Concerto Twenty-Four: Hope and Hell

oooOOOooo

Not even the loud thunder of Kakarot's bass could drown out Vegeta's thoughts.

The smooth rhythmic chords that jumped from Kakarot's strings blanketed the room with a velvety love letter, the other instruments swooning along in quiet accompaniment. Vegeta now knew this piece as much as he knew he needed air to breathe, so his brain and hands going on auto pilot was so frighteningly natural that when he slammed back into reality, he was surprised to discover that he had not missed a beat. One. Two. Three. Four. From the corner of his eye he caught the steady flow of his baton in perfect synchronization with the bass's hearty notes, but his mind was currently experiencing a glitch.

Pregnant.

I'm going to be a father.

.Shit.

He immediately felt bad. Bad that he was bathing in anxiety that he was having a child. A child with Bulma, of all people, the diamond in his rough existence. It was perfect, for all intents and purposes, that he was able to tie the final bow on this theme park that he called his love life. He had meant what he proposed, even if the words came out jumbly and unsteady. He wanted to marry Bulma, wanted to have a life with her, to live in a Monday through Sunday haze of bliss until his teeth decayed from it all. And yes, despite the surge of a tornado that existed inside of him at the moment, he wanted to have a child with her. A child with eyes as bright as its mother, with a soul as passionate and kind as her too. And maybe with his musical chops, for safe measure.

But what kind of father would he be?

On both sides of the spectrum, Vegeta hadn't exactly been shown the proper way to parent a child. His mother had protected them, loved them, did her best to make sure they had some sort of normalcy. But her complacent marriage to his less than spectacular father didn't really do any of them any good. And don't get Vegeta started on the train wreck of a relationship that his father had passed down to his sons. He could write an entire musical on that catastrophe. But then again….what if in eighteen or so years, his own child would say the same about him?

No, he thought defiantly as he methodically turned the page of the piece, glancing down to awaken the chirping violins, immediately providing an extreme contrast to Kakarot's threatening presence. He would never repeat history like that. Never curse his child with his own shortcomings, despite how easy that trap would be to fall into. Bulma wouldn't let him, and he sure as shit wouldn't be proud of himself if he stooped that low. What churned the insides of his belly around was that he was still learning to love, and in his mind, had barely met the minimum requirements when it came to loving Bulma fully. But she was able to be patient with him, help him realize the areas he struggled with so that he could emerge a new, more pristine version of himself. A baby- an innocent and fragile human life force- would depend on him to rarely slack, for its own survival. No words to right his wrongs, no discussions on how their domestic situation could improve. And that thought alone scared Vegeta shitless.

The violins tried their damndest to soothe his worries as the musicians slurred their bows across the strings, resin dust sprinkling lightly in the air around them. It was beautiful, like a painting of dusk before dawn, and Vegeta could compliment them on their proficiency and accuracy in hitting those high octave notes, but even the song of angels couldn't destroy his inner demons. He couldn't even properly figure out a way to dispose of Frieza outside of putting his trust into Nappa, and here he was suddenly finding himself responsible for a human life.

Which brought him to the most gut sinking conclusion he couldn't stop thinking about: Bringing a child into a sinful world brought on by his own tragedies. By the ghost of his father's sins, and probably the ones before that. How…How could he rise to that sort of challenge?

Bulma wasn't aware to his uneasiness, he thought with a tongue covered in guilt as he gestured towards the cellists to liven up the heart of the orchestra. Not that he was lying to her; once again a child with her wasn't even close to something he would label as rotten . And in no way would he have her thinking he was less than thrilled, even if he wanted to crumple into a pile of anxiety as soon as the words left her pretty little lips. He refused to jeopardize the one (and now two) good thing(s) in his life so far. She should be in bliss, not worrying about if the father of her child was as ecstatic as she was.

But the truth was that if Vegeta truly had his way, he thought with acidity at his own selfishness, he would have asked them to wait. At least until he was one hundred percent guaranteed that the curse of the N'Ouija bloodline was buried below their feet where their stomachs couldn't fall. He would never say that, but gods he wanted to. He just needed time. That fleeting, unfair yet justified thing called time.

But time did not need him, nor would it wait for him. In nine months, a new creation of life would emerge from Bulma, a testament to their rose bud of a relationship. At the thought of it, since the first time they had started rehearsing the piece, Vegeta made a mistake in his conducting, throwing off the steady beat of the silent metronome. Irritated at his wandering mind, he circled his fists and commanded that everyone cease their playing, an abrupt end to the parade of his score that immediately regurgitated silence. They stared at him in utter confusion, knowing just as well as he that there was no real reason for them to end.

He sighed, chewing the inside of his jaw while pinching the bridge of his nose. He needed to get it together. It had been two weeks since Bulma had dropped the news on him and yet he still marched around like a child who was unable to adapt to change. Tomorrow he would play what would probably be the most important concert of his career so far, and here he was being a baby about…well… having a baby.

"I'm sorry," he found himself saying without thinking, because he would never offer an apology for restarting a piece to perfection, "I know that was a premature ending but I lost focus for a second. Let's pick up on the second page right after the bass's solo. Excellent work by the way, Kakarot." He closed his lips as if he just spilled a secret, his eyes darting across the orchestra in hopes that they weren't paying attention to him to hear what he said. Did he just….did he just throw out a compliment? To Kakarot?

He blamed Bulma's influence and his troubled thoughts.

The tall bass player did not comply with Vegeta's wishes, because stretched across a goofy face was the birthing of a grin, toothy and knowing and excited. "Wow, thanks Vegeta! I've been practicing real hard, especially with Chi Chi not being around as much to bother me about playing too loud. And she finally agreed to put Gohan into daycare so it's just me during the day on the weekends-"

Oh. Good. God.

"Kakarot," he breathed out a sigh, much too mentally exhausted to think of colorful insults, "Whatever is going on in your private life, believe me when I say this: I. Don't. Care." (Aaaand he was back.) Kakarot's face fell slightly, but covered it up with a curved smile. Vegeta grunted. Kakaraot smiled harder.

"Aww it's okay, Vegeta. I know you've got your own personal life to worry about. Hey, congratulations by the way!"

Whispers (because of fucking course there were whispers) scattered among the adults like gnats at dusk, each of them wondering about what this extended congratulations could mean. Vegeta wanted to disappear, but for his own curiousity, his eyes slid down to the viola section towards the newly inducted Yamcha. Did he know? Would he throw another tantrum if he did, despite their verbal contract? Leave it to Bulma to gossip with Kakarot's wife, but did that mean that Kakarot blabbered to his friends too?

Judging from the poorly masked look of hurt the scraggly haired man sported, the answer appeared to be yes. But then Yamcha looked at him and threw him an innocent smile, nodding his head as if he were saying it was okay. Hmph, like Vegeta needed his approval. He fought the urge to turn his nose up at him, let him know that just because he let the dog inside of the house did not mean it had permission to eat from his bowl. But still…at least that was one headache he could avoid.

He coughed and straightened his back, preparing again to continue off where he prompted them to start over. Choosing to answer Kakarot's question would only be feeding the hungry at this point, and Vegeta preferred his artists to be starving. "I'd like to go back to the violin solo, if not to stroke my own ego. I'm quite pleased with how you all played through that part, it was a visual painting indeed."

Oh fucking crap. What the hell did Bulma put in his eggs this morning, humility?

"Wow," Eighteen folded her arms against her chest, "If I wasn't around to see this moment I swear I'd never believe it. Count Dracula himself shows us he's human."

"Watch it," he barked and meant it, "Just because I'm having an off day doesn't mean I'll entertain anything." Eighteen tossed him a smile as if she were about to challenge him on that, but her lips remained tightly sealed.

"Hey, Vegeta?" Tien grabbed onto his chin, intensely looking down at his sheet of music. "So I don't mean to dance on your toes or anything, but during the last play-through I came up with an idea. Care if I run it by you?"

Vegeta took a deep breath, not even wanting to look at Tien. It was a good thing that he was so focused on whatever the hell was going down at his stand, because Vegeta's intense gaze would've burned the bald man alive. "I don't recall this being an orchestra of democracy, Tien."

"Right, right, but didn't you give Goku a chance before?" This time he looked up to Vegeta, one eyebrow raised in a bow of curiosity as his eyes sparkled with mischief. "And that seemed to work for you. Consider me his second coming."

Fucking great. Give one baboon a banana and here comes the whole barrel. He grit his teeth but for some reason (and not because Kakarot had actually impressed him before, certainly not) , had the following to say to him: "Entertain me. But if you disappoint, I demand you remain silent for the entire rehearsal, understood?"

Tien flashed him a cocky smile, propping his viola under his chin. "Yeah, whatever you say. Can you violinists pick up where Vegeta told us to start from? And Goku, can you pluck you're G string during that part? I know you break there, but think of it like a heartbeat, alright? Like bum-bum, bum-bum, bum-bum-bum?"

"Like this?" Kakarot mimicked, plucking along to Tien's improved staccato.

"Yes, perfect! Alright violins, let's hear your siren song!" Tien, whether Vegeta wanted to admit it or not, sure knew how to direct. Almost an instant after the words left his mouth, the violins began their music, the colorful painting forming to life in Vegeta's mind again. There was something extra and unexpected there this time, like finding a cherry at the bottom of a milkshake, as Kakarot's plucking gave the almost sugary notes depth. And just when Vegeta was about to ask Tien what the hell his point was, the man began to play a melancholy tune, one that wrapped around the violinists like a tight ribbon.

It almost knocked him back, at how Tien had made the piece that much more evoking. What was something light and pretty became something sad and reaching. Like a voice crying out through the dark, wailing and begging and extending its hand for relief. Help me! It sang, the fingers of its pleas beginning to wrap around Vegeta's neck until he struggled to breathe. Help me find the way! What can I do? Tien's eyes were closed, completely in a trance as he played without the aid of a written note, speaking without the aid of words. Something loud and something silent. Something dying and something awakening. The yin and the yang of a voice that Vegeta was starting to believe belonged to him.

It was the most beautiful thing he'd ever heard in his life.

Like a madman, completely zoned out in his own musical madness, he began to scribble down the notes Tien serenaded him with above the ones he had already printed. It was perfect…too perfect. Why didn't he think of it? What kind of things had Tien gone through that made him create that? Was that…was that what Bulma saw in him?

….Would his own child see that in him too?

Would his child consider his father a genius? Would he or she look to Vegeta like a stubborn mule, only to find out his raw emotions lay at the podium? Would they count him a failure, wondering what their mother saw in him in the first place? Would they be patient with him? Would they forgive him of his own shortcomings? Would they…would they hate him for bringing them into a world full of chaos and calamity?

Would he ever stop hating himself if he repeated the sins of his past?

By the time Vegeta looked up from his sheet, his eyes were misty and his heart sank to his feet. The faces of his orchestra were drawn to Tien, looking into his soul to understand his cries. Tien deserved every bit of that first chair, damnit. He deserved to be a member of his orchestra, deserved to kiss these notes to life, deserved to have Vegeta make this change in his piece. Because what Tien didn't know was that while he was asking questions through his notes, Vegeta found his answers in them. And that's when Vegeta understood what was really being said. What was really adding to the piece.

It wasn't a conflict of light and darkness.

It was hope.

The hope that he needed.

The hope that even with the dismal tune of Tien's viola, the bright sun of the violin strings still carried him in the background. The heartbeat of Kakarot's bass thumped along, showing no signs of stopping, showing no indication that he would beat less until his mighty drum became silent. That somewhere in the middle of all of this pain and confusion existed a calm of tomorrow. Of a new sun. Yesterday's sins did not have to write tomorrow's tragedies.

….Goddamn Tien.

Tien dragged out one final note and held it with a subtle vibrato, his bow sliding gracefully from his strings until only silence remained. "So," he opened his eyes, a confident smile on his face, "What'd you think? Wait….why do you look so serious?"

Vegeta cleared his throat, composing himself in a way that concealed his internal truths from them. He rolled his sleeves to his elbow, glancing down to his scribbled piece on his conductor's stand. "It….It will suffice." Tien deserved more of a compliment than that, but Vegeta was touched. He didn't need to go too far in his good mannerisms.

"Whoa Tien!" Kakarot, the buffoon, barely held himself together by his bass, clearly going to express what Vegeta could not. "That was amazing! For you to have thought of that on the fly is really something! Please tell me you're going to use that, Vegeta. It'd be a shame to let that go to waste!"

"Yes, Mr. N'Ouija, I believe that was a fine piece indeed." An unfamiliar voice carried from behind him, sounding like it was intertwined with bells and whistles. Vegeta turned around as the door shut rather softly, a tall lanky man walking towards them with his hands folded behind his back. He removed his sunglasses and smiled at Vegeta, glancing at each and every member of the orchestra until he landed back on Vegeta. "I already thought it was good, but my, it certainly evolved."

There was an air of respect that surrounded the man, from the tip of his pompadour to the shine of his black slacks, and Vegeta found himself prematurely admiring him without context. But still, who the hell was this guy and, more importantly, how did he get in here without anyone hearing him?

"Oh! Allow me to introduce myself, you've certainly got a face kissed by expression, Mr. N'Ouija, you look completely baffled by my presence." He bowed delicately at the center as if he were some angelic being sent by the gods. "My name is Whis, and I come to all of you fine people from the good artistes of Broadway."

"I knew it!" Chiaotzu whispered, although Vegeta could hear him clearly.

"Pardon my intrusion, but I just had to sneak a peek at this grand concert you're having tomorrow. And I must say, I am not disappointed." Whis spoke with such high regard that it made the members smile in a way that Vegeta hadn't seen before.

"I appreciate the compliment, Whis. My orchestra works very hard."

"My, my!" Whis threw his head back and laughed, his sharp shoulders bouncing up and down. "Your reputation certainly rings true. I've been told you are all business and more business. Such a polished and pristine answer. It's amazing you wrote that piece as emotionally open as you did."

Vegeta wasn't sure if he should've been insulted or complimented, but he did know that today was a day he was losing his goddamned mind because he said: "My first chair violist, Tien, actually helped with that part. What you heard was an improved addition." He wanted to swallow it down, but decided to follow it up with: "One that will be permanently added."

"I see, how impressive of you, Tien." Whis's eyes drifted to the bald man's seat, who now sported a crimson blush across his cheeks in embarrassment. "It's quite the compliment to not have the conductor take all of the credit. It says a lot of how he feels about you all." Whis clasped his hands together as Vegeta stared down to his feet, unable to look at them while Whis painted the air in unspoken compliments. "This certainly changes things, that's for sure."

"Changes what?" Vegeta looked up in confusion, but was met with a chuckle bouncing off of Whis's back.

"No, no, much too soon for that. Let's just say I came here for one thing but it seems that just won't do. Your concert tomorrow night will confirm or deny my suspicions, but I can tell you that this was certainly worth the trip." Whis walked to the door, his loafers clacking across the floor with every light step. He was as whimsical as they came, his entrance both short and weighted with things Vegeta knew he'd have to wait to find out. Before opening the door, he tossed his chin over his shoulder, looking at them all from the corner of his eye.

"There's something quite endearing about an orchestra that is willing to trust each other. Keeps things from getting too stuffy, too thought out. Our thoughts…they have the tendency to hold us back from living our truths. It's refreshing to see that your conductor allows open forums to improve a piece. I'm quite looking forward to your concert tomorrow." With that, Whis exited the building, floating out like a spirit sent to help instead of destroy. And that unknown advice got his brain ticking, putting together all of the pieces in this intricate puzzle.

He was going to be father. And he was going to be a better father than his own was.

Or…at least he hoped so.

He was going to wait on Nappa like he was instructed and like Bulma advised. And the plan that they concocted was going to work.

Or…at least he hoped so.

….They were going to be alright. Everything was going to be alright.

…..He hoped so.

oooOOOooo

The multi colored stained glass windows of the galleria painted Vegeta's skin in shades of blues and reds and greens. It would've taken the focal point inside of the spacious building had Bulma's paintings not aligned the walls as a pleasant distraction.

"A little more to the left," she said behind him as he complied with her wishes, scooting the ladder to the left with his bottom weight. He held the painting up to where he thought she was talking about and turned to look at her. Her electric face beamed with satisfaction as she clasped her hands together. "Perfect, Vegeta! If you weren't a musician I'd have to paint you as an architect!" She rubbed her belly and beamed as she looked down, something she was growing more comfortable with doing since she had announced it to him. "Isn't that right, baby? Daddy sure has a good eye for things. After all, look who he picked to be your mommy."

"Hmph," he stepped down from the ladder and joined her at her side, taking a good look at his work. It was the last painting to hang in time for her galleria opening the next evening, which unfairly took place at the same time as his concert. "You're coddling them already, don't you think?"

"Mom told me she talked to me all the time when she was pregnant with me." She leaned against his arm and took a deep breath, probably getting a good whiff of cologne and sweat. "She said it helps to talk to your baby. Makes them grow up nice and smart."

"And probably a chatterbox," he wrapped an arm around her, enjoying the soft warmth that radiated from her these days. "They'll certainly get all of those traits from you, indeed."

At that she lightly elbowed him in the side. "Well with my luck the baby will be just as moody as you. Moody and talented and grumpy. I can't wait." She chuckled and wrapped her arms around his middle as they both looked at her painting. Vegeta remembered the night she painted this. It was one of those thunderstorms that cursed the day until the sky bled blue and purple, and now the night carried a soft lull of after rain. They had sat on the patio of his then apartment, drinking beers and listening to some of Vegeta's jazz vinyls. She couldn't tear her eyes off of him, he realized. He had finally understood that look she sported when she was struck by an artistic muse, and she had it on her face as she looked at him. It didn't take her long to paint out a boy stepping on water, the sky mimicking the rainy one above them, his glowing cheeks stuffing bright orbs into his mouth. Vegeta was the first to admit he didn't understand completely why this boy looked so much like him, nor what he was eating. Bulma had stopped mid brush stroke, her cheeks tinted pink, and simply said:

"You look like you once swallowed stars for a living."

He didn't get it. But he was still touched.

So this painting, "The Boy Who Swallowed Stars," had become one of his favorites, for he felt it to be as complex and mysterious as himself. Bulma seemed to squeeze him a bit tighter, making him look down to her. Those eyes of hers, those pools that Vegeta felt like he could drown in, held him in a gaze that he had trouble breaking away from. He hoped to the gods that their child had her eyes. Those eyes would show the world its own flaws, he was sure of it.

"Bulma," he looked back to the wall, "Do you have to sell that one?"

She followed his stare, smiling. "Are you embarrassed? Worried it looks too much like you and people will think you're something from a children's movie?"

"No," he huffed, rolling his eyes at her lame joke, "It's just that….I think it would be fitting to place that in a nursery above a crib. It's very soothing to look at."

Bulma leaned away from him, and he didn't have to look down to know that she was smiling prettily at him. "Wow, this is the first time I've heard you really talk about plans for the baby. Unless I bring it up, you don't at all. I was beginning to worry that you…" she trailed off, a guilty look spreading over her eyes until it reached the plumpness of her lips.

"That I what?" He guessed that perhaps he wasn't doing a great job like he thought of keeping her in the dark about his feelings.

"…That you regretted having a baby with me? I know that with everything going on it isn't exactly the right time, but I don't know. It just seems so…perfect. Motherhood wasn't exactly something I'd thought about, not even when I hang around Chi Chi and Gohan, but having your baby…well it would make me sick to think you didn't feel the same way."

It was in that moment that it all came crashing down for Vegeta.

Bulma was everything that the universe owed him. For every tear, for every sleepless night, for every argument with his father (and later himself) about his life. For all the wrongs, she was the rights. And how could he think for one second that this didn't make sense? How could he think that he wouldn't, couldn't protect his family? For the first time in such a long time, Vegeta felt confident. Confident as he pulled her back closer to him, and confident that fuck Frieza because he would keep them all safe.

"I can't promise I'll be perfect," he said in almost a whisper, his breaths spilling over the top of her head. "But I…do want this. That might require patience with me as I figure out how to even become a father, but I won't let these 'threats' stand in our way."

"Thank you for telling me that. Now I know for sure." She unhooked him then, walking to the wall to grab her painting and handing it over to him. "I agree with you, this would go perfect over a baby's crib. That way he can always watch his daddy swallow stars."

"I still don't get it."

"You don't have to," she chuckled, "That's between me and this bean inside of my belly to get. We can make fun of you on Saturday mornings about it while you cook us pancakes."

"Hmph, who said I was making pancakes?"

"I did. And a happy wife makes a happy life, right? Well I just so happen to be very happy when you make me pancakes. And baby too." She rubbed her belly again and Vegeta decided he could watch her like that forever. Or at least for nine months.

"What will you put there instead for people to buy?" The wall seemed empty now without this one in its place, like a hole begging to be filled. "This is all of your available paintings, correct?"

She shrugged her shoulders, already turning her back to worrying about it. She sure was admirable in that regard. Vegeta, ever the perfectionist, could not rest until everything was pristine and tidy. But Bulma looked like it was no big deal. "I'll figure it out. Maybe I'll stand here all night and no one will notice there's a huge space missing. Or, even better, I'll find a nice mister to take me home since my own beloved will be across town at his concert. I'm sad I'll miss the first part."

"If any man even looks like he wants to take you home you'd better start prepping for his funeral. And you'll still get to see the second half. I hope you're not upset that I won't be able to make your grand opening."

She shook her head and looked like she meant it, her curls bouncing around her face. "One of my favorite parts of this relationship is that you get to have your dreams while I have mine and neither of us make each other feel upset about it. Lucky kid, having two supportive parents like that. Yamcha and I would've driven them nuts."

"With his scatterbrains, the child would probably be just as goofy. And goofy looking too."

"Hey play nice," her face grew serious for a moment before lightening completely, "I know you'll do great. From what you told me about that Whis guy, he seems to be pretty impressed with you. I know that he'll hire you on and then I can say that I'm the future wife of a Broadway musician. Frieza is going to be rotting in a cell wishing that he hadn't tried to screw you over."

It amazed him that since he had decided to collaborate with her and Nappa on these plans of how optimistic she became. Everything was centered around things going smoothly, as if failure wasn't at all an option. He wasn't sure if it was her pregnancy or her good nature, but either way it helped keep him afloat so he appreciated it. He let that appreciation show as he gathered her in for another hug, pressing his lips down to hers. Vegeta N'Oujia, musician and family man. Who would've thought?

"Everything's going to be just fine, Vegeta," she smiled at him when he pulled his face apart from hers, "And I can't wait to be on the other side of it with you."

There was so much truth to her words then that it gave him more of a backbone. And as he captured her lips again, he could only think:

"I sure hope so."

oooOOOooo

"Did anyone happen to see if Whis was watching us out there?"

Krillin loosened his tie a bit from his neck, taking a deep breath when he was allowed the extra breathing room. Vegeta glanced over at him for his question, ready to bark out that Whis being at this concert should be the least of his concerns. They had made it through the first half just fine, but the second half -with Tien's newly added viola section- was still to come. Considering that they had less than twenty-four hours to rehearse it to Vegeta's standards and well, he wasn't exactly colored in confidence.

"It was too hard to tell, man," Yamcha accepted a water bottle from Kakarot and chugged it, "It's so dark out there when those bright lights are all in our faces."

"You guys remember yesterday, right?" Kakarot laughed as he threw his own water bottle back, finishing it entirely in a matter of gulps. "He sounded so excited! I'm certain he's out there cheering us on!"

"I hope so," Krillin completed the trifecta by screwing the cap off of a bottle and taking a sip, "This is the best concert we've played so far and it'd be a shame if he didn't catch all of it. Guess I'm just really nervous. But you seem really put together, Vegeta. You must be the most confident of all of us."

They all turned to him then as he leaned against the back wall, his face scowling in reply. Not that he would ever admit it, but inside Vegeta was anything expect for confident. After all, unbeknownst to everyone in attendance, this night carried a lot more than job offers and big city dreams.

Somewhere out there in the audience with a stupid grin on his ugly face, sat Frieza.

He was probably sleeping in the shadows so that maybe Vegeta would think he didn't show at all. Unlike Krillin and the others, Vegeta had peered into the audience several times when he could, stealing a glance over the heads of men, women and children. He thought he noticed Whis somewhere out there, but he could neither confirm nor deny it, not bothering to care since Whis wasn't the one with a price over his head. But no one out there even looked like Frieza, making Vegeta wonder when he was going to bother to show up and collect his dues.

"Speaking of Vegeta, isn't Bulma coming tonight?" Yamcha's face did not appear as cool and collected as his tone, his features squinting as soon her name rolled off of his lips. "I saw her a few days ago and she said she would see us tonight after her gallery opening. Can't imagine her missing it."

Vegeta was thiiiis close to telling Yamcha to mind his own fucking business, but at the mention of it he realized Bulma was late. Afterall, she had told him this morning before she kissed him goodbye that she would be waiting in the backroom during intermission. It was possible that the gallery went on further than expected -unsurprising, of course, given her talent and texts of buyers all afternoon- but she would've (and could've) called. Not that he had any room to talk, though. It wasn't as if he was at her opening with bells on.

"I'm sure she's coming," Kakarot stretched that dumb grin of his that made Vegeta gag, "There's no way she wouldn't be here for Vegeta! 'Specially with everything on the line!"

Kakarot might have been a dolt, but he was right, and for more reasons than he could begin to think. Bulma was aware of what Nappa instructed everyone to do (Go on about the night as if it's just a regular night. Don't draw any attention to yourselves, but lure Frieza to the alley. Stall from there, I'll take care of the rest) and knew there was no way that she would leave him hanging. He pulled his phone from his pocket and checked for his signal, frowning when he realized he had full strength. No missed calls, and no text messages since thirty minutes into the concert telling him that she sold a piece for five hundred dollars. He'd give her a little while longer, but his fingers itched to call her and at least find out her eta.

"Are you excited for this next half, Tien?" Krillin took a seat on one of the chairs that littered the cramped hallway, "I bet people are going to tear up when they hear your revision."

"You think so?" Tien scratched his head, glancing temporarily at Vegeta before focusing back on Krillin. "It was just something swimming around in my head, I never thought it would have hit it off with you guys like that."

"Vegeta was surely affected," Krillin tried to whisper, although extremely unsuccessful at it, "It looked like he was going to cry right then and there. Eighteen did a perfect impression of it later on, I'd never laughed so hard in my life."

"I heard that!" Vegeta balled his fists, irritated that the nerve-pressing Eighteen was rubbing off on her short boyfriend. Krillin covered his mouth like a toddler who had just let out a curse word while Tien snorted a chuckle. They had better have been glad that they were so damned talented, because their mouths surely called for his foot up their asses.

"Well thanks, Krillin. I really appreciate it. I hope you're right, maybe Whis will hire me directly!" He laughed at his severely unfunny joke, but honestly Vegeta wouldn't have been surprised if he did offer Tien some sort of deal. The man was first chair and was about to pull the audience in with his performance, so it wasn't exactly impossible. But once again, whether or not Tien got some fancy schmancy title was none of his concern. Frieza, however, was.

In that moment, his cellphone rang, Bulma's infectious glimmer in her eyes lighting up his screen. He smiled then, prepared to give her a little hell for being late, but also excited to hear how her evening went. After all, like she had said the day prior, it was one of the perks of their relationship. The fact that they both allowed each other the creative room to flourish meant that she had blossomed from a basement painter to a brag worthy artist in her own right.

He walked to the empty end of the hallway and accepted the call, not even bothering to wait for her to say hello. "If you miss the second half, I know how you can make it up to me later. It's still early on for you so we might as well have all the fun we can." He smiled deviously on his end, waiting to hear whatever slick rebuttal would fall from her vulgar lips.

Instead, he was met with silence.

The static of the phone was like a mosquito in his ear, taunting him instead of her voice. Her name was about to roll off of his tongue, some clever, naughty reply about to follow suit, when a shrill laugh knocked on the door to his eardrum. It made his blood run cold, his feet instantly freezing in place.

"Well, well, Vegeta! I had no idea you were such a dirty man. Please, won't you continue on what you have planned for her?"

Vegeta's tongue dried up, the saliva in his mouth easily being replaced by cotton balls. If he would've only remembered to breathe, he might've been able to follow up with a reply or something. But everything in his world turned to grey, and Vegeta thought in that moment that he had died.

Bulma…Bulma no!

"Oh-ho! Cat your tongue, my sweet Vegeta? I think it's very rude to ignore a request from me, wouldn't you agree?" Laughter again except this time it was more menacing, more throaty and less gleeful. Vegeta licked his lips and tried to find his voice, blocking out any background noise until it became white.

"Fr…Frieza…" Just saying his name made him feel like his life was flashing before his eyes, like his soul had been sucked out by the devil himself. "What did you do to her? Where is she!? Where is Bulma!?"

"Oh my! I never thought a N'Ouija could actually love something so much!" Frieza said the word as if it absolutely disgusted him, as if the mere concept was some vile sin. "It makes for quite the little number in my stage play, don't you think?"

"You'd better not hurt her, Frieza! So help me gods, if even one hair on her head is touched—"

"You'll what?" Frieza's tone fell flat, more threats and challenges laced in those two words than Vegeta had ever heard in his entire life. "Watch it Vegeta or I will. Ask your father, I don't take kindly to being threatened."

Vegeta swallowed, trying to compose himself so that he didn't compromise Bulma. Please be okay, Bulma!

"Don't worry, I haven't touched her. And whether or not I do all depends on you. You see, I've been watching you, Vegeta. And it doesn't look to me like you've made your pockets any fatter since our last discussion. I was beginning to think you weren't taking this seriously, so I decided to take a little collateral, is all. It isn't as if you have any children that could service me in your leave of absence, understood?"

"Collateral?" Did….Did Frieza know? Did he know about the plan? Was…

….was

….Was Bulma going to die?

"Oh, it seems like this angel wants to talk to you!" Frieza moved the phone away from his mouth, and Vegeta could hear muffled screams on the other end. It was her, he thought with a choked back sob, and he bit his fist to keep his mouth from running wild. "Talk to your dear, dear Vegeta, love. But he hasn't got all day! The second half of his show is starting soon!"

"Bulma!" He shouted in the receiver, barely keeping himself together. She had to have had her mouth gagged, for he wasn't able to hear her clearly, but her screams suggested she was shouting his name. He could….he could taste her fear. He could hear her cries through the phone and it broke him. His knees buckled and he had to lean against the wall for composure.

He was supposed to protect her. And now she played right into hands of the enemy.

"Bulma! I won't let them hurt you! I'm sorry! I'll get you back-"

"Aah, aah, aah! You shouldn't make promises you don't know if you'll be able to keep." Frieza brought the phone back to his ear, Bulma's screaming growing louder in the background. Frieza sighed in annoyance before adding, "Zarbon do something with her, would you? She's quite noisy and I'm trying to make a phone call."

Vegeta felt the bottom of his stomach fall to his feet as Bulma's sobbing increased in fear, screaming at someone to back off. To back away. To stop.

He wanted to throw up.

"Don't you dare, Frieza!" But then she let out one final wail and the background was silent. An undeniable rage soared through his body at Frieza and at himself. Bulma…How could he have left her alone? How could he have jeopardized her? Jeopardized their child?

"I don't recall saying that you had any power moves on my chessboard, Vegeta. How about I rush things along here, I'm growing bored with this conversation." He yawned and Vegeta wanted to kill him. "You go out there and play your second half of this concert. And when you're done, meet me in the alley in back with all of my cash. Plus a fifteen percent inconvenience fee for having to get my hands dirty tonight. Your whore here got paint on my new shoes and I don't take kindly to it. Oh, and Vegeta? You'd better be prompt. No funny business. I've had the blood of your family on my hands for some time now, I have no problems adding more." And before Vegeta could say anything else, Frieza hung the phone up in his ear, an empty silence the only thing left behind.

The walls begun to distort their color, the edges of his vision going black. Bulma…his Bulma….she…

Vegeta couldn't win against gravity anymore as he sank to his feet, releasing the sobs of rage that burned the inside of his throat. How did everything turn to shit like this? How did everything seem like it was looking up only to drag him back down?

Everything's going to be alright, Vegeta.

Bulma…

She was wrong.

Everything wasn't going to be alright.

Vegeta choked back a scream as he bathed in the knowledge that all of his hope had indeed, been turned into hell.

oooOOOooo

A/N

Thank you SO much to everyone for their reviews on this story! I'm so happy that you're still here in the final stretches with me!

Vegetapsycho did some AMAZING fanart for Concerto (Im still SCREAMING ITS SO GOOD!) and you can check it out on her Tumblr and Instagram! It's so beautiful just like every single one of her pieces are, just like our dear friend Bulma in this fic.

Thank you for everyone who has given me fanart or a review! It makes my day and I hope you'll leave one for this chapter as well!

Until next time!