Vegeta awoke before the late-shining winter sun had risen, and he put on his armor in the darkness. Only the thin stream of light that peeked under his bedroom's door illuminated the space around him. A light under the door—someone had left the hallway lights on. His hand resting on the doorknob, he stood motionless and paused to listen for any disturbance that lay on the other side. He heard only his heartbeat. His step suspicious, he stalked outside, then closed and locked the door behind him.
What he discovered on the corridor floor, just yard or two from the entrance to Bulma's room, surprised and intrigued him. Piles of papers sat scattered around the woman's laptop. A cup of coffee, toppled over with its former contents spilled onto the carpet, lay beside her open hand. Bulma herself, wrapped in a fluffy fleece bathrobe, reclined half on her side with her arm pillowing her head and with one hand still splayed across her laptop's keyboard. When she breathed loud, sleep-deepened breaths, a flyaway strand of hair fluttered in front of her open mouth. She looked positively ridiculous.
Unconsciously, Vegeta had crouched down to look at her more closely. "Woman," he grumbled loud enough to wake her, "what are you doing here?"
She stirred. "Hmm?" she whimpered softly as she rubbed one eye with a clumsy hand. Her eyelids, Vegeta noticed, had puffed and reddened slightly, perhaps with weariness, emotion, or both.
"What are you doing here?" he repeated.
Her gaze bleary, it took her a few seconds to process what she saw and heard, but when she finally did, recognition flared across her face. "Vegeta!" she exclaimed, snapping into an upright position.
"Why are you here?"
She fumbled with a few of the papers beside her. "I was... writing an article. On artificial gravity and time travel." An awkward pause, during which her finger found the power button of her laptop. "What time is it?"
"Seven forty-five," Vegeta answered before Bulma could type in her password. "You could have worked in your room or at your desk. That is not why you are here," he added flatly. He sat down, then snatched a stack of papers and made a quick survey of their contents. The titles and diagrams did seem to indicate studies in theoretical physics. At least she had made an effort to provide evidence for her alibi, but it could not fool Vegeta.
"Gravity warps space-time, as you know, so I've been puttering around with ideas about time travel now that my dad and I have pretty much got artificial gravity down. Could be interesting."
The Saiyan lowered the papers he held and glared at her. She was trying to distract him, and she was failing miserably. He knew why she was there—she had wanted to keep watch for him—but he would have her confess the reason.
She blurted it out forthwith. "I just wanted to make sure you knew I was there in case something was bothering you."
"You accomplish nothing by hovering about me," he stated sternly.
She ignored his statement. "Did you sleep well? You're up earlier than usual."
Vegeta usually slept deeply and dreamlessly after a day of harsh training, and yesterday's training had indeed treated him harshly. On such days, he would practically collapse into unconsciousness the moment he lay down. In fact, he often strained himself, among other reasons, in order to sleep well. This method achieved its purpose most nights, and it had worked for him last night. He had even expected to sleep longer than usual despite having retired to bed early, but had awoken early anyway. "Yes," he answered the woman simply.
"Going to eat breakfast and then train?"
"Why would I do anything else?"
She swallowed. "I don't know. If you were feeling bad, then maybe you'd do something different."
"What I choose to do is none of your concern in any case."
"Nothing I did got you upset, then? It might concern me if it was my fault."
He snorted condescendingly. "I have concerns apart from you, arrogant woman."
If Vegeta was not mistaken, the hint of a smile flickered into her expression. "I know. I just wanted to be sure." After closing her laptop and organizing a few stacks of paper on top of it, she edged herself toward Vegeta, mimicking his posture by hugging her knees to her chest. "And you know you can talk to me about things if you want."
Silently, he studied her. Although he had already been sitting beside her for some time, the fact of his doing so only just now occurred to him. As disheveled and ridiculous as she appeared, she made a captive of his attention nevertheless. With a pang of regret, he remembered that, last night, he could have easily taken pleasure and consolation in her body. He cursed whatever sort of senseless mood had made him choose sleep and solitude instead of the intimacy he had looked forward to the whole week long. Was he truly that averse to contentment, to himself? By no means could he say any longer that he had an aversion to the woman. Had anyone else watched over him as she had, it would have angered him. She infuriated him, certainly, but she did not anger him, and he was not wholly averse to her.
Bulma interrupted his thoughts. "Hey, Vegeta"—she brushed his hand with her own—"do you mind if I join you for breakfast? As you can see, I kind of need another coffee."
"You shouldn't have been so careless." Her carelessness—it infuriated him more than just about anything about her. She sprawled out all over life as recklessly as she had sprawled out and fallen asleep on the floor.
"That's not a 'yes' or a 'no.'" When she unfolded herself and stretched, her slippered foot pressed the side of his leg playfully.
Vegeta caught hold of her slender, smooth ankle, then forced it to the ground. Thereafter, he stood to his feet. "Do as you please. It does not matter to me." A lie—it did matter.
"Okay, then," she called after him as he descended the stairs. "I'll be right down after I put this stuff away."
Through the wide kitchen window, Vegeta saw the start of a rosy sunrise, its tones touching the clearing clouds with pale blushes of pink and gold. As he contemplated it, he exhaled deeply; he noted in passing that the gash in his side had closed considerably since the previous evening. At least he would not repeat the foolish behavior of yesterday—go without his armor and increase the chances of unnecessary injury. He still could not pinpoint why he had conducted himself thus in the first place. It did not matter now, whatever the reason. Knowing that the woman would come downstairs soon, he took his usual seat; he could already sense her approaching energy, although faint.
"Look at that sunrise, Vegeta!" she exclaimed once she entered the room and rested both hands on his shoulders. "And with all the snow—it's pretty."
He leaned forward in an attempt to escape her touch, then turned to glance at her askance. "What a pointless sentiment," he spat. The icy panorama the window offered them reminded him of nothing pleasant; it seemed almost strange that she could think of it otherwise.
"Oh, don't be such a cynic," Bulma tittered. "I'll get us some coffee, and we'll both feel better."
Vegeta watched her as she scooped aromatic grounds into the coffee machine. She had tied her hair back into a messy bun, showing off her elegant neck, and the same strand that had hung in front of her mouth as she slept adorned her forehead. Instead of her fleece bathrobe, she wore denim pants and an oversized jacket with the Capsule Corp. logo embroidered on it. If she planned on going downtown or to her headquarters, she would have worn something less casual, perhaps a pair of those impractically high-heeled shoes.
"You're not going anywhere today," the Saiyan stated at the same moment his brain processed the implications of her dress.
Bulma filled two mugs with hot coffee. "No. I'm going to tinker in the lab. Going to see if I can make a prototype of the gravity simulator that's more compact. Maybe work a bit more on that paper, too. Oh—and I might take a nap sooner or later. I'm really fucking tired. Stayed up most of the night."
"You do realize that altering local gravity can only hasten or slow down time relative to the affected area, do you not? You will succeed only in either aging yourself disproportionately to the universe around you or allowing time to pass more quickly around you while you remain essentially frozen with no hope of backward travel. If shifts in gravity were effective means of time travel, there would be many more time travelers. Artificial gravity devices have been common in this galaxy for several thousand years at least."
"Really now?" The woman smiled crookedly as she set a steaming mug down beside Vegeta's hand. "I've already come across that problem in the articles I've read. But who knows—there might be a way around it. That's what the research and experimentation are for. I'm not going to count it a closed case until I prove it to myself. None of the crusty old PhDs who wrote those stupid articles have ever built a gravity simulator that can replicate five hundred times Earth's gravity, so I'm not going to take their word for it—sorry." She elbowed the Saiyan's upper arm before sitting down beside him. "But the point you made was a very logical one. And hell, if not for you and your crazy gravity training, I might not have even thought to challenge it. So thanks for the gift of uncertainty! Merry Christmas to me."
Vegeta rolled his eyes, then took a scorching swig of his coffee. Her brilliance puffed up her pride unbelievably; if she really could defy logic, then she would succeed in impressing him—a tall order indeed.
Leaning forward, she kissed the outer corner of one eye. "I'll get you something to eat."
Before she could turn to leave, however, Vegeta reached up to grasp her jaw gently. Closing his eyes, he pressed his lips to hers. He didn't need to see her to know she was smiling; he felt it against his mouth. She returned his kiss, then drew back. He let her go. What sort of fool had he been for not wearing his armor yesterday? Now he would have to wait another week for their scheduled time together. How could he have purposely sabotaged himself?
"Aw, I like you too," she chortled. "Let's see—what did my mom leave for you? Here we go."
Vegeta glanced at the digital clock the microwave displayed. It neared nine o'clock; by the time he finished breakfast, allowing extra time for any way the woman might delay him, it would likely near ten—the hour at which he customarily began the day's training. All would be as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened yesterday, and Vegeta favored this thought. Everything would be all right so long as he wore his armor today and every day, so long as he maintained order, kept everything under control, closed off every open possibility for divergence.
Both of them watched the sun rise from the horizon as they ate and spoke together at random. Their conversation was mundane, but Vegeta didn't care. He understood that the content of her words meant and mattered less than the woman who uttered them. He was glad that he had found her in the hallway, he realized, despite having not expected it. She thwarted his expectations constantly, and no prediction of his could enthrall her—another thing about her that infuriated him. Before he went off to train and she to her laboratory, she kissed him again, and Vegeta let her linger there as long as she willed. Bulma seemed happy when they parted; the happiness that glittered in her eyes chased away some of the dark weariness left over from her sleepless night.
He could hardly think straight as he strained under over four hundred times normal gravity. Space-time warped at the event horizon of a black hole; if that damned woman's time travel theories proved of any use, then perhaps he could press time around him into a haste, and when he emerged from the ship, Saturday would have arrived. But at the end of the day, it was still Sunday.
At least time seemed to pass quickly during sleep, so Vegeta looked forward to a night's rest with particular interest. He only had to disrobe and take his evening shower before he could do just that. But something made him pause in front of the door to his guestroom.
A plain, rectangular box of flimsy cardboard rested at Vegeta's feet. On top of it lay a red envelope that bore his name printed in Bulma's handwriting. He snatched up both, and vanished inside his room. If anything, he was curious.
He set the box down in the center of his bed and took the envelope in hand, opening it as swiftly and effectively as he could. A piece of folded, stiff paper was inside it. What he assumed was its front displayed something akin to an artistic representation of a snowy landscape. In an ink that gleamed a bit like satin read the words "Happy Holidays!" So far, the experience of the envelope and its contents sickened Vegeta, and not in a pleasant way. If he hadn't already seen that the woman's handwriting filled the inside fold of the stiff paper, he might have destroyed the thing altogether. He opened and read it:
Sorry about the choice of card! It was the only one I had lying around. But who am I kidding—it's not like any card would have been appropriate for you. I wanted to give you one anyway, though. I guess it's my fault if you destroy it before reading it. It's a holiday custom we've got most places on this planet. Most people consider it a nice gesture among family, friends, and acquaintances.
Speaking of holidays, one of the biggest winter holidays just happens to fall on this coming Saturday. I totally forgot to tell you that earlier this morning. I was really tired after staying up, and it was hard to keep everything straight in my head, so you'll have to forgive me for not telling you then. It might not have been the best time anyway, so maybe it was lucky. I'm going to be spending time with my family that day, if you understand that, and Yamcha and Puar will be there too like always. You're free to join us—there's going to be a shit-ton of amazing food. It's part of the holiday, at least at my house. But anyway, it could get awkward if we kept our usual Saturday plans, especially if you still don't want anybody to know about us. We can reschedule, though, so don't hesitate to come and find me if you'd like to.
About the box—it's a gift. No funny business, I promise. I'm not trying to manipulate you or get anything out of you. It's just another common custom of the holiday. You don't have to give me anything in return. You've given me so much already, you know—inspiration, fun, excitement, challenges galore (not all of them bad ones), friendship. I think you will like the present. I really hope you don't destroy it. You can destroy it if you hate what's inside, just make sure you at least open it before you do.
A lot of people consider this holiday a time to stay home, relax, and spend time with the people you care about. It's a time to appreciate, enjoy, and be grateful for life and loved ones. That's probably a load of bullshit to you, but hey, I'm just telling you about the holiday in good scientific fashion. I'm not making you participate if you think it's silly. Truth be told, it can be kind of silly. There's a reason everyone on this planet has a holiday horror story. I've got a million of them, let me tell you. They're funny now, but they weren't funny when they happened.
Anyway, come talk to me if you want to reschedule. I know you like to plan things in advance. Have a good evening (or whenever you come across this), and have a good year, too. As truly strange as it is, I really like having you around, and I'm glad you seem to tolerate me and my family, no matter how crazy things have been. I guess that's all I'll say. I'm running out of card space, and you're probably running out of patience.
Her signature, exquisitely loopy and sloppy, ended her script. Vegeta did not destroy the card, as insultingly absurd as it looked; instead, he fit it back into its envelope, then stowed it away in an empty drawer. He didn't have to look at it there. Bulma's note had succeeded in stoking his curiosity about the box; she must have guessed how much the unknown annoyed him. He opened it.
Perfectly folded inside rested a navy blue garment which, within an instant of touching it, he recognized as cashmere. The heartbreaking softness was unmistakable. Without thinking, he had raised it to his face and run his cheek along the already warm fabric. He lost himself to the sensation and its memories, and did not care to find himself again for a few full moments. Vegeta noticed, when he finally set the sweater down, that he'd left a drop or two of moisture on it. His eyes had watered, it seemed.
All at once, he had realized why he had not worn his armor yesterday. He had had to remind himself of vulnerability's consequence. He'd stepped outside of himself, experienced ecstasy; he'd been given life, it had moved him, and he'd taken it at last; he'd become happy, and he was afraid. For what was life but another mistaken wish, another thing to be taken from him, then culminate in nothingness? He had seen enough destruction and despair to know that. He knew the legends; in singleness of mind, purpose, and heart lay the way to meaning and greatness. But he had broken down into multiplicity now, and he did not want to let go of the pieces. So he had punished himself for his sins, and he had bled and wept like the broken man he was.
Author's Note: A good writer friend of mine, LadyLuckRogue, just recently published a beautiful Bulma/Vegeta one-shot titled "Castle of Glass," and I'd like to recommend it to you! The story handles the fate of future Vegeta and is therefore quite sad, but it is exquisitely so, and I'm confident that fans of my story might be fans of LadyLuckRogue's!
Another thing... I'm just curious! Why do you as a reader like The Mistaken Wish if you like it? What keeps you coming back? I think my story is weird, and I obviously can't get the same sensations and feelings you guys get out of it, so I'd like to know what in particular, if anything, makes it stand out to you. Thanks for reading!