whirled for the door.

A month earlier, a Vegeta in this mood would have summoned the drones to test his skills against until he had calmed enough to speak with his family. Actually, a month earlier, Vegeta would not have delved this deep into his anger reserves in the first place.

As it was, the poor lawn which had suffered during the fusion process was scorched under Vegeta's feet as he made his way towards the woman's energy signature. She was awake, but with his current temper Vegeta did not care.

The homely scents which he had once relaxed upon smelling did nothing to quell the storm inside him as he surged through the door, denting the wall with its abused knob. Where the remnants of the aromas from Panchy's delectable dinner would have made him salivate, he ignored this now in favour of the room opposite, from which the mosquito-like buzzes of a television program assaulted his ears.

Bulma had a habit of turning on the contraption and staring, without really seeing, at the images with the volume turned to near mute-levels when she was upset. It was a custom which had irritated the more sensitive saiyan no end; probably its purpose in later years, he supposed.

Entering the living room like an untamed cyclone, Vegeta immediately snatched up the remote and switched the blasted machine off.

"Hey, I was watching that!" Bulma lied with force, before shrinking back a little under his potent glare.

A month ago the sight of her fear would have sent Vegeta into the bowels of depression as he bent over backwards to regain her favour with various chores and the like.

This Vegeta did not care one iota about the woman in front of him, however.

(Or so he told himself)

"You will refuel the Gravity Ship immediately," he ordered, standing in front of the only photo of their wedding day, the day they had agreed to become equals. Although under saiyan law Vegeta would always be superior, since she was only his escort, not a born queen, and Vegeta did not exist to the earth authorities, Vegeta had acknowledged her as such on that day.

It had been such a beautiful day, the very best in Bulma's life, but now its memory nearly brought her to tears as he stood, ominous and dangerous, before her most treasured picture.

The photo meant nothing now to the occupant reared before it.

But Bulma was not one to give in to intimidation, and Vegeta had liked that about her.

"No, I will not."

His eyes narrowed, yet to his own surprise he relented a little ground, "Fine, I accept that you may wait until morning. But I wish to be gone after your breakfast."

"No, Vegeta," the woman was trembling, but held her chin up high as she rose from the couch, "I will not be refuelling your ship."

He was astonished indeed that she referred to it as his ship, since she had in the past taunted him with her ownership of the things they shared during their fights.

And those fights had been legendary. Perhaps that was what she was aiming for now. He could definitely oblige that, as long as he got what he wanted in the end. He had enjoyed arguing with her, and surmised he still might even though so much else had changed.

"Oh, really?" he answered, voice low as he approached her, like one of this planet's hunting cats.

"Yes, really," she was determined, he would concede that. Yes, he had married a spitfire, and congratulations to his past self for choosing a reproductive partner wisely. Their obligatory offspring had inherited both of their combative natures and would do the extinct race proud. But in the customs of that race, their partnership was over. Marriage was mostly an affair for royalty to secure the loyalty of wavering factions. Once an heir was produced, co-habitation, even interaction apart from state duties, was no longer required. Reproduction was the only goal of such an alliance at any level for the saiyan race.

And speaking of which…

"Why is that?" he asked.

"Because you're not leaving!"

Vegeta could feel his anger mounting, threatening to blow like an active volcano.

"You seek to trap me here?!"

"You're misunderstanding!" she cried desperately, holding her hands up in a pacifying gesture, not that saiyans could ever be pacified by such means, but nonetheless, Vegeta found himself backing off a little.

Only a little, though.

"This isn't about keeping you here! This about helping you to heal!"

"I am fine!"

He was sure the boy upstairs, no the brat upstairs, was awake now. But as long as the little parasite didn't try to get involved, that was alright with Vegeta.

"You are most certainly not! You need to be here, with family, with people who love you!"

"I don't care about those things!"

"I know you don't," Bulma replied, sadness dusting her ocean-blue eyes, "But tell me, why do want to leave so badly?"

He wasn't about to confess to her the full details, the distracting emotions she caused him, but he could be both truthful and callous at the same time, so why waste the opportunity?

"To get away from you!"

The wife that he most assuredly did not love reared back as if slapped again by Beerus.

"You don't mean that…" she whispered, but he only sneered in response.

"What about Trunks?"

"What about the brat?" he spat out the moniker with extra venom.

"Don't you want to train him?"

"Pah!" that about summed up his attachment to the boy – no brat.

"Vegeta, please –"

"No! Do not try to keep me here with your pitiful whiles! I couldn't care less about any of you!"

Again, this was true, but not in the way that sorrowful face was thinking. He really couldn't care any less about this ridiculous family he had stupidly begotten – he had tried very hard to.

But if he could just get away from all of them, far enough that he couldn't sense them anymore. Then he would be free.

"But Vegeta, I'm pregnant!"

He had noticed that already, thank you. "I believe I have made myself perfectly clear."

Bulma gulped, licking her lips before trying again, "Vegeta, you don't really mean any of this."

Vegeta scoffed, thinking her delusional, or trying to convince herself of falsehoods.

"You're not well, and you need time to recover." She continued. Vegeta doubted these words, however. If he had his way, there would be no more 'recovery' except of his power level. The other things he could do without.

"You need to be here, you need to spend time with us, and you'll get better."

He almost laughed, but that would require him to feel amusement, which even if not particularly detrimental, he wasn't able to muster at the moment either.

"If you won't refuel my ship, I shall find someone else more obliging." He avowed, turning his back on the female to leave this dreadful place of embarrassing memories. That he had let himself fall so low!

"You won't," came the bold declaration from behind him, causing him to pause, "This is a space-ship, remember? No one outside my family knows the formula for the fuel on this planet, and I've already warned Dad not to obey you. You're stuck here mister."

Vegeta spun sharply, shaking with a rage which caused his aura to flare about him. Pictures swayed on their hooks and glasses rattled in the kitchen cabinets nearby as Vegeta growled wordlessly at the audacious minx who dared imprison him here.

With her.

But in the face of her terror, which rolled in waves from her as goose bumps erupted on her exposed flesh, Vegeta found he couldn't raise a hand against her. His fists shook at his sides but they would not budge from their positions as she attempted to swallow her fear, to show that she was not afraid of him.

She should have been. Vegeta was not her husband, not anymore.

Yet, unable to strike her, he found himself instead heading at speed back to his gravity room to train with the newly upgraded drones.