Chapter 15 – But I Found in You What Was Lost in Me

Shivers wracked her body at the draining of the healing fluid, consciousness barely regained before she was forced to catch herself against the domed glass door. The stomach-bottoming sensation of tumbling forward played through to her subconsciousness much to her relief, and saved Bulma from an embarrassing moment of bashing her head into the glass.

The brief pause between the drainage process and her release granted her with enough time to press away from the glass, eyes remaining shut even as she shakily removed the oxygen mask. It swung from its cord once dropped, tapping her thigh twice before slowing to a halt. Still, Bulma couldn't open her eyes, too lost in the blissful relief of no longer experiencing the physical pain that previously left her unable to breathe, never mind attempt to move. It was damn near euphoric—until it belatedly connected in her dazed mind that she was freezing.

The tremors worsened until they caused horrendous aches throughout her body at the whooshing of the door opening to free her, exposing her to the coldness of a metal ship. In a pitiful attempt to warm herself up, Bulma wrapped her arms around her midsection, shaking forcefully enough to effect speech and breathing.

Ridiculously, she'd never considered just how cold it had to be leaving the healing tank after floating in its heated fluids for however many hours. There wasn't even a chance to feel horrified by the pruning of her delicate skin and Bulma flinched hard at the rough towel that was dumped over her shoulders.

"Weakling human."

"S-S-S-S-St…"

"Shut up before you shatter your teeth."

A meagre glower was all she could muster in that moment for Bulma was too busy trying to wrap herself up in the towel as tight as possible. Being stuck in sopping clothes didn't help matters but like hell she was stripping down in front of someone like Vegeta. No matter what transpired, she had her dignity and her morality. To allow a murderer to—

Murderer.

Like they were trying to alert Vegeta of her crashing back down to reality, Bulma's legs buckled beneath her though she couldn't feel his reluctant steadying her. Could barely hear the mocking words that previously would have ground on her nerves and prompted her to fire back tenfold. No, she was too… She was…

She was a murderer.

The shaking increased at the reminder of what she'd done and Bulma hurriedly looked down at herself, expecting to be dripping with the alien's strange coloured blood (there was nothing there, of course—the healing tank's fluids cleansed her of it). She half-expected there to be the stomach churning blobs of brain matter and mangled skin. And like it was there, Bulma suddenly dry heaved, but was unable to bring a hand to her mouth to cover it. She couldn't if that meant bringing her blood soaked hand to her mouth.

"Oi," came Vegeta's rough voice. However, when it became obvious that Bulma was too lost in her trauma, he yanked at her hands until their gazes were locking intensely. "Save your breakdown for later. We have a problem."

He kept her hostage under his scrutinising gaze and no matter how deeply she longed to look away, to hide the weakness that was threatening to take her out, she couldn't. Couldn't control anything. It didn't even feel like it was her body shaking—more like the world was. Like everything was collapsing around her, determined in its attempts to wipe out all she once knew, herself included.

"Kakarot's woman and son are not back."

They…

The towel slipped from around her shoulders, but even as the tremors worsened, Bulma couldn't feel the cold any longer. It was overshadowed by the dread creeping over her, paralysing her with the fear that accompanied it.

"T-Their k-k-ki—"

"Don't you think I tried that already, you idiot?" he snapped once he figured out what it was Bulma was struggling to suggest. "They're either concealing themselves or—"

"D-D-Don't—"

"—they're dead already."

No.

No.

She refused to believe it.

Her best friend's family—her friends—were not dead.

Fury and adrenaline surged through Bulma powerfully enough to blanket her mind from the horrors she'd committed; her chattering teeth clenched tightly while fighting Vegeta's once stabilising hold that only served to piss her off now. Even as she stumbled in her attempts to get away from him, Bulma didn't stop fighting until her back hit the healing tank with a thud, chest heaving by the time she managed to push away from it determinedly.

Mockingly, Vegeta sneered, "What do you intend to do about it, Weakling Human?"

"N-Not me," she snapped back. "You."

Dark eyes narrowed dangerously, nostrils flaring. "I am not a pet awaiting your commands."

Too concerned about her friends' well-being to bicker with him, even as gut instinct warned Bulma not to turn her back on the volatile saiyan, she struggled forward and out of the medical room. He was hot on her heels, she could tell from the dark aura that prickled at her nape in warning, but Bulma didn't focus on him until she was entering her bedroom and acknowledged him by leaving the door open (knowing if she shut it, he would only break it down).

It took all of two seconds to pick out a new outfit, though she hesitated in changing as her attention was drawn to the watch that remained fixed to her wrist. Being waterproof, the healing tank shouldn't have affected it and she quickly reassured herself of that fact by testing the shrinking setting that had Vegeta scoffing in her doorway. She ignored him and returned to her original height, turning towards her bed, and kicking off her soaked boots, then her socks. They hit the freezing tiles with wet plops and thuds—the only sound to fill their silent standoff.

His domineering presence prevented Bulma from stripping fully and she lifted her head to glare over at him. What the hell was the pervert waiting for? A show? An invitation to join her? Damn it. She didn't have the time, patience, or mental strength to deal with Vegeta's bullshit—she needed to retrieve Chi-Chi and Gohan before that breakdown bulldozed its way through whatever it was that was powering her through.

"What do you want?" Bulma demanded with a dangerously wavering patience that shook her voice. "I'm trying to change, you pervert!"

"You are in no state to be going back out there," came his cool analysis. "You will wind up dead, then where does that leave me?"

Blue eyes drifted to the choker and matching cuffs Vegeta unwillingly sported, chest winding tight at the possibilities that snapped through her mind.

If someone had to choose between them, then she knew that her father was the better negotiator. He boasted a laidback manner that allowed harsh scrutiny and relentless stubbornness to fly over his head, remaining unaffected in the face of opposition, doubters, and investors. On the other hand, was her. A hothead through and through with zero understanding of when enough was enough. Her nature had put them in harm's way many a time, though Bulma wondered with an unsettled stomach whether this time would be her last.

"Retrieve them—alive and well—and I'll remove it. All of it." Holding his calculating stare, Bulma stood up and squared her shoulders; allowed him to see that while the notion of his release made her nervous as hell, she would stick to her word. "As soon as they're back with us and I know they're okay."

"You have already changed your mind once—"

"I won't," she swore. Stepping forward and holding out her trembling hand, Bulma then added, "You know that their lives mean too much to me to risk lying to you."

There was no telling what Vegeta would do to them just to spite her.

A particularly rough shudder made her unsteady on her feet before Bulma managed to stabilise herself against the closet door, eyes shutting briefly like that alone could help her concentrate on not losing her shit just yet. If she wasn't careful and he didn't hurry up and agree with the deal, then they were both about to be further traumatised by whatever her stomach was attempting to forcefully eject.

"One condition."

Conditions? "You're already getting the damn thing off," she tried to snap, but the return of the teeth chattering took away the bite to her words. "Isn't that enough, Stupid—"

"You stay behind."

Eh? When there were psycho aliens out there hellbent on enacting their revenge on the wrong freaking person? When she barely even managed to scrape out of that skirmish with her life? Was Vegeta dropped on his head multiple times as an infant, or was he simply that goddamn dumb?

"My watch—"

"You are a liability," came his unaffected response and she nearly shrivelled up at the condescension in his cold stare. "You either stay behind or leave them behind."

Damn it, she hated being dished ultimatums. She hated that sickening sensation of being backed into a corner with no way out.

But…

It was for Gohan and Chi-Chi, Bulma reminded herself just as the natural aversion threatened to blow the whole deal. She could tell by the seriousness in Vegeta's hardened expression that he wasn't calling her bluff—he meant every word of his threat of leaving the others behind. And why wouldn't she believe him? This was the guy who'd ruthlessly murdered his own comrade—one of three remaining saiyans. Her friends didn't mean shit to him other than a means to an end or worse, a way to get to Goku.

"F-Fine," she stuttered despite her pride's protests. Bulma determinedly pushed away from the closet to approach Vegeta once more, waiting all of two seconds before she snatched a hold of his hand and shook it firmly. So stressed about the safe return of her friends, she didn't realise he'd already removed his glove at some point. "We have a deal."

A guarded look swept downwards at their joined hands and considered them carefully for several moments, like she was about to pull a knife on the guy if he showed even an ounce of vulnerability. Snorting, Bulma tightened her grip and kept the other hand hanging limply by her side, constantly in his line of sight.

Of course, as she should have been expecting, the almost meaningful moment was promptly shattered by Vegeta snatching his hand away and sneering, "Try not to have a breakdown while I'm gone, Weakling Human."

He said it like she wanted to have one, Bulma thought irritably.

Her response was severely lacking even for her fried mind's state, and Vegeta ensured to show how pathetic he thought it to be when she flipped him off by scoffing at her and leaving.

It took an eternity of encouraging herself to finally change into fresh clothing and soon enough, she was wrapping her blanket around herself to try and fight off the icy chill that threatened to exacerbate the exhaustion. It swept in so suddenly that Bulma startled, jolting upright upon realising she was slumping forward in her seated position on the bed.

Moving around was probably for the best, but her fried mind begged her not to. Her current spot was semi-peaceful in the sense that the bedroom was untainted by her unforgivable crime, allowing Bulma to linger in a false sense of hope and ignorance that it was all one messed up dream. That the pain caused made her delusional and anything following the impact either with the snake-like creature or the alien was untrustworthy, if not completely false.

No, clinging to denial wasn't going to help, Bulma thought with a touch of despair.

She had to face her darkness, didn't she?

Even while being resolute in the decision of facing the body left behind in her blood soaked lab, it was only after several false starts that Bulma managed to drag herself to her feet. Legs unsteady, heart racing so fast it hurt like her ribs were still broken, she tugged the blanket tighter around her body and traipsed through the silent ship's halls uneasily.

It didn't occur to her that she was unarmed and defenceless, or just as worryingly, didn't have the scouter in her possession to detect the approach of others—attempting to sense their ki was out of the question also, being as out of it as she was. She—

Was it a blessing that the doors to her lab were shut? Was it a sign to turn back while she still could?

Bulma swallowed hard and found herself immobilised by the sight of the lab, even when that meant remaining in the control's room where the only door to enter and exit the ship was stationed. The hold on the blanket threatened to weaken until she mentally shook herself, knuckles bleaching white under the strengthening grip.

You can't hide from it, Bulma told herself harshly. You did it. Now face it.

How long would it take for her to thoroughly clean the lab? What did she do in the meantime? What did she tell the others? Gohan's lessons were in there and changing the location was going to rouse suspicion, but like hell was she going to let the kid see such a haunting scene. It didn't matter whether he'd already seen way worse—he was a kid.

He was just a kid.

Her next inhalation was deep and became trapped in her lungs, but that didn't stop Bulma from striding forward and slapping a hand to the button. She flinched in anticipation of the doors whooshing open and feared the absolute worst possible scene imaginable.

But there was nothing.

And she stood there dumbfounded.

No body. No dripping brain matter. No pools of blood, although its presence did leave behind stains that were undeniable. The stains were the only way of cementing herself to the fact that it wasn't a delusion after all, but…

Bulma fell back against the doorframe and looked over her shoulder at the main entrance of the ship, despite knowing all she'd see was a closed door.

Vegeta…

There was no denying it.

She really did owe him now, didn't she?


It was taking too long. Way too long.

Another cause for her escalating anxiety now lay shattered on her workstation.

Luckily for her, upon realising it was missing she was able to follow the green glass that acted as breadcrumbs. However, it was after locating the scouter beneath a console table that she came to the reluctant acceptance of needing to rely on sensing ki to keep track of Vegeta. If she commanded the ship to track him then that posed the risk of alerting the natives someone was inside if they happened to hear the generator.

Despite the return of the shaking when she grabbed her weapons, Bulma proceeded to arm herself before retreating to her bedroom. Was hiding what a warrior would do? Probably not. Then again, she was no warrior. She was an engineer. She was—

She was a murderer—

"Stop it," Bulma demanded and brought both hands to her cheeks with a sharp whack.

Now wasn't the time to focus on that. What mattered was making sure the others returned safe and sound and, in the meantime, she needed to protect their ship. Needed to make sure that she could think clearly enough to focus on the domineering ki that threatened to swamp every other person on the planet in its darkness.

Vegeta moved at an unwavering fast pace, Bulma could eventually sense, though it seemed no matter how far he travelled, it was impossible to lose his presence. Even when she attempted to block him out in favour of focusing on the natives or her friends, it was like he could sense it. Vegeta refused to be dismissed, his ki rippling similarly to his muscles during the attack on Frieza's station, alerting her to confrontation whenever it happened. Also like that night, nothing appeared to slow him down. He bulldozed through every obstacle. An unstoppable force.

He really was the prince of a warrior race.

Proving to be his total opposite in every way possible, upon registering a minor creak from outside the room, Bulma swiftly shrunk herself and charged under the bed. Unless the aliens had some sort of super vision then they wouldn't be able to see her—not if she was purposely hiding herself, anyways.

Even while scolding herself about how there was absolutely zero logic in the irrational thought, in Bulma's mind, it was the alien she murdered returning for her. The vision of the red-eyed woman booting down the door and enacting a twisted revenge played on repeat, leaving her a trembling mess who had to cover their own mouth to remain undetected.

Tens of minutes of ear-ringing silence passed before she deemed it to be safe to shuffle out from under the bed and return to her ordinary size.

Enough time had passed for her hair to dry naturally, capturing Bulma's attention once she was upright and leaving her mouth to drop open in disbelief, because whatever the hell was used in those healing tanks was so not friendly. The frizzy rat's nest atop her head looked dry as hell and she shuddered at the gross, brittle sensation that met her when running a hand through it. It was too tragic.

Mental breakdown or not, there was no valid reason for her hair to look such a way, Bulma reprimanded herself harshly. She looked feral. Just imagining what her mother's reaction would have been to such a horrendous sight had Bulma grimacing.

It was rare to ever witness her mother anything short of immaculate. Hair perfectly coloured, styled and neatly pinned up; nails fixed up the second the gel chipped or grew out. Her outfits were somehow immune to creases and stains, so as many could understand, it'd broken her mother's heart every time Bulma left the lab covered in the evidence of her work. Oh, the lectures Bulma had suffered through on how to take better care of her appearance were deeply ingrained, so much so that witnessing the state of her hair in that moment swiftly had fixing it become top priority as she fell back on the borderline toxic teachings.

After all, as the blonde always told her: appearances are everything.

The world was easily deceived by a well-groomed individual, and Bulma knew that she had her work cut out for her from that moment on. Obsessing over her brutalised hair until a single Dutch braid was sweeping over her shoulder kept Bulma's mind occupied; repainting her nails aided her in stabilising the tremor that plagued her since leaving the healing tank.

By the time Bulma was looking like it was any ordinary day, she felt a modicum of control returning to her. That didn't mean she was no longer a jittery mess because her senses were very much still on high alert, but she was getting there. She had to be. They needed her to be.

They needed her to be okay.

They—

The fast approach of Vegeta's intimidating energy snapped Bulma upright before she darted out of her bedroom. Heart racing and hands sweating; weapons loaded and within reach.

That was until she slammed a hand down on the button to open the door, and her breath was viciously stolen at the sight of Gohan's limp form thrown over Vegeta's shoulder, beaten and unconscious. In his other arm and being held more like a football was Chi-Chi, who was heard before she was seen as she struggled furiously, kicking out even with the burns and blisters littering her battered appearance.

"What…"

"Move," ordered Vegeta.

Wordlessly, numbly, Bulma stumbled out of the way and could only watch in horror as the mother and son duo were carried straight through to the medical room. Her friend's screams echoed throughout the ship just as they did in her mind, and they were what eventually prompted her to follow them at a more cautious pace—that was until she slipped in the pools of blood left in their wake. It was the wakeup call she desperately needed.

Get out of your own head and help them!

"What can I do?" she demanded upon entering the medical room, uncaring that she was essentially putting Vegeta in charge. It didn't matter in that moment. None of it did. All that mattered was making sure they were okay. "Vegeta?"

Dark eyes briefly assessed her appearance before he barked out orders for her to scour the cabinets to the far left of the room. He was by no means gentle while lowering Gohan to the single cot, but what really caught her attention was Chi-Chi's screams immediately ceasing the second she was dropped to the ground. What terrified her were the aftershocks that made her look as though she was convulsing.

The collar and cuffs.

"G-G-G-G-Go—"

"Vegeta's got him," Bulma reassured the sickly grey woman on her way back to Vegeta with the items he demanded.

What the hell happened to them for there to be no immediate revulsion or hatred to the words? Even when she was in a world of pain, Chi-Chi was hardheaded and stuck to her guns—like hell she would ever allow someone like Vegeta to provide urgent medical care to her baby boy.

Knowing there was no time to let her imagination run away with itself, Bulma followed the strict orders snapped at her and eased Gohan out of what was left of his outfit. The injuries revealed lashed at her heart; who could hurt a child in such a heinous way?

Vegeta didn't waver or lose composure for a second, she noticed with great surprise. That calculating stare assessed all injuries with a detachment Bulma knew she could never attain; hands steady as he prepared Gohan for the healing tank. Even as he applied pressure to the gaping gash to the boy's neck, Vegeta was able to direct her in using the healing tank (without her scouter, the buttons couldn't be translated).

Heartbroken sobs tried to distract Bulma but she found herself clinging to her determination with the aid of Vegeta's calmness.

"It's ready," she informed him once the door swept open. Reaching in and grabbing the mask, Bulma looked over to Gohan's pale form and asked worriedly, "Will he…?"

A dark warning to keep her mouth shut was shared in the clashing of their gazes and she promptly silenced herself, flinching as she heard an increase in Chi-Chi's cries.

"I cauterised the wounds with my ki."

That was a thing?

Shaking the curiosity that was piqued, Bulma stepped aside and watched worriedly as the deathly pale Gohan was placed inside the tank. Just to provide further reassurance for both her and Chi-Chi, she quickly checked over his vitals and the oxygen mask secured to his face before allowing the door to swing shut on him.

She stepped back unsteadily, stomach in knots at the sight of his tiny body soon floating in the healing fluids.

"Check Kakarot's woman over," ordered Vegeta once the chaos died down. He turned away without a backwards glance and headed to the door, muttering, "She was in contact with one of the cuffs."

But before he could leave, a trembling hand weakly grabbed at his boot, and it was evident Vegeta was uncomfortable when he met the teary, bloodshot gaze of Chi-Chi. What surprised Bulma wasn't only that the other woman thanked him, but that he stood waiting for her to manage to say the words through her convulsions.

What surprised her was the brief flash of respect as he evaluated her appearance, then looked to Gohan.

"Come on, Chi-Chi," Bulma encouraged and reached for her. "Let's get you checked over."


Well, it appeared her suspicions were correct: Chi-Chi was in full contact with Vegeta's cuff for the entirety of the journey back to the ship.

A horrific burn the size of the cuff marred the underside of the brunette's ribcage, and Bulma downright refused to remove her from the heart monitor as it continued to relay its irregular readings—she was so incredibly goddamn lucky she wasn't sent into cardiac arrest. An oxygen machine was rolled closer to her bedside, ready and waiting though hopefully completely unnecessary as her friend maintained an ordinary breathing pattern.

Of course, Chi-Chi profusely protested and demanded she be allowed to stay close to Gohan at all times, to which they soon compromised on as they impeded the other. In return for angling Chi-Chi so that Gohan was always in her line of vision, she couldn't complain, argue or resist treatment. Only then was Bulma able to aid her into a fresh set of clothes.

It came as no surprise that Vegeta didn't make a reappearance, though she could sense that he lingered outside the ship like his presence alone was enough to frighten potential enemies away. His distance was appreciated by Chi-Chi, who was visibly conflicted about all that happened during the retrieval—Bulma had yet to question her about it, easily reading that the mother was too distraught in that moment to do anything more than look away from the healing tank (and even then, she could barely do that).

"His stats are looking good," she informed the other woman with a relieved smile. The sagging of Bulma's shoulders as she read through what little she could understand had Chi-Chi perking up, and she nodded reassuringly. "I don't know who he gets the stubbornness from—you or Goku."

"Goku," she whispered thickly. "He was…" Chi-Chi shook her head and reclined back with a haunted expression that chilled Bulma long before she continued brokenly, "He was all Goku out there."

"We need to keep you hydrated," she tried to distract her friend by insisting.

"I can't—"

"For Gohan's sake," Bulma pushed. Stepping forward and reaffirming in her own mind that Chi-Chi was stable enough to be left alone for a few minutes with a quick vital check, she added, "We need to stay strong for him."

The tears restarted at her words however it was obvious Chi-Chi needed to hear them as she deeply inhaled and shut her eyes for the first time since returning. Her nod was quick and jerky, and Bulma didn't hang around knowing that it was entirely possible for the other woman to switch up at the slightest of changes to their circumstances.

While they weren't exactly the loudest bunch, the silence of the ship was unnerving as she left the medical room; the whooshing of the doors seeming much too loud in her overstimulated mind. Luckily, sneaking around wasn't her intention, seeing as that surely would have given her position away.

The main door was left open to make for a quicker retreat, allowing the harsh sun to invade the open space. Even though the control's room was hardly a dark area what with the huge domed window, somehow the sun appeared blinding when pouring inside as it was.

Bulma sucked in a composing breath before approaching, eyes immediately drawn to the figure standing several feet away from the ship. His back was to them with his arms across his chest, stance strong and ready like nothing could come as a surprise to him, never mind trying to best him.

She remained at the top of the stairs for a few moments as she appreciated the fresh air that soothed the aching of her chest and spinning of her mind. The sun was more unforgiving than ever as the day wore on and her senses prickled at the mere thought of someone spying on them from afar, but oddly enough, Bulma felt safe. It was conflicting as hell but undeniable.

Part of her hated herself for it.

"They're going to be okay," Bulma alerted him as she descended the stairs.

"I never asked."

Asshole, she wanted to snap. "I guess you didn't," she instead relented. "But it was part of our deal."

Blood from both the natives and Gohan was splattered across his armour and despite the odd sense of safety in his presence, it implored Bulma to keep some distance between them. Her sanity was barely hanging on by a thread; she needed to retain the shaky composure necessary to care for Chi-Chi and Gohan.

"…Thank you," she continued at his responding silence. Her gaze was drawn to the pink sand that had previously left blisters across her skin whenever she happened to touch it, the gentle breeze enough to cause it to shift over her boots. "Not only for saving them, but for helping me too."

His silence didn't irk her—on the contrary, it was greatly appreciated for it made thanking him easier. The natural aversion he evoked whenever she was reminded of his atrocities was overlooked when he didn't open his foul mouth, though she supposed it did come at a price. It also meant she couldn't overlook the safety she felt standing out in the open with him.

"Let's get off this planet," Bulma insisted quietly.

He hummed contemplatively. "Aren't you forgetting something?"

Not for a second. "I'll keep up my side of the deal."

Vegeta turned at that, his calculating stare taking in the distance between them before going further into the ship. It was difficult not to imagine what was going through his head in moments such as those, when he seemed almost civil and half-decent to be around.

Needing to remind herself of who he was, was happening far more than she would have cared to admit.

"I just want to get off this planet first," Bulma finished with a grimace and looked around. She half-expected to see the sand shifting just as it had while being attacked by the snake-like creature, but it was unsettlingly still. "The sooner, the better."

"What are you waiting for, then?" came his sarcastic question that finally felt like an ordinary response that she happily welcomed with open arms. It granted her the strength to break the crushing connection of their gazes. "For someone to roll out the red carpet?"

"Asshole," she muttered and turned away.

"How creative."

Was it too soon to scream at him, she wondered with grinding teeth.


Oh, she should have screamed at him the second she felt the impulse.

Even with her reassurance of sticking to her word, Vegeta ensured there wasn't a single opportunity to reconsider going back on their deal.

The out-of-character acts of kindness were long gone by the time the door shut behind them and in its place was the intimidating shadow lurking in the corners of the room—if Bulma was lucky, that was. If Vegeta felt she was taking her sweet ass time in completing any compulsory task, then he wasn't afraid to leave his corner to terrorise her.

Like it wasn't difficult enough to ignore him.

Nowhere was safe, not even her bedroom. He didn't have to sniff her out like a hound because he appeared to anticipate her every fucking move; managed to walk in step with her before eventually taking the lead. It was infuriating as hell as Bulma once more stopped short in approaching her lab, belatedly realising she was now a step behind Vegeta—no, not even a step behind. More like being herded like a goddamn animal.

"You—" Breathe, Bulma willed herself and inhaled deeply. Sadly, not even shutting her eyes could block the royal pain in her ass out and so she reopened them with a wavering patience. "You're working my last nerve."

"And you're stalling."

Not purposely, and not in an attempt to back out, either.

Although Vegeta's surprising cleanup job was almost enough to call perfect, that didn't take away the memories powerful enough to blitz her mind of all other thoughts. Just imagining entering her lab was enough to make Bulma's skin crawl, evoking a notable shudder that bit at her nape before it ran down the length of her spine.

"We're off that primitive rock," came his growl of warning. "Take this contraption off me already."

Facing Vegeta was easier than facing the lab and she proved as much by tugging on his bicep just as he turned to open the door. The contact immediately had him stilling and considering her from over his shoulder, and Bulma met his stare without falter.

"I'm not stalling," she insisted. "I'm just…"

The floundering for an explanation had the condescending prince scoffing and tugging his arm free of her grasp. "Don't tell me you've got a weak stomach," he mocked.

Well, at least the asshole was back to his usual, godawful self.

"Crimes against humanity may be the norm to you," she spat in return, heart skipping a beat at the bulging red eyes haunting her. "But I was raised differently."

"You were raised to be weak," Vegeta snarled.

"What's so weak about valuing life?" Yelling wasn't the plan, but the rampant pulse that resonated around her body was disorientating as hell and demanded she did so. "Who gave us the right to take the lives of others?"

"I don't need to be given the right. I'm strong enough to take what I want."

There was no stopping her shriek of frustration. "You're impossible!"

Storming off wasn't an option, however. Not when a hand encircled her wrist and yanked her to a halt just as she took a step back. Try as she might to resist the literal pull, Bulma could only stumble and screech at him to release her—which, of course, he politely refused.

The world was a dizzying blur until her back came to a thudding halt against the door, though there was no mistaking the lack of fear when he caged her in. That fact had Vegeta's eyes narrowing on hers with a stoic contemplation that warned her he was plotting his next move, yet all Bulma could do was hold his stare.

"We had a deal," he warned in a low growl that sent another shiver down her spine—and not one of disgust.

"We still do," came her quiet insistence. Fists balling up, she flexed her arms in a sad attempt to free herself, only to give up moments later without much of a fight. "Just give me some time."

"I will give you until the count of ten."

Asshole, Bulma thought furiously. "How generous of you."

"You're right. That is too generous of me." Smirking cruelly, he added, "I do have a reputation to uphold."

"Wait—"

But like hell someone like Vegeta would ever show an ounce of mercy.

The slamming of his hand to the button that operated the door was surreal even when it echoed in her mind; the safety of the solid surface that once supported her disappearing with a damning whoosh. In seconds, she was falling backwards on her ass in a disorientated heap of clumsy limbs that for the life of her couldn't be controlled.

All she could do was look up at him and watch as his smirk gradually vanished and left him to stare down at her stoically.

"Get up."

It's just a room, she tried to tell herself.

The trembling that had taken so goddamn long to still returned tenfold when Bulma forced herself to look around the lab. Just as she'd noted earlier: it was clean, but not to its previous standards. Purple stains she knew to be blood marred the otherwise white tiles and she flinched hard realising her hand rested on one of those stains.

There's no hiding from it, Bulma repeated harshly. You need to face it.

It was on unsteady limbs that she eventually managed to turn so that she was on all fours; eyes remaining shut and breathing forcefully slow and even, Bulma dropped her head before pressing away from the floor to stand up.

She did it for them, Bulma reminded herself. She did it to protect the others.

However, she…

She couldn't handle it. Just standing in the centre of her lab was making Bulma's skin crawl and she shuddered at the memories she couldn't lock away.

"I'll remove them, just… Just not here."

"Where?"

"Anywhere but here."

A suspicious glare was glued to her every move as Bulma reluctantly moved around the lab to grab the necessary tools for removing the collar and cuffs. The hammering of her heart was the only sound to fill the unsettling quiet, and she wondered if it was as maddening to Vegeta as it was her. If it was, he kept the annoyance concealed.

That same quietness continued all the way down to the training room—the only other space she'd worked in recently. Thanks to Vegeta's hitting a wall in his training and Chi-Chi's completely understandable disliking of the saiyan prince, a makeshift workspace was set up so that Bulma could continue with her experiments while the other two trained together.

The memories of the two sparring so happily together brought Bulma to a standstill just as they entered the training room; heart finally ceasing its rampant pace as she effortlessly recollected the pride and excitement that had lingered in the air. Even with the humongous difference in strengths, it was evident they'd both enjoyed the session that doubled as mother-son bonding.

"What now?" demanded the irate prince.

"Gohan…" Frowning, she looked over her shoulder at Vegeta and asked, "Do you think he'll be okay?"

"He's a saiyan," he said like that answered every question in the universe.

"Not physically," Bulma argued with a deepening frown.

Like hell she would be anywhere but the medical unit if she'd thought, even for a second, that Gohan wouldn't make it. The healing tank was working its magic in healing him and now that she was able to think more clearly, Bulma had the Senzu beans on hand just in case. They would have been ideal earlier but in the moment, it simply hadn't occurred to her. Same went for Chi-Chi, who went on to refuse the one she was then offered.

"If he is a true warrior, then he will use this to better himself," Vegeta said with what she initially believed to be carelessness—only, it lacked the coldness that usually accompanied it. It only made her all the more curious as to what happened out there.

Placing her tools onto the table and retrieving her magnifying monocle first, Bulma settled into one of the stools and twisted until she was facing the other. It was soon filled by an expectant Vegeta.

Was removing the one thing keeping him from murdering them really a wise decision?

Bulma shook the concerns away. It was too late to back out now, especially after seeing how far Vegeta went to save Gohan. All she'd ordered was for his safe return, and it'd been well within his right to walk away the moment Gohan was in the medical unit. Instead, he'd provided medical care with the limited access to ki that he possessed to ensure he wouldn't die. Vegeta went out of his way and saved him.

He'd earned it.

Curious dark eyes stared back at her when she put the magnifying monocle on, and Bulma found herself biting the inside of her cheek upon registering the brief flash of humour in them. It was a funny sight, she allowed.

First things first, Bulma thought with a calming breath, was the remote. Even though her watch was able to control the intensity of the collar and cuffs, it was an ace she would continue to keep hidden—not that it would even be of any use now, she belatedly realised. Being the impulsive brat that she tended to be, she'd explicitly stated she would remove the entire device.

Her fingers stilled over the off button. "I have a question—"

"If you're attempting to stall—"

"I'm not," she assured him in an agitated mutter, then huffed. "But can you blame a girl for being anxious in this type of situation?"

"Oh? And what situation is that?"

Bulma settled him with a no-nonsense expression that had him snorting in amusement.

"What is it?" he eventually asked.

"You're a warrior race, right?" All she got in response was an affirming hum. "Is that why Gohan has always adapted so well to new climates?"

"We wouldn't have won half our battles without the ability." There was a pause as Vegeta assessed her expression before he added in a half-smug tone, "We also slow in our aging once we hit our prime."

That was… "That's bullshit," she exclaimed heatedly.

"We are a superior race," he snorted.

What she wouldn't give to be trapped in her prime! "You don't even deserve such a blessing," Bulma mumbled with a dejected sigh.

"And you do?"

"Hell yeah, I do."

No wrinkles. No sagging. No grey hair. Gods, did she deserve all of that and more.

"What about—"

"Enough with your inane questions. Get on with removing the device already."

Muttering about how rude he was (loud enough for him to hear), Bulma turned the remote in her hands thrice before finally inhaling deeply and going for it. If she stalled any longer, she was either going to piss him off or… Well, push him into killing her.

A buzzing that had become such a normal part of her day suddenly shut off, and her ears started to ring as a result. Warily, blue eyes glanced up to dark, and she noted he too was thrown off by the sudden real silence. How hadn't it driven him insane? Bulma knew she sure as hell would have been complaining morning, noon and night about the constant electrical hum, though, she supposed, being continuously electrocuted more than likely made the noise more bearable to live with.

She pretended not to notice the notably deeper breath Vegeta took once it was turned off, instead taking her time in choosing the correct sized screwdriver for the cuffs. The silence continued between them as she was finally able to assess the device up close, fingertips grazing the clasps that were only revealed after it was shut off (as far as she could tell, anyway).

It was unreal how intense the moment was when the first cuff clanged heavily onto the desk to her right, and Bulma felt her stomach knotting up at the goosebumps she provoked. They broke out across Vegeta's skin in unmistakable clusters that she couldn't resist skimming over, swallowing at the clenching of his other fist.

The brief clashing of their gazes couldn't last for long, her heart warned. In a bid to distract herself from the heaviness of the air around them, Bulma switched to the other cuff and raised an impressive brow at the fact it was attached differently than the other. Probably to keep Vegeta from removing it so easily, she soon decided. Either way, it was a cinch for her, and it took less than a minute for the second part to thud to the desk.

Indentations and burns the size of the cuffs marred his wrists, though Bulma could tell that it would heal soon enough. Perhaps not fully considering the burns weren't properly treated, but it was obvious Vegeta was somehow caring for the wounds to prevent infections… Unless that was merely another undeserving benefit of being a warrior race?

"I'm going to stand up for this part," she alerted him before doing so.

In a show of being agreeable with what she said, Vegeta surprisingly relaxed on the stool and shut his eyes, allowing Bulma a moment to compose herself before she closed the distance between them.

The heat he emitted was insanely welcoming and it took more self-control than she wanted to admit resisting the tempting call. She wondered if he was affected by her at all and stole a sweeping glance up at his expression only to pout when she found it was calm.

Asshole.

The collar surprisingly had several locks—all of which were at awkward angles Vegeta never could have unlocked alone. It clearly required a second set of hands and while she hated to admit it, even then, Bulma struggled several times. There was no way the collar was intended to be removed from its victim; her stomach twisted anxiously when she had to step closer until she was wordlessly guiding his head to face a different direction. Being so close to him was one thing, but if he tried to look at her in that moment…

Bulma was mortified when her heart skipped a telling thump at the thought of how close their lips could have been.

"I don't think he was going to take this off you," she mumbled to try and banish the treacherous thoughts. Imagining kissing Vegeta was wrong. So, so wrong. And yet… "Not alive, anyway."

But trying to speak with him was clearly the wrong move to make, Bulma realised at his briefest moment of tensing up. With the use of her monocle, she could see that more goosebumps sprung to life across his shoulders and down the minute parts of his back that she could see with his armour off.

"Just get on with it," came a surprisingly grumpy mutter.

Pouting, she snapped back, "What does it look like I'm doing, Stupid Saiyan?"

"Weakling Human—"

Vegeta was abruptly silenced when Bulma courageously blew lightly on a sensitive spot just between his neck and shoulder, smirking victoriously at the shiver he tried so hard to repress. The distance between them was non-existent, and she could feel the too even breaths he was taking that caused their chests to brush repeatedly.

"Almost there," she teased lowly, emboldened by his reactions.

It was horrifyingly addictive witnessing how responsive Vegeta was to her—enough so for Bulma to purposely take her time so that she could push his buttons a little harder. Grazing, barely-there touches, her heat against his, the tickling breaths on his neck. Soon enough, she felt a ridiculous urge to lean into him and knew that was the point she should have backed off, but then Vegeta just had to go and shift in his seat, the brushing of his skin on hers zapping through Bulma.

And then it was… It was off. It was all off.

Swallowing hard at the suffocating tension that crashed down on her, it wasn't until the collar clanged to the ground that Bulma took a hesitant half step back to meet Vegeta's eye, heart palpitating at the dilating of his pupils fixed on hers. Their shallowed breathing matched, and holy shit, somehow, the danger in setting him free had her inner muscles clenching tightly.

"Where's that mouth gone, Little Human?" Vegeta quietly demanded.

It was wrong, yet…

Daringly and ignoring the faint tremor of her hands, Bulma dropped her tools to reach up and around him, yanking Vegeta closer until barely a millimetre of space was left between their lips, whispering, "It's right here."

He was by no means patient or gentle—and she loved it. Every second of it. From deciding to hell with it all and closing the distance entirely, to shoving her into the desk so that he could stand over her imposingly. Bulma couldn't even tell where she ended and he began, just that the heat he brought to life was more like a raging forest fire that effortlessly set her whole body aflame.

She lost a hand in his hair to tilt his head back, delighting in the shiver she evoked at the hot, open-mouthed kisses that littered the healed parts of his neck. Heavy hands grabbed at her waist and hips before settling on her ass, effortlessly lifting Bulma and setting her down on the edge of the desk. She wasn't even sure if she was the one to invite him to the space between her thighs, or if Vegeta pried them apart—all she did know was that he wasn't close enough. Not nearly close enough.

Shit.

Shit!

But all rational thoughts were gone. Used up trying to scrape through what was quite frankly one of the worst days of her life. In that moment, he wasn't Vegeta, the ruthless Prince of all Saiyans who could casually slaughter millions of people without batting an eye; he was just a man that she was attracted to and needed. A man who was blatantly attracted to her, Bulma encouraged herself and in response to his arousal, her leg wrapped around his waist, heel digging into his ass to create a harsher grind that had them both groaning into the kiss.

By the third grind, her shirt was gone. By the fourth, so was his.

An intense, heavy knot of arousal tightened unbearably deep in her stomach at the kisses that dragged down to her breasts, and Bulma hissed at the rough treatment that she demanded more of with an unyielding grip that kept him pressed there.

Their clothes scattered around them as they were carelessly thrown to the ground, forgotten about immediately as they explored one another's nakedness with hungry kisses and caresses.

There was something intoxicating in knowing that the hands grasping at her with shocking restraint were the very same hands that tore literal planets to pieces and decimated the lives of millions. Gods, Bulma knew how fucked up she was for shivering at the strength in those blood stained hands, for delighting in how effortlessly she was lifted back onto the desk, but she couldn't deny it in such a heated, unguarded moment.

Shame and embarrassment were two of many emotions that couldn't exist in the training room, particularly not when she was borderline delirious with pleasure by the time that she was spreading her legs wider with an invitation he accepted with a groan. Commanding kisses stole the last of the air in her lungs, and she shifted her hips demandingly at the pressure of him pressing against her.

"Fuck me already," she whispered heatedly at the tormenting pause. Dangerous hands skimmed along her waist and down to her thighs, working on angling her up against him for a smoother first thrust. "Just once," Bulma warned—more to herself than him, although she refused to admit it. "Just to get you out of my system."

"We'll see about that," he murmured in response, lidded gaze soaking in the relieved moan she couldn't hold back when he entered her roughly.


A/N - 'Just once' err yeah right, Bulma!