A/N: Alright. A reviewer mentioned that my chapters weren't really that long, so here's one that's nearly double the length of the last one. MUST... SLEEP... NOW.
DISCLAIMER: My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard.
In a long-sleeved red shirt and denim overalls, Bulma felt a lot like a certain Nintendo character. To be more specific, she felt like the pregnant version, unable to choose which color to paint the walls of a nursery. Now she lay on the newspaper covered floor of an unused guestroom, squinting at the smooth white ceiling, so deep in thought she had no idea how much time had passed.
It was going to be a boy. Blue was the traditional color, but Bulma had never really been keen on following tradition. She could follow her earlier line of thought when she had gone shopping a few weeks ago and just pick a neutral color.
She frowned when she thought of all the clothes Vegeta had blown up.
The door to the guestroom opened and Bulma glanced up in time to see her father enter, adjusting his glasses as he looked around.
"Well dear, you've been in here for about an hour," Dr. Brief said, leaning against the doorway, crinkling newspaper with his large shoes. "I don't see very much accomplished in here."
Bulma nodded in agreement. "Can't argue with you there dad," she replied. "Every time I try to start I think of something else to do instead."
She sat up and propped herself up on her palms. "For example, all I want to do is paint this room so that I can coordinate furniture, but every time that I pick a color, there's something wrong with it."
Her father hitched up his khaki pants and took a seat next to her on the floor. "Blue?"
Bulma sighed. "Too old-fashioned."
"White."
"Too plain."
"Brown."
"Too woodsy."
"Yellow."
"Too bright."
"Red."
"Not a pastel."
"Gray?"
Bulma shot her dad a look. "See what I mean? I'm hopeless."
The engineers were silent for a moment. Bulma leaned forward and rest her head on her father's shoulder. It was nice just to be quiet and think.
"What are the two of you doing!" cried a high-pitched voice from the hallway.
It was Bunny and it wasn't a question. She looked around wildly, her eyes wide and full of anxiety. "This room hasn't been touched at all!"
"Mom-" started Bulma but she was cut off by a glare and her mother's stern placement of her hands on her hips.
"This baby's not coming tomorrow, thank goodness!" she exclaimed, stomping toward the middle of the room and glancing upward. "Both of you get out!"
Dr. Brief helped Bulma to her feet and both of them scrambled to the doorway to get out of the blond woman's way.
"Don't come back here until I say so!" she said, and she closed the door in their faces.
"She did this to me when you were born," proclaimed Dr. Brief, shaking his head and leading Bulma away from the unfinished nursery. "I was to remain twenty feet from your nursery at all times until the minute you were born. It's really adorable, actually."
Bulma smiled as her father walked in the opposite direction. Thinking of her parents those few decades ago made her melt. There was a picture of the two of them holding her near a swimming pool on her nightstand. She wondered if it would ever be like that for her own son; Vegeta was so withdrawn and antisocial. He'd never even been near the Olympic-sized pool in the backyard.
Speaking of Vegeta, it had been awhile since she'd seen him; it was time to pay him a visit. Bulma descended the stairs gingerly, not wanting to give her unborn child the sensation that he was on a roller coaster just yet. It took a little longer than usual to get outside because of that, but she was relieved to see that once she arrived at the GR, it was empty. She absolutely did not feel like interrupting that guy when he was in one of his moods.
It was strange that he was gone; Vegeta normally left the compound after a huge amount of food had been shoveled into his mouth and Bulma hadn't seen him near the kitchen. It was barely ten in the morning. Was it possible that he was still asleep? The idea that he'd be passed out in what he often referred to as 'late morning' was discerning.
Feeling slightly winded after all the extra exercise, Bulma made her way back into Capsule Corp and headed up the stairs. The door to Vegeta's room was closed and she paused in front of it, anxiety stopping her from storming in.
Sure, she had been in this position many times before; Vegeta's room wasn't some strange land she had never visited. It was merely that he had been more private than usual these past couple of weeks. A conversation between the two was a rare occurrence, and because of his exhausting training schedule, the two hadn't been sleeping in the same bed, let alone sharing a room. It caused her to hesitate and truthfully speaking, she didn't like it.
Her hand slipped around the brass doorknob and turned it until the door opened. She looked around. Morning light weakly spilled into the room by way of a curtained window. In the bed beneath it lay Vegeta, obscured by tangled sheets and blankets.
Bulma's heart skipped a beat when she saw him sleeping there, his eyes closed and his arms spread. He looked so peaceful, although she couldn't imagine how he managed to remain unconscious as she entered his room and shut the door behind her.
Why was his room so neat? The carpet, usually covered in the prince's dirty clothes and charred training accessories, was bare. A quick glance in the direction of the walk-in told Bulma that most of his clothes had been tidily hung on hangers. The only sign that Vegeta had been living in his room were the tank top and sweatpants draped across the headboard. An expensive pair of black and red Jordan's had been placed side by side near the nightstand.
Bulma gently took a seat on the side of the bed.
"Vegeta?" she whispered, leaning forward.
It happened in a single instant. One moment she was calling his name, the next he was gripping her neck with his hands, pinning her to the bed so hard that she could not fight back.
Fear exploded through her veins. She tried to scream, to kick, to do anything at all but it was useless. Vegeta was on top of her, his eyes were shut, and he was going to kill her!
"Vuh…" she managed to squeeze out, panic making her voice so high pitched it sounded more like a squeak than the beginning of the maniac's name. "…gee…"
His eyes fluttered open and his grasp became slack. For a moment he stared at her and Bulma could tell that he did not fully understand. She scrambled out of the bed so fast that she nearly fell over. She caught herself on the nightstand and banged into the edge of the closet door, slamming it shut. Her eyes were watering in pain and distrust. She grabbed her throat, feeling her heartbeat in her hands.
"You fool! Do you have a death wish, woman?"
Bulma could not answer, her heart was beating so loudly in her chest that Vegeta's angry voice could barely be heard over it.
He was standing next to her now, her chin being cocked the side as his fingers examined her throat. His expression was difficult to read.
"Did you hear me?" he asked her, staring straight into her eyes. "I could have killed you! Or have you forgotten that I'm not some weak human!"
She hadn't forgotten anything, but she hadn't expected him to attack her. She instinctively grabbed her stomach, perhaps a subconscious way to protect her child from the man in front of her. Still she felt unsafe. Her entire body shook from the scare.
"Answer me!" he demanded. "What's the matter with you?"
A tear dropped from the corner of her eye and onto the floor at her feet. Bulma was just as surprised as she imagined Vegeta was. She hadn't even felt the tears coming. She tried to move away from Vegeta's grip but it was too difficult. She struggled to catch her breath.
"L-let me g-g-go!"
He didn't seem to comprehend that statement because instead of letting her get away, he pulled her closer to him until her head was pressed against his chest. They stood there.
A million thoughts were racing through Bulma's head as her cheek lay pressed against his pounding heart. Goku had hurt her before, on more than one occasion. Even Yamcha had slammed her fingers in a car door once or twice. Krillin had run into her while he was trying to catch a football that one time not too long ago. Even her own father had singed a couple inches of her hair when he blew up some strange concoction in his lab. Bulma was used to boys playing too rough around her.
So why did this seem so different?
Was it because she was pregnant? Was it because she was a mother?
Was it because it wasn't an accident?
Bulma dared to look up. No… the way that his eyes stared out at something far in the distance… it had definitely been an accident. Her own heartbeat began to pulse at a semi-normal level. Vegeta would never purposely hurt her. He wouldn't even let her lift grocery bags.
"That was a mistake."
She knew that, but to hear the admission from Vegeta's very own lips was something else altogether.
"What?"
He released her, still staring off into space. "It wasn't my intention to harm you."
His dark eyes finally rested on hers. They slowly traveled to her neck and for a moment, Bulma swore she saw something flicker behind them. In the next instant he had picked her up and laid her on his unkempt bed. He yanked a cover from under her body and placed it over her instead. Then he sat down beside her and placed his right hand on her throat, which was beginning to feel painful.
A warm sensation spread through her neck and shoulders and Bulma felt instantly relieved.
"What are you doing to me?" she asked, feeling drowsy.
"Does it hurt?" he asked, ignoring her question. "How is the temperature?"
"It's okay," she mumbled, her eyelids closing.
"Don't get used to it," Vegeta said, but his voice sounded very far away.
Almost like he was somewhere else.
The screaming had finally ceased, though sounds of thunderous blasts and bursts of red and gold light overhead kept the young teenager from dozing off completely. He could smell smoke and charred remains too, but that was nothing to get all excited about.
"How long are they going to take?" Vegeta grumbled, his breath coming out in tiny, visible puffs of air. "Show-offs."
He stretched his arms outward and they cracked, having been in the same position for far too long. For several hours Vegeta had been lying on his back in an open field of dewy pink grass, looking beyond massive ice caves in the distance for the signal that his mission was completed. He was waiting rather impatiently because the temperature hovered at an uncomfortable wintry temperature. If he hadn't exhausted some of his ki for warmth, he'd be frozen solid, like much of the Planet Netto.
It was a shame it was being destroyed because the orb of ice was really quite striking, compared to a lot of the ugly mudballs he had visited. Netto was a tiny sphere of ice whose skies turned deep purples and blues, depending on which side was facing its miniature sun. There were mounds of snow covering mountains and trees, though none had fallen on the grass below. Methane lakes thrived deep under the frozen surface and the inhabitants exploited their presences by utilizing them to power everything from transporters to food processors.
The Nettese were remarkably intelligent too; they reminded Vegeta of the Truffles, a civilization of technologically advanced people that his father had once told him about. It was unfortunate that both races had refused to submit to Frieza, the self-proclaimed 'Lord of the Universe'.
Vegeta spat on the ground. Thinking of that overgrown lizard made his blood boil.
"Aha! There's the little brat now!" exclaimed a deep voice behind him.
The prince was quickly on his feet. His comrades, General Nappa and the highly-ranked Raditz stood in front of him, their golden armor bloody and dark with filth. With black hair, brown eyes and tanned skin, the three of them could have easily passed as brothers.
Well, Raditz and myself, thought Vegeta as he gave them both a once over. Even though Raditz has hair like a woman, he's not a giant freak like Nappa.
But they were all he had right now. So be it.
"What took you so long?" Vegeta asked grumpily, wrinkling his nose. "My tail's frozen around my waist."
"Stop complaining kid," Nappa said, running a red-stained hand through the thinning patch of black hair on his head. He was truly the only one who could get away with calling fifteen-year-old Vegeta anything other than 'prince' and unfortunately he knew that. "We got the job done didn't we?"
Raditz, much closer to Vegeta's age than he would have liked to admit, plopped himself on the ground and began emptying one of his boots of snow and rubble. "Damn this place! I want to go home!"
Rolling his eyes, Vegeta scanned the vicinity. There was nothing standing; there was not a single building or person in sight. Everything had been turned to ash and dust. He agreed that the job was done. Now all they had to do was wait.
"Come on," Nappa said with a sneer, "destroying planets is fun, don't get me wrong-"
"-here we go again," moaned Raditz in the background.
"-but when are we going to be able to do these missions on our own? I don't need some so-called overlord looking over me all the damned time! This planet trade organization can go to shit! I'm my own man!"
"Shut it, Nappa," Vegeta responded, having only heard a very small portion of the man's rant. He adjusted his scouter and glanced around. Frieza should have been back by now, but Vegeta had yet to detect his power level.
"Wanna know what's really getting on my last nerve?" Raditz inquired, shoving his foot hard into his boot. "Frieza wouldn't even let us pick through their things! I'd have liked one or two transporters for my services. Which by the way, I saw in more than a few homes!"
Vegeta paid him no mind and stared up at the darkening lilac sky. He had never told anyone before, but it was his favorite color.
"There he is!"
The boy instant snapped to attention, his green scouter lighting up with the ancient symbols that made up the Saiyan language. Yes, he had finally arrived. A silver craft became visible in the retreating sunlight.
"Stand at attention idiots!" ordered Vegeta, sending Nappa and Raditz angry glares. "Get rid of that stupid ponytail, Raditz! And don't cause any trouble, do you hear me?"
"Yes Prince Vegeta," they said in unison, sounding like they'd rather be saying anything else, but Vegeta couldn't have cared less. He knew they'd rather take orders from him than Frieza any day.
Vegeta took a few deep breaths. He was being harsh with his fellow Saiyans because he was nervous about what he had done. The three of them were supposed to have destroyed everything and not only had he not participated in the siege, but he had stolen a miniature Nettese-made telescope. It was hidden beneath his armor. He was in direct violation of Frieza's order not to take anything.
"He's here!" Raditz whispered.
Vegeta shivered in the cold. Frieza's personal ship whirred loudly, kicking up grass and ice-covered dirt as it landed a few feet from where he stood. Vegeta's sensitive ears hurt, but he stood as still as he could. He had learned the hard way that Frieza desired no sudden movements.
Time passed slowly while the ship door released and a set of stairs lowered onto the soil. Moments later, a pale lavender foot appeared on the top of the steps. It was quickly followed by another foot, a torso shielded by a purple and gold breastplate, two scaly pink arms, and a head partially obscured under an enormous helmet with long black horns.
"My friends," cooed Frieza, his tail thumping heavily onto the ground behind him, "imagine running into you here."
He laughed a high, cold laugh, threw his head back and held his stomach. Vegeta saw Nappa and Raditz exchange puzzled looks out of the corner of his eye and he could hardly blame them. Frieza frequently exhibited irrational behavior.
Vegeta's left eye twitched and he tried to pull himself together. It pained him to admit it, but he could not afford to anger the lizard, even with help. For the several years that he had been in Frieza's service, he had learned it was best to stay quiet unless forced to speak.
"So friends," Frieza said abruptly, folding his arms against his chest, "as you know, I don't usually make house calls. However, I've decided that it couldn't hurt to review your work every once in a while. Isn't that right, Vegeta?"
"Yes, master Frieza."
"Zarbon sends his apologies that he is not able to join us today. He has other matters to attend to."
Vegeta gritted his teeth. Frieza was trying to make him jealous by implying that his stupid henchmen Zarbon was capable of being on his own. He steadied his breathing; he had to set an example for his subjects.
"Before I begin," the lizard said, looking Vegeta directly in the eyes. "I'd like to know what it is that you're foolishly trying to hide from me."
How had he known?
Vegeta's heart began to beat furiously in his chest. He had no choice but to lie.
"Excuse me?"
Frieza took several steps toward Vegeta, narrowed his eyes and a beam of red light tore through Vegeta's chest plate, ripping it in half. The telescope, which had once appeared so small, seemed to have grown in size; without armor to cover it, the stolen object created a sizeable lump.
"Hey! Who put that there?" shouted Nappa. "Someone's framing him!"
The red light shot at the general and he stumbled backward, falling over. Vegeta clenched his fists, a move that Frieza did not miss.
"Oh! Are you going to fight me?"
The young prince bared his teeth. If only he were stronger! He would overcome Frieza in an instant! He would kill him mercilessly! He would make him pay with his life!
The pink scouter over Frieza's left eye began to frantically beep.
"An increase in power level does you no good. Now behave!"
It an instant Vegeta was dealt a blow to the face. He felt the bones in his nose shatter. He faltered, blood spraying his hands and boots. Another blow to his stomach made him double over in pain and drop to his knees, gasping for air.
The pain was so intense that it took everything Vegeta had to keep his lunch from coming up. If only he had his sight! It was too hard to see past the blob of swollen flesh that used to be a perfectly straight nose. When Frieza's clawed feet appeared on the ground next to his face, Vegeta could only see a blur.
"There, there my little Vegeta," Frieza said, kneeling. "I suspect you'll be a little more obedient in the future."
Vegeta felt his chin being lifted by a sharp object and realized that it was his master's fingernail. He met Frieza's magenta eyes with his bloody, indignant ones.
"Vegeta."
Frieza's voice was soft, filled with some sort of emotion that Vegeta did not recognize. Did Frieza, after the humiliation he had just put the prince through, dare mock him too? Well if he was going to die, then he would fight doing it!
Vegeta lunged for Frieza, his hands wrapping around his throat.
It had surprised him! His attack was working! Wait… something was wrong… Frieza was transforming into the legendary Super Saiyan! What else could explain his sudden change in eye color? There, look! Frieza was growing paler by the moment, his dark red lips turning pink. He began to sprout strings of blue-green hair and long dark eyelashes.
Nappa and Raditz weren't there anymore. Planet Netto's temperature increased as it became shrouded in darkness. Vegeta noticed his knees were no longer in wet, bloody grass, but in fuzzy blankets and crisp white sheets.
It was her.
Instantly he released his grasp, terror overtaking his heart. He refused to breathe. He refused to understand what he had done.
One look at the woman made it very clear that this action could never be undone, that she would never forget what had happened. She flung herself away from him.
Vegeta shouted something at her but he was not aware of it; he was only aware of how she looked at him, trembled at the sight of him.
He had always known it, though he'd hoped she never would.
He was a monster.
A tall glass of chocolate milk sat mostly untouched on the crowded wooden end table. In a tiny bed next to it, a black haired boy of eleven lay with his eyes wide open, unable to sleep.
"Now Gohan," said his mother with an index finger pointed at him, "That milk should put you right out. The next time I come in this room, you had better be asleep!"
"Yes ma'am," he replied obediently. "Thank-you."
Chi-Chi stared at him for a moment and the youngster could tell his quick answer had worried her. He sat up in bed and grabbed the cup in his hands. He downed it in two large gulps.
"Be careful!" she exclaimed, and frowned. "Is everything alright, sweetheart? You don't seem like yourself tonight."
Before he could respond his mother had already jumped to conclusions. She rushed to his bedside and knelt on the floor, her face inches from her own.
"Are you sick? Tired? It's all that training isn't it? You've been working too hard!"
Chi-Chi leapt to her feet and took Gohan with her, his upper body mushed against her neck and chest.
"I'm going to have a talk with your father about this!"
She let go of him and looked upward toward the ceiling, thinking. Gohan knew that if his mother had that talk with his dad, there'd be no chance for him to fight against the Androids at all! Suddenly he felt like he could go to sleep! Maybe he'd have pleasant dreams and sleep in and maybe he could read a book or watch TV at Bulma's.
He sighed. "Mom, I'm okay. I promise."
It seemed to work. Chi-Chi still looked anxious, but she also looked defeated. She kissed the top of his forehead.
"Goodnight. I'm just down the hall if you need me."
Gohan plastered a fake smile on his face until she had left the room and closed the door behind her. Then he turned off the lights and lay in the darkness, surrounded by plastic glow in the dark stars and planets. His eyes drifted toward the poster of a bright red racecar near the door. His grandpa, the Ox King, had gotten that for him a long time ago. He sure missed his grandpa.
When was that milk gonna kick in anyway? He was nowhere near tired and he had so many scary thoughts in his head, he wondered if he'd ever be able to sleep again. If his mom ever found out what he sometimes thought about, she'd make sure he never fought the Androids.
Maybe he should tell her.
The digital clock on the end table flashed a few numbers before Gohan began to feel sleepy. He yawned, but when his eyes began to close, he forced them to remain open. He was still sitting up in bed when he heard footsteps in the hallway.
Gohan rapidly hid under the covers, pretending to be asleep. Mothers were so overprotective!
His bedroom door creaked open and the boy let out a few deep breaths and a snore for good measure. That always fooled her.
"Son? What are you doing under there?"
Gohan scrambled out of the blankets. It wasn't his mother at all. It was Goku, and he was looking pretty beat up. Even though his mom was pretty strict about Gohan's bedtime, she didn't seem to care what time his dad came in at all.
His dad gave a furtive glance behind him and shut the door. He joined Gohan on the bed.
"Still awake, kiddo?"
Gohan nodded. "I can't sleep," he admitted.
Goku nodded, looking thoughtful. "Do you want to talk about it?"
"Not really," Gohan replied quietly. He felt himself heading into a dark place that he did not wish to visit with his dad in the room. He tried to think of something happy, but it was hard.
His dad settled into a pillow and looked up at Gohan who was watching him with interest.
"Want to hear a story? Might help you get to sleep!"
Sleep was the last thing Gohan wanted, but he couldn't tell his dad that. He nodded and got underneath the covers.
"Well, when I was about your age," his dad started, staring ahead into darkness, "I was no fighter at all. I had the strength of course, just not very much discipline. This is back when I had just met Bulma," he added, "so you can imagine the sort of trouble we were always in."
Gohan nodded. He knew that already.
"I started training under Master Roshi and I was amazed at how much stronger I was becoming. So when I heard there was a martial arts tournament, I couldn't wait to enter! I thought it'd be pretty hard though, considering how many fighters were gonna be there."
His dad grinned, shaking his head.
"Man! I underestimated myself big time! I was amazed at how much stronger I had become in less than a year! I made it all the way to the final round without any problems! And then I met Jackie Chung."
It was hard to see because of the lack of light, but Gohan was pretty sure his dad's expression matched his excited tone of voice. If there was one thing that excited his father, it was fighting.
"So you came in first, huh?" inquired Gohan.
"Actually he kicked my butt!"
Well that was new. Usually Goku told animated tales of triumph and victory. Gohan hadn't even known that his dad had lost at anything before. It made him even more nervous about fighting the Androids in the next few months.
"It ended up being Master Roshi in the end, can you believe it?"
Gohan couldn't believe it, but he didn't answer. He could only think about the fact that his father, the strongest man in the world, had been defeated by a disgusting old man.
Perhaps understanding the silence, Goku turned on his side and gave his son a reassuring smile.
"Look kiddo, I know how you feel. I was terrified of entering the tournament, and after I lost I was sure Master Roshi wouldn't want to train me anymore. But I learned an important lesson instead. It doesn't matter how much stronger someone is than you, it doesn't hurt to try your hardest."
Gohan shook his head. "If they beat you, it does hurt. It hurts a lot."
He was enfolded in a one armed hug.
"I've been watching you train son, and you might not know it, but you're ready to fight. I know you are."
Gohan didn't bother to argue. He just sighed.
"Come on kiddo," he dad said softly, "I know it's scary. We don't know how strong the Androids are… we don't even know what they look like. The only thing I know is that we're going to win. We're good people. We care about people. We're becoming stronger every day."
He paused.
"You're so much stronger than I ever hoped to be at your age, Gohan," said his dad, giving him a squeeze. "You're an amazing fighter, you know. I'm really proud of you."
A large weight had been lifted from Gohan's small shoulders. He felt like he might be able to sleep tonight. Besides, his dad never lied to him and pushed him really hard. If his father told him he was strong, Gohan believed him.
"Do you… do you think I could fight one of them?"
His dad laughed. "Kiddo, I think you could be fight both of them. And if you keep training as hard as you do, you should be able to do it with a blindfold!"
Gohan smiled.
"Which reminds me," said his dad, sitting up and sniffing his underarm. "Your mom thinks it'd be a good idea for you to relax for a few days. So for the rest of the week how about you take it easy? One of the most important things a Saiyan can do is rest, okay?"
"Right."
His dad ruffled his hair and rolled out of the bed. He wrinkled his nose.
"Man I STINK. I need a bath before your mom kicks me out of the house again!"
As his dad walked toward the door, Gohan realized he had one more question that needed to be answered so that he could close his eyes in peace.
"Why do you think we can beat the Androids, dad? We don't know anything about them." Gohan bit his lip. "Why are you so sure we'll win?"
His dad hesitated before answering.
"… Because we always do. That's why."
Bulma was sitting in Vegeta's unmade bed with a bright pink journal in her hands. She barely looked up when the door opened and the prince strolled in, tracking grass and mud on the carpet.
"What are you doing in here?" he asked gruffly, taking off his shirt and flinging it onto a pillow next to her.
"Making a list of baby names that I like," she answered absently, scribbling 'Tomago' before she could forget it. "Got any to add?"
"Yes," he answered, "Vegeta."
Bulma looked up at him, prepared to tell him exactly what she thought of that, but she was stopped short by his appearance.
Vegeta stood shirtless in torn blue sweatpants and black tennis shoes covered in dirt. He was cut and bruised in so many places that she could hardly recognize him. A third of his hair was singed and blood covered the right side of his face, neck and chest. Yet he stood with his arms crossed in the middle of his room as though nothing was out of the ordinary.
"What-the-fuck-happened?"
Vegeta didn't blink an eyelash at her. "It doesn't concern you, earthling. Now hand me that cloth behind your head."
Bulma turned around, found the towel he was referring to and threw it at him a little harder than she normally would have.
"I suppose it wouldn't do me any good to ask why you're acting so weird. And yeah, why your room looks like I've been living in it instead of you."
Vegeta's eyes travelled the span of the room and he made no comment. It was feasible that he didn't quite understand the mess either; he was usually obsessively neat. Right now empty water bottles, dirty dishes, and smelly clothes littered the floor. The closet door was wide open and only two blue uniforms were on a hanger. Everything else had been stuffed into a clothes hamper or thrown about the room.
A small mess Bulma could relate to. At that very moment her own bed was unmade and several pairs of shoes were scattered around in places she hadn't bothered to check.
"Aren't you going to answer me?"
"Leave me alone," he replied and he stripped off the rest of his clothes until he stood stark naked in front of her. He must've noticed her staring because he pulled the towel around his waist with a frown on his face.
"Nice haircut loser," Bulma said in frustration, getting back to her journal. She didn't want to be unkind to Vegeta, but he was asking for it. Besides, she could blame it on her hormones if she felt like it.
When Vegeta left a minute later, Bulma put down her book and pen and stared after him. She was no idiot. Things between them had been different ever since he had hurt her and even though she had forgiven him and several days had passed, the young woman could tell that the incident was still fresh in the Saiyan's mind.
It should have been gratifying to see that Vegeta had changed enough that he felt guilty for causing her physical harm, but it wasn't. Where they had once spent nights in his bed holding each other as they fell asleep, they now slept apart. Hell, they even ate their meals apart. At such a significant period in her life, Bulma wanted him to be around. Was it too much to ask?
Something was scratching at her ankle, and Bulma reached down and pulled a half-eaten bag of potato chips from the folds of the blankets.
Alright, enough was enough.
She lifted herself out of bed and left her journal behind. She didn't care if Vegeta blasted her into oblivion for interrupting him while he was in the bathroom; it was time for them to have a talk.
A freezing cold shower did the trick. In an instant Vegeta forgot about his pounding headache and frazzled nerves. He still couldn't believe he hadn't been able to avoid that blast. Blood and dirt mingled with water and turned the tiled shower floor a dusty sienna. Yes, he could forget about his pain too.
If only his hair would grow back, Vegeta could forget the entire episode. How he had been training in 500 times Earth's gravity and how he had unleashed a series of energy beams that ricocheted around the room at dangerously high speeds. He might be able to forget how he had seen a distorted image of Frieza from the corner of his eye and how he had been instantly sidetracked. His own blasts had collided into his body, turning the GR into his own personal inferno.
He had been seeing Frieza in his dreams for weeks now. He had no idea why.
"Alright, Vegeta! I've had it!"
Damn it! He had not only been distracted from his senses once more, but he had forgotten to lock the bathroom door. Now the woman was standing inside, her silhouette upon the shower curtain.
"We're going to talk whether you like it or not, so move over!"
With that she yanked back the plastic drapes and hopped inside, naked. In an instant she was screaming so loud that Vegeta thought it entirely possible that he was bleeding from the ears.
"COLD! IT'S SO COLD! MAKE IT STOP! AAAAAAHHHHHHH!"
Moved by her shrieks, Vegeta reached over her clawing, shivering body and as quickly as he could, turned the knob to the right. Hot water poured over them both until Bulma's cries had turned to whimpers.
"I can't breathe," she said as her entire body convulsed in shivers, "I c-can't breathe!"
It had been awhile since Vegeta had gotten a chance to see Bulma naked and he immediately responded.
Blast you, Vegeta! There's no time for that!
Bulma had finally stopped making noise, and now she stared below his waist, her cheeks turning a bright shade of pink.
"Stop staring at me, woman!" Vegeta ordered, turning his back on her and looking over his broad shoulders. "Get out!"
She snapped her eyes upward and blinked a few times. "Yeah. Well… oh, yeah. I came in here to talk to you. Uh, it was important too. What was it again?"
Vegeta was growing impatient. He turned back to her and crossed his arms, waiting for her to remember. In the meantime, she was giving him a wonderful view of herself. He could even see the tiny mound rising from her stomach that indicated her second trimester had arrived.
"Oh," Bulma said with a wave of her hand, spraying water across his face, "we need to talk about why you're avoiding me."
He arched an eyebrow but chose not to respond.
"I know you're upset about what happened the other night," she continued, looking downward, "but honestly, it's not a big deal."
Vegeta curled his upper lip at the woman's statement. Had she really come to bother him so that she could put his soul at ease?
"And here I thought you were the only earthling capable of complex reasoning," he stated coldly.
She reached down and cut the water off so that the two of them were standing, stark-naked, in the steamy bathroom air.
"Listen to me," she said, "I'm not your enemy. I never have been."
Vegeta pulled back the shower curtain and stepped out, flaring his ki and drying off instantly. He wrapped a towel around his waist and walked over to the sink, trying but failing to ignore the woman's incessant chatter.
"I'm here because I want to help. Do you think that you're the first Saiyan that's almost put me out? Huh?" she was behind him in a towel, and she grabbed at his arm. "Hey! Do you hear me? My best friend is Goku, do you understand?"
Vegeta grabbed a toothbrush and shoved it into his mouth. "Are you threatening me now?"
"I'm not threatening you, asshole! I just meant that Goku's nearly killed me way more times than you can imagine and guess what? WE'RE STILL BEST FRIENDS!"
Vegeta glared at Bulma in the mirror, staring darkly into her bright blue eyes. "Have you always been this brainless? Or have I not been paying attention?" He turned back to brushing his teeth. "I hope stupidity isn't genetic."
He seemed to have struck a nerve.
"You're insane, you know that!" cried Bulma, moving from behind him to stand beside him at the marble counter. She chucked a full tube of toothpaste at him and he caught it centimeters from his face. "And you can't brush your teeth without toothpaste!"
It would be logical to assume she was acting out because of her pregnancy, but he knew better.
"I don't care about what happened? Don't you get it! I know that it was an accident so stop beating yourself up over it! I'm perfectly fine! The baby is fine! We're all fine! You're the only one walking around here like someone died! Stop being a jerk!"
A jerk? The concept was not foreign to Vegeta by any means, but he could not help feeling offended. He had nearly killed the woman and his own child. To assuage his own guilt he had been avoiding her yes, but his absence had brought her no harm. Besides, he was struggling with demons so dark that she would hate him if she ever discovered them.
Catching her breath, the woman wiped pieces of teal hair from her forehead. She shook her head.
"Can we just be normal again?" she asked in a pleading sort of voice. "Pretty please?"
Had this woman any idea what he had been through? What did normal mean to her? If anything were true, it was that he had been as un-normal as a Saiyan could be. The fact that she and her dim-witted friends still inhaled and exhaled were signs of that.
"You know nothing about me, woman."
There, he had gotten as close to the truth with her as he desired. He tossed his toothbrush on the counter and walked out of the bathroom, the door sliding shut behind him.
She was freezing and had no desire to leave the warmth of the bathroom, but she had to fix whatever was wrong with Vegeta. She always had to say she had done her best. Of course, with Vegeta that always proved extra difficult.
You can do it girl, she thought as she marched down the hall toward Vegeta's bedroom.
The door was locked of course.
"I'll scream until your ears blee-" Bulma began to shout but it was unnecessary. The door was flung open in front of her. "Thank you."
She stepped inside the dark room and closed the door behind her. Vegeta stood off to the side as he dressed; there was an unfamiliar look on his face that worried Bulma.
"I didn't mean to upset you," she stated quietly. "But it's not fair to block me out, Vegeta."
The prince pulled a t-shirt over his head and grunted. "What are you babbling about, woman?"
Bulma wandered over to the bed and took a wary seat on a giant white pillow. Her hair was still wet and she used Vegeta's old towel to wrap around her head.
"You've been acting different lately," she said matter-of-factly.
He didn't answer as he rummaged through his closet.
"You're hardly speaking to me," Bulma told him, wishing he'd at least look at her, "and I don't know what it is that I've done, Vegeta. I know I've been really on you lately to help me out with this whole baby thing but…"
Sharp onyx eyes turned on her suddenly. "Spit it out already!"
"It's been hard on me too! I-I'm getting fat!" she cried and she sat up from the bed and yanked down her towel. "I've gained twelve pounds! I popped a button on my jeans this morning and I cried for two whole hours! My breasts are heavier than bricks, my back feels like it's been kicked in by a Saiyan and your behavior is stressing me out!"
Something flickered behind his eyes and Bulma felt her heart tighten. Something serious was going on here and she was determined to get to the bottom of it.
"Vegeta?"
He had finished dressing and he stood still, listening.
"Is it because you hate Earth? Do you wish you were back home?"
That was it wasn't it? The prince had finally turned to look her in the eye so it must have been close.
"I have no home," he answered curtly.
That stung a little, but Bulma let it go. She couldn't imagine having to be away from all of her friends and family. Sure, Capsule Corp felt wonderfully cozy and homey, but it couldn't feel like that to Vegeta. She wondered if he felt like an intruder.
"It must be hard for you," she said quietly, replacing the towel around her. "You're so far away from all the people you know."
He grunted.
"I don't care about that," Vegeta stated plainly, picking up his discarded clothing in his arms.
"You don't ever think about your friends?"
He gave a short laugh. "What friends?"
Bulma stood up and followed him to a tiny white hamper in the corner of the room, blocking him into the wall.
"I'm your friend, Vegeta," she said softly.
Vegeta pushed her aside, arms empty of clothes.
"Don't pity me, woman."
"Oh come on, Vegeta… you've had a tough life. It's okay to talk about it."
"There's not a single thing about my life that your tiny brain would comprehend," he snapped, falling onto the bed facedown and lying still.
Bulma joined him, sitting on the edge and pressed a hand on his back. "Try me… Tell me about Vegetasai some more."
He blinked a few times before focusing on her.
"It was hot."
Was he really going to make this that difficult for her? She glared at him and he got the message.
"Planet Vegeta lay within a binary star system. Nearly every Saiyan lived in the desert; some managed in caves but that did little in terms of cooling oneself off. Thus, it was hot."
Bulma lay down next to him, taking care to lay on her side. She was looking directly at Vegeta's dark, handsome face, twisted in what appeared to be desolation and depression. His eyes stared at her, but she couldn't tell what he was seeing.
"You didn't live in the desert," she said quietly. "You lived in a palace with your father. I remember you saying that when you first got here. You must have lived in the city, huh? Away from all the others."
He scowled. "I'll have you know that I lived at the heart of Planet Vegeta, amongst thousands of Saiyan warriors and the like. Hundreds lived within the same walls as I and were well-connected with their families on the outside. It was not like Earth, where humans see other humans right in front of them and don't say a word."
"Don't give me that earthlings do this wrong business," Bulma said indignantly. "At least we don't ship poor, defenseless babies into space!"
"You would if you had the technology," Vegeta rebutted. "Besides that, Saiyans are destined to be warriors. Those third class would eventually grow up and become well-rewarded for their efforts. On this mudball the lower classes have nothing to look forward to except an early demise. One Kakarot should have given them long ago."
"Jeez, Vegeta, keep the sunshine coming."
He rolled his gloomy eyes at her, something Bulma found very endearing. She gently nuzzled her nose with his and he moved back a centimeter.
"What are you doing that for?"
Bulma sighed. "I'm making noses with you, silly."
"Well stop it. I don't like it."
She did it again despite his protests. "Not every act has to be warrior-approved, you know. We can be affectionate sometimes."
Vegeta furrowed his brow but didn't respond, a reply that Bulma was getting used to as the conversation went on.
"You're just not used to it yet," she said with a tiny smile, "but don't worry. You spend enough time around me and you'll have no choice."
"Spare me, woman."
Bulma placed her forehead on his and stared deeply into his eyes. Her left arm moved over his shoulder until her hand found itself in his messy black hair. She kissed him softly on his surprised lips.
"You're just not used to someone caring a lot about you these days," she murmured. "It must've been hard losing your father."
They had talked about King Vegeta before, but not on such a personal level. Bulma could see she had touched a nerve.
"My father cared only for himself," he said with an expression on his face that the young woman could not quite describe. "I was his heir and I never fooled myself that I was anything more."
It was such a sad statement that Bulma was confused at the tone of voice in which it had been delivered. The idea that his father had not cared about him did not appear to bother Vegeta at all. Bulma thought about her own father, so full of energy and warmth and felt sad. Had Vegeta ever known love?
"What about… you never talk about… did you have a mother?"
Vegeta made a face. "What else explains my existence?"
She put a finger over his pouty lips to stop his attitude. "I want to know about her. Was she like your father? What happened to her?"
A silence followed after her words and Bulma was certain that she had reached the end of the questionnaire; she had known she could only get so far with the Saiyan prince. It was no surprise really.
"My mother died when I was a boy," Vegeta said, in that same flat voice.
He looked at Bulma with squinted eyes.
"She was not a warrior."
Bulma wrapped her arm around his waist and snuggled underneath his chin. She had so many more questions to ask, but there had been a change in the atmosphere when she had brought up his mother. Perhaps she should let him alone. She could attack more tomorrow.
Vegeta had already closed his eyes and so Bulma followed suit, stifling a yawn. She pulled the wrinkly blankets over the two of them and lay down, awaiting sleep.
A moment after she had closed her eyes, a strong arm pulled her against a rock hard chest. Two lips pressed firmly on her neck and trailed down her collar bone. In the darkness she could see very little but his shadow. She lay safely in his arms and fell asleep with his lips still caressing her skin.
Large, shimmery stars distorted the reflections of the young woman and her son in the dark pool of water. A tiny red frog leapt from the warm pond and splashed them both.
The tot watched as his mother laughed, wiping her face clear of water and then doing the same to his.
"Did you see that frog, Vegeta? It was a Red Poppy Frog!"
"Poppy frog," the boy repeated, wrinkling his nose. He didn't like being wet. Even now, as his mother's feet dangled freely in the water, his own were enclosed his shiny white boots, sitting securely underneath his bottom.
The pond in the rear courtyard was her favorite place to sit, especially when there were no clouds and the stars were out. Vegeta liked the stars too and he had taken to following her outside of the palace gates once darkness had fallen because he knew exactly where she was headed. Their ritual had only been going on for a few weeks, but to the child, it felt like he had been doing it his entire life.
"I hear you started your new training program today," said his mother with a smile, drawing a white lily from the water with a graceful hand. "You were the best in the whole class, weren't you?"
Rows of all sorts of smelly flowers like orchids and blue sage lined the pathway to the pond, but his mother always picked lilies. He fell backward into the dark green grass and heaved a great sigh.
"It's dumb. I hate fighting."
His mother lay next to him, her shoulder length black hair spreading out like wings beneath her head. "Yes well… don't let your father hear you say that."
Although he had only been alive for five short years, Vegeta was well-aware of what to not tell his father, the king. There was plenty of stuff he could tell, but it all dealt with boring royal apprenticeships and fighting and a whole lot of other things that Vegeta didn't understand.
"Besides, all Saiyans love to fight," continued his mother. "You'll be no different. You'll see when you're a little older."
Vegeta sat up, curious. "You're a Saiyan and you don't like to fight."
She laughed. "I've always marveled at your intuitiveness. No, I do not like battle. I think that it's barbaric and cruel, but I am in the minority, Vegeta. As I always will be."
He didn't know what his mother was talking about, but he guessed it didn't matter. His father liked his mother well enough and she never so much as raised her voice. If he grew up and didn't want to fight, his father would understand.
A warm breeze blew Vegeta's hair back and he yawned, feeling drowsy. The battles he had taken part in with the other children had worn him out. Plus, they were much older than him and he felt like a show-off for being stronger than all of them. Of course, King Vegeta had been very happy to hear about his progress and Vegeta was too afraid to ask his father to stop the program.
"Are you ready to go inside already?" asked his mother. "Come, I'll take you to bed."
She lifted Vegeta into her arms and he rested his head on her shoulder. He yawned again.
"Training tomorrow will be much better," she said to him as she stood up and began walking through the grass and to the pathway. "Just wait! You'll be even stronger than your father one day!"
"I'm hungry," Vegeta mumbled, drifting in and out of sleep. "Can we please stop by the kitchens?"
He did not hear her reply, only felt her clutch him more tightly in her arms. He immediately lifted his head and turned to see what was wrong with his mother, who had stopped walking.
"Can I help you?" she asked, sounding stern. "There are no visitors permitted in the gardens at this time."
A high-pitched voice came from the darkness. It was like no voice Vegeta had ever heard and so he assumed the owner must be foreign.
"I've only come to observe the premises," said the speaker from the darkness. "I need to look over a few things before I redecorate."
"Show yourself properly," the queen asserted, stepping backward and refusing to release her squirming son. "What business have you on Vegeta?"
From the shadows the speaker slowly revealed himself. The queen gave a gasp of revulsion and instantly turned her head.
"What are you?"
Her question was never answered. The purple reptilian struck her so quickly she had no time to defend herself. She fell and Vegeta rolled out of her arms.
"Run!" she shouted at him, shoving him with a free arm. "Run as fast as you can, Vegeta!"
But he could not move. There was something wrong with this picture. His mother, lying on the ground, bleeding… a monster with horns attacking her! Why was this so familiar to him?
"Mama!" shouted Vegeta, leaping in front of a large fist and taking the brunt of it. He connected hard with the rocks below. His right eye immediately swelled shut.
"Vegeta! Ugh!"
His mother had gotten to her feet, was fighting. Even from his position on the ground Vegeta could tell that battling the monster was no use. He was stronger than both of them together… he could tell. If only he could save his mother!
"Leave her a-alone!" he exclaimed, struggling to get to his feet and lifting off into the air. He could not fly very well yet but it was no matter.
"Oh, look! The prince himself! Grab him Zarbon!"
A pair of lime green arms caught him mid-flight and crushed him so hard that he could not breathe, let alone scream out. In front of him, Zarbon's leader had beaten his mother so that her once striking face was unrecognizable. Vegeta fought in his captor's arms as hard as he could but it was no use.
"Take him back to the compound while I finish her," said the abominable creature with a sneer.
"Yes, Lord Frieza."
Zarbon walked in the opposite direction, carrying a bruised and bloodied Vegeta under his arms.
His mother's petrified screams echoed in his ears.
A brilliant flash of green light burned into his eyes.
Again.
Again.
Again.
He realized with sudden clarity that he had awakened to a blinking digital clock.
It was just a dream, he thought to himself, forcing air into his lungs. Sweat glistened over his half-naked body. His stomach moved up and down rapidly and his heart pounded in his ears.
It had all seemed so real! In fact, until Frieza had shown up, every part of his vision had been accurate.
He stared at the ceiling and then looked to his left. The woman was still next to him, snoring loudly and hogging the sheets. It was all he could do not to curl up next to her, like the child he had once been, and scream into the pillows.
There was no denying his destiny. Frieza had not died; he lived in Vegeta's darkest dreams.
She wasn't safe next to him, couldn't she see that?
He could not think with her beside him. He could not do anything as long as she was next to him, providing a temporary escape from his troubles. He was so weak that even his mind had succumbed to his fears.
"Vegeta?" she muttered sleepily, her eyes half-opening as he flipped back the covers and got out of the bed.
The prince stood facing the opposite direction, not wanting to delay his actions any longer.
"Hurry up… bed's cold," the woman slurred, her eyes shutting. "I miss you already."
Stupid onna, thought Vegeta, his heart still drumming against his ribcage.
He was going to miss her too.
It was nearing evening and though the sun was lower in the sky, it was as hot as it had been all afternoon. Bulma relaxed on a wooden step on the back porch, and hugged her knees to her chest. It was so quiet that she could hear the sound of cars speeding through the residential neighborhoods on the next street over.
Her silver watch sparkled in the fading sunlight. It was just before seven now. Bulma glanced at the winding path to her left that led to the empty gravity chamber. At about this time she would be carrying a plate of food up it, a tall glass of ice water and an attitude.
A temperate breeze raised bumps on her bare legs and the grass teetered left and right. A large purple dragonfly hovered beside her ear and Bulma, terrified of all insects, let it nestle in her hair until it flew off. There were a lot worse things than being a landing zone for bugs.
Any part of her skin not covered by her camisole or shorts began to itch. Bulma vainly scratched at her scalp, her toes, and her throat. It was useless. She gave up and endured the sensation, wondering if she were making it up in her mind. It would not have surprised her; she had been living in a dreamlike state for the past four days.
It was a desperate nagging feeling that engulfed her now. It was unbearable to imagine she might have to go through this alone, that she was both pitied and blamed for what had happened.
Where was he now?
Bulma involuntarily lifted her eyes so that they rested on the high branches of a cedar whose middle had once been dented by her ex-boyfriend's head. How had the giant tree grown so easily in the midst of the countless fragile palms that littered the lawns of Capsule Corporation? Did it bask in the admiration of the weaker saplings budding around it, or was it resentful that it stood in solitude?
Pull yourself together, she begged her thoughts.
A bead of sweat trickled down her forehead and dropped into her long eyelashes. Bulma absently ran a hand over the nearly nonexistent bulge of her belly. She was going to be the best mother. She was going to be an amazing mother.
He's not coming back.
Bulma thought of her father, his bushy moustache and large spectacles. He had taught her so much; she wouldn't be anything she was now if he had disappeared before her birth. If he had abandoned her mother, she would not have become an engineer, would not be brave or smart, and would not be outspoken or opinionated. She would not have been Bulma!
He's not your father.
She was going to teach her son or daughter everything there was to know. They would be adventurous and carefree and strong and happy.
He didn't even say goodbye.
It was too much of an understatement to call herself an idiot. She just sat there on the step, squeezing her eyes shut and imagining that she had made all of the right decisions.
That she had stayed with Yamcha.
That she had never fallen for someone who was incapable of loving her back.
That she had focused on her work and career.
Seconds, minutes, maybe even hours passed before Bulma opened her eyes again. The sky was black and glittering stars were scattered across the sky. Her body was sore from sitting in one position for too long and it was far too cool for her flimsy outfit.
What did she care?
Suddenly her chest was aching so hard she thought she was having a heart attack. She gripped her knees and struggled to breathe evenly. It was just too hard. Everything was just too hard.
"No," Bulma whispered as a familiar burning began behind her eyes.
It had been a long time since she cried and she was in no short supply of tears when she finally did. They racked her body, stole her strength and fed off of her fears. Bulma fell onto the steps, her head and chest pounding with pain and hurt.
How could Vegeta have done this to her? How could he have left after everything that he had promised?
It was too great an effort to stifle the sounds of heartache. Soon, Bulma knew, one of her parents would hear her crying and she would have to explain everything that was wrong with her. She couldn't do it. No one could ever know. She was alone.
Bulma sobbed until her throat was raw and could barely breathe. She took long gasping breaths but it did no good. She was heartbroken, utterly inconsolable. She had loved someone, truly loved them. She was ugly and unwanted. The progress she had believed Vegeta had made was all a façade. She had meant nothing to him.
When Bulma tried to reassure herself that she didn't need Vegeta, she became even more disconsolate. It was the worst feeling she had ever experienced. It was more than rejection, it was dismissal. It didn't matter to the Saiyan prince that she was pregnant and that the baby was his. How could she have been so stupid?
The only thing that had ever mattered to Vegeta was fighting, training. Love for another person wasn't even something he could feign.
The tears would not let up and they mingled with her sweat and snot. She wasn't herself anymore. Vegeta had taken that away from her. Was she still a human?
Was this how Yamcha had felt? She vaguely remembered his scrappy appearance, tangled hair and red eyes. The pain she felt from that memory nearly overshadowed the pain she felt from being deserted. Had she really been such a callous bitch?
Kame she was so sorry. If Yamcha were here now she would beg for his forgiveness, buy him a new house, do anything that he wanted. If he felt a fraction of what she felt now, she was the absolute worst person in the entire world and deserved any horrible fate which befell her.
She cried until she fell asleep and the soft, buttery rays of the morning sun spread across her limp, wilted body.