Concerto Twenty:

oooOOOooo

Well it's definitely been awhile since I've last updated this, huh? I hit a bit of a writer's snag with this story. Not in finishing it, but in how to build the bridge from point A to Z to get *to* that ending. So bear with me please, but I definitely don't plan on abandoning this story. I even have some good news, but more on that later. For now, enjoy this latest installment and I'll see you at the end for the rest of the A/N.

oooOOOooo

Bulma felt like a fool.

The feeling crawled on her skin like leeches, nibbling at her until she itched in madness. A mantra played over in her head like a record stuck in a loop.

You shouldn't have said anything. You should have just left it alone and talked to him about it on his own terms.

But she didn't. She didn't control her emotions, or her nagging guilt for diving into his past without his consent. She should have known, really. She should have known Vegeta well enough by now to understand how he appreciated some semblance of privacy, no matter how naked and open he got around her. She respected him for it, but there was something so closeted about this that tugged at her brain beyond belief. And because of that, she had acted out of desperation. She remembered how she just wanted to throw herself on him, like she could remove the traces of pain from his skin with her fingers. When she kissed him, she wanted to swallow down the ugly truths that grew like vines on his lips. She wanted to him to lose himself in the rivers of her, make him feel so otherworldly good that he would forget he belonged to this one for a moment. Maybe then, he could forget his problems. And maybe then, she could too.

But he immediately latched onto her plan the second her tongue explored his mouth. And when she told him why….god… she could never burn that look on his face from her memory. The way he looked surprised. Yet, deceived. As if Bulma had unwrapped the box of a present she wasn't supposed to see. She wanted to explain, wanted to tell him the rest and let him know that she understood. Understood his guilt. Understood his grief. Understood how he carried it around all of these years. And more importantly, how she wanted to be the one to melt his barrier away until he could fully heal.

She wanted to, but before the admission could fall from her lips, Vegeta's phone rung. It had been cryptic, to say the least. She watched Vegeta read over some mystery text on his screen, his eyes growing wider until he looked as if he'd seen a ghost. His eyes were unsettled and dialated as he placed his phone back into his pocket and stood, running his fingers through his hair. She had tried to calm him, get him to open up about what had happened to have him so frazzled. Instead, he looked at her as if she was lightyears away, as if she was a burning star that he'd never get to touch. Her heart softened to melted butter as she sunk into the way he looked at her, the way he looked like he wanted to tell her, but his tongue was covered in cement. She almost reached out to touch his face and comfort him, but then he told her he had to go. And he did leave.

And mentally, he'd been gone ever since.

She couldn't help but feel like his reaction was towards her, that he was frazzled in anger at her for snooping. But, she reckoned with herself, didn't he know that it was because she cared? Did that not matter, anyways? Her brain became foggy with all sorts of questions that she knew wouldn't get answered by him, especially when he was feeling this way. She took a deep breath and stood from the stool in her basement, running her fingers through her hair. If she was going to give in to her anxieties, she could at least put it to better use.

She grabbed a smock off of a table littered with paint supplies and wrapped it around her body. The fabric of the smock provided a familiar mask that she could hide behind, one that she thought she wouldn't need again. Damn it, why couldn't she have a seemingly normal relationship with him? Why couldn't they have normal problems that couples seemed to encounter, like him leaving the toilet seat up, or having the television too loud when she was trying to sleep? She sighed and realized that wouldn't be fun to her anyways. If Vegeta's life was 'normal', then he wouldn't be the man she fell in love with, now would he?

She stood in front of her blank canvas, staring at it as if it held the answers to her woes. As she dipped her brush into the black paint and glided it across her canvas, she desperately wished it did.

Her mind went completely on auto pilot; her hand taking over her brain and producing the story that she wanted to tell. The black paint smeared dramatically across the top until lavender cut across it, weaving with hints of blue to create a stormy sky. Whites and beiges formed various shapes of people, soft droplets of blue mimicking thick raindrops. The creamy blobs began to birth themselves into humans, forming a more concrete shape, and as Bulma studied her handiwork,she realized that they were happy; protected by their crimson or orange umbrellas, bundling up in their purple coats, one couple holding hands of their young daughter with a dandelion yellow rain jacket. The greys of the streets gave them purpose as they moved about, their destinations unknown but welcomed. Various depths of whites accented different parts of the painting, giving the illusion of bright lights against tall buildings. The canvas had become a bustling city, one bursting with so much energy Bulma could feel it in the grooves of her skin.

One spot in the lower corner of the canvas remained untouched; the colorless shape easily the focal point of the canvas. She felt small bursts of anxieties dance from her fingers as she mixed hues in her color palette, using the brush to bring the phantom shape to life. A boy, probably in his early teens, sat on the curb of one of those streets, visually different from the landscapes around him. Where the colors of the people and buildings popped against the grainy and distorted background, he blended into it. The raindrops melted into his skin, disappearing against his shape the moment the colors married providing the only source of color to his otherwise grey flesh. His face was distinct; the features of his face were more complex than the distorted faces around him. Instead his expression was vivid. Alive. The depths of his eyes masked with a stoic expression. His chin rested against the top of his knees as his arms wrapped around his small body. He sat on the curb, unaware of how different he was. How pivotal his presence was. The others delighted in their protection from the storm, but he became it. His thick, black hair, angled high past his skull, drooped slightly due to the heavy rain. It stood out most about him, like the last flame of an almost extinguished candle. He looked onward, past the streets, past the edges of the canvas onto something more. Something bigger than himself.

She found herself drawn to that determination.

Bulma stepped back from the almost completed painting and stared at the boy, the edges of her eyes misting. Uncaring about the wet oils, she brought a finger to the boy's cheek, stroking downward until she left a messy trail on his face. Oh little boy who sits out in the rain. Oh little boy who doesn't realize he controls the storm. Oh little boy who feels unnoticed, who's been gobbled up by greedy dark clouds. Who has never had the protection of others.

Don't you see that you don't have to be alone?

Light footsteps descended down the stairs behind her, making Bulma wipe her tears, unknowingly getting paint on her skin. She didn't turn around, instead biting down on her lip to keep her composure. A warmth radiated over her shoulders, the light breaths of the person tickling the back of her neck.

"Well that is certainly interesting, honey. A little dark, but very captivating." Dr. Briefs adjusted his glasses and stood to Bulma's side, studying the painting as if he were an art critic. "Makes me kind of sad, if I stare at it too long."

Bulma swallowed, unable to formulate a decent reply. Talking sour about Vegeta in any regard just didn't feel right, and especially not with her father. He knew first-hand how much she adored Vegeta, how even saying his name left a trail of honey on her tongue. The idea of tarnishing the perception her father had of the man she loved so much made her feel awful.

"Is that Vegeta?" He asked matter-of-factly, moving to fold his arms over his chest. "Why's he looking so sad? Maybe because he's so wet. You couldn't bother to paint the boy a raincoat?" He chuckled at himself and made her smile too, although it was a temporary grin that quickly straightened into a thin line.

"I guess I wasn't sure how he was supposed to look," she sighed, finally responding, "My hands just created until I told them to stop. I don't really know what the message is here, but it's finished none the less." She tore her eyes away from the painting, opting to sit back down in her seat.

Dr. Briefs stroked his thick mustache and looked at it again, narrowing his eyes as if he could see through the colors to find a bigger purpose for the piece. "Well when I look at it, I see a boy who is resilient. A boy who's determined to stick the storm out until the sun shines again, one who doesn't mind getting a little wet. We all have our comforts of being sheltered from the rain, but it takes true conviction to stand with it."

"But," Bulma looked to her feet, feeling boggled down by her emotions, "Why stand through the rain if someone's offering you a dry place to escape? Why keep ignoring their help if you're only going to get sick with fever in the end? No one benefits from sitting in the middle of a storm."

Dr. Briefs took a deep breath. Bulma watched as his shoes pointed in her direction, but she couldn't raise her head to look at him. Not yet. "Well, honey, if everyone was always equipped to handle bad weather, would we ever learn courage? Humanity? Empathy? Some people suffer through the storm so that others don't have to go through it. They take that pain and isolation and use it for something greater. Something better."

"What good does that do when something better is the escape?" She finally lifted her head up to meet his eyes, the blues of her irises sleeping behind fluffy tears. "Why not just go to the greater? Why not understand that it hurts me—I mean, people, to see you outside when you know you can offer the right protection? Why isolate yourself from them? Why grow so quiet and make them worry about you until they can't eat, or sleep, or even function properly—"

"Bulma." Dr. Briefs knelt down and put his hands on her shoulders, staring at her earnestly. His expression turned serious, the edges of his eyes hardening. It startled her, freezing the tears that threatened to stain her face. "Listen to me. I don't know what's going on with you and Vegeta, and I don't know much about where he comes from or what he's been through. But the few times I've met him, I can tell you that he's a survivor. He's a man that needs to do things his way. I can hear it in the music he conducts, that he writes. He's stubborn, isn't he? He seems like it, and I've heard for years now that he has a certain method of working himself out. I'm sure he has that same tactic for how he solves his problems. Now I don't know that for certain, but I've got a good reader on people. And I'm rarely wrong, my dear. For example, how's Yamcha?" He raised his eyebrow knowingly and Bulma breathed in deeply, a breathy laugh falling from her lips.

"What I do know, Bulma, is that man loves you. I can see it in the way he looks at you, how he talks to you. How he leads you while still allowing you to walk your own way. He treats you as if you're a fragile, precious thing to him. Now tell me, how do you handle precious things? Do you throw them out to battle for you? Or do you try to keep them safe? Protected?"

Bulma squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head. "I know he loves me, Dad, really I do. The same night he told me so, he also promised he wouldn't leave me out again. But as soon as something comes up, he emotionally abandons me instead of letting me in and-"

"To protect you, Bulma. Sometimes the best way to protect someone is to let them in when the time is right. To give them only as much information as the situation allows for. I can tell his mannerisms that he is the keeper of something awful. You don't have to tell me what it is, but I can understand how people can confuse that as something personal. And then you come along and show him something different, something kind and pure. Can't you see that? Why he doesn't want to taint you in that way? Can you imagine going through whatever he's going through, something hard and sharp and painful, and still trying to hold on to your most precious thing? Wouldn't you need time to marinate on how to handle that too?" Dr. Briefs softened his face and tucked a piece of her hair behind her ear. "It's not always going to be easy, Bulma. Your relationship with Yamcha showed you that plenty. It's hard to see because you love him, and you love him in such an organically raw way that it's impossible for you to understand why he isn't absorbing you into his pain. But you have to let him figure out his own way. All you need to do is be there for him instead of trying to figure it out. I'll even bet in the silence, he's working on easing himself to a better version of him. And he's going to share that version with you."

"You sound so sure, Dad." She took a deep breath and sat up a little straighter, rubbing her palms against her knees. "But what if he can't…"

At her continued silence, Dr. Briefs raised an eyebrow. "He can't what, honey?"

"He can't….he can't…" She trailed off as realization swam over her. All of this time, Bulma had been so adamant on learning Vegeta. She learned what made him tick, what made him create, what made him hurt, what made him smile. She'd seen a hardened man who fought to free himself of his past. She'd grown with a man who, despite all that he'd been throught, decided to make a little room for her in his turbulent world. She'd known so much about him that it scared her, because in all her learning, all she wanted to do was heal him. Heal him so that he wouldn't drown in his sorrows. So that he wouldn't forget to swim back to the shore for her.

So that he wouldn't forget her.

And when he went quiet like this…all she could wait for was a phone call telling her he couldn't do this with her around. That he couldn't start this new life, this better life, when he was plagued by the demons of his past. That she was expecting more out of him than he was willing to give. Bulma wanted the best out of Vegeta because he deserved it. He deserved a life that he could look back on and be proud of. One that included her in it. And Vegeta had more than shown her that he had no plans of leaving, so why was there a nagging feeling in the back of her brain that burned with the thought that this time, she had gone too far?

Was he….was he planning on leaving her because of it?

The thought alone was agonizing; one that made her stomach clench before the sentence could finish formulating in her mind. If she had successfully pushed Vegeta away, it would be too much. It would be entirely too much.

She suddenly felt extremely selfish. Since the beginning, she's demanded from him. Demanded his friendship, demanded his back story. Demanded that he let her live out her fantasy with him. And what did she have for him in return, other than sneakily getting information about his life? How incredibly stupid was she?

"Bulma," Dr. Briefs smiled, "Whatever you're mentally putting yourself through, stop it. The only thing that you need to know, and you can remember these words for the rest of your life…"

Bulma eyes snapped open and she searched her father's face for the resolution to her plaguing worries, holding on to his words with the last shred of her crumbling dignity.

"Is that Vegeta is going to marry you. I know it in my heart of hearts, and I'd bet my life on that deep down inside, you know it too. Remember me telling you this when you're walking down the aisle towards him that day." He pressed a kiss to the top of her forehead and stepped backwards, looking at her stricken face. "Don't worry about the small things. Everything is going to be all right,just trust me on that, okay? Vegeta is going to get over whatever hurdles he has, and he's going to cross that finish line with you. Just be patient honey." Bulma chewed on her lips, and his words, as her brain replayed her in that beautiful white dress, the day where she felt like royalty. The day where she imagined what it would be like to be a bride. Vegeta's bride. His words echoed around her brain as she recalled the bridal shop moment a few weeks ago.

You never know what the future holds.

He wouldn't have said that if he didn't mean it, right? Bulma never considered herself the marrying type. She always figured she'd be too busy for a wife. That she'd be too busy to be Yamcha's wife, that is. But Vegeta certainly wasn't Yamcha, and Bulma knew without doubt that she could spend the rest of her life with him. Even through all of this bad, even though all of this chaos, she'd still say yes. Again, and again, and again. She looked up to the painting and realized she had gotten the whole thing wrong. Where there was a little boy weathering the storm, there should have been a little girl with blue hair. Or even better, she should have been sitting beside him.

Dr. Briefs cleared his throat and looked down to his watch. "Isn't Chi Chi's pre wedding dinner tonight? It's already going on five oclock. That doesn't give you a long time to get prepared, does it?"

Shit.

The anchor of guilt tugged at her ankles and she felt like a terrible friend. She took a deep breath and shook her head clear, already transitioning her mind towards the next phase of the afternoon. Chi Chi requested to have a big meal at her place for her friends and family in lieu of a rehearsal dinner, and Bulma had of course said she'd be there with bells on. Vegeta requested that he sit this one out, not that she thought he'd leap over the moon about it. After all, he did say yes to attending the wedding, and she wouldn't boggle him down further with any other social events. But, she determinedly thought, maybe he wouldn't mind her swinging by the loft afterwards. Perhaps he'd be willing to listen to her apology. One that he more than deserved.

"Thank you, Dad," she stood, embracing him in a hug. "I needed to hear that. I had no idea the kind of pressure I may have been putting on him. Or not trusting him enough to come to me when he's ready. "

"Whatever you did, I know you enough to know you did it because you care. And you're welcome honey. For repayment of my services, you can promise me that you won't make your old man wait too long on a wedding. I'll turn in my grave before I watch someone else drag you down the aisle."

"Oh ha ha, Dad," she let the hug go and watched him walk towards the stairs, "But of course. I could never thank you enough for always getting through this thick skull of mine."

"Well," he lit a cigarette and prepared to exit through the door leading upstairs, "Perhaps if you want to thank me now, I suppose there is something you could do."

She threw her hand in the air and crossed her fingers, placing it on her chest. "I promise I'll buckle down and help you finally finish the smart home this week. Scout's honor."

"I know that, but I was referring to something more immediate. I want you to go wash your face before you head off to Chi Chi's. You've got a nasty streak of paint taking place of your makeup. I need to be the only strangely dressed Briefs in this household." He flashed her a quick smile and wink and disappeared through the doors, leaving Bulma feeling a lot more relieved, and with a hell of an apology stained on her tongue.

oooOOOooo

Bulma realized she had never been to Chi Chi's house.

It was a lot different from what she had been expecting, although she didn't know why she imagined Chi Chi stuffing her family into a large home. Instead it was rather quaint; Bulma found the drive to be somewhat whimsical as drove down long winding roads, finally locating it tucked behind layers and layers of willow trees, far on the outskirts from the hustle and bustle of the city. Everything about the scenery, from the robust trees to the seclusion the nature provided was very much the tastes of her family oriented friend. Bulma pulled in front of the tiny, domed house and parked behind a row of cars on the narrow street and entered fashionably late.

The earthy colors that adorned the accents of the home were cozy with warmth, speaking volumes of a close knit family. Bulma became drawn to the various family photos that decorated the place, especially the stretched, goofy grin of Goku. She could almost hear his laughter leaping from the frames as he appeared just as much -if not more- fun as Gohan. If she didn't know him, she would swear he was, as Chi Chi liked to refer to him, a man child. Oddly enough, his naivety in the photos made her smile, as if he represented something pure about the world. His personality was infectious; she didn't even need to converse with him often to have his lively mannerisms rub off on her. She assumed that's how he must have been with everyone. Even Vegeta. He would speak of the man in clipped words and mocking tones, but underneath that façade, Bulma could hear an immense amount of respect for him. They were so opposite, he and Vegeta, and yet Bulma couldn't think of anyone better to complement Vegeta's sour attitude. Other than her, that was.

"Bulma!" Chi Chi pulled her from her thoughts as she noticed her stepping through the living room. She stood, walking gracefully to her, a delighted smile forming around her mouth. She looked so ethereally radiant with her hair pinned away from her face, a long ivory dress hugging her body. "You finally made it! I was worried you weren't going to come!"

Bulma flashed her an apologetic smile, extending her arms with a pot of her mother's spaghetti. She hoped her mother's marsala wine sauce could make up for her tardiness. "I'm sorry I'm late, Chi Chi. I got completely wrapped up in a painting. I'm pretty terrible these days. "

Chi Chi accepted the dish and shook her head, nodding back to the dinner table. "Now don't go beating yourself up, I'm just happy you came. You didn't miss much, really. We were just about to start serving dinner. It's a little tight because the guys brought dates, but I saved you a seat next to Krillin."

Ah, Krillin. She had met Krillin a handful of times through Yamcha, but had never gotten to know the man personally. Vegeta's talked about him, too, although it was never in the same spirit as her ex boyfriend. Bulma knows how he feels about the man's remarkable talent, despite his anxious personality. Although she was willing to bet that Vegeta's imposing presence had a lot to do with his stuttered words and practiced small talk. She entered the dining room and was immediately taken a bit aback, not expecting everyone to be so…so coupled.

Chi Chi showed her to her seat and Bulma got a good look at the guests around her, landing eyes on a nervous Yamcha. Seated next to him was a very attractive woman, although the way she was dressed was a little… obnoxious for a dinner party. Bulma could taste the expensive perfume that spilled from her skin, could practically see herself in the reflection of her midnight black hair. She looked bored, popping her gum tediously as if being here was a waste of her time. Yamcha had always said that he didn't like those sorts of women, the ones who could barely hold a conversation outside of their own aesthetics, but Bulma could trace the vanity tattooed on the woman's skin. She shifted focus immediately back over to Yamcha. He licked his lips as if he had been caught, as if Bulma had verbally reprimanded him on the mannerisms of his date. Something apologetic swam in his eyes and he flashed her a lopsided grin. Out of the spirit of newly attained friendships, she grinned back at him, although she hoped that her eyes successfully expressed her curiosities of the woman next to him.

"Everyone," Chi Chi announced, filling a glass with wine and passing it down the line to Bulma, "I'm sure most of you have already met her, but if not, the blue haired beauty down there is my good friend Bulma."

"Nice to see you again, Bulma." Krillin turned in his seat and handed her the wine glass, smiling at her as if they were lifetime friends. "Is Vegeta coming too? When I saw you walk in, I thought for sure he'd be with you, considering Chi Chi said we could bring our dates."

There was a clearing of the throat from the woman next to Krillin, who, according to Vegeta, was in the orchestra too, and apparently dating Krillin. Eighteen, he said her name ice in her eyes and the sharp aura that surrounded her never seemed welcoming enough for Bulma to initiate a conversation with her, but Vegeta raved about how she had a perfect ear for pitch changes and things of the like. Bulma respected her assertiveness as one of the few women in Vegeta's male dominated orchestra, and she respected how she didn't take Vegeta's shit. Bulma would have to stifle back her laughter as he would tell her what else Eighteen said for that day. Eighteens frost bitten blue eyes shifted from Krillin and across the table to Yamcha before settling on Bulma. Krillin laughed awkwardly and gulped down some of his wine, his cheeks turning the shade of apples. "Sorry guys, I didn't think properly. I just meant that-"

"It's okay, Krillin," Yamcha spoke up, his words affectionate with honey as he briefly glanced to Bulma, "If Bulma's happy, then so am I. No matter who she's dating. We're…better now. I dare even say a budding friendship. " Bulma may have been touched by the sincerity of his words, but if the sharpened dagger glare that his date tossed at Bulma had anything to say about it, the woman wasn't too thrilled. Bulma felt her throat closing up at the poison stare the woman gave her, but she swallowed it down with a sip of her wine, mentally chastising Yamcha for his choice in women.

"Well I'm certainly glad to hear that!" Goku was already filling his plate with various foods from the center spread, sporting his signature goofy grin as he looked at Bulma and Yamcha. "Maybe now you and Vegeta can make amends and you can come play with us again! It sure would be nice to have you back; it just isn't the same without ya."

"I'll have to agree on that too," A bald man that Bulma recognized as Tien spoke, someone Yamcha apparently rivaled with for first chair. Vegeta didn't have too much to say about Tien, but there was a sly smile that would spread across his face before he said simply: "Now him I like." Tien passed a dish to his blonde haired date and nodded down to Yamcha. "There's something missing from the cello section. We all can feel it. I don't know if it's because I don't have to show out because I don't have competition anymore, or you're missed because you're actually good."

Yamcha chuckled at Tien before slowly sliding his eyes to Bulma, his comical expression fading. He fumbled around with his fork and looked down to his plate. He seemed to chew over his words carefully, only speaking when he deemed them savory enough to say. "Well, I don't know about that. I doubt Vegeta will be as forgiving as the leading lady in his life. Although I won't lie, I really miss playing with you guys."

Something in the way he said that made Bulma's heart drop, as if Yamcha was pleading for her to talk to Vegeta. She knew how much Yamcha adored playing the cello, how even through his arrogance he had found his calling. How alive he felt when he played his parts right. The beam in his eyes after a successful concert. How he actually looked forward to rehearsals. She knew that the tantrum he threw was a result of their tornado of a break up, and a small jolt of guilt surged through her. If Yamcha was trying to be a better person, did he still have to be exempt of a second chance?

"Now boys, this isn't the time for work talk. It is the night before our wedding and all." Chi Chi scooped some potatoes onto her plate and suggestively looked to Bulma, indicating that she was rescuing her from the uncomfortable situation. She smiled at Chi Ch with gratitude and received a dish from Krillin, carefully looking back to Yamcha. She cleared her throat to grab his attention.

"You should talk with him, Yamcha. He's not all skulls and bones and nightmares. First and foremost, he respects and appreciates musicians, and a good one at that. The worst that can happen is that he'll say no, but I think it's worth a shot." Yamcha's face seemed to light up at her words, and he lifted one corner of his mouth to show his appreciation.

"Thank you, B." He let his gaze linger on her for a bit more, his eyes tossing around something familiar that she hadn't seen from him in a long time. Back when they first met and he told her he thought she was cool and wanted to be her friend. Hearing him use his nickname for her so casually actually felt refreshing, as if she was gaining that old friend back, before they gave into those feelings that arose some time later. This was the Yamcha she missed; the one with the dorky smile and the silly laugh. She passed the dish across the table and looked down to Chi Chi, who quickly mouthed her a thank you. Bulma nodded back before taking some more food from Krillin, preparing to immerse herself in the soft glow of the evening.

.

..

.

..

Goku insisted on a bon fire and urged everyone outiside, but Bulma found herself straggling behind, finishing her umpteenth glass of wine. The truth was she was having a splendid time; talking to the guys of the orchestra was far more entertaining than she would have imagined. Listening to their trips down memory lane of their embarrassing moments in rehearsal were fun, but it was their opinions and mockery of Vegeta's temper that made her side ache in laughter. She could imagine what it would have been like had he come with her, how his face would have turned several shades of red as he listened to the drunken men tease him. Or perhaps he would have enough spirit in him to trash talk back. She even learned that Krillin, in all his wariness of Vegeta, did a perfect impression of his screaming matches. That was the moment she learned that she was, indeed, very drunk, and the croak of laughter that spread around the table was infectious as she bathed in the warmth of the wine.

But inside, she really missed Vegeta. Hearing stories about him, listening to how much they admired his insane talent made her want to bundle the compliments in her mouth and kiss it to him later. Being around everyone with their respective dates did little to ease her slight. With the abundance of wine, and the occasion of a wedding, the guests found themselves becoming more affectionate. Even the cold exterior of Eighteen had begun to chip away as she held hands with Krillin under the blanket of stars. Bulma had managed to slip away back in the house, wanting nothing more to lay like that with Vegeta and bask in lovely atmosphere.

Instead of joining them, she found herself in the Son living room where Goku kept all of his instruments. Bulma was impressed; she thought Vegeta was the only one with an extensive collection. But Goku definitely gave him a run for his money with his variety of wind and wood instruments. What really drew her into the room was a grand classic piano, one that was worn and torn for wear around the pristine ivory keys. She sat down at the bench, the old wood creaking under her weight, and stretched her fingers across the keys, experimentally pressing down on one. She gulped down a larger portion of her wine as the croak of the piano sang in her ears, a hollow sound that left a bitter coating on her tongue. Remembering all of the times she'd watched Vegeta play, she changed routes and opted for the opposite keys on the piano instead, pressing it desperately. That was better. Something more light, more lively. "You want to sing me a song, don't you little keys?" She whispered to them as if they would reply, as if they would be honored to sing for her. She chuckled to herself and pressed down on it, the room alive with the sound of bells ringing from under her finger. "Very good, little one. I like the way you sound…umm… you're E, right?"

"Actually, you played E first. That one was A."

Bulma froze as the sound of the piano faded out into the creases in the wall, the voice behind her serenading her ears. She looked down to her wine glass, immediately blaming it for its hallucinating effects. There was no way that she was hearing his voice now. Did she miss him that much?

She turned around to the entrance of the living room, expecting to confirm that she was entirely too drunk. But standing there in a gray buttoned up, his hands shoved into his darker gray slacks, was Vegeta leaning against the doorframe. His face drank in the shadow of the room, and Bulma realized that she hadn't bothered to turn the lights on. It made the angles of his jawline stand out, the sharp lines of his eyes more defined. He stared at her intensely, although Bulma couldn't see the message behind his handsome face.

"Vegeta," she swallowed, wondering if he would finally yell at her about prying into his life, or worse, confirming the anxieties she drowned in only hours earlier. She tried to hold on to her father's words, but his wisdom was covered by the haze of her buzz. "What are you doing here?"

He took a deep breath and leaned off of the wall, taking a few steps into the room. "I received a phone call from Kakarot. Said something about you being here dateless and he thought you might be sad about it. You could have told me you needed me to come."

Bulma glanced to the carpet at his feet, wondering if it would've been that simple to have gotten him to come in the first place. "I honestly didn't think you'd want to go to this." She wiped her palms against the fabric of her dress and looked back to him, feeling her words grow heavy in her throat under the influence of wine. "Or that you'd even want to see me."

Vegeta raised an eyebrow towards her, narrowing his eyes as he studied her for a moment. He grunted and walked towards her, his eyes penetrating her own. She turned fully in her seat, preparing herself for the chastising she was sure she deserved. He stood in front of her and Bulma inhaled the scent of his woodsy cologne. She tried to swallow down the desire to just have him, especially with her current condition. But he was so handsome, so beautiful. She could never grow tired of looking at him, could never grow tired of being in his presence. She willed herself to focus back on the matter at hand, telling her body that now wasn't the time to be thinking of such things. Remembering of why they were here in the first place, she swallowed. A boulder pressed down in her throat, and her eyes began to sting.

"I'm…I'm sorry, Vegeta." She cursed the wine for making a tear slip from her eye and fall delicately to her cheek. Now that the tears had permission, another one fell. And another. "I….I shouldn't have pried. I-I just..I j-just can't stand to s-see you so h-hurt-" She hadn't planned on sobbing, hadn't planned on getting too emotional. That damn wine and her damn emotions, taking over her when she wanted to be more level headed.

"Bulma." Vegeta knelt down to her, just as her father had done earlier, and brushed his thumb against her cheek. He gently removed her tears from her face, touching her so tenderly it made her heart break. He touched her like he didn't want to break her. As if she was fragile. As if she were something precious. He placed his hand under her chin and locked eyes with her, looking more sincere than she'd ever seen him. "You have nothing…absolutely nothing… to apologize for."

Bulma sniffled and widened her eyes, completely thrown back by his words. "W-what? You're not mad?"

Vegeta took a long breath and looked away for a moment. "Being honest with you, yes. At first. But not because you went snooping again. Because you found out things that I wasn't comfortable telling you in detail yet. I…I wasn't ready to have that conversation with you. With anyone." He looked slowly back to her before adding, "And I don't know if I'm fully ready yet."

God, was she ever grateful to have had that conversation with her father earlier. She nodded her head in his hand, flashing him the most genuine smile she could muster. "It's okay, Vegeta. You don't have to if you're not ready. If you want to tell me about it, do it on your own terms."

She watched his throat bob as he swallowed roughly, his expression shifting to one that mirrored her own. He closed his eyes and she could pull the thoughts that ran across his face if she wanted to. "I realize that I don't deal with things in the way that…I should….I understand that I need to work on running away. It wasn't….It wasn't you exactly that I was running away from."

He looked so uncomfortable, as if his real words were stuck in the spaces of his teeth and causing him pain. Bulma knew what he was getting at. He was trying so hard to say it, but she imagined that for someone like Vegeta - someone who spent a lifetime dealing with this nightmare in the best way he could- it must be difficult. She grabbed his face with her hands, cupping each side of his cheeks gently and bringing his lips to hers. She kissed him with as much affectionate as her mouth would allow before pulling back and smiling at him. "It's okay, Vegeta. I'm not mad, I just… I just don't want to be away from you anymore." And she meant it. She didn't need his apology. Didn't want it. The only thing she wanted from him….was him.

He reached up and grabbed her wrist, stroking it gently before moving her hand away and standing. She moved back towards the piano and pet the seat next to her, indicating for him to sit. He stared at her as he lowered his body, his eyes saying far more than she knew he vocally would. He was sorry. He missed her. He wanted more with her. He wanted this with her. And most importantly, like her father had said:

He loved her. Undoubtedly.

"I want you to know that I may have found a solution to Frieza," he grabbed her hand and placed her fingers to the keys, his own hand on top of hers. He pressed several keys simultaneously, producing a beautiful sound that danced through Bulma's ears. Her chest took off in flight and she gasped, a hopeful relief warming her bones.

"Really? What is it? How is it?"

He looked down to their fingers as he continued playing chords, soon forming a fluid melody. "I don't know all of the details yet, but I'm supposed to meet with some people at the wedding tomorrow. I'll know then."

"Vegeta," Bulma blew out a worried breath, "There won't be any issues, right? Not at Goku and Chi Chi's wedding."

He shook his head and stood slightly, wrapping his leg on the other side of her body. She leaned backwards against his chest as he grabbed her other hand, using their fingers to add more depth to the progression of notes. "It isn't bad. I'll just be listening to some information. Other than Nappa, I don't know who I'm meeting yet. I only know that they have important knowledge that could very well help me out."

She relaxed further into his embrace and let him continue their playing, a soft and slow melody enveloping their bodies. Bulma hoped that he would remember the keys so that he could write it down. So that he could play it later. So that she could paint to it. So that she could always say this was their song. "Okay," she eased into the comfort of his words, feeling the grogginess of the wine begin to weigh her down, "Just whatever you do, be careful, alright?"

She felt him lean his chin against the side of her neck and nod, and a smile spread across her face. She closed her eyes and began to hum along with the melody, feeling herself begin to drift away in the warmth of his embrace. She could live like this forever. Live this moment forever.

"Vegeta," she said with a yawn, wiggling her head to move a blue curl from her top lip, "I love you. And I hope you know I always and only want the best for you."

The music continued on, providing a lullaby for Bulma as she sighed happily. Vegeta's deep, velvety voice echoed through her ears as he hummed along. She was further away now, floating along the smooth currents of his spell. Everything's going to be okay.

"I know you do," he responded after a while, nuzzling his lips to the bottom of her ear, "And I hope you know it is mutual."

oooOOOooo

A/N

Thank you guys for still sticking around for this story! You guys are the absolute best, I love you all so much! In fact, that leads me to my great news: Concerto, along with my other short story Saiyan Cells, has been nominated for *two* categories for The Prince and The Heiress 2017 awards! *cues balloons and trumpets*. To whomever nominated me, thank you ,thank you, THANK YOU! Concerto and Saiyan Cells (which I totally was NOT expecting, especially since it's such a short story) have both been nominated for Best of The Undiscovered, and Concerto was nominated for Best Slow Burn as well. Now I won't tell you who or what to vote for (because geeze, there are some *amazing* stories in the categories I'm in. And I STRONGLY recommend you guys check out the ongoing fic Places That We Knew by wbss21 over on Ao3.) But if you'd like to vote for me or any of the other talented writers, head on over to Tumblr to The Prince and The Heiress page and click on their voting link! It ends really soon so you'll have to hurry!

Also to those of you who have told me how much you love Nappa in this story, you'll get plenty of him next chapter. I've found that I really enjoy writing Nappa.

Again thank you guys so much, I read every comment, and although I'm terrible at responding, I really appreciate each and every one, and I also am very moved by them. Thank you guys! I'll try not to take so long next time lol. With that being said, if you enjoyed the chapter please leave a review! Till next time everyone!