Concerto Sixteen: Amoré
A/N: Hi everyone! It's been a few weeks since an update, blame that on the conventions and vacations and just everyday life, but here we go! So was being strange a while back and wasn't sending any emails regarding chapter updates, so some of you may have missed the last chapter. If you haven't read it, please do so before reading this one, as the events follow immediately after last time.
Onwards to the story! (rest of a/n follows chapter)
oooOooo
The grass crunched under Bulma's dainty feet as Vegeta led her past another row of trees. She followed steadily behind him, studying the sharp edges of his neck, the way his hair stuck out from his nape like angry lightning bolts. Vegeta looked so dangerous and intimidating from behind. If she didn't know any better, she would assume that touching him would result in her own demise. Too bad she had already smoothed out the tension in his skin with her honeyed fingers.
She had wanted to ask him where they were going as he drove down into the rural parts of the city. But the way his jaw tightened under the orange haze of the setting sun, she had bitten down her question until it was safe to swallow. Besides, the moment he turned into the cobblestone parking lot, Bulma realized that she had definitely been here before.
She felt slightly embarrassed, if she could admit it, that the last time she had been in this part of town was when she was following Vegeta around. Back then, Vegeta had practically thrown her away with his piercing words and casted eyes. Back then, Bulma could barely see her own reflection in his hardened irises, and a small lift came to the corner of her mouth as she realized the difference. Vegeta didn't want her around then, but he was willingly leading her to his secret now.
Almost as if he could hear her thoughts, he turned his head slightly over his shoulder, his thick lashes painted a cool shade of purple, kissed so gently by the moon rays. "Just ahead here," he nodded to a rather large tree in front of them, "That's where we're going."
"Where is it that we're going?" She finally had to ask, her curiosity welling up inside of her. Vegeta hadn't said much, other than he had someone he wanted her to meet, but who in the hell lived all the way out here? And why was it under the direst of circumstances that she had to meet them right now?
Vegeta huffed, turning his head back to the trail in front of him, his hands shoved into his pant pockets. "You will see," he said simply, causing her to raise an eyebrow in question. She bit down on her bottom lip instead, choosing to throw the reigns to him and trust that he wasn't leading her to the places where nightmares are created.
She bent down to avoid getting struck with a low hanging branch, and then Bulma had her answer. The field that Vegeta led them to was expansive; the grass here much more defined and intricate than the messy wilderness from before. Colorful flowers bloomed around the center like a halo, as if their job was to protect what lie in the middle with their beauty. Bulma took a second to let her eyes wander over the small details of the man-made garden, completely in awe that something so beautiful lie in the center of something so chaotic.
Vegeta didn't turn around to see her reaction, however, instead walking towards the assortment of flowers in the middle. Bulma watched him before slowly walking behind, knowing that he didn't take her to the depths of the bitter sweet floral garden to show off decorations.
Her eyes slithered past him as she stepped closer, to three marble gravestones. They sat so peacefully in the center, completely undisturbed as if the world around them just didn't exist. Bulma parted her lips and turned her stare to look over at Vegeta, who appeared to be lost in his own thoughts. He was pressing down hard on his jaw with such force that she was afraid he would break it, and she reached out to touch his hand.
He sighed and nodded towards the gravestone in the middle, bigger than the two on its opposite sides, and Bulma turned and walked forward to read the inscription on the grey marble.
"Yasai N'Ouija," she read, letting the name coat her tongue with familiarity. Her stomach became unsettled as she continued on, "Wife, Mother, Sister. Vegeta…" She turned back to him again and caught something flash over his eyes, but he blinked away any trace of sentiment.
"She's my mother," he cleared his throat and tried to keep his voice steady, "That's who I brought you here to meet."
Bulma wanted to reply with something, but her head was dizzy with a string of emotions. She hadn't expected Vegeta would bring her here to his mother's grave site, especially considering that Vegeta didn't talk much about his home life. Bulma respected it, although a part of her was always curious to meet the creators of the force that was Vegeta. She had always expected his parents to be great people.
But something about seeing the cold silence of what should be an intimate encounter made her feel frigid, more so for Vegeta than her own sake. How could he stand it, being out here by himself and speaking with ghosts who were too far away to reply? Bulma touched her stomach as she envisioned this someday being something she would have to do, and she fought back against the torment of ever having to see her mother and father like this.
Vegeta walked closer to her, the heat radiating from his body and pooling around her, his eyes glued in front of him. He swallowed and she knew there were words that he wanted to say, but he wouldn't let them escape from the prison of his lips. So she spoke instead.
"It's very nice to meet you, Mrs. N'Ouija," she knelt down in front of the stone, respectfully wiping off some dirt that stained the sides. Her stomach clenched as she read over the birth and death dates, realizing somberly that Vegeta's mother had died very young. She licked her lips, wanting to litter the dirt with honest words that she desperately wanted to say.
"You'd be so proud of Vegeta, just like I'm sure you've always been. He's very talented, one of the best musicians I've ever met, and I'm sure you had something to do with that. He talks about you with fondness." She smiled and turned her head upwards to look at Vegeta, but his face was turned to gaze at a group of trees, his eyes narrowed and guarded. Bulma watched him in that fashion; his silhouette sharp against the milky, dusk sky, his forehead smooth and his eyes telling, the grey of his button up so dismal compared to the lush scenery before him, but perfect for the mood. He was beautiful, even through his barely masked stoicism, and she felt her heart ache even more. What would it take to never have to see the sadness in his face again, so that when she lost herself in his intense stare she would only be looking at the sun? She turned back to the gravestone, feeling an anchor in the back of her throat, but forcing her words out anyways. "I'm Bulma by the way; I realized that I haven't introduced myself. I've been dating your son for awhile now, and it's the happiest I've been in such a long time." Bulma smiled with a sweet sincerity as she looked down to her brown boots being adorned by lilies, grabbing one and twirling it between her fingers. "He's really brought out something good in me, whether he sees it or not. I really wish I could have met you so I could have learned all of the embarrassing stories that Vegeta doesn't want me to know, or ask you if his eyes have always been the shade of ink. I would like to think you would approve of me."
Vegeta cleared his throat, and Bulma turned to see a crimson blush spread over his cheeks. "She would have," he said in a rushed voice, "I'm sure of it."
"That makes me happy to hear. Vegeta says we have some things in common, Mrs. N'Ouija. I'm sure we would have had the best conversations. I'm laughing a lot more these days and I have your son to thank for that." Bulma swallowed as she realized this conversation was quickly turning into a confession of the depth of her feelings for Vegeta. Since their dance, it had become so painstakingly clear to her that she had taken the plunge in her affections. She tried to remember if she had ever cared for someone with such a raw emotion, but came up empty.
She became too embarrassed to look at Vegeta again, considering that neither of them had ever sat down and discussed what they felt. As far as she knew, Vegeta enjoyed having her around just as much as she did, and if the way he swallowed her up with his eyes were any indication, it was possible that he was just as drunk on her as she on him. After all, she was here having a conversation with his mother.
Her eyes darted to the other two gravestones next to his mother's, and she felt her stomach drop. Although smaller and with less inscription, the name N'Ouija was still splattered boldly on both of them, with one of the stones surrounded by a wide variety of greeting cards. Bulma didn't want to be too incredibly nosy and read them, but judging from the images on the front, they were definitely bought from the young adult or children's section. She became hot with worry, suddenly having more questions than answers, and she scooted towards it to get a better look.
"Vegeta," she whispered, her brain taunting her with numerous possibilities, "What happened to them?" She ran her eyes over the name, reading the dates of birth and death again, "Who's Tarb—"
Vegeta cleared his throat again, this time with more finality, and extended a hand to help her up. Bulma looked at his palm quizzically before placing her hand in his, her lips parted with the rest of her unfinished sentence. Vegeta bore his eyes into her face for a fraction of a second before staring past her. "It's late," he said drily, "And I'm getting tired. I should probably get some rest."
Bulma could practically taste the dishonesty, but instead she nodded, wondering if she was about to touch an itch she shouldn't scratch. They began to walk, the silence blanketed over them like a thick shadow, and Bulma stared at the ground, her lips pressed tightly together. Surely she wasn't prepared for this. These graves in the middle of nowhere, completely away from society in privacy, neatly in a row like an intricate burial plot instruction. The name N'Ouija in thick black letters on every stone. Bulma didn't need Vegeta to confirm what she already knew. She turned back to look at the makeshift cemetery again, the words haunting her mind with cruelty.
She was looking at all that remained of Vegeta's family.
It made her feel incredibly sick.
Her mind was swimming with pity, wondering what could have happened to them. Vegeta didn't speak on his family much outside of his mother, and Bulma had wrongfully assumed that perhaps they weren't on the best of terms. She was more than aware that not everyone was as fortunate enough to come from a home environment such as she, but knowing that Vegeta was a victim of such a cruel life circumstance made her feel uneasy.
Vegeta still hadn't said a word when they made it back to the car, and only the purr of the engine filled the silent void. Bulma buckled her seatbelt carefully, looking at the side of his face with sadness. He huffed, shutting his eyes and turning to look out the window.
"Why are you staring at me like that, Bulma?"
"Vegeta, I…" Where did she even begin? Her chest felt heavy and questions stained her tongue like cigarette ashes, but she couldn't even formulate the words. "I'm sorry."
He turned to look at her, his eyes soft and vulnerable, making her breath hitch in her throat. He stared at her fondly, although his face was a clean slate. "Do you know what you're apologizing for?" His voice was low and patient, as if he would give her a prize for figuring it out. She shook her head.
"No. But I want to." She looked down for a second, feeling the unease and tension rolling off of his shoulders in waves. "Do you regret bringing me here?"
"No," he replied immediately, and Bulma could practically pull the "but…" that she was sure followed the word. Vegeta closed his mouth and put his own seatbelt on, staring straight out of the car on onto the cobblestone road. "I just really need to get some sleep. I don't want to be exhausted at rehearsal tomorrow."
Bulma nodded, although her palms became sweaty as she took in the words between his lines. Vegeta wouldn't come right out and say it, possibly to preserve her own feelings, but he was asking her for his solitude for the evening, and she reluctantly agreed to give it to him.
oooOooo
South City's neighboring town, Mt. Paozu, was a small but friendly village that was rich in luscious green grass and towering trees. It contrasted the more industrial South City with its success in agriculture and farming, but the residents of South City benefited from the quaint town's crops and animals. And the start of spring meant that Mt. Paozu would bring back its massive farmer's market, something Bulma would make the forty minute drive for. Nothing beat the fresh fruits and vegetables that she could bring home, or the eccentric sweets and other delicacies found in the mountain region. So with Chi Chi in tow, Bulma decided to drive down the following Saturday morning.
"I grew up here, you know," Chi Chi fiddled in her wallet for enough change to buy Gohan a raspberry pastry, "And it amazes me how busier they get every year."
Bulma blew into her puffed pastry, catching the peach dripping that spilled from the corners with her tongue. "I'm surprised you moved out of here. This seems like more your style of living."
"It really is," Chi Chi chuckled, handing over a piece of the treat to a starry eyed Gohan, "but with Goku being in the orchestra and all, it saved more money to move to the city. At least we found a quiet place in all of the loudness. Maybe we'll come back and move one day," she knelt down to the stroller, smiling widely at her toddler son, "What do you say Gohan? Should mommy and daddy move back with grandpa?"
"Grampa!" Gohan waved his hands wildly, slinging out raspberry preserves over the walk. Chi Chi sighed and stood, laughing to herself. They walked past various stands of multi colored fruits, rare vegetables, and signs that pulled Bulma in to spend more than she wanted to. The day was needed and welcomed, especially with Bulma's sadness that slept in her belly. Vegeta had been acting slightly off since he had taken her to the gravesite, and she just couldn't pin point why. Her insecurities plagued her, making her wonder if she had said something wrong, or if he realized a little too late that he had made a mistake in bringing her there. Bulma learned early on that Vegeta wasn't the type to break down his walls easily, and most of him was shrouded in mystery, but she also knew that he shared a part of himself with her that only she got to see.
Which is why she couldn't understand the distant behavior.
Maybe it was too personal for him, and he didn't know how to tell her. She shook off feelings of fearing the worst, that he was losing interest, knowing that what they were sharing was deeper than that. At least, she hoped so.
"And I was thinking I wanted to do white, but I don't know if it's hypocritical? What do you think, Bulma?"
Bulma came out of her thoughts, turning to look at Chi Chi going through various colored of hand woven fabrics. "I'm sorry, what did you say?"
"Geeze," Chi Chi placed her hands on her hips and glared at her, "You weren't paying attention at all. I said that Goku and I are renewing our vows!" She smiled and held the fabric around her frame, closing her eyes as she beamed. "We never had a real wedding before because we couldn't afford it, but now Goku's been making money with the orchestra, and I've been making some extra money in cooking for people, so I can have the wedding of my dreams!"
"That's great, Chi Chi!" Bulma couldn't help but be genuinely happy for her, remembering how Chi Chi would talk about her ideal wedding in college, so she knew this was a big deal for her. "I know it's going to be great, I can help you plan!"
"Thank you! There's only small things left to do," Chi Chi turned around, wrapping a scarf around her hair in the mirror and checking different angles, "I know it's soon, but we're going to have it next month. I want to get married at my dad's place, so the hardest part is taken care of."
"Wow," Bulma shook her head, "You guys work fast."
"You're telling me. You should see my Goku, planning with me and having things together on time. So unlike him. He even put together the guest list…" Chi Chi trailed off, looking at Bulma sheepishly. "Speaking of which..."
Something in Chi Chi's tone made Bulma look at her suspiciously, watching the way Chi Chi's brown eyes looked at her knowingly. "What is it?"
"Well, Goku invited Yamcha, and other than you two being in the same room, if you're there, then that means Vegeta will be too, right?"
Bulma swallowed, unsurprised that Chi Chi found out (most likely thanks to Yamcha), but she could spend hours talking about Vegeta, and she wasn't sure if this was the appropriate time. So instead she simply nodded.
"So, are you guys really dating? I overheard Goku and Yamcha talking about it, and I've been meaning to ask you." She set the fabric down and leaned on the stroller, resting her palm in her hand.
"Yeah," Bulma said after a pause, "We're dating."
"I would've never guessed," Chi Chi blinked at her rapidly, her large eyes looking in awe, "You two just seem like completely different people. I mean don't get me wrong, opposites attract and all, but you're so…so nice compared to Vegeta."
Bulma felt her face growing hot, feeling mildly irritated at Chi Chi's words. Then she had to remember that she once saw Vegeta that way too, all brooding and mean and scowl faced. But only she had the luxury of touching the other side of sun, so it shouldn't be surprising that everyone was expecting her to get burned. But that was far from the case, and she wished that others could see it too.
"We're not that different," Bulma began to pick through the carts of fabric herself, lingering too long over a magenta one, "We actually are more in tune than you might think- than I initially thought. It's almost…perfect."
"Almost?" Chi Chi rose an eyebrow, completely engulfed in Bulma's confession. True enough, Chi Chi was completely thrown back at this revelation. But if the serene expression that was captured on Bulma's face at the moment wasn't enough to convince her to listen onward, the gloomy flash in her eyes that followed her next words were.
"I don't know, Chi Chi, maybe I'm reading too much into this," Bulma scrunched the fabric in between her hands, avoiding her friend's pestering stare, "But I can't tell if he's upset with me? He's been kind of distant."
"You mean, he's not always distant?"
"No!" Bulma whipped her head around, feeling her face scrunch up. She sighed and gripped her emotions. "No. In fact, I honestly feel like he's giving me the most he can right now. We have the best conversations, even if it's just me talking, and we can even focus on our own crafts while we drown in each other's silence. And don't get me started on the sex, my god. And sometimes the way he looks at me makes me think that he's going to suck me into the galaxy in his eyes."
"So then what's the problem?" Chi Chi's voice was soft, showing the first signs of concern. She hadn't expected the conversation to be this deep, especially since Bulma never dived into her relationship with Yamcha vocally. But Bulma was obviously fishing for advice, so Chi Chi was willing to bite. "That all sounds really incredible to me. Why are you upset?"
"Well…he shared something really personal with me. And I mean really personal. And then afterwards, he just kind of got…quiet. And I'm not sure if he regrets it, or if he feels like I've gotten too close." Bulma took a deep sigh and then looked over at Chi Chi, throwing her a soft smile. "I just don't know what to think." And then there was the matter with the graveside, but she couldn't talk about Vegeta's personal life with Chi Chi. Just what had occurred that made Vegeta so guarded about the entire ordeal?
Chi Chi pursed her lips together, lost in thought. Gohan let out a fussy cry and stretched his arms outwards, grabbing her attention. She opened her purse to hand him a juice box when her eyes went wide. "Oh! I've got the perfect idea! Maybe you two just need a nice date night! Something to really spark a fire, you know?" Chi Chi smiled sweetly, resting her palms on her hips. "Dates can really bring back magic, or at least get you talking. Either way, it doesn't hurt to try!"
Bulma thought it over, her mind racing back to the last time they went on a date. How abruptly it ended, and how she had felt content with eating pizza and resting her feet in his lap while they watched old movies. But she'd be lying if she said she didn't want to try again, have a reason to get a little fancy and feel like a million bucks in the presence of Vegeta. "What kind of date do you have in mind?"
"My father gave me four tickets to the opera opening tonight, Esercito a Nastro Rosso. I've heard nothing but good reviews. Anyways, it'll just be Goku and I, so maybe you guys could take the extra pair of tickets!"
Bulma's eyes opened widely as her brain ran laps around the idea. She had heard great things about the opera, and she knew that Vegeta appreciated the genre as well. Maybe Chi Chi was right; maybe a date night would ease Vegeta's tension long enough to tell her what had him rattled so much in the first place.
She just hoped that his words wouldn't send her hurling over the cliff of her own insecurities.
oooOooo
It had taken an abundant amount of convincing-way more than Bulma wanted to give, but in the end, Vegeta had agreed to go.
Not that his mood had let up at all. The drive to the theater was thundering in silence, save for the radio. It was a low hum, and mostly static due to the odd channel placement, but Bulma was grateful for something to fill the void. She scrunched her dress in her lap, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. He looked so tense, so focused on the road. She wanted to reach over and smooth out the lines in his face, but her hands stayed dormant in lap, bunching up fabric.
The lights of downtown swirled in and out of her vision, and Bulma felt herself half watching them and half watching herself in the reflection of the glass. Her thick mascara and eyeliner only made her eyes look bluer, and she found herself reading the words that were tattooed in the color until she became dizzy. "Vegeta," she said finally, softly, looking at him through the window, "Do I look all right? For the opera, I mean. I wasn't sure how dressed up to get."
She saw his eyes dart towards her briefly, running over her before landing back on the road. His jaw smoothened and his eyes softened, and Bulma felt her heart flutter. "You look fine," he said, and she chuckled to herself at how mildly embarrassed he sounded before he added, "You look beautiful."
A small blush crept to her cheeks, adding to her carefully concentrated makeup, a small smile stealing her lips. Feeling brave, she reached over and grabbed his hand that rested on the gear shift, squeezing it briefly. "Thank you. You look pretty handsome too."
She could have painted his face with the shade of crimson if she wanted to, mainly to match the hue of his cheeks. He went back to the audience inside of his head again, and she let his hand go metaphorically with a sigh. She would wait, with iron patience, to see if the leech that was sucking the life out of Vegeta would let up.
She just really hoped Chi Chi was right.
Pulling up to the theater was at least able to take Bulma's mind off of the matter momentarily. The theater was enormous, the outside resembling an old castle the color of burnt wood. Gargoyle statues casted down judgement on the attendees as they ascended the steps to the entrance, gold light softly illuminating their bodies. It made Bulma feel like royalty, especially at Vegeta's side, her arm looped inside of his. He looked rather handsome in his black tuxedo, tailored in the right places to enhance his sculpted physique. She daydreamed for a moment that he was a prince escorting her back to her castle, albeit an intense prince who made the door greeter nervous when they entered.
Bulma marveled at the intricate design of the theater, enriched with its performance history. The walls were a warm shade of brown, scattered with framed posters of musicals, operas and the like. The carpeting was a bloody pool of red, threatening to sink any who dared to step on it. Soft music lulled over them via an older gentlemen in the corner, playing a waltz that had Vegeta humming. Bulma noticed that he was watching the pianist intently, likely critiquing his work. She let him have his moment before he turned and simply said, "He's good."
They found Chi Chi and Goku just outside of the ticket booth, laughing over each other in hushed secrecy. It made Bulma smile, thinking of the nights when she and Vegeta would be in a similar fashion, with him picking on her while she would be trying her best (and humorlessly worst) to defend herself. She gripped Vegeta's arm a little tighter, feeling a warmth radiating in her chest. Goku was the first to notice them, and he instantly rose to his feet while ceremoniously helping to Chi Chi to hers. Bulma laughed as she took Goku in with his suit. Although the tall man looked dapper in it, she got the sense that he would rather be wearing something less formal.
"Vegeta, Bulma!" He saluted them, a wide grin stealing his face, "I'm glad you could make it!"
"Likewise, Goku," Bulma extended her hand to shake it, but Goku brushed it aside and went in for a hug, making her a little startled. Although she had met Goku only on a handful of occasions, he always treated her like they were lifelong friends. "You look great, Chi Chi."
"Me? Look at you!" Chi Chi circled Bulma, nodding her head in approval, "You've just had this sitting around?"
Bulma smoothed out the front of her dress, an off the shoulder black number with lacy long sleeves, hugging her body snugly and covering her feet. "Actually, yes. I bought it for the company's Christmas party and haven't had the chance to wear it again."
"Well it's a good thing you have a reason to, it's gorgeous!" Chi Chi looked over at Vegeta, who was listening to Goku talk about music with an irritated look on his face, his hands shoved into his pockets. "What do you think, Vegeta? She looks good, doesn't she?"
Vegeta scowled, although he still roamed his eyes over to Bulma, conveying through his expression that he had meant what he said in the car. It was enough for her.
"Alright, I say we all go get our seats, shall we?" She walked over to Vegeta and placed his arm back through his, letting him lead them inside the grand, golden doors.
They found their seats in time as the lights faded into nothingness, casting the entire theater into a shadow of black. A woman's voice began to wail from the night, a soft yellow light slowly emitting over her head. She appeared to be sad as she sang in a language that Bulma didn't understand, and as the light came into focus, it was realized that she was singing over the body of someone- perhaps a lover. The scene around her was bloody, most likely the aftermath of a war, with several men in their armor fallen. The woman was beautiful, with long brown curls falling over her delicate features, and even from the angle they were in, Bulma could tell that she was crying. Her voice was a rollercoaster of pitches, her hands caressing the person's face, the gentle sounds of the orchestra serenading her cries. The show hadn't even properly started and the woman was eliciting emotions from Bulma that she was trying to stifle.
The woman ended her song with one long, high octave note, her bottom lip quivering with her vibrato, before the theater was cast in darkness again. Then the orchestra began to play a more livelier tune, one that was festive and quirky, before the lights came on again, showcasing a village bustling about, drinking beer from gourds and dancing around. A man began to talk to them in the same native tongue as the singer, but the dialogue was lost upon Bulma. Still, the music of the orchestra and the lively scenery was more than enough to keep her engaged, and if Vegeta tapping his knee rhythmically was any indication, he was enjoying himself as well.
The opera itself was magical, in her opinion, although something about it unsettled her. The story was about a maiden who had fallen in love with a prince, but the kingdom he came from was corrupted in war and evil misdoings. She had admired him from afar, singing praises of his name to anyone who would listen, even the king himself when he tried to cast her away from the court. From then on, the actress only wore the color blue, something that made Bulma's throat acidic. The prince, under the intense loyalty and pride for his father, fought for his kingdom no matter the cause, even when it meant arresting and killing the common villagers. It was on this mission that he had seen her, he in his bloody red and she in her magnificent blue, and when they sang to each other, the stage lights shined on them in the most royal shade of purple. It was so beautiful that Bulma found herself getting misty eyed, although she tried to wipe any traces of tears away with her program.
It was the climax of the opera, however, that had really choked Bulma up -and apparently did a number on Vegeta. The music was intense, the notes accompanied by shades of reds and oranges. The King in all of his evil glory waged a war with a nearby kingdom for his own greed, sending his army -and his son— into a bloody battle. In the end, the prince lost everything: his home, his father, and the war. He thought his lover died as well, and in his despair had taken his own life. But he was wrong, and the opera concluded with the same scene in the beginning, the beautiful woman crying over her lover before stabbing herself with his blade and collapsing on top of him, the soft shade of purple fading out until the theater was painted in black.
The applause that followed the opera was unanimous, aside from Bulma and Vegeta.
Bulma clutched the fabric of the dress over her stomach, her hand covering her mouth. She couldn't stop the tears that streamed down her face as she took in the final scene, the woman cradling her lover, how much hurt and despair she had to have felt. What would she do, she wondered, if that had been Vegeta? Why was she crying? Vegeta was sitting next to her, after all, his face as hardened as a brick and his mouth line tense and tight. She turned to look at him, but his eyes were focused elsewhere and his breathing was faster. His hands were clenched into tight fists, and Bulma reached over to settle them. His eyes found hers then, and she knew he could read the questions on her face. He looked down to her lap, letting his focus stay there for a moment, before slowly dragging them back to her face, his own expression apologetic. His fist relaxed under her touch and he intertwined his fingers with hers, their hands looking like a perfectly tied ribbon. She smiled at him and he briefly returned it, but there was something floating in his eyes that made her stomach turn.
The lights returned to their original brightness, making Bulma blink away to get readjusted. Goku and Chi Chi stood, talking fondly with each other about the performances. Bulma stood with them, plastering a porcelain smile on her face to contradict the jumbled anxiety on the inside. She could feel Vegeta standing behind her, quiet and solid like a stone wall, and she could feel his worries rolling off of his skin.
They exited the auditorium and made their way outside, standing under the glittering lights at the top of the stairs. Vegeta was turned slightly away from them, but his elbow brushed against Bulma's arm several times to let him know that he was still present. The Son family didn't seem to mind his distance, however, as they gushed over the opera itself.
"That was fun," Goku wrapped Chi Chi's shawl around her shoulders against the chilly night, "At first I thought it would be boring, but the music was really good."
"Boring?" Chi Chi looked at him with disapproval, "You've really got to focus on something other than music, Goku. You're losing your sense of good taste."
"Don't worry about that, Chi Chi," Goku grinned at her goofily, "I'll always appreciate good music, even if I don't know what they're saying."
Chi Chi shook her head at him and smiled at Bulma, throwing her purse over her shoulder. "I had a good time, Bulma. I'll call you later on this week, I'd like to get back in time to put Gohan to bed properly."
Bulma put her hands up in a wave and smiled, feeling relieved to be able to get some alone time with Vegeta and hopefully get some soothing answers to her burning questions. While most couples spent time communicating their feelings vocally, Bulma was beginning to learn more and more that she and Vegeta operated on a mental level. Vegeta conversed with her with the sharpness of his eyes, with the curve of his mouth, the frowns of his eyebrows. He told her things that he would never say, and would most likely deny if she called him out on it. But there was no denying he had a look when there was something he wanted her to know.
And she was absolutely sure that he had just given her such a look back in the theater.
"Sounds good," she replied, "You guys get home safely."
She watched them go before turning to Vegeta, gently tugging on his sleeve and warmly smiling at him, leading him down the stairs. He was still silent; his head slightly tilted backwards so that he could watch the stars. Bulma watched the strong muscles in his jawline tighten, his lips slowly parting. He took a deep breath as they reached the end of the stairs and stopped while she continued walking forward.
"Bulma," his booming voice grabbed her attention, and she turned to face him, her face quizzical. He looked uncomfortable, his face twisting and contorting in a weird expression, his eyes roaming over his surroundings. She was about to interrupt him when he finally settled his gaze on her, his forehead scrunched. "I know what you want from me." He looked away from her then, a pained expression taking home on his face. "You want an explanation."
Bulma walked a bit closer, rubbing her hands together to protect against the chilly wind. She hadn't expected him to talk willingly, especially without her provocation.
"But I can't give you one."
Well, so much for that.
Her lips curved downward and she suddenly felt offended. "Why can't you, Vegeta? I know you're not the type to be an open book, but I can't help but feel like you're completely shutting me out."
"I am shutting you out," he looked at her with hardened eyes, as if something was really plaguing him, "But only in that regard. It's for your own good, Bulma."
Bulma folded her arms, trying to decipher what exactly Vegeta meant. Did he really think that being silent towards her was for her benefit? "How could that possibly be for my own good, Vegeta?" She felt the insecurities gnaw at her like an underfed lion, making her look away from him. "I've been thinking that you regret taking me to meet your mother. Or that you didn't intend on getting so close with me."
She heard him growl, followed by heavy footsteps, until he was directly in front of her, his shadow swallowing her up. "Don't be an idiot, Bulma. I told you I didn't regret it; I knew exactly what I was doing. It's just that," he grit his teeth and looked away, and Bulma found herself unable to tear her eyes away from him, "Of course you'll have your questions. But the answers that come with them will only get you involved. And the last thing I want or need is you involved."
"Involved with what?" Bulma felt herself practically pleading with him, seeing the small cracks appear in the stone face Vegeta was used to displaying. "Involved with you?"
"No, you're taking this the wrong way, which is what I was trying to avoid." He sighed; licking his lips and bringing his head back down to look at her squarely in the eyes, "Bulma, there's a part of me, of my past, that would only curse you if you even dared to look at it. Those problems are mine and you don't need to deal with them."
"But what if I want to Vegeta?" She searched the remnants of his eyes to find the source of his isolated solution. Surely Vegeta had to know by now that there was more to her being with him than the fingerprints he left on her skin. She wasn't living in an illusion where Vegeta was some sort of saint. She was aware that Vegeta had been bitten by ice, and all she wanted to do was help him chip the sharp edges away. "Something awful had to have happened to you, and I understand why you wouldn't want to talk about it, but you have to understand that I don't like to see you like this. Won't talking about it make you feel even a little better?"
He scoffed and shook his head, although his eyes softened somewhat. "It's not as simple as that, Bulma. If us talking about it meant that you wouldn't be looking at me like that right now, then I would have talked long ago."
Bulma knew what he was talking about. The sentiment slept in her bones until she could no longer contain it, and now it spilled from her pores freely and completely captured her face. She pitied him and his family for whatever they had been through.
"Does it have anything to do with that guy at the grocery store?" Bulma's question came out small, knowing she was most likely treading on sensitive territory. She felt the way Vegeta tensed up during the opera when the prince watched his mother die at the hands of the enemy, while his father simply ran off to avoid his own fate. She could feel his discomfort with the scene spilling from his skin and unto her own. Her quizzical mind began spinning and concocting a theory. And according to Vegeta's changed expression, her hunch might have been correct.
He didn't say anything, not even to lie. His tongue was cemented, his eyes stuck on hers. Bulma felt slightly intimidated under the weight of his stare, but her knees didn't buckle.
"Bulma," he said finally, his voice low and restrained, "You could be walking into very dangerous waters just by knowing what's going on. Are you sure you want to do that?"
"For you, yes." The thought didn't even register in her mind before escaping from her lips, the words final. Vegeta's face looked confused for a second, as if he were expecting her to say different. His former expression returned and he continued.
"Those men are dangerous. My father got involved with them to borrow some money and he couldn't pay what he owed. So they came collecting, but the price included my father, mother and younger brother."
"Tarble." Bulma repeated the name from the gravestone, feeling her stomach sink down to her feet. She knew it was something awful, but she was expecting some sort of accident, or an illness that had taken hold on them. But Vegeta was standing here telling her that his family had been killed? Intentionally?
The revelation was tough to swallow.
"That's terrible Vegeta," she choked out, "That….how could anyone…It's no wonder…"
Vegeta nodded, sighing. "They still want the money, even with the blood of my family on their hands. And that's why I don't want you involved. They'll use any means to get what they want, even if that means coming after you."
"Well, how much is it? I could help you, Vegeta. I don't want anything to happen to you, we make more than enough money at the company, I could ask my dad-"
"No, Bulma!" Vegeta grabbed her wrists gently, pulling her in closer to him. "This is what I mean. Stay out of this; I can take care of them myself. I didn't even want to tell you, but I did so it's done."
"I can't just stay out of it, Vegeta! What if something happens to you?"
"Let me worry about that," he swallowed roughly, "That's not your burden to bear."
"Not my burden to bear?" Bulma stared at him incredulously, her eyes darting back and forth between his. "How could it not be my burden to bear? I can't just turn off the part of me that cares, Vegeta. I can't just sit back and watch someone I love go through this alone!"
Vegeta stared at her shockingly, and it was only when he released her that she realized the weight of what she had said. He pulled away from her slightly and she allowed him to, although her skin became cruelly cold with the lack of his body heat.
There was no taking it back now. It was out there and he had heard it, and more importantly than that, she had meant it. Still, she had seen this conversation happening on different circumstances, and with Vegeta looking less flustered.
She cleared her throat, keeping her eyes on him although she wanted so desperately to look away. But Bulma was tired of wondering, tired of keeping her mouth shut and blocking resolutions from manifesting. She loved Vegeta, there was no denying that, but she didn't want to
"Am I alone in that?" She asked, finding ground to her shaky voice, "In how I feel, am I alone?"
He looked at her long and hard, and she suddenly felt uneasy that she had asked a question that maybe she didn't want an answer to. But then his face turned genuinely serious, and he replied, "No. You're not."
Bulma felt as if her feet would carry her away, like she could take flight and sing of her happiness just like the singers in the opera. Instead she settled on smiling, her teeth dazzling white under the moon rays. No, Vegeta wouldn't make an declaration of his love, and truth be told she didn't want him to. She wanted him to be authentic.
And there was nothing more authentic than his admission.
She worked on closing the gap between them, nodding her head, her radiant smile unable to leave her face despite the events that slept between them. "If that's the case, don't push me away from this. If I'm walking into danger, let me handle it. But at least allow me to walk with you through it."
She saw his face ready to protest, his mouth greedily full of rebuttals, but then he breathed and relaxed, apparently choking down the words. "All I need for you to do is what you've been doing. Nothing more, nothing less."
Bulma nodded, feeling a fair compromise. She wasn't exactly sure what she could do to ease the pain of the situation, especially considering that Vegeta's eyes expressed that there was more to the story. But she would have to trust that he would handle it, and also trust that he wouldn't distance himself from her again, now that she knew the truth.
Despite the gravity of his truth, despite the fact that her brain was clogged with the knowledge of the tragedy that happened to Vegeta and his family, and despite that she so desperately wanted to avoid her life playing out like the singer on stage, Bulma was happy.
Because walking under the full moon, on an otherwise beautiful night, Bulma Briefs was in love.
And there wasn't too much that could stand in the way of that.
oooOooo
A/N: Okay, so I'm typing this with such relief because whew! I struggled SO HARD on this chapter. So I really hope it turned out good for you guys!
Now that things have settled down a bit, I should be back on a regular updating schedule. If in any case has another case of the blunders, you guys can always check my Tumblr for chapter update notifications. My Tumblr username is Bitchii-Usa. (And if you search hard enough, you can see some of my DBZ cosplay as Android 17 and Bulma from the convention!)
Well, that's all I really got for you guys, other than to please R&R! As always, they make my day in the best of ways! Speaking of, one of the reviews I got really warmed my heart. Every single last review makes me so happy I could probably run around the planet, but some of you guys really know how to warm my heart. Thank you Kay Kay for your meaty good review (since it's a guest, I have to 'shout you out here') and I'm SO happy you decided to give this story a try. And of course a thousand thank yous to everyone who is so kind enough to read a review. Sometimes I spend an embarrassing amount of time rereading them because they make me so incredibly happy. If I could, I'd send you all Vegebul souvenirs in the mail!
Until next time, friends!
