.::FIFTEEN::.
Five weeks later
Bulma blew out a long, frustrated puff of air, flipping through the pages of a magazine with half-lidden eyes, barely paying attention to the glossy images in front of her. Boredom gnawed at her, and she wished for anything to break the monotony that had become her life. Outside, Yamcha was working out as he had been for the past month, going through his usual routine with Puar hovering nearby for encouragement. While Vegeta, as he always did when things became tough, had locked himself inside the gravity chamber entirely.
Leaning her head back against the chair, she sighed. Ever since that intense electric night she had experienced with Vegeta, it was as though he had vanished from her world. He'd secluded himself in the gravity chamber like he did that last time they'd gotten close in the kitchen. Once she didn't see him for a few days, Bulma immediately knew what was up. The Saiyan was purposefully keeping his distance from her again. She rolled her eyes and stared up at the ceiling.
A few days after their encounter in her bedroom, once she realized he wasn't coming out for meals anymore, she had checked the kitchen and found that the plates of food her mother had meticulously prepared for him had disappeared. She'd assumed he'd taken them all and stuffed them into the tiny fridge in the gravity chamber's small kitchenette. That discovery had stung more than she expected; a sharp pang of rejection hit her hard when she saw the empty pantry refrigerator. She'd tried to brush it off and move past it, but the hurt had continued to linger.
Weeks passed, and she slowly started to numb herself to his absence. She told herself it didn't matter, that she didn't care. And when her parents returned home last week, the moment her father stepped through the door, Vegeta had powered down the gravity chamber and dragged him down into the lab before her father could even say 'hello' to Bulma.
Vegeta hadn't looked at her; he'd just walked past her as if she didn't exist. That's when her heart had truly hurt. Her chest had tightened then, and now a familiar ache returned as she remembered that he was deliberately avoiding her because of that night they had shared together. Had it really been that bad, she wondered again for the millionth time. It was a night she couldn't stop thinking about, though it seemed as if the Saiyan had buried the moment without a second thought. Her heart hadn't stopped aching since, and she did not like how her whole world had turned upside down after that night.
It had been a week since her parents had arrived, and in that time, Vegeta had monopolized her father's full attention with his endless demands to fix and modify the broken training bots, leaving Bulma entirely out of the equation. Whenever she happened to be in the same room with Vegeta, it was as if she had become invisible in her own home. He never once looked her way. The cold dismissal stung more and more as the days dragged on.
"Oh, Bulma! I stopped by the bakery and picked up a few things for us!"
Her mother's voice startled Bulma from her thoughts as she entered the living room. She balanced a tray loaded with pastries and a pot of steaming tea on the coffee table in front of Bulma, smiling brightly.
"Don't they just look delicious?"
Bulma sighed as her mother sat on the couch near her.
"Which one would you like, dear?" her mother asked, clasping her hands together in excitement.
"Oh, Mom, you can have them all. I'm not hungry," Bulma replied, her tone weary and distant.
Her mother blinked in surprise, clearly taken aback by Bulma's refusal. She seldom turned down sweets, especially not ones from her favorite bakery.
"What? Why? Bulma, what's wrong with you?" her mother questioned, startled. Then, as if a lightbulb had popped up over her mother's head, she asked, "Are you feeling lonely because the boys are spending all their time training and not paying you any attention?"
Her mother smirked as if she thought she'd hit the nail on the head with her assessment.
"Oh, PULL-EASE! I'm just not very hungry!" Bulma snapped, her irritation flaring as her mother's words struck too close to the truth.
She wasn't about to admit that though, especially not to her mother. The last thing she needed was to give her more reason to fuss over her. She was doing enough of that because she couldn't understand why Bulma had allowed Yamcha to come to train after they'd broken up. Distance, and all that.
Before her mother could respond, her father shuffled into the living room, yawning loudly as he stretched his arms above his head. He looked utterly exhausted, the deep lines on his face more pronounced than usual. Her father had been working around the clock to repair the broken training bots. Alongside being the CO of Capsule Corporation, he'd taken over Bulma's old job, and it looked as if it was taking its toll.
Bulma watched her father with a pang of guilt. She wished she could help him and ease some of his burdens, but Vegeta had been adamant that she would not touch anything related to the gravity chamber or its training equipment. When her father relayed that message, Bulma was stunned and then furious. Vegeta's arrogance knew no bounds, yet the most infuriating part was the creeping regret she felt as if everything that had led to this moment had been her own doing. She had been the one to tempt him on purpose.
Her father groaned, rubbing his temples. "You know, I'm starting to think Vegeta's one card short of a full deck," he muttered, half-joking but with an edge of frustration.
Bulma leaned forward, her curiosity piqued. "What do you mean, Dad?"
Dr. Brief exhaled, looking both exasperated and tired.
"Well, apparently, 300 times Earth's gravity wasn't challenging enough for him. Now, he's demanding that I modify the gravity chamber to go even higher than that. And if that wasn't enough, he's insisting on additional training equipment–more weights, more machines." He continued to rub his temples with a weary smile. "At this rate, I'm basically going to be building things just for him to break them."
Bulma crossed her arms over her chest with an unimpressed look. "That doesn't surprise me one bit. It's all he ever does–demand more and break everything. Honestly, it's exhausting just hearing about it."
Her mother, meanwhile, seemed unfazed, dabbing a napkin at the corner of her mouth after a bite of chocolate cupcake. "Oh, I think it's wonderful! It shows real determination," she said, smiling warmly.
Dr. Brief sighed and nodded once. "Sure, he's dedicated, but don't you think he's pushing it a little too far? I mean, this kind of training… it's extreme, even by Saiyan standards."
"Oh, no, not at all," her mother replied, reaching for her teacup with a dreamy smile. "In my day, a man who had that kind of drive and focus–why, he was considered prime husband material! A girl would be out of her mind to let a catch like that get away, I tell you."
She sipped her tea, but as her words sank in, she seemed to realize the implications of what she just said. Her eyes widened slightly, and she glanced over at Dr. Brief with a blush coloring her cheeks.
"Oh my! What am I saying? I'm a married woman!" she laughed, fanning herself lightly as she met her husband's amused gaze.
Dr. Brief chuckled, his eyes crinkling with amusement, before his attention shifted to the tray of treats spread out before them.
"And what do we have here?" he mused aloud.
He leaned forward, scanning the colorful array, and plucked a small square of chocolate cake dusted with powdered sugar. He sat beside her mother on the couch, who was already on her third sweet. The two quickly fell into a lively conversation, chatting animatedly between each other. The pair laughed between bites, their joy radiating through the room as they tasted one dessert after another.
Bulma felt like a void, sucking in the happy moment between her parents. Her expression was flat as she watched their carefree happiness. Then, after a moment, she couldn't stand to be around their bright energy any longer. With a tired sigh, she stood.
"I'm going to my room," she muttered.
They didn't even notice, their laughter continuing as she slipped out of the room and went upstairs.
xXx
Vegeta had been relentlessly pushing himself to his limit while training under 300 times Earth's gravity for weeks. The grueling conditions that would crush any ordinary being were more than routine for him now. His body had adapted–he could move fluidly, launching himself across the chamber with effortless precision, dodging the assault of the robots with a speed and grace that made it look deceptively easy. He shot blasts of ki with deadly accuracy, leaping, spinning, and landing in perfect sync with the bots' attacks. The gravity had become too familiar, too manageable.
With each passing day, Vegeta's frustration deepened. Kakarot had trained under only 100 times Earth's normal gravity and transformed himself into the legend of his people. Why hadn't it happened to him? He'd already surpassed Kakarot's training and pushed himself further than any Saiyan before him. What was he missing? The bitterness gnawed at him, the failure unbearable. He clenched his fists, cursing himself for his weakness.
Frustrated by the lack of progress, he had hounded Dr. Brief, demanding that the gravity level be pushed far beyond its current maximum. The scientist, wary of the risks, hesitated to comply with Vegeta's reckless demands, but Vegeta was impatient; he needed more!
Now, though, after thirty-seven relentless hours in the gravity chamber, the strain was finally catching up to him. His muscles, tired from the nonstop intensity, began to protest. He floated mid-air, his breathing labored, as he fired a barrage of ki blasts at the bots. They swiftly volleyed the energy back and forth between them, moving so fast they were barely visible blurs. Vegeta's vision blurred as well. His concentration wavered, and then his ability to keep himself airborne faltered.
Focus! he growled to himself, his frustration mounting as the exhaustion deepened. His arms felt heavy, his legs like lead. His pride, however, refused to let him stop. He clenched his fist, his eyes narrowing with determination.
"Come on! You can do this!" he shouted, his voice hoarse as he forced his body to obey.
Anger simmered beneath Vegeta's surface as he felt the weight of fatigue settle into his muscles. After hours of relentless training, his reflexes had begun to slow as frustration gnawed at him with every passing second.
His breathing was heavy, his body slick with sweat, as he launched to dodge a speeding ball of ki. But his timing faltered. The energy blast clipped the side of his cheek, whipping his head to the side.
He growled, teeth clenched, eyes flicking back to the training bots that circled him like predators. Before he could recover, they fired again, their ki blast aimed directly at him. Vegeta pushed past exhaustion, snarled, and summoned his Galic Gun in a flash. His energy surged through his palms, meeting the bots' attack head-on.
The two ki blasts collided violently in the air, instantly illuminating the chamber with unstable energy. Vegeta braced himself and fell down onto one knee, hands outstretched before him, as he struggled to contain the raging power before him. He roared, sending another burst of energy, but the ball of his ki only grew larger and more unstable, pulsating wildly in the confined space.
His arms trembled under immense pressure; sweat poured down his face as the chaotic energy spheres became too much to control. Suddenly, without warning, the mass of ki's veered off course and hurtled straight toward the control panel in the center of the room.
"NO! Vegeta yelled, his voice filled with panic.
The energy struck the panel, and the whole thing exploded.
xXx
Bulma was sprawled across her bed, hoping a nap might make time pass a little faster. Just as her eyes began to flutter shut, a bomb went off in the backyard. It rattled the entire house. She shot up off the bed, heart pounding 90 miles a minute. Then, when she saw the large dark cloud of smoke outside her window, it stopped beating altogether.
The sight sent a chill through her, and dread pooled in her stomach. She lept off the bed, raced to her balcony, and threw the door open, staring down in disbelief.
Below her, the gravity chamber lay in complete ruin. Mangled metal, twisted beyond recognition, was strewn across the yard while flames licked at the remnants. A raging fire consumed the wreckage, its heat palpable even from where she stood. Her breath caught in her throat.
"VEGETA!" she screamed, full of panic.
Without another thought, Bulma sprinted out of her room, her bare feet slapping against the cold floor as she flew down the stairs, taking them two at a time. Her chest tightened with fear, and her mind consumed with questions–where was Vegeta? Was he okay? Was he still… alive?
As she reached the bottom of the stairs, Yamcha appeared out of nowhere.
"What was that?!" he asked.
Bulma didn't answer him. She barely even noticed his presence. Her focus was singular. She pushed past him, racing toward the backyard, her heart in her throat. The world around her blurred as adrenaline fueled her legs to move faster than she ever thought possible.
The moment she stepped outside, the devastation became fully real. The smoldering wreckage of the gravity chamber lay in pieces, the flames rising high. Bulma's breath came in sharp, shallow bursts, and sheer terror gripped her.
"I knew this would happen," Yamcha muttered bitterly behind her, but his words barely registered.
"Vegeta!" Bulma yelled fearfully as she took off, sprinting faster than she ever had in her life. Her legs burned, but the pain was nothing compared to the panic gripping her heart.
The flames roared, bright and furious, licking the twisted metal like a hungry beast. The heat was unbearable as she skidded to her knees beside the heap of broken steel, but she didn't care. Her hands dove into the smoldering debris without a second thought, frantically clawing at the wreckage, her fingers scraping and digging with desperate speed. Sweat poured down her face, soaking her clothes, her skin tingling from the blistering heat.
Please be alive, she begged silently, over and over in her mind. Please. Please. Please be alive.
Seconds passed, each one stretching out like an eternity. Her nails cracked and split as she tore through the sharps edged of metal, slicing her hands and knees open. Blood mixed with the sweat and soot that covered her, and she didn't stop digging. Her heart pounded so hard in her chest that it felt like it might burst.
But as the moments dragged on with no sign of movement, no glimmer of hope, a heavy weight began to settle in her chest. Her breath hitched, and she sat back on her heels, her hands trembling as she scanned the smoldering ruins.
"Vegeta?" she whispered, her voice small and broken.
Suddenly, a hand shot out from the rubble, inches from Bulma's face. She let out a piercing scream and instinctively flung herself backward, her heart pounding in her chest. She collided hard with Yamcha, and the two tumbled onto the grass in a tangled heap, both shouting in shock.
Breathless and shaking, Bulma scrambled off Yamcha, her wide eyes staring at the hand sticking out of the rubble. Vegeta's hand, cut and bleeding, shook. Then, he slammed his palm down on the slab of debris and pulled himself halfway out in one powerful motion.
Bulma gasped, frozen as she took in the sight before her. Vegeta's body was a mess of deep gashes and torn flesh. Blood ran in rivulets down his skin, staining the tattered remnants of his shorts. Some of the wounds were shallow, while others looked frighteningly deep, the kind that would leave scars if they didn't take him down first.
Vegeta opened his eyes, and his gaze locked onto the two of them sprawled on the grass.
"You… okay?" Bulma asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper, filled with disbelief that he was still alive after such a devastating explosion.
Despite his battered state, despite the blood and the wreckage surrounding him, Vegeta's lips curled into a scornful smirk. He scoffed, a low, almost mocking sound.
"Of course I am," he said as if the very idea that he wouldn't be was absurd.
Bulma stared in awe as Vegeta pulled the rest of his battered body free from the wreckage. Every muscle in his frame trembled, and blood streaked his skin, but somehow, impossibly, he was standing. He took a slow, shaky step forward, and Bulma let out a deep sigh of relief. Despite the carnage and destruction around him, he was alive and walking.
But the relief quickly twisted into something else–fury. Her heart pounded in her chest, and tears pricked the corners of her eyes as the weight of what had almost happened slammed into her. He could have died. He could have died! And for what? For some reckless test of his strength? The thought ignited a fire deep inside her, and she could feel the heat rising, her temper flaring. Her entire focus was on Vegeta, her fury fueled by the terror of almost losing him.
"How dare you!" she shouted, her voice trembling with rage. "You idiot! You almost wrecked my house! What are you trying to prove in there?"
Behind her, Bulma heard Yamcha inhale sharply.
Vegeta had only been bent over, hands on his knees, trying to regain his balance, but his body betrayed him when he tried to stand up straight. His knees buckled, and before he could stop himself, he crumpled backward into the rubble with a hard thud.
"Oh, no! You're hurt!" Bulma gasped, panic flooding her as she darted forward.
Without thinking, she dropped to her knees beside him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, pulling him close. His body was shockingly limp in her grasp, his powerful frame sagging as if the weight of his injuries had finally caught up to him.
She pressed a hand against his chest, feeling the faint tremble of his muscles beneath his bloodied skin. For a terrifying moment, she thought he had passed out, his head lolling weakly upon his shoulders. But then, he stirred, lifting his head just slightly, and his dark eyes flicked toward her, a sharp, piercing gaze that made her breath catch.
"Go," Vegeta commanded, his voice strained but still firm. "I don't need help! I've got to get back to training."
Bulma gaped at him in disbelief. Here he was, barely surviving an explosion, blood staining both his clothes and hers (not that she cared about the dress right now, but still!)—and all he could think about was getting back to his stupid training!
"You have to stop training for a while!" she said, her voice tinged with frustration. "Just look at yourself!"
Her eyes swept over him, taking in the bruises, cuts, and gashes covering every inch of his battered body. "You're a complete wreck!"
When Vegeta's dark eyes met hers, she saw the pain flickering behind them as he attempted to mask his agony.
"But I feel fine," he shot back, gritting his teeth. "I'm a Saiyan. I can take a little pain. It means nothing to me! And I have to get stronger than Kakrot!"
Holding him close, feeling the strain in his muscles even as he trembled within her arms, Bulma felt something she had never expected–pity. She didn't know everything about his past, but her friends had shared enough pieces to paint a rough picture: Vegeta had been torn from his home as a child, forced into the brutal servitude of Frieze, a life marked by suffering, cruelty, and isolation. The thought of it made her shudder. She couldn't imagine living a life without compassion, without kindness… without love. It was no wonder he buried himself in training and drove himself to exhaustion daily. That was all he knew.
"Okay, sure," she said gently, softening her tone as she looked into his defiant eyes. "You can get back to training later, but right now, you need rest."
Vegeta's frown deepened, and his brows drew together as he stared at her for one long moment before moving in her arms.
"I take orders from no one!" he yelled, his voice sharp as he shoved her arms off of him; his body trembled from the exertion.
Vegeta tried to stand again, but he barely made it halfway up this time before his strength completely gave out. His legs buckled again, and he collapsed forward. Bulma's heart seized as she instinctively leaned over him. Her eyes widened with alarm as she realized he'd lost consciousness, his face slack.
"Yamcha!" she shouted, snapping her head up to see her ex standing a few feet away, staring at them in shock. "Go find Dad and tell him to get some help out here!" she ordered urgently. "He's passed out, and we need to move him–now!"
Yamcha blinked at her, his face frozen in stunned disbelief, clearly not processing what was happening. Frustration and urgency tore through her.
"GO!" she yelled.
This time, it snapped him out of his daze. Yamcha nodded quickly and turned, sprinting toward the house for help.
Now alone with Vegeta, Bulma turned attention back to him, her fingers trembling slightly as she took in the sight of his battered face. His expression had softened slightly in unconsciousness, but the lingering lines of pain remained, his brows faintly knit, his jaw clenched. For a moment, her heart broke as she thought about all the battles he'd fought, all the injuries he'd endured, and still, he pushed himself like this, refusing to back down.
She raised a hand gently and began to stroke his hair, her fingers carefully picking bits of rubble from his dark locks. The hardness of his expression faded slightly as she kept running her fingers through his hair, and at that moment, Bulma felt an overwhelming wave of tenderness toward the Saiyan.
Bending down, she pressed a soft kiss to his temple, letting her lips linger for a heartbeat.
"You stay with me, you hear?" she whispered as she rose.
"Bulma!"
She looked up, her pulse quickening as she saw her father rushing toward her, flanked by some Capsule Corporation employees, Yamcha running eagerly ahead of them all.
"They were already on their way up here!" Yamcha called out, grinning proudly as he reached her first, his face flushed with effort.
Bulma's attention was fixed on the employees closing in on the wreckage.
With practiced efficiency, the team set to work, carefully maneuvering Vegeta onto a stretcher as if they did this sort of thing all the time. They informed her that they would take him down to the lab to run X-rays and check for any internal bleeding. Then they were off with the passed-out Saiyan in tow.
"He's going to be alright, you know?" her father said softly, his voice breaking through her numb daze.
Bulma hadn't realized she'd been holding her breath until he spoke, his familiar, calming tone helping to ground her to the here and now. She blinked, her gaze still on the retreating stretcher as it disappeared around the side of the house, the medical team guiding it towards the lab's outside entrance. She wrapped her arms around herself, feeling the sting of her raw, bleeding hands and the discomfort of her clothes, still damp with Vegeta's blood. Everything around her faded to a blur as her eyes filled with tears.
"The boy's a Saiyan," her father continued gently, resting a comforting hand on her shoulder. "And you know how tough they are."
She nodded, knowing he was trying to reassure her. But even with his words, all she could think about was Vegeta's battered body, his pain. Her heart twisted with worry, hoping beyond hope that he would truly be okay.
"They'll take good care of him," her father said, his voice steady and confident. "I promise. Now, why don't you come down to the lab with me so I can take a look at those cuts on your hands and legs."
Bulma glanced down at a series of thin, bleeding cuts streaking down her legs and then at her dirty and cut hands. The sting set in only after she assessed the damage. Even so, she inhaled, steadying herself, and shook her head.
"I'll be fine," she insisted. "I can handle it."
The cuts weren't deep—just superficial scrapes. Nothing she couldn't manage on her own.
"If you're sure," he replied, casting her one last look of concern. "I'll go check on Vegeta then."
She watched him turn and head toward the lab's entrance.
Now alone, Bulma wrapped her arms around herself again. She shivered, but it wasn't from the chill. When she'd wished for some excitement to break up the monotony of her day, this was hardly what she'd envisioned.