A/N - Random Disclaimer ... For my own conscience. This chapter contains explicit language and maybe some scenes people of the younger generation might find offensive. That is why it is rated M :)
Thank you to Adli for being my beta!
Chapter Nine - Day Three
The Placebo Effect
It should have been a place that breathed tranquillity. It should have screamed serenity; a place to look upon to calm your mind when your soul rattled out of control. It was none of those things. The lonely shoreline, along with the blistering heat of the relentless sun, was as troubled as she was. Every wave that lapped silently against the sand drew back as if in fear, snatching slivers of land as it retreated. It was the loneliest place on the planet, nothing like the beaches back home. No matter how quiet or desolate they were, they had always been a sanctuary. When her work load spiralled out of control, or when Yamcha became suffocating, calling and calling, she had always fled to the distant shore bordering North City. People kept to themselves around there; they didn't think to accost her, asking her for photos, looking for loop holes in her latest experiment. She was alone to be alone back then. Now it couldn't have felt any worse. It was chewing at her, brewing into her skull. It was too much.
She squeezed her eyes tight and pushed the heels of her hands into their sockets, rubbing hard, so that when she opened them again, the world would be fuzzy and iridescent, drenched in odd, oily shapes. It worked for a few seconds. But a few seconds was never enough.
The memories disappeared, replaced by the bulky, highly pissed off figure of her team mate.
Her partner.
Vegeta.
His face was pinched with disgust as he narrowed his eyes. She wondered if his animosity towards her was fuelled by how disgusting she must have looked. Once again, her hair was a matted mess, and she dreaded to think that if she ever got the chance to brush it again, how much it would hurt. Her skin was slimy with grease, and burnt from over exposure. It only took a little exposure to UV rays to burn Bulma, and what with being out in it constantly without a scrap of sun cream, well, it was only daring for trouble. Every movement made her wince, the sores on her arms and legs chaffing underneath her clothes. The thought of carrying on swelled and itched as much as her burns.
But within the depths of this sordid game, she had found her prerogative. It had come to her in a dream, granted. Nevertheless, it was there. Nothing was ever set in stone. And it gave her hope. A certain feeling that meant life could go on. It would never be the same, but it could move forward. The only question that sat in her lap was could she go on?
"Where now?" he said, casting a vacant glance over the horizon.
What was he thinking? He wasn't entirely focused on the game, either. There was something else there, nestling in that mind of his. But what? Again, she took out the radar, and fooled him into thinking that it was another twenty miles or so, which would take them at least another five hours to walk. He huffed and stomped ahead, while she did her best to bite her tongue and follow.
The shoreline seemed endless. Water, sand, water, sand. But when the land adjacent to the sea began to transform, Bulma felt a lump of anticipation sticking in her throat. Her heart beat faster, the hairs on her arms pulled at the root, her empty stomach gargled with the need to churn. The landscape morphed with every step further, as did the temperature. It was no longer unbearably hot. It was still boiling, but it was relatively comfortable, like basking in the Spanish sun. Beside them, where the naked sand dunes rested, was now thick and flourished with weeds and plants of exotic colours. The weeds clawed out of rock faces, growing towards the sun, trying to escape this world as much as she was. Soft sand was bedded with pebbles and huge rocks, which she was now lumbering over. Vegeta handled it with ease and virility, compared to her lousy attempt, but she still managed without damage. For a moment she stopped to stare in awe as he cleared rocks with a single step, jumping from one to the other as if they were stepping stones. The fluidity in his movements amazed her. No wonder he was so confident all the time. He had a right reason to be. She wondered—pulling herself up from a wobbling, jagged-edged rock—if his body moved that well in bed—if every movement was meticulous, intricate and completely satisfying. Every step had to be perfectly carried out, as if it were his last. Would it be the same if she were to lie beneath him? Her gut tightened, and she curled her fingers around the backpack straps, rubbing the coarse material with her thumbs to sooth her lewd thoughts.
There were more important things to worry about than sleeping with a Saiyan. She didn't even know where the thought had come from. Maybe it was when he was lying on top of her, looking at her with eyes that bled lust-
Bulma cursed herself, continuing her journey before Vegeta realised she was slacking.
Ten miles later, it felt like her heart was climbing its way out of her throat. They had reached a cove. No, they had reached the cove. They had to climb down to reach ground level, and all the way down, Bulma couldn't take her eyes off the one thing that called to her. The cave. Now that it was here, shouting out in all its realistic glory, she didn't want to go in there. It wasn't as inviting as it had looked in the printed picture. The colours were too solid. The rocks were too dark, the sand too bright and almost gleaming. But it was there. Just like she thought it was; it was just way too weird to justify.
No matter how much her conscience screamed at her to turn around, her body continued to walk towards it, following Vegeta blindly into the darkness. She gulped, as the cave swallowed them both, drinking all the light and Bulma's calm façade. She was dripping in fear now, and by the scalding look in Vegeta's eyes when he turned, it was patently clear that he could see it too. Even if she was blushing, he wouldn't have been able to tell. She was so burnt it looked like she'd gone madly overboard with cheek tint, and smeared it all over her face. Covered by the veil of darkness, though, she didn't feel as insecure under his scrutiny.
The cave reeked of mould, like a towel that had been left for weeks on end, only to ferment and spawn fungi. The walls were petrified, slicked with limestone and bits of coral. Tremulously, she waded through the couple-inches-deep of water, hoping to Kami that another creature wasn't lurking in the shadows, ready to attack. She'd been attacked enough in this game already. And now that she'd lost her only form of defence, it would be futile to try and fight back. Plus, she didn't want to have to coax Vegeta out of his hard shell. The more she wound up in trouble, the more he—reluctantly—had to get his hands dirty. She wasn't looking for that. In fact, it made her feel sick that she couldn't defend herself. Determination struck her hard, and she vowed that Vegeta wouldn't have to help her ever again, because she had everything under control. Didn't she?
The perimeter of the cave was in sight, and Vegeta paused, the muscles in his back tightening as his shoulders grew closer together. Silence installed itself between them. Odd drops of water from the ceiling sent a lonely echo, making the quietness eerie. Any saliva Bulma had left in her mouth had evaporated, like she'd just eaten a handful of hot sand. She treaded further, closer to Vegeta.
Panic struck her hard, as she saw that there was absolutely nothing in here. Nothing. It was only one hundred meters in depth and width—just solid stone with a pool of calve-high salt water. They were the only ones in there. Not even a mutant to tide Vegeta over.
"Well," he remarked, arching his head so he could see her in his peripheral. "Where is it? Because I don't see it. Do you?"
Bulma sloshed about in the water, making sure to stray from him a bit. "I-but-I don't know."
Vegeta lashed out and kicked the water, sending a wave crashing into the wall. Bulma winced, awaiting the tirade of abuse.
"If the damn radar said it was here, then it is here. Unless that useless piece of shit isn't functioning anymore." He crossed his arms, faced her, his burst of anger subsided.
Hurt and insulted, she frowned gravely. "The radar is working fine, Vegeta." She noticed a peculiar reaction flicker across his features every time she said his name. "I don't know where the dragon ball is. It's probably under the water, or a rock, or something. I don't know." She waved nonchalantly, as if they were looking for a missing TV remote, not the only thing that was going to grant them freedom. All the while Bulma had to fight against her own dread and fear. The fear of being torn apart by Vegeta, because clearly, his rage was beginning to get the better of him.
Not so confident now, are you?
Pushing back the logical voice in her head, she waded further into a pool of water, allowing it to creep up the length of her body, until she was waist deep. Vegeta was busy lifting mammoth-sized rocks up, checking underneath them, then throwing them back down with so much force she could feel the ground shudder. Splints of coral and rocks ricocheted around the cave.
Bulma hissed as the cold water made its way up to her chest, and she tugged the backpack beneath her, as she tried to bob. The water's depth grew and grew, and she had to grab a crevice in the wall to stop from sinking. It melted through her clothes, the soft waves caressing her damaged skin. The salt licked at her wounds, making her wince. It would be the only bare-basic treatment she was going to receive, so she tolerated it. She remained still, watching Vegeta boil over in anger as he flipped the last available rock there was. When he dropped it, she turned away, looking at the glossy stone wall as if it held the answers. Absentmindedly, her hand traced the grooves in the rocks, reaching underneath the surface.
She stilled, moved her hand over a large, smoothed dip in the stone, just above the surface.
The dip looked man made, purposely carved, like an archway. Grappling her way in front of it, she then swung her legs into the archway, almost being swallowed by more depth of water. It was a passage way. There was no telling how far it reached, but it definitely was. Again, the voice in the back of her mind told her that she was doing the right thing. Holding her breath, she plunged her head under water, and opened her eyes. It was gloomy and pitch-dark, injecting trepidation in her bones, but also beckoning her to go in. So far in this game she had done nothing other than walk into the darkness, whether it was literal or metaphorical. What was the harm in doing it again? With a new found purpose, Bulma emerged from the water, gasping, with a sheet of aqua hair plastered to her face.
"Vegeta, come and take a look at this. I think it's in here," she said, clambering to keep her head above water.
Within a heartbeat, he was sloshing through the water and at her side, seemingly unaffected by the plummeting temperature of the cool liquid. With a wet palm, she slicked back her sopping hair, and watched eagerly as he investigated the newly found passage way, his face fixed with concentration.
He went under, and she looked at the rippling surface, the tiny bubbles popping without a sound. A split second later, a flash of light was emitted, transforming the dark cave into a star-lit haven, before it disappeared without a trace. Vegeta returned, throwing his head back, and wiping the cascading sea water from his eyes. The usually erect points of his black hair had wilted, leaving a few stray strands pasted to his forehead.
She watched the range of subtle emotions brush across his face. She'd learnt to read them. He was vaguely amused by something, but also abashed—maybe because he hadn't thought to look there himself, instead of demolishing every rock in the cave.
Pride blossomed in her chest. Once again she had proved herself useful, without needing his help. She was a genius, after all. It wasn't hard. The smug grin melted from her face when his eyes shifted to meet hers. The droplets of water, previously patting lightly throughout the cave, sounded like trash can lids being clashed together right next to Bulma's ears. Suddenly, she felt paranoid of her appearance, realising that her hair was saturated, her skin was blistering, and her eyes had probably adopted two, large grey hammocks underneath them.
She swallowed hard before speaking. "Well? What do you—what do you think?"
His eyes narrowed, but never moved from hers. "It's a passage way." He shrugged, the water sliding off his broad shoulders, as he bobbed effortlessly.
Should I look away?
"Can you tell how far it is?"
He shook his head.
She sighed. "I can't hold my breath for too long. Forty seconds, tops," she shrugged, finally yielding from his steady gaze to stare at the rippling surface.
"Then you better swim quickly."
Bulma lifted her head, cocking an eyebrow. Something stood out in his tone. It wasn't as bitter and sour as before. Was there a hint of concern in there?
Bulma nodded. She had to try. It was she who had gotten herself into this mess, so she had to carry on through, no matter what obstacles stood in her way. Also, Vegeta would kill her otherwise. There was no doubt that he was going to be pissed off when he found out the truth. She just hoped that whatever was on the other side of that passage way would ebb his anger enough for her to explain.
"Give me that," he said, nodding to the backpack, which was dragging Bulma further down, until she had to lift her chin away from the licking surface.
Without hesitation, she stripped it from her arms, feeling a slight sense of bereft. That backpack had barely left her since they had started this game. It was almost a part of her. But, Vegeta was stronger and able to take the pressure and gravitational pull from it under water. She, on the other hand, would have been hopeless.
He slung it over both shoulders, and took a gulp of air, before submerging into the darkness. Bulma didn't have time to think. If she lost track of Vegeta, she would surely die, even if it was from drowning. A huge lung-full of air, and she pushed herself below. The water weaved through all her senses, as thousands of bubbles danced in her line of vision, obscuring her view. When they cleared, she saw it. Him. He was surrounded by an electric hue of blue energy, lighting up the severely narrow passage way, guiding her. Whether it was intentional or not, she didn't know. But like prey following the predatory glow of an Anglerfish, she thrust herself through the water towards him, enraptured by his magnificent display, as he was literally the light at the end of the tunnel.
The seconds passed and she was keeping a steady pace, taking to kicking her legs, making her as streamlined as possible. A few more seconds and her future was looking bleak, watching Vegeta's solid frame valiantly travelling through the tunnel without indication of breaching the surface any time soon. Her legs kicked a little too frantically as the pressure started beating in her rib cage, her lungs pleading for oxygen. She kicked again, and felt something sharp snag on her jeans, ceasing her advancements. Her eyes widened as she tried to pull free from it, but she was gripped. The beating in her chest progressed into violent pounding, and she opened her mouth to scream, waving her arms, trying to reach for the one person who could save her. Salt water consumed the space in her lungs, and she convulsed, fruitlessly shaking the entrapped material. The Anglerfish light swam further away, allowing the darkness and solitude to bleed through the growing gap between them. Empty screams failed, as the water streamed into each and every alveolus in her lungs, filtering and wiping the oxygen clean.
Once more her fingers grasped for Vegeta, before she was taken into the deep, dark abyss of unconsciousness.
Zarbon mindlessly picked at a silver scale that had magically appeared on his arm. It was a blemish, only to appear when he was stressed—the ugly reality of his physical appearance trying to burst through the beautiful seams. Frieza had yet to return, and he was left watching over his puppets. Granted, he had had his fun with Vegeta earlier on. That did amuse him somewhat. The look on Vegeta's face was priceless. So much lust in those brooding eyes of his. But, honestly, what did he expect?
It was not within regulations to form a genuine alliance, so for him to display any sort of connection with the Earthling was deemed as abhorrent behaviour. After that little incident, Zarbon's time watching over the precious Saiyan had grown mundane and monotonous. It had been several hours and they had done very little to interest the green- haired warrior. Not enough to punish them for, anyway. Zarbon was under strict rules with how to contend with Vegeta and the Earthling. He was not to harm them. But a little electric shock didn't hurt, did it?
His glassy eyes wandered across the holographic sphere of planet zero-one-six-zero, and stopped when they reached another team. Now that was more interesting. At least this team put up a little fight with each other. It appeared that Earthling number two was having an awfully difficult time with her ruthless Saiyan.
"Stupid woman. Almost got us both fucking killed …"
The platitudinous verbal onslaught of a familiar voice dragged her out of the darkness, heaving her forward and onto her side so that she could cough up a lungful of stinging salt water. Bracing her hands on the solid ground, she choked until her throat grew hoarse, and she was left panting, hunching and shuddering her shoulders. The t-shirt she wore was stuck to her like a second skin, freezing her right to the core. And for the first time in a while she wanted to cry. Being brought back from the depths so many times in a few days was beginning to get tiresome. A part of her just wanted it to end all together. She didn't want to see the face of a displeased Saiyan anymore, nor did she want to worry about how he would react. Sick and tired, and ready for death.
Shivering, she peeled her eyes away from the floor to gather her surroundings. Vegeta was standing directly in front of her, glowering down at her, but he didn't say anything. She didn't know which was worse. Yet again, Vegeta had come to her rescue, because he had to. The thought was so disconcerting—him seeing her floating lifelessly, and having to turn back to go after her.
With one slick movement, he wrapped a strong arm around her waist and pulled her to her feet, setting her down promptly. Bulma pulled at the fabric of her t-shirt, her face suddenly glowing red when she saw that the sopping material had become almost transparent. Wide eyed, she looked to Vegeta, who was thankfully staring at something behind her, his face fixed with a deep frown.
They were in another cave with a huge ceiling. Presumably, the tiny pool of water behind Vegeta was where they had emerged, leading back through the tunnel and to the first cave. The burning need to find out how long the tunnel actually was, was tickling at the back of her sore throat. Not that it would do much good knowing, but she always liked to be aware of everything. One thing that struck Bulma about this cave was the light. There was an orange glow, bouncing off every wall. She followed it round and nearly choked at what she saw.
The supressed need to cry was rendering, and Bulma had to swallow the dry lump in her throat to stop it. Boiling over in a mixture of confusion and happiness, she dragged a shaking hand through her wet, knotted hair, ragging through the tangles no matter how much discomfort it brought.
"What is this?" Vegeta demanded, standing beside her.
Bulma blinked, afraid that the image was merely a mirage, a figment of her own imagination. "It's a capsule home," she mumbled, staring at the small, domed building, which resided against the back wall of the glowing cave. The two bay windows either side of the house had a row of candles, emitting the only light. The house looked a bit dilapidated, with green sludge covering the white exterior, growing along the surface and spreading across the ground, like a sheet of carpet. It looked like it had been there for years, but the Capsule Corp logo stood out beneath the sea weed. It was there in black and white. Capsule Corp. Her father's creation.
On this planet?
This is what she had come to find. It was destiny.
Without thinking, she strode on, ahead of Vegeta this time, pushed the creaking front door open and walked into the flickering hallway of a first generation capsule home. Even the walls had some mould crawling up them, covering the standard pale-blue wallpaper. The whole place was bare of anything other than neglect. There were plant pots smashed and left on the floor, empty bottles and cans. She started when Vegeta kicked a bottle aside, unaware that he was so close behind her. Her hands ran along the walls, scraping the dirt under her nails. The memory of her father constructing a model just like this, when she was just ten years old, bloomed into her mind. He had showed her the plans, and shared with her all the magic behind it—only their secret to keep. Tears gathered along her waterlines. She mopped them away quickly, swabbing them with her palm.
Something about this place, despite its homely appearance, seemed quaint and peaceful. It was a distorted image of a house back home.
A dark figure emerged from the living room, sending her rigid.
"You made it, Bulma Briefs," he said, flashing the familiar sharp, black fangs which she had seen vividly in her dream.
Nonplussed, she took a step back, treading on a bottle and nearly tumbling backwards on her ass.
"What is this?" Vegeta spat, bracing a large palm on the small of her back to stop her falling, only to barge past a second later.
Bulma placed a cold hand to her burning forehead. "You knew." She locked eyes with Mr Mystery, searching for unspoken answers. "How did you know I'd find you?"
"Because you're pure," he said, nodding, a cheerful smile painting his white lips.
"What the fuck is going on?" Vegeta shouted, his body shaking with rage as he picked up a fighter's stance before the creature.
"Tame this warrior," Mr Mystery spat, his face suddenly contorted with churning hostility.
Bulma shook her head, casting away all the doubt and fear which resided there. Whatever was happening was happening. No matter how delusional it may have seemed, she had to get a grip and wade her way through this.
"He's got a point, though. What the hell is going on?" She stood closer to Vegeta, for reasons she didn't quite understand. She wasn't afraid of Mr Mystery, not at all. It was the whole scenario that set her on edge—the house, the cave, the underwater tunnel. None of it clicked together.
The blue miasma of Vegeta's energy rose in the air, consuming the outline of his muscled frame. "If that dragon ball isn't here—"
Mr Mystery stepped out of the shadows, revealing himself to them with fearless prowess. Bulma gasped. He looked different. Without the cloak, he looked terrifying, and huge. The soft candle light illuminated his chalky skin, highlighting his bulky, towering body. His ears were so sharp and pointed that it looked like they could pierce skin with ease. He was clad in a purple, sleeveless training outfit, which resembled some of the clothing she had seen Goku wear. Around his waist was a thick band of blue silk.
"You don't need to worry, here, Saiyan. Your precious Lord Frieza cannot keep track of you this far beneath the surface. The anklet is useless," he said, waving his hand dismissively.
The blue energy dissipated and Vegeta's tensed shoulder slumped. He looked to Bulma for answers, but she had none. She was as bewildered as he.
"The anklet doesn't work?" she said, frowning.
"No, it will still carry out its purpose when the time is right, but the signal is blocked," Mr Mystery said.
Vegeta roughly dragged his fingers through his hair, staring at the ground. "Frieza will be alerted immediately."
Mr Mystery clucked his tongue. "There are more contenders in this game. I'd give it several hours before he notices your disappearance."
The confidence in his voice made Bulma believe his words to be true. They had to be, because everything this guy had said to her so far had been legitimate. She put her hand up, the inquisitive scientist within making a short-lived appearance. "Hold on—who are you? How do you know all of this?"
He smiled, shook his head. "Clearly the two of you are in dire need of rest. Before I give you news, take an hour or two to calm your minds. Sleep if you must," he said, gesturing to the bedroom to the left of him. "Miss Briefs, I have some errands to run. I'll be back shortly." And he dematerialised before she could demur.
The house grew deadly silent. Only the soft inhales and exhales of Bulma could be heard. She looked to Vegeta, who was rigid with burning rage, his arms pinned to his sides, fists clenched, blanching the skin on his knuckles.
"The bedroom is there?" he said, pointing to the room down the corridor, trying not to look at her, instead working on concealing the desire to wring her neck.
"I … ah … Yeah, I think so," Bulma said, taken aback.
He nodded and proceeded to stomp into the room, creating as much destruction as a tornado, knocking empty picture frames and ornaments from their shelves, and slamming the door shut behind him.
Bulma flinched as the noise resounded through the house, rattling the loose fixtures in the ceiling. The sudden cold and loneliness enveloped her damp body. She didn't move from the hallway.
Vegeta had a right to be angry, true. In fact, he had a right to punish or torment her. But the fact that he hadn't done anything at all was more unsettling. It was as if she was pushing him closer and closer to the edge of his own restraint. Each nudge was building within him, and it was only a matter of time before he lashed out. She told herself over and over that if it wasn't for the anklet, she would have died a long time ago—by his hands.
This wasn't supposed to happen. None of this was supposed to happen. The plan was there, plastered on the inside of his brain and he took note of it, because he had to. So, then, why had he fallen off course to such a dramatic degree? And how did he wind up sitting on an ice cold, cover-less bed, and left to stare listlessly at the ceiling, only to remind himself of his failings? Oh, but he knew why. Of course he did. He just didn't want to admit it.
The Woman.
Vegeta groaned and rolled onto his side, using his forearm as a pillow, facing away from the door. For the last twenty minutes he had been tracking that woman's life force as she wandered around the house, rummaging through things, with her ki flickering excitedly. She was stomping around like she owned the fucking place. Things were clicking and clacking constantly, deterring any notion of sleep he got. He should've killed her. And no matter how many times he reminded himself that that was not an option, her pollutive existence slowly ate away at his solid composure. He was cracking. When he found out about their little digression, he was insanely close to ripping her throat open. He had to get away from her. It was just as well she was making herself busy and keeping out of reach. It was finally giving him a moment by himself. But he wasn't by himself, at all. Even when she wasn't in his sight, she burrowed away in his mind like a petrified rat in a barrel. And he hated it. But it didn't matter. He wouldn't let it matter, because once this game was over, he would make damn sure that her life would be over as well. That was a plan he definitely would stick to.
This dilapidated dump was freezing. He'd spent countless nights sleeping in cells and dank dungeons on Frieza's ship, though they weren't half as neglected as this shit hole. This was an entirely different type of cold, couple with the sense of failure. Much worse. He fidgeted, brushing his cheek against his smooth arms to get into a comfortable position. The door handle rattled, and instantly, the irritation nibbled away at his tired brain.
Vegeta remained still, hoping that she was as smart as she said she was, meaning she'd know to fuck off.
"Vegeta?" a soft, muffled voice said from behind the door.
He ignored it, shifting on the bed, making the rusty springs in the mattress moan in protest.
Regardless of knowing what was best, the door, scraping across the worn carpet, opened, and the soft sound of bootless feet padded into the room.
"Get out," he grumbled testily.
The sweet smell of fresh lavender whirled around the room and his senses, filling and clouding them over. The smell of her sidled to towards him, also. He glared at the flickering candle on the windowsill. The flame was about to die, along with his restraint towards this woman.
"I found some food. Here," she said, and there was a weight of something being placed on the bed next to him, though it was too heavy to be just a bowl of food.
Despite being overwhelmed with rage, Vegeta had to think logically enough to get the facts straight. So far, he'd been dragged around for miles, thinking he was searching for their main objective; the one thing that was going to save their lives. Well, his life. Obviously when he had come to terms with the fact that they were now going to be a day behind, he needed some justification. What, in her right mind, made her think she could get away with something like that? And now she had the audacity to approach him without of trace of fear flowing through those precious veins of hers.
"You lied," he stated bluntly, unsure how he felt about displaying his disappointment in her. In himself.
She sighed. The sound was so soft and beautiful, he wished to hear it again, but while she was underneath him, panting and screaming his name.
"Look, I had to," she uttered, her tone slathered in thick, pasty guilt.
"Whatever. Now get out." The skin around his knuckles grew tight. He'd been absentmindedly clenching them the moment she stepped in the room.
"Ok, but you need to eat, Vegeta. It's macaroni cheese. There was an emergency supply of tinned foods in a cupboard. It's cold, and a little out of date but … yeah," her voice trailed off, and he knew she was rambling her way out of the emotion he despised the most.
He roused himself up on his elbows suddenly, and stared at her intently. Her azure eyes widened, but she didn't move, rather—whether this was conscious or not—she leaned in, drawn in by a dangerous, magnetic force. It was subtle, but he saw it. The light from the candle left a yellow glaze in her blue pools, and for a moment he forgot how to talk; his throat desert-dry.
"How did you know to come here? How is that possible?" he said gruffly.
As soon as her eyes dropped to the bowl in her hands, he felt a sense of bereavement come over him—their connection shattered instantly.
Bulma shrugged, her thin, malnourished frame shaking in the cold. "I—I don't know. I just—you have to believe me." Her eyes met his again, lingering, connecting to his mind, and trying to read into the indifference on his face.
Back to default, Vegeta frowned. "I don't." And his mouth set into a grim line of distaste.
It was true. How was he supposed to believe or trust someone who had led him astray over eight hundred miles? In his whole thirty-whatever years of living, Vegeta didn't think he had ever trusted a single living soul. Not one. His father was a joke; Raditz was a crook who wouldn't stop at the chance to stab him in the back. And Nappa? Well, that one went without saying. Trust was such a pointless tool. The day you put your trust in anyone, was the day you lost your mind. Vegeta threw himself down on the mattress, placing his arms behind his head, watching the throng of dancing shadows on the ceiling that were shaping around the lamp shade.
"I don't expect you to. But I don't know why you have to be against me all the time." She sighed again, and something fluttered in his stomach, a yearning to grab onto that sound and wring its neck until he grew bored of it. Yet, it was highly unlikely that he would ever grow tired of that euphoric utterance.
"Are you gonna eat this or not?"
He waited for a moment, the empty hollow of his stomach gripping with pain. "Yes."
Giving in, he sat up again, dragged the bowl over, and dug his hands into the cold, sloppy food, scooping it up. Pieces of pasta spilled over his fingertips and back into the bowl.
"You're royalty," Bulma mused out loud, trying her best not to grimace at his table manners.
The sweet flavours exploded on his tongue. He'd never tasted something as rich and delicious as this before. Again, he scooped another handful, cramming it into his mouth, dissatisfied with the tiny portion she had given him.
"Hn?" he grunted, his attention focused solely on the food.
"I heard you say it. In the gorge—"
The bowl was slammed down on the bed, and Vegeta wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. A new sense of energy cascaded down his throat and into his stomach, momentarily loosening the steel grip of hunger.
"That's right," he said proudly, looking her straight in the eye.
She shifted uncomfortably, crossing her arms over her chest in a protective sort of way. The dumb woman had only a flimsy t-shirt on, and it looked wetter than his own garments.
There was no way he was going to discuss his past with her. Again, that was not part of the plan. Hell, she wasn't even supposed to know his name. That was bad enough. Day by day she was beginning to remember things. It was only a matter of time.
He fixed his impenetrable gaze on the decrepit wall opposite. It looked like the place was going to collapse any minute, as there were holes in the eroding plaster, being eaten by the sodium in the air.
After a minute of heavy silence, he sighed, knowing she would not leave him until he answered. The answer would have to be limited, then—limited enough that she couldn't track back from it.
"I come from Vegeta-sei. My father was King, and my mother was Queen." He shrugged nonchalantly. Talking about home wasn't his favourite thing to do. It only brought up more soil and shit.
"Vegeta, why are you part of this game?" she said, her voice wavering, perhaps because she was afraid of the answer.
He thought about it for a moment, even though the answer was simple, then said, "Because I belong here," and let the palpable statement hang in the air.
It was true. He did belong here. She, on the other hand, did not.
Bulma picked the empty bowl off the bed and plonked it in her lap. "No one belongs in this mess."
He regarded her softly for a moment. Such an innocent desert flower, she was. Being stomped on by Frieza, and squashed. Having all her morals wiped clean the moment she took a rock to that human's head.
She leaned towards him, the welcoming warmth of her body teasing his own. "What could you have done that was so bad?"
He found himself mirroring her actions. "Killed millions—maybe billions, hearing their useless pleas for help and still crushing them into the dirt …" The heat blazed within him as he leaned closer to whisper, "And loving every minute of it."
She gasped, yet to move away from him—the rapid beating of the pulse in her neck like music to his ears.
"Spare me the questions. Knowing this kind of information isn't going to save you, so why bother?" He slumped down against the headboard, peeling his eyes away from hers with feigned disinterest; for fear that he might become enraptured by her beauty, and act on impulse.
"I want to know," she whispered, sending that flutter back into his stomach.
Behind her words, there was need for something else. The tone was too deep and sultry. The sudden throbbing in his loins made him uncomfortable, pressing into the tight material of his garments, begging to be freed and subdued by the warmth of her centre. His brow furrowed.
She needed to leave.
He shot her a hateful look, but she was too busy looking at the wall, her eyes frosted over, deep in thought.
"It's freezing," she said suddenly, shivering and gripping onto her shoulders.
Vegeta supressed the urge to roll his eyes, and instead rolled onto his side. "Shut up whining for once."
"Well, it is!"
He flinched. The high pitched sound was unbearable. "Deal with it," he said behind gritted teeth.
The corners of her eyes felt like they had a polythene cutter wedged underneath them. Every time she blinked, there was a sharp pinch. She was tired; tired of thinking about being tired, tired of walking endlessly through miles of desolate landscape, tired of feeling useless. It hadn't slipped her mind that Vegeta had saved her, twice. And, yes, she knew that he had no choice, but it still counted, right? She frowned, her body stilling from the racks of shivering, focusing on the penetrating cold, rather than letting it consume her. It was her back that was suffering the worst. If she didn't do something she'd have pneumonia in no time. Being exposed to such a range of explosive temperatures was corrupting her body's natural balance. The skin on her face was burnt and peeling off, like a snake shedding its skin, whereas now she was frozen to the core, her arms and legs prickled with goose-bumps.
She glanced over her shoulder at Vegeta, his solid, muscled back uncomfortably stock-still, the beautifully bronzed skin between the nape of his neck and the hem of his clothing. It didn't even look like he was breathing. She wondered whether he was as cold on the outside as he was on the inside. The urge to reach out and feel his skin with the tips of her weather-damaged fingers was making her subconsciously pull towards him. But the cold snapped at her when she reached out, the distance between them too great to even contemplate leaving the warmth of her own grasp.
The thought of Yamcha popped into her mind. The memory squeezed acidic droplets into the tender wound of her present. She had loved Yamcha. After thinking about it, she had finally come to that conclusion. To what extent, she didn't know. He was there for her, always wanting the best, buying her the most extravagant possessions, just to make her smile. But he bought those things, because he knew she was drifting off course, away from the blissful contentment of their lengthy relationship.
When he had asked her to marry him, she had said no.
Bulma pressed the heels of her hands into her eye sockets again, rubbing in a circular motion, willing away the guilt that threatened to tear her to pieces. What did it matter, anyway? It wasn't like she was ever going to see Yamcha again, was it? She sighed, wrapping hands around the back of her neck, interlocking her fingers, her elbows pointing outwards, and lifting her head to gaze at the candle light wavering on the ceiling.
She had said no, because she got a glimpse into the future, and didn't see him in it. It wasn't that she didn't love him. The emotion wouldn't stretch far enough, and it tortured her every day.
Feeling the warmth of another person's skin on her skin almost seemed unimaginable. The slow, heavy breathing, the steady beat of someone's heart under her palm. There was seldom ever anything sexual about it, other than it brought comfort and security. The last time she had felt like that was too long ago, even when she was lying with Yamcha, with his arms wrapped around her like he wouldn't let her go even if the world stopped turning. But for her, it did. Her world—metaphorically—had been crushed and blended into a moist mush of congealing memories.
Vegeta was still frozen solid, obviously unopposed to her being in the same room as him, which was bewildering considering she had fucked him over about the dragon ball. He needn't worry, though, because they had five, tucked in a backpack, hidden in the next room. No one was going to find this capsule home and steal them, and there were three days to go. Bulma's stomach flipped when she realised that her potential life expectancy was a mere three days away. In three days, if they didn't gather all seven dragon balls, they were going to die.
Solemnly, her eyes traced the outline of her partner's body, from the metal tips of his boots, to the peak of his raven hair. She didn't want to feel alone. She didn't want to die alone.
With bated breath, she crawled over to him, and sunk down behind him, her face inches from the back of his neck. The heat from his body was consuming. She needed to touch him. Softly, she let her hand rest on the bare skin of his shoulder, the warmth connecting with her palm, sending jolts of unexpected desire through her veins. The muscles in his back flexed, and then his entire body loosened, like he had just woken up from a hibernated state.
"Vegeta," she whispered, her breath fluttering the wisps of hair at the nape of his neck.
The silence indulged itself between them, making Bulma recalculate her actions.
She inhaled, hoping to gain some courage and composure. "Vegeta, can you just … hold me."
The moisture in her mouth had been consumed along with her rational, focused behaviour. "Just for a little while," she elaborated, pressing her fingers gently into his bicep.
Rejection was never something Bulma had had to face in her previous life, but she knew that if it was going to be thrown at her by anyone, it would be Vegeta. This was the man she had known for less than five minutes, but felt the strongest connection she had ever encountered with anyone else. The anklets had bound them, unwillingly, crashing them together, and tying their lives with the tightest, silk knot. But there was more. Granted, it had only been three and a half days, but something about Vegeta lured Bulma in, eyes wide and mind in the clouds.
Admitting defeat, Bulma rolled onto her other side, pressing her back against his. The bumps of his spinal cord pressed into the dwindling flesh on her back, giving her the smallest bit of warmth. Her cheeks prickled with the heat of embarrassment, and she tried to convince herself that Vegeta had been asleep and not heard her stupid cry for affection. Again, she held her body tight, thinking about palm trees, and coconut cocktails, and being able to revel unashamedly in the glorious sunlight without being singed like a chicken steak on a barbecue.
A shifting in the mattress made her balance unsteady, nudging her backwards, and before she could regain it, the warm breath of Vegeta rolled against her neck and off her shoulders. It was as inviting as a warm current in an icy sea. At first she assumed her body was so deprived of warmth that it had created a pseudo effect; a need so deep that it could be forged.
She daren't move. If she moved in the slightest, showcasing how much she wanted this, Vegeta might run. It was one step at a time with him, leaving her always conscious of being bitten on the nose. In the space of a couple unbearably stretched seconds, Vegeta's armour-less chest moulded to her back; the action was full of intent, and deeper meaning, one which she tried to read carefully.
What was in this for him?
The way his hand drifted along the curve of her waist, bunching up the soggy material of her t-shirt, his dry fingertips barely grazing her skin, it said so many things to her. His touch was gentle, controlled, and judging by the dramatically slow pace, she sensed that he was waiting for her to react, but she could barely move. Shock had rendered her immobile, when all she wanted to do was melt under his touch, though the pulsing in her core said otherwise. It beat, manipulating her body temperature, sending it soaring. Bulma knew, at that moment, if she turned her head, only slightly, Vegeta would kiss her, and possibly much more. And she wanted that.
Playing with a blue flame was extremely dangerous, it being the most vicious of them all, and she had it wrapped around her, keeping her warm. Without shamefully lying to herself, Bulma concluded that being close to Vegeta felt exciting, sparking a new sense of danger and adventure. Although she was partly cautious, her body began to sink into his.
But he was a killer, and according to Mr Mystery, she was pure for the time being. Despite all that, she was gasping for rest—a single moment of peace.
The confidence within her spiked impulsively, and urged her to take Vegeta's warm, dark hands in her deathly cold, pale ones, and web their fingers together, like a mismatched fence panel. She marvelled at the contrast in colour and size, also noticing how clean his hands were compared to hers. Thick layers of black dirt were engraved under each of her nails, accompanied by painful wit-lows and chalky, chapped skin. Her mind swelled with images of what could be, as she directed his arm around her waist, where he then pulled her into his chest, tight and protectively—a shield against the darkness.
For the first time in a long time—way before she could remember—Bulma contentedly closed her eyes, being overwhelmed with the knowledge that she might actually gain some peace. Yet, an emotion had been stirred, and she had to fight against it. It was an emotion so foreign and explosive, like nothing she had ever felt before, not even with Yamcha. It worried her. How could she possibly have feelings for someone as cold hearted and cruel as Vegeta?
With their fingers intertwined, Bulma sank deeper into Vegeta's possession. Being under the strong hold of a killer had never felt so comfortable and safe. There was more to Vegeta, though. She just knew it. Something resided in his mind other than the thirst for battle. In his eyes, she saw desperation within the darkness. A silent plea for help, but from what she didn't quite know yet. She was going to make damn sure to find out about Vegeta, reach into his past and pull out the right information to allow her to accept the new emotion brewing in her chest. Before she was to die, she would know what had happened to the Prince of Saiyans.