CHAPTER 6
Bulma sat up from her work with a long stretch, her back and limbs emitting a series of pops and crackles as she slowly stood up from two hours of hunching over minuscule machinery parts. Rubbing her eyes vigorously several times she squinted up at the clock. 12:01 it read. The scientist grimaced, then cast a cautious glance toward the playpen in the corner of the room that contained her young son. A pleased smile spread across her face that he'd slept so well and allowed her to work uninterrupted for what had turned out to be a very productive couple of hours. Most likely, she predicted, he would sleep soundly through the majority of the remaining night.
Gently, she lifted him and carried the infant into her room where she laid him in his crib. From the window facing out onto the lawn she caught a telltale glow pulsating dimly off in the distance and frowned anxiously. She'd seen the man occupying the room built by her father for a full five minutes that day, the rest of the time he'd made himself quite scarce. Not that she'd had much time to think about it, the day being completely occupied as it was with her best friend's funeral and the seeing off of her son from the future. With the conclusion of the cell games, everyone had plenty to mull over for many months to come - including the elusive man inside the chamber.
Still...
"Vegeta," she sighed. She briefly wondered if he'd had any dinner, but remembered earlier when she'd been looking for Trunk's baby food, finding a sizable section of the pantry already raided. Obviously whatever private crisis he was going through at the moment he wasn't letting himself starve to death in the meantime.
'promising,' she thought, 'then it couldn't possibly be that bad.'
The enlightening conversation she'd had with Gohan at Goku's memorial ceremony still played through her mind: Vegeta's rage at the death of Trunks by Cell's hand and afterward his candid concession of inferiority to the nine-year-old who'd eventually defeated the monster. That the ever haughty saiyan prince could utterly drop all his barriers in one swift instant like that spoke volumes for the depth of his true emotion. Even though he hadn't attended the funeral, Bulma also knew that his rival's death must also be weighing heavily on Vegeta's mind. All of it combined must be nearly more strain than his aloof pride could handle (not exactly the best circumstances under which to pay him a visit she realized, but she'd never claimed herself to be the most rational of human beings).
She thought about using the comm system to check in on him, but immediately decided against it. She wanted to speak to him in person, not over a machine; besides, she had issues of her own that kept her up into these wee small hours and companionship would be nice for both of them.
She knew she wasn't disturbing anything, he obviously wasn't training. All was quiet within - an odd contrast to what had become the norm for the past three years. Bulma rapped her knuckles on the metal door and waited for a response. None was forthcoming, so with her own key she unlocked the gravity room and made her way inside.
"Vegeta," the woman said to the darkened room. Above her head the large screen that served as a two-way communication between the GR and the main house was switched to a station with snow - its white noise and flickering light was her only response.
Bulma ventured further into the unlit sanctum, opening her mouth again to call the saiyan only to jump with a strangled cry as a compact, spiky-haired silhouette materialized in front of her.
"Cripes," gasped the blue-haired woman, clutching her chest, "are you trying to give me a heart attack?"
"I don't recall giving you permission to enter," the lofty voice informed her dully.
"Well the last time I checked," Bulma fumbled for the light switch, "this was still my family's property." Flicking it on she turned once again to the now scowling Vegeta who shielded his eyes from the sudden light flooding the room.
"Vegeta..."
"Damn it, I'm in no mood for your meddling tonight, woman." He instantly flung the offending switch back to the off position with an imperceptible flick, as if doing so would also effectively shut her up, and stalked away. Bulma, however (as they both well knew) was hardly so easy to shut off.
"I didn't come here to meddle," she said calmly, watching his hazy outline cross to the other end of the gravity room and take a seat. After waiting a moment or two she cautiously took a few steps toward him, "I just came because I felt like talking to you...Is that okay, or should I leave?"
There was a long pause in which Bulma wondered whether he would even answer, then abruptly he replied, "Do whatever you want."
Encouraged by the hopeful response, she walked the rest of the way over to where he sat and took up the empty space next to him on the small couch. For a while, neither of them spoke, however it wasn't an uncomfortable silence. Bulma slid back and allowed her mind to drift over the day's events. She remembered her teenaged son just before he left for his own time and began to miss him all over again, but sitting beside the man responsible for his existence was somehow comforting. At least her Vegeta wasn't dead, and she had that Trunks to thank for it.
"So where's the brat," inquired Vegeta without warning, as if picking up on the train of her thoughts.
Bulma turned to him and blinked, unsure if she should be more surprised that he'd initiated the conversation or that it was about their son. "Asleep," she answered bewilderedly, "it's after midnight, you know."
The dark-haired man grunted dismissively, "I just thought that either you or your mother always had him in your sight at all times; so you actually do leave him unattended for any amount of time?"
"Of course," she huffed: leave it to Vegeta to make basic parenting sound like she was some sort of overprotective basket case. "He's perfectly capable of at least sleeping for a little while without me."
Vegeta made no reply and for several moments more the two of them were silent.
"You know, Gohan asked about you at Son-kun's funeral today," she finally said, "I think he was disappointed that you didn't show up."
The usually aristocratic saiyan crossed his arms and flopped unceremoniously against the cushion. "I can't imagine why he'd expect me there; it's not as if I ever had any profound fondness for Kakkarot...he was an idiot."
"He was also your rival and the only fellow member of your race, not to mention the earth's savior," pointed out Bulma, gazing curiously at his shadowy face.
"And now he's dead. Everyone's being sad isn't going to change that. Your sentimentality is a waste of time; I'm sure Kakkarot isn't moping around and feeling sorry for himself wherever the hell he is right now."
She considered the truth of the statement. "Hm, good point - but that still doesn't mean he won't be missed." Bulma's eyes drifted thoughtfully to the snowy screen above and she paused before adding, "it must mean something to you as well, Vegeta."
The spiky-haired man turned and gave her what she assumed in the dimness was a sharp look, "Why would it? I just told you I don't care about that moron or his son; whatever happens to any of them doesn't concern me!"
With effort, the growingly irritated woman bit back the quick retort that automatically formed on her lips; she was determined not to argue with him tonight. Instead, she did her best to focus on what the obstinate prince wasn't putting into words. Slowly, she let out a long sigh, "I get it; so then what now?"
The saiyan paused, exchanging his defensiveness for bemusement, "What?"
"Well, now that there's no one left to beat, no more enemies, what will you do?"
For a moment, he made no reply, but seemed to honestly puzzle the question himself. After waiting a few seconds for her words to sink in, Bulma felt it safe to press him further, "Will you still use this room? Will you even still stay here?"
"You want me gone," he quickly retorted, an edge of challenge to voice.
"I didn't say that; you know you're welcome to remain in this home as long as you like...I would never have invited you if I hadn't wanted you here." She watched him closely, noting that his clenched posture seemed to loosen ever so slightly, his broad shoulders sinking almost imperceptively as with the exhalation of a held breath. "I would have hoped that you'd come to see it as your own home by now - not to mention it would be nice for Trunks to grow up knowing his father this time around." Admittedly, she hadn't always felt that way, but much had happened between the time he'd abandoned them to train in space and today.
There was another long pause. Vegeta was no longer facing her, but leaned forward and turned slowly to gaze up at the flickering screen that now bathed his face in its ghostly artificial light; his rugged features appearing pale and gaunt within its glow. "Bulma," he began finally.
She watched his jaw clench and unclench and waited patiently for him to continue.
"I don't know anything accept battle; war has always been my only reality," his lips drew back into a fearsome grimace, "so how is someone like me supposed to suddenly embrace a quiet, peaceful life? What use do I have for a family!"
Bulma at first thought the light was flickering, but abruptly realized that it was Vegeta trembling violently beside her. Within an instant, the man was up and standing in the center of the room. Raising both fists above his head he swiftly brought them down upon the floor with such concussive force that an arcing wave of misplaced tile rose up and suddenly blasted both woman and couch several feet into the air along its violent course. Bulma landed back on its cushions with a slam that knocked the breath out of her lungs, the furniture's wooden frame splintering heavily beneath her upon impact with the ruined floor. A deep crater left from his fists punctured the solid metal where Vegeta knelt, panting raggedly.
"That bastard! He took everything from me! There's nothing left now - nothing left for me! I'm finished, I have nothing!" He suddenly whipped his twisted countenance toward Bulma - traces of the monitor's glow highlighting the primal snarl that contorted his face, "What use am I anymore?"
The woman gaped wordlessly back at her longtime housemate and sometime lover, unable to break free from the saiyan's terrifying glare. She'd seen Vegeta throw numerous temper tantrums over the years, but never had his fury felt so palpable to her. She got the strong sensation that it might crush her through sheer proximity alone.
Before she could decide whether to remain plastered against the upholstery in terror or make a hasty retreat from the GR, once again without warning, the rage radiating from the prince inexplicably dissipated and his face softened before her enormous eyes. Abruptly releasing her from his gaze, he lowered his head and sagged benignly to the floor - much like the broken sofa she now sat on.
After an ample allowance of time for her heart to return to a normal rate, Bulma eventually rose from the ruined couch and stepped carefully over. She squatted down beside him and waited for the prince to acknowledge her. Gradually Vegeta looked up, his eyes darted to her mouth then he glanced away again.
Putting a hand to her lip she presently understood: a warm dark liquid on her fingertips revealed where she'd apparently bitten it when she'd hit the floor.
"I'm sorry, Bulma," he muttered with a weary sigh, pulling himself back to his feet. Vegeta then reached down and took the mother of his child by the hand, gently lifting her up as well. "Sorry for a lot of things, actually," he snorted dryly, "I guess I'm an even bigger idiot than Kakkarot after all." The prince turned and took several steps away as she stared mystified after him. Halting several paces off, he crossed his arms and began absently surveying the enclosure.
"Vegeta?"
"Yes; as a matter of fact I will continue to use this room," he announced forthwith, all the while with his back still facing her, "and as soon as Trunks is old enough, I'll begin training him here as well. The brat's got potential, and if Kakkarot's son could so easily surpass his sire - imagine what power the son of an elite is capable of wielding."
A wry smirk slowly spread across the inventor's face at Vegeta's capricious subject change. Bulma placed her hands tauntingly on her hips, "So now you want to turn my son into the most powerful being in the universe - how ambitious of you, but shouldn't you run something like that by me first?"
"I'm not about to let what remains of my heritage go to complete waste because you insist on raising a soft, feckless weakling," the saiyan was quick to retort.
For the sake of lasting congeniality Bulma decided to ignore the comment (she'd learned to pick her battles) and instead breathed a quiet sigh of relief over the situation's fortuitous resolution.
"Well, speaking of Trunks it is getting late and I really should get back to him." The woman paused, regretting that her brief and all too rare company with him was now coming to an end, "I just stopped by to catch up, but I'd better be going." She cast a glance back over her shoulder as she pulled the door open "Good night, Vegeta." Vegeta's back remained to her, but his head inclined ever so slightly to the side in acknowledgement of her going.
crossing back over the lawn and through the house, Bulma slipped silently back to her room to find the chubby lavender-haired boy still sleeping soundly in his crib. The baby's mother beamed down at him, brushing her fingers briefly over his fuzzy head before heading to the dresser to pull out her pajamas.
Bulma paused amidst riffling through night clothes as her eye fell randomly on a silky pink slip wadded up in the corner of the drawer. The realization dawned on her that she hadn't worn negligee for many months - certainly not since the birth of Trunks (or during the larger part of her pregnancy for that matter) really not since she and Vegeta had called it quits. Thoughtfully, she replaced the cotton button-down and bottoms she'd initially selected and pulled out the small lacy article instead, inspecting it. Resolutely slipping it on, she stopped before the full-length mirror to momentarily admire its effect. She nodded her approval at the reflection before retreating into her bathroom to finish readying for bed.
By the time fifteen after one rolled around and she'd finally layed down and pulled the comforter up to her chin, Bulma belatedly discovered she really wasn't very sleepy after all. Without entirely knowing why, she continually caught herself glancing toward the door and straining at every slight creak. Just because she'd shared a small exchange with her somewhat unhinged estranged lover, why was she suddenly acting like she expected him to show up any minute and hop into bed with her? She certainly hadn't given him any indication that that was what she wanted (at least not intentionally).
"What's wrong with me," she huffed, flopping determinedly over and shutting her eyes. "I'm going to sleep now!" The over stimulated woman resolved to empty all the thoughts of the day - especially the peculiar conversation with Vegeta - from her aggravatingly analytical brain.
She'd only just begun to truly unwind when a definitive thump sounded somewhere in the distance. Having none of it, Bulma kept both eyes clamped shut - probably just her father getting up for something, or the cat jumping down from somewhere. She slid further into relaxation, any moment now and long awaited sleep would claim her. Not until she heard a sharp rustle and felt the covers being pulled back did she hesitantly crack open a single blue orb in the darkness. Within a moment, she found herself joined by a warm, muscular torso that smelled faintly of musk and a recent shower. In spite of her deep drowsiness, Bulma smiled as she ran a hand slowly down the inhumanly defined bicep that reached over and placed its broad hand on the back of her silk nightwear.
"G'night Vegeta," she murmured contentedly.
The prince muttered something in reply, but Bulma didn't catch it; she was already slipping into a deep peaceful slumber.
000
This is the last chapter in the Encapsulated series, where Vegeta has more or less accepted his new life. I intended this group of stories to show a gradual progression in his character as he transitions from villain to protagonist and all the angst that might possibly go along with taking that leap. It was a real challenge getting inside his head and constantly finding the right balance between callous and considerate but hopefully I was able to get his character about right. Thank you for reading, reviewing and favoriting!