Vegeta let out an involuntary grunt as Bulma dabbed the cotton ball with disinfectant onto his wound, then continued to mumble something about it being unnecessary for a Saiyan's injuries, yada yada yada. She'd heard the spiel many times before, but they both knew she would ignore it; there was no way she was treating a wound without it. Just because he hadn't died from infection yet, there was no telling what might happen in the future.
Sometimes she wondered why Vegeta couldn't just close his wounds on his own by sheer stubbornness. He had plenty of it. Unfortunately for him, he'd found his match in Bulma, and she was sure as hell not having him bleed all over her home.
She'd stitched up many wounds since she'd met Goku, although most of them hadn't been on him, but on her other friends. Senzu beans had to be saved for serious injuries, so she'd learned to handle the less deadly types. Hell, she'd even taken a medical degree because why not? There was no limit on the amount of degrees she could have.
Vegeta was admittedly one of her easier patients. While he seemed to be particularly sensitive to disinfectant - probably because he'd never been treated with it in the past - he never uttered a sound of discomfort when she treated his injuries. Of which there were many.
He kept refusing anesthesia. In the beginning it was because he simply didn't know what it was, although he was too proud to admit it. Even so, it was fairly obvious when their communication was hindered by a language barrier, but she was sad to discover that his lack of knowledge in such a common medical method was because it was never used in PTO. At least not on Saiyans.
Eventually though, when he'd learned to trust her enough to allow it, it had turned out that anesthesia wasn't even an option. Vegeta needed to feel the needle breaking his skin to make sure that he had lowered his ki enough to allow her to stitch him up; otherwise it was like poking at a piece of steel with a grass straw.
The fact that she'd always been able to stitch Goku up while he was given pain relief told her a lot about how tense Vegeta's body was at all times, constantly prepared for fight. Goku had never had the need to keep his guard up like that.
She often wondered what Vegeta would have been like if he had been sent to Earth as a small child like Goku. It was funny to picture Vegeta as the naive child like Goku had been, even though she knew that Vegeta's personality would've been a lot different no matter the circumstances of his upbringing.
Besides, if she'd met him at the same time as Goku, the Saiyan Prince would have been a 17 year old moody teenager. Considering how she herself was back then, it would have taken a miracle to keep them from killing each other; even Goku wasn't that strong.
But a younger Vegeta would've been interesting to meet. She didn't know exactly what he'd been through while under Frieza's command, but it wasn't hard to see that most of his scars weren't from battle wounds; they were from systematic torture administrated over a manner of years. She'd also heard enough of what he'd shared on Namek to know that his hatred of Frieza was personal in many ways.
If none of that had happened to Vegeta, would he have turned out very differently? It was likely, but how much was nature and how much was nurture? It was silly to wonder because she would never know, but nevertheless she allowed herself to imagine.
Her thoughts were focused on the concept of Vegeta as a somewhat normal child that she unthinkingly did something she would never have dared to do if she hadn't been daydreaming. "Well done! I'm so proud of you, sweetie," she said as she cut the thread on the last stitch.
She'd always praised her friends when they'd sat still through a medical treatment and she didn't think much of it until she heard a sharp intake of air. It was then she realized she'd just praised Vegeta - the very incarnation of rage in a compact, strong body that could snap her in half - like he was a small child.
She looked up, expecting to see a furious Saiyan glaring at her for her demeaning remark, but instead she found him looking extremely flustered - and a little bashful. Her curiosity sparked and he must've seen it in her eyes because he immediately jumped off the gurney, ready to flee.
"I admire how resilient you are," she blurted out, giving words to something she'd thought many times, but only saying it out loud now to gauge his reaction. He instantly froze, his eyes wide and practically screaming unease. However, he didn't growl or sneer like he usually did when he was put on the spot.
Was Vegeta responding with reluctant favor to her praise? She wanted to push it, interested to see if she could get a positive response out of him. However, she knew that it was imperative that she didn't take it too far - he would just flee. But there was np way she wasn't going to experiment with this further.
"Let me take a look at these." Her hands took one of his and held it gently as she looked down at it, stroking around his bruised knuckles. When she lifted her gaze, she hesitantly let her guard down and allowed him see her earnest admiration. "You know, you actually make me feel safe."
He gulped, uncertain eyes locked with hers. For a brief second he appeared to accept the compliment, but it was fleeting. The hand she held turned into a tight fist and he pulled it away, turning his back to her. "Your mudball of a planet is anything but safe with me here. I could destroy it with a flick of my wrist."
She'd heard this threat often and it lost its potency with every minute she spent in his company. Usually, she would goad and antagonize him, drawing him into one of their familiar fights, and it was likely his goal. But she wasn't going to take that route today.
"I know you can. Your strength knows no bounds," she walked around him, standing slightly to the side as she moved closer, trying not to scare him off. "But I feel safe with you. A strong, powerful prince like you…" she slid her hand up his lower arm toward his bicep where he'd gotten a small scratch which didn't really need her attention, evem if he had been human. She managed to catch his eyes again. "You're the only one I trust to protect me."
"I-" he searched her eyes for a sign that she was mocking him, but she wasn't. If the Androids or something else were to attack them right now, he was the one person that she truly trusted to keep her safe. His reasons for doing so might not be noble - he was probably more interested in keeping her alive, so she could provide him with training bots, food and shelter - but it didn't change the fact that he would fight for her safety and not let her die with the reassurance that the Dragon Balls would revive her.
"You don't have to say anything," she gave him an out, seeing how flustered he was. "I just thought you should know that you are the most capable warrior I've ever met." At this, he visibly shivered. His eyes reminded her of a puppy dog's, so eager for her approval, and though she wanted to take full advantage of his neediness for praise, she knew that she shouldn't.
"Can I take a look at your other wounds?" She changed the subject. His acquisitioning nod was short and she saw the disappointment in his gaze as he realized that she wouldn't continue her compliments.
Oh well, let him have it, Bulma, she thought, he deserves it. Kind of.
"It's so brave of you to let me tend to your injuries," she began as she examined a gash on his muscular stomach. He'd clearly lacked praise in his formative years. She would try to amend that.