I am sorry it took me so long to update, I was super busy and then I got stuck on how to approach this next chapter. It consists of a few short dabbles from the POV of Vegeta on how things go after his heated call with Bulma. Really hope you enjoy this chapter, if you want to read more I have posted another one-shot or two. Feel free to review and let me know I always appreciate your feedback and it makes my day! Thank you!
"Ssshhh. It's okay, it's just me Vegeta" her voice softly cooed while her fingers worked their magic on the bandages on his arm. His body ached and his thoughts were a muddled mess that pulled him down towards the pit of unconsciousness, he was too exhausted to fight it, to fight her.
The next time he awoke was to a cold washcloth being carefully draped across his forehead, the woman came into focus for a few seconds when he tried to open his eyes and she gave him the warmest reassuring smile he had received in his miserable life. He faintly registered her hand on his arm, traveling down over his wrist to find his own fingers and squeezing them gently, it felt nice and he did not fight it when his eyes drifted shut again. He had truly overworked himself, the explosion of the gravity room binding him to this bed, reminding him of his own mortality, but also bringing him in close contact with the blue haired female he had met on Namek before becoming her guest.
She talked to him in a soft and reassuring voice, promising his nearly helpless form that everything would be alright, that she would take care of him and the small boy inside of him clung to her words, drank them up greedily, relished the unfamiliar warm feeling in his gut that her words evoked. The last thing he felt before falling into the dark pit of unconsciousness once again were soft lips against his temple and a whispered promised that she'd be there.
He awoke gasping and sweating, alone, on the small cot inside his space ship. His heart hammering like it usually did when he had a nightmare, but this was no ordinary nightmare. No, he was being haunted, ever since his call with Bulma a few weeks ago she haunted him. Filling his dreams with blissful memories, soft touches and whispered promises that left him feeling utterly alone and miserable every time he awoke, craving her presence like a drug.
He hated it. Hated her for making him weak, hated himself for allowing this weakness to spring up in the first place, hated this new feeling of loneliness that he could not ignore. He was accustomed to being alone, had accepted it early in his life, had found ways to ignore and cope with it, but this, this was a kind of lonely he did not know how to ignore or extinguish.
With a deep groan, Vegeta forced himself out of bed, making the short trip to the shower and stepping in before the water had a chance to warm up. He needed to get a grip and focus on his goal. He needed to ascend. With that in mind, he scrubbed himself down as if soap alone could rid him of his dreams and this unwelcome sense of loneliness.
.0.
Vegeta found himself eating a well-deserved meal after another day of vigorous training. He was close, the transformation hovering just a step above him, but still eluding him. With the small kitchen set in partial darkness, why bothered turning on the lights when he could see just fine in the dark, he made short work of one of the many meals the woman's mother had prepared for him. Over the course of the last few months, he had forced himself to carefully ration all his reserves to avoid returning to earth any sooner than necessary.
Once he had finished his dinner and even had a small dish of dessert, courtesy of Ms. Briefs once again, he found himself lingering in the small kitchen. His ridge schedule dictated him to get up, perform a few light exercises of stretching and then go to bed, but he felt glued to his spot at the table. Almost like he was waiting for something. Someone.
And then it hit him, back on the forsaken mud ball, back at Capsule Corp, he would often eat late and many times the woman would join him. Herself having just finished some gadget she had been working on in her lab, or sketching late night ideas and schematics for some crazy idea that would not let her sleep, she would show up in the kitchen and give him a warm smile before making herself a snack and sitting down with him. Sometimes she would chatter relentlessly about ideas she had, other times she asked about his training, or fuss about a wound he had sustained, whenever she was feeling brave she would even ask him about personal things. Preposterous and vulgar personal things, like what was the most embarrassing thing that ever happened to him, the biggest lie he ever told and got away with, his favorite body part on a female, was he religious, was he a virgin, what did his mother look like?
Most of them left him ready to strangle her, but a multitude of others forced him to genuinely stop and think about his life, what did his mother actually look like? He was in his thirties and he was clueless, he was a carbon copy of his father who had never talked about his mother. At least not with him.
Bulma asked questions, questions nobody had bothered to ask him before because they had never legitimately been interested in him, so he grew up never bothering to ask himself either. She changed that.
The wave of annoyance and anger that rocked through him once he realized he was sitting in the dark reminiscing about this weak earthling was more painful and humiliating than any blow Frieza had ever landed on him. With an angry huff, Vegeta stood up, threw his dishes into the small sink and marched towards the gravity console. If he could daydream about foolish things like this he clearly had not worked hard enough.
.0.
He awoke gasping for air, white hot still burning in his loins and his pelvis still grinding into the now messy sheets covering his mattress. Vegeta could only groan deeply, not again.
Ever since the woman had contacted him approximately 4 months ago his dreams had progressively gotten worse. After ending the call he had been hell bound on destroying the next suitable planet, he had set course and he had touched down, but as soon as the hatch of his ship had descended and he had laid eyes on the buzzing city before him a wave of repulsion and boredom had hit him.
Repulsion because they were all so utterly weak and puny, beneath him on every level. Boredom because how many times had he done this for Frieza? He knew exactly how things would go, the panic that would erupt, the screams that would follow, the fighting back, the running away and hiding, the begging for mercy, the eventual death. Boring.
So he had found a place to eat and drink instead, wandered around the market and streets with a twisting sense of being lost and ultimately found himself inside one of the many brothels strewn across the city. He had left almost as fast as he came, none of the many females working there seemed right. The smelled differently, looked wrong, their skin not soft or pale enough and even the honeyed promises of pleasure sounded simply filthy. He had returned to his ship more enraged and annoyed than he had been upon landing.
Ever since then his dreams had turned from Frieza's torture to Bulma's soft touches and promises and ultimately spiraled into something so improper and vulgar it now awoke him with messy sheets and an aching groin that seemed to remain impossibly stiff - even after a cold shower - nearly every morning. Not even the first hormone crazed months of puberty left him feeling this out of control. His sleeping mind conjuring up acts they had indeed committed between his sheets - many hours of rutting into her with mindless lust, spurred on by throaty moans - and acts that most definitely had not taken place - her hands on his strong thighs, head between them and her mouth closing wetly around his cock - had him on the edge of sanity in the wee hours of every new day. It did not seem to matter how hard he trained, how far he pushed himself, how long he evaded sleep, she was always there with him, doing things so sinful they would have made Raditz proud.
The evidence of one such dream was now drying cold between his legs, soaking into his sheets and Vegeta mentally resigned himself to doing laundry before breakfast once again.
.0.
Two months later the filtration system for the water malfunctioned and he was forced to contact the woman. He had contemplated to simply ignore the issue at hand, he had survived worse and the last thing he needed was to see her, which would most likely only fuel his already slippery dreams.
In the end, he had decided that a clean shower every morning was worth the risk, not to mention that he need to wash his sheets. A realization that made him shake his head and anger bubble inside his chest. Taking a seat in front of the console he punched in the necessary codes to establish communication with Capsule Corp. As the computer beeped away, indicating that he was waiting for someone to answer the hail, he briefly wondered what time it was on earth and whether he was hoping for Dr. briefs or his daughter to pick up. Surely both would not be easy to deal with.
Before he could decide the screen flickered to life, showing the woman's lab, judging by the light floating through the windows it was afternoon. Bulma's face appeared on the screen making his carefully prepared words die in his throat, she looked exhausted. Her hair was in a messy bun, eyes puffy with deep circles underneath them and her face looked alarmingly slim. Her high cheekbones only seemed to highlight how fallen in her features were, the screen only showed her to her shoulder but Vegeta could not help the nagging voice inside his head that told him that her collarbones had not been that prominent before.
"What do did you break?"
Her voice was an exhausted huff, forcing his eyes to end their critical inspection of her visible body and return to her blue oceans. She looked unwell and Vegeta was unprepared for the sudden wave of worry that surged inside of him. Decidedly he stomped it down, focusing on getting to the issue as quickly as possible.
"The filtration system for the water is not functioning properly"
"Oh, that's likely a simple fix. Let me run a diagnostic from here, it might take a sec but you can stay on the line"
She was already typing away on her computer before she had fully finished her sentence, eyes scanning over the screen as her quick fingers entered the necessary codes and commands. As silence settled between them Vegeta found himself studying her appearance once again.
"You look unwell woman" he blurted his earlier concern before he could stop himself. Her typing ceased and her eyes found his again, for a moment she seemed to contemplate whether or not she should answer him, explain herself, brows furrowed in deep contemplation she finally said,
"I'm doing better than a few months ago. Your son already has your ravenous appetite and I can't seem to eat enough to sate him" she chuckled as if her next words were some kind of inside joke "never thought I would lose weight while being pregnant, he's go- oh here it is, that was quick"
Her focus strayed as her computer made a dinging noise, alerting her that the diagnostic run had finished and results were ready to be analyzed. Vegeta had been unprepared for her casually spoken explanation and was now grappling with the realization that the idiotic female before him had not placed the child in an incubation pod!?
"Are you insane woman!? Where is the god damn incubation pod that brat belongs in?!"
His voice was harsh, trying to deal with the sudden and unwarranted wave of worry, he did not care about her or this child but how could she be so stupid?! A Saiyan child required copious amounts of nourishment and high levels of vitamins and trace elements, more than mothers could often provide the natural way, so brats were placed inside an incubation pod when it became clear that the female had reached her bodily limitations of providing for the offspring. Bulma was delicate and rather petite, to begin with, her Ki was nearly insignificant and despite everything, she had apparently managed to carry his son almost to term. It was almost to term right?!
"Incubation pod? What are you talking about? This is how people have children Vegeta, it's only a few more weeks, why do you even care?"
There was confusion in her voice and on her face, she briefly glanced at him before returning her attention to the diagnostic results with a small disbelieving shake of her head that left him sputtering on the verge of rage. He did not care! Why was she always so presumptuous!? Vegeta accepted her following explanation of how to replace the water filter and fix the minor hick up in the filtration system without another word, his eyes remained stony and he ended the call as soon as he had all the necessary information, cutting her off in her inquiry about his well being.
He did not care. He was the Prince of all Saiyans and he cared about no one but himself. Stomping down the hall towards the storage room ready to retrieve the needed backup filter, and then get back to training, he violently squashed the unsettling feeling of worry that he had put the only person in this Universe that seemed to care for him in danger.
No. He. Did. Not. Care.