.::TWENTY-EIGHT::.
Even though the gravity chamber had punched through the Earth's atmosphere and was almost out of its Solar System, Vegeta stood staring out the window, watching as the Earth disappeared. He'd become rooted to the spot, especially after seeing Bulma's reaction when she realized he was leaving. When she fell to her knees, he'd almost stopped the chamber from ascending into the air.
But he refrained. Vegeta had held his ground. He couldn't stay, not now. Not after… he swallowed the dry lump in his throat. The pressure he had felt the night before that had awoken him had been because she was…
A shiver ran down his spine. He couldn't even think the word. He blinked, shaking his head, and turned around. Vegeta had set the chamber on autopilot, uncaring of where it took him as long as it took him away from here. Away from the distractions of Earth. Away from… her.
Bulma had started to consume his thoughts and his life. Vegeta needed distance. He looked out the window, watching the chamber fly by the stars, and it looked like he was getting plenty of that now.
Vegeta wasn't sure when he'd return. Or more accurately, would he return? As the thought crossed his mind, a pain flashed within his chest, and he clutched it. Vegeta had never felt this before. It was foreign and unfamiliar. The thought of leaving her forever…
Needing to drown out the chaos in his mind, Vegeta strode to the control panel and cranked the gravity to its highest setting. The chamber's lights shifted, bathing the room in a deep crimson glow. The familiar hum of the generators roared to life, and within seconds, the crushing weight of enhanced gravity slammed down on him like a boulder. His muscles tensed instinctively, his breathing shallow as his body adjusted.
The strain, the pressure—this was something real. Something he could fight against. Something he could control. Gritting his teeth, Vegeta forced himself to move, every step heavier, every motion deliberate. But as he turned, his gaze caught on the floating bots. They hovered aimlessly in the air, their round metallic bodies gleaming under the dim red lights.
He scowled. His mind was supposed to be empty, his focus undivided. And yet, despite the grueling weight pressing down on him, his thoughts still drifted back to her. Vegeta's hands curled into fists, his nails biting into his palms. This was exactly why he had to leave. He had let himself get too close, let her sink too deep into his thoughts, his routine, his life. That was a vulnerability he could not afford.
Vegeta had seen what attachment did to people. How it weakened them, made them careless, made them soft. He had watched warriors fall because of it. Had seen the way emotions twisted even the strongest into fools. He would not be one of them. He could not be one of them.
And yet, he had already let himself slip too far. Vegeta couldn't ignore what had happened between them—what he had allowed to happen. He had never been with a female more than once, never lingered with anyone. Never allowed himself to be caught in anything beyond the physical. And yet with Bulma…
His throat tightened. With Bulma, it had been different. She was different. And now, she was—
Vegeta's stomach clenched. His pulse pounded in his ears. He swallowed hard, but it did nothing to rid him of the truth that clawed at his insides.
She was pregnant.
His heart pounded against his ribs as the memory seized him. That undeniable presence he'd felt in the confines of Bulma's closet had been within her. It had struck him like a blow to the gut. A presence so small yet so overwhelming, it had left Vegeta reeling.
A child. His child.
The thought sent his mind spiraling into unfamiliar, treacherous territory. He didn't know what to do with it, what to make of it. But the only thing he did know was that it scared him in a way nothing ever had before.
She was merely a human woman. Fragile and weak. Bulma wasn't a Saiyan, and though the child growing inside her carried his blood, it was diluted—tainted by her inferior lineage. A half-breed could never be strong enough to truly honor his Saiyan heritage. If Vegeta were to father a child, it should have been with a Saiyan. A warrior. A mate worthy of his bloodline.
And yet…
The thought of Kakarot's son crept into his mind, unbidden and unwelcome. That brat had shown some potential. More than Vegeta had expected from a child born of a lesser species. But still, he was not Saiyan enough. He would never achieve the full power of their race. Never reach the fabled heights of legend. Never ascend beyond his limits.
And neither will you, his mind told himself. The bitter truth slithered into his thoughts before he could suppress it. His entire body stiffened at the intrusion of his own self-doubt. A furious snarl ripped from his throat, and he drove his fists into the tile floor beneath him. The impact sent a sharp crack through the chamber, but the physical force did nothing to silence the voice in his head. He was letting his thoughts get to him. His mind was unraveling, weighed down by things that should not matter.
But he had done it. He had escaped. He was away from Earth. Away from her. Away from the things that made him weak. Here, he could finally focus. He could push himself without the distractions of comfort, without the temptations of food, sleep, or—her.
Yes, this was where he needed to be. Alone.
Isolation had always been his ally. It was familiar, predictable, safe. In solitude, there was no confusion, no unwanted emotions creeping in. No lingering scents of lavender she often wore invaded his senses. No bright blue eyes were watching him with curiosity.
Vegeta finished his final push-up and sprang to his feet, shaking off the haze of unwanted thoughts. His gaze flickered to the humanoid robot still standing in the corner, and his stomach twisted. It was her creation. She had given it to him personally. A gift for his training. A reminder of her.
His jaw tightened. No. He wouldn't let her haunt him, not here. Without a second thought, he grabbed the damn thing and carried it downstairs, shoving it into storage where he woudln't have to look at it, where he wouldn't have to think about her.
With that nuisance dealt with, Vegeta stormed back to the training floor, his muscles tense, his pulse steadying. He watched the rounded bots, ready for combat. He set his stance, fists clenching. He would train until he dropped. Until his body gave out. Until there was nothing left in his mind but the singular purpose of his existence.
To become a Super Saiyan.
xXx
Panchy stretched her arms above her head as she descended the stairs, stifling a yawn with the back of her hand. The morning sunlight filtered through the large windows, casting soft, warm streaks across the polished floors. She made her way into the spacious kitchen, her silk robe swishing around her ankles. The scent of freshly made coffee lingered in the air, but she didn't grab a cup; she headed for the pantry instead. Gathering ingredients for the breakfast she was going to make.
Cooking had always been a joy for Panchy. Lately, she found herself doing it more often, especially for Bulma and Vegeta, who had become frequent fixtures at the dining table. They had fallen into an unspoken routine: breakfast together in the morning and dinner in the evening. It was a quiet sort of domesticity that Panchy hadn't expected at all but was really glad to see.
She wasn't entirely sure what was going on between them. Something had definitely changed, and seeing her daughters' expression lit with an undeniable sparkle, made Panchy's heart swell with happiness.
Humming softly, she set a pan on the counter, tilting a small bottle of oil over it, letting it coat the surface. She moved fluidly, reaching for the flour, dusting the countertop to prepare for kneading homemade dough. Her hands were just about to sink into the soft mixture when a high-pitched bird chirping broke through the quiet kitchen.
The sound was loud, too loud. Panchy's brow furrowed. It almost sounded like it was coming from inside the house. Confused, she turned her head, scanning the room, until her gaze landed on the back door. It was ajar.
Her stomach dropped. Had someone broken in? For a moment, Panchy hesitated, her pulse quickening, but she forced herself to move. Carefully, she stepped onto the back porch. Her breath hitched when her eyes fell on the figure sitting in the middle of the backyard.
"Bulma?"
The sight made her heart clench. Bulma was on the ground, her legs tucked beneath her, arms limp at her sides. Panchy didn't think. She ran, dropping to her knees in front of her daughter. Bulma's eyes were red-rimmed and swollen, and she stared blankly ahead.
"Bulma? What's wrong? What happened?" Panchy's voice was gentle, but urgent as she gripped her daughter's shoulders.
Bulma's expression was vacant, as if she were looking straight through her. Her blue eyes, usually so bright and full of fire, were distant, lost in some place Panchy couldn't reach.
A few agonizing seconds passed before something flickered behind Bulma's gaze, a small spark of awareness returning to her features. Her lips parted, trembling slightly.
"Mom…" Bulma's voice cracked, and her lower lip quivered before she crumpled, fresh sobs wracking her body.
Panchy didn't hesitate. She wrapped her arms around her daughter, pulling her close, cradling her like she had when she was small. Bulma clung to her, fists gripping the soft fabric of her robe, her body shaking as wave after wave of sadness rolled through her. Panchy soothed a hand over her hair, murmuring soft reassurances, though she doubted Bulma even heard them.
Then, in the midst of comforting her daughter, Panchy noticed something, or rather, the absence of something. As her eyes flickered over the backyard, the emptiness settled into her bones like ice, and a chill ran down her spine. The gravity chamber was nowhere in sight.
The realization clawed at her, sinking its teeth deep into her heart. That massive structure, the very thing Vegeta had devoted himself to so obsessively, was gone. And with the way her daughter was reacting, it only meant that he had left.
Panchy didn't know the details, didn't know what exactly had been said, but the evidence was written all over Bulma's tear-streaked face. Her own eyes burned, sympathy and sorrow welling up inside her.
"Oh, sweetie…" she whispered, her voice breaking as she held her daughter even tighter.
Somehow, through the haze of heartbreak, Panchy managed to get Bulma off the damp grass. She guided her inside, half-carrying her up the stairs. Bulma didn't resist, didn't argue. She moved like a puppet, limbs limp, eyes still glassy with exhaustion and grief.
Panchy tucked Bulma into bed, smoothing the blankets over her before slipping in beside her, wrapping a protective arm around her. She could feel the rapid beat of Bulma's heart, and the way her breathing hitched as she fought off more sobs.
Panchy wanted to ask what had happened. Why was Vegeta gone? But the words would not come. So instead, she held her daughter, brushing a hand over her back, listening to the silence stretch between them. And for now, that was enough.
It didn't take long after closing her eyes for Bulma to finally drift into an exhausted sleep. Her breath evened out, her tear-streaked face relaxed, and for the first time that morning, she seemed at peace. Panchy hadn't planned on sleeping herself—she had only meant to stay close, to keep watch over her daughter in case she woke up in distress.
But at some point, fatigue must have claimed her, because the next thing she knew, she was being pulled from sleep, as the bed shifted beneath her. Bulma bolted upright and staggered out of bed, moving so fast Panchy barely had time to register what was happening before the sound of hurried footsteps filled the room. Then came the unmistakable sound of retching.
Panchy's heart lurched as she threw off the covers and rushed toward the bathroom, where Bulma was hunched over the toilet, clutching the porcelain edges with trembling fingers. Her body heaved again, another wave of nausea wracking through her.
Without hesitation, Panchy knelt beside her, gathering her daughter's long, tangled locks and holding them back. She smoothed a soothing hand over Bulma's back in slow, comforting circles, just as she had when Bulma was a little girl suffering from the flu.
But this wasn't a childhood sickness. This wasn't something a warm bowl of soup or a dose of medicine could fix. This was grief. Panchy swallowed hard, her chest tightening as she realized just how deeply this had affected her daughter. She wished, with every fiber of her being, that she could take it all away. That she could wave her hand and make it better, make it right. But there was no magic spell for this kind of pain.
When Bulma finally stopped throwing up, she let out a ragged breath and slumped back against the tub. She looked pale, drained of life, and utterly defeated. Panchy quickly grabbed a washcloth, running it under cool water before pressing it onto Bulma's forehead.
Before long, Bulma rose to her feet and trudged back toward the bedroom, her movements sluggish, as if her limbs were weighed down by exhaustion and sorrow. Panchy followed closely behind, ready to catch her if she faltered.
As soon as Bulma collapsed back onto the bed, Panchy tucked the blankets around her, brushing stray strands of hair from her face before leaning down and kissing her forehead gently.
"I'll just be downstairs if you need me," she murmured.
Bulma barely moved, her eyes already half-lidded with exhaustion. "Okay."
Panchy lingered for a moment, reluctant to leave, but she knew her daughter needed space and time to process whatever heartbreak had completely shattered her.
Then, with a heavy heart, she stepped back and quietly closed the door behind her, leaving Bulma alone with her grief.
xXx
Over the next four days, Bulma remained cocooned in her bed, barely stirring except for the inevitable, miserable trips to the bathroom to empty her stomach. The nausea clung to her relentlessly, hitting hardest in the mornings before slowly ebbing as the day dragged on. Her nerves were frayed, her thoughts tangled in an exhausted haze. She was starving, but the mere idea of getting up to eat felt insurmountable. She was exhausted, yet sleep refused to come, leaving her trapped in a restless, aching limbo.
With a frustrated grunt, Bulma kicked off the comforter, the sheets tangled and damp with sweat from too many hours of lying in the same spot. Dragging herself upright, she trudged to the bathroom for what felt like the hundredth time that morning. The retching was mostly dry now—her stomach long since emptied of anything substantial—but the nausea still curled in her gut like a cruel phantom.
Once she flushed, she caught sight of herself in the mirror and winced. Her hair was a tangled mess, her skin pale and dull, and the faint sheen of sweat only made her feel more gross.
She peeled off her pajamas, the fabric clinging uncomfortably to her skin, and turned the shower knob. Before long, steam began to billow, curling around her like an invitation to cleanse away the past few days. Stepping under the spray, Bulma let out a slow breath as the hot water cascaded over her, washing away the grime and tension weighing her down. The heat seeped into her muscles, loosening knots she hadn't realized had formed.
Reaching for a washcloth, she lathered it up with soap, the fresh scent filling her nose as she worked it over her arms and shoulders. For the first time in days, she felt remotely human again. But as she ran the cloth over her chest, a sharp twinge made her flinch. Her brow knitted together. She tried again, pressing a little lighter, but the tenderness remained, a deep, dull ache that sent a wave of unease through her.
"Fuck," she muttered under her breath, her hands lingering for a moment before she shook her head and continued washing.
Bulma's mind roared with a thousand thoughts, each crashing into the next like a relentless storm. But then, amid the chaos, a single realization struck her like a lightning bolt.
When was the last time she had her period? She squeezed her eyes shut, mentally retracing the weeks. It had come last month… right? The birth control she took was scheduled every other week, like clockwork, and every Tuesday, without fail, for years she had taken it. Except—
Bulma's stomach twisted. Except for the week she'd forgotten when she'd been sexually active with Vegeta. Her mind raced back to the whirlwind of days spent with Vegeta, the distractions, the chaos… She had missed an entire week's dose, only realizing it when she went to take her usual pill and saw the untouched pack staring back at her. Panicked, she had doubled up, hoping to make up for lost time, hoping it would be enough.
But had it been enough? Bulma's pulse pounded in her ears. Her breath hitched as her eyes widened in horror. The nausea. The relentless throwing up. Her body suddenly felt foreign to her, every ache and discomfort magnified. Her breasts were sore. She'd been exhausted, unreasonably so. And the worst of it—she'd skipped an entire week of birth control while being sexually active. No condoms. No backup. Nothing.
A shaky breath escaped her lips as she pressed a trembling hand against the tiled shower wall, her legs threatening to give out beneath her. The water streamed over her, but she barely registered the heat anymore.
She couldn't be pregnant, could she? The thought consumed her, drowning out everything else. Mechanically, she rinsed herself off, her hands moving through the motions without conscious effort. Before she knew it, she shut off the shower. The sudden silence was deafening.
Grabbing a towel, she dried herself off, her mind roiling with thoughts. Bulma dressed in a daze, her mind too preoccupied to care about what she was pulling from her closet. If she'd been in the right frame of mind, she would have cringed at the sight of herself in the mirror. But right now, none of that mattered.
Slipping on a pair of sandals, she grabbed her purse, and practically sprinted out the door. She crawled into the hovercraft, and the vehicle hummed to life. Before she had time to second-guess herself, she was soaring through the dimly lit streets, heading straight for the nearest 24-hour pharmacy.
Her heart hammered against her ribs, her grip tightening around the steering wheel as she forced herself to focus on the road. The nausea still lurked at the back of her throat, but it was nothing compared to the gnawing anxiety twisting her stomach into knots.
The moment she landed, she barely registered locking the hovercraft before rushing inside the store. Bulma made a beeline for the feminine hygiene section, her breath shallow. Her stomach clenched as her eyes landed on the rows of pregnancy tests.
With a shaky hand, she grabbed one of the boxes. Swallowing hard, she turned on her heel and marched toward the front counter, her heart pounding so violently that she swore the cashier would hear it when she reached them.
"Bulma?"
She froze mid-step, the sound of her name snapping Bulma out of her daze. Her grip on the pregnancy test tightened as she searched for the familiar voice.
A pregnant woman waddled toward her, a full shopping basket balanced in one hand while the other rested protectively over her swollen belly.
"Hana?" Bulma asked, recognition dawning as the woman beamed at her.
"Yes!" Hana laughed. "Wow, it's been forever! How have you been?"
Bulma forced a smile, her palms slick with sweat as she subtly tried to hide the box against her leg.
"Good. I've been good," Bulma answered, hoping her voice sounded steadier than she felt.
Hana grinned. "Crazy how time flies, huh? Feels like just yesterday we were pulling all-nighters for Mr. Yamaguchi's class."
Bulma chuckled. "Ugh, don't remind me. I do not miss that!"
Hana groaned dramatically. "Me either, girl! Those research papers nearly killed me." She exhaled and looked down at her stomach, rubbing it absently. "Now I've got a whole different kind of stress. I swear, my feet are the size of balloons every single day. I'm so ready to get her out of me."
"How far along are you?"
"Thirty-four weeks as of yesterday!" Hana beamed, her brown hair bouncing as she spoke.
She practically glowed, clearly excited. Bulma, on the other hand, felt utterly self-conscious. She was standing there with wet, tangled hair, mismatched clothes, and an anxious grip on a pregnancy test.
"Oh my—, Bulma!" Hana gasped, her smile widening. "You think you might be pregnant?"
Bulma's breath caught. It was like being sucker-punched, the air knocked straight from her lungs.
"Um, yeah," she admitted, forcing a nervous laugh and raising the test slightly, as if it wasn't obvious.
Hana squealed excitedly, bouncing on her heels despite her heavily pregnant frame.
"That's amazing! I'm so happy for you!" She leaned in for a quick hug.
Bulma barely had time to process before Hana pulled back.
"I bet Yamcha is thrilled! He must be over the moon about finally becoming a dad!"
A sharp, invisible dagger pierced through Bulma's chest. She hadn't even thought about him. Of course, Hana would think it was Yamchas. Everyone would. She swallowed. The truth was a little messier. Still, Bulma smiled tightly, the weight in her chest pressing down hard.
"Yeah," She said, the lie tasting bitter on her tongue. "He is."
Hana clapped her hands together. "Oh, Bulma, I'm so excited for you! You're going to be a great mom. Well, I'll let you go. I know you must be dying to find out!"
"Yes, I am," Bulma said, forcing what little enthusiasm she could muster.
It seemed to work because Hana wrapped her in another warm hug. "Call me sometime, okay? We'll grab lunch and catch up!"
Bulma nodded, smiling politely. "Definitely."
With a quick wave, Bulma turned on her heel and headed for the register, the conversation already fading from her mind.
The cool night air hit her the second she stepped out of the store, but it did nothing to calm the storm inside her. Bulma climbed into her hovercraft, gripping the pregnancy test in her lap, and just sat there. Her mind was completely blank for the first time since the thought had struck her in the shower.
Eventually, Bulma returned to her room and tossed the small box onto the bathroom counter, the plastic crinkling as it landed. She didn't bother looking at it. Instead, she turned and sank onto the edge of her bed, her shoulders slumping under the weight of the moment.
She had never taken a pregnancy test before. Hell, she had never even had a scare like this. Her eyes drifted to her feet, her hands clasped loosely in her lap. She felt… nothing. No panic. No relief. Just a numbness that spread through her chest, settling in like a thick fog.
Bulma needed to take the test. She had to. But her body wouldn't move. She was rooted to the spot, her limbs heavy, her breath slow and uneven. Because once she stood up, once she walked into that bathroom and took the test, there would be no more ignoring it. No more pretending it was just paranoia or some cruel trick her body was playing on her.
If it were positive, her life would change forever. And if she was carrying Vegeta's child…
Her throat tightened, her chin trembling. She felt guilty. Guilty for even thinking about bringing a baby into a world that was anything but secure. The future wasn't certain—hell, it had never been more unpredictable. And then there was Vegeta.
He was gone. And Bulma felt deep within that he would never return again. How could she raise a child without its father? Her own father had been such a constant, loving force in her life, shaping so much of who she was today. Could she do that alone? Could she give a baby everything it needed without a second parent?
But who was she kidding? Even if Vegeta was around, it wasn't like he was father material. The man barely tolerated anyone, let alone some helpless infant clinging to him. He wasn't the kind of man who stuck around, and he certainly wasn't the kind to settle down.
Bulma exhaled sharply, running a hand through her damp hair. She was getting ahead of herself. Maybe she wasn't even pregnant. Clinging to that thought like a lifeline, she pushed herself off the bed, legs slightly unsteady as she forced herself toward the bathroom.
Her hands trembled as she grabbed the box, her fingers fumbling over the cardboard as she pried it open. She already knew the process, but her mind was a jumbled mess, and for a brief second, she just stared blankly at the plastic test in her hands, trying to steady her breathing.
Bulma forced herself to move, taking the test and lowering herself onto the toilet. Her heart pounded so loudly in her ears that she could barely focus on what she was doing. It felt surreal.
Once she was finished, she placed the cap back on the test and carefully set it on the bathroom counter. Then the waiting began.
It took only three minutes to get an accurate reading. Three agonizingly long minutes. Bulma paced the length of the bathroom, her bare feet making soft thuds against the floor. Back and forth. Back and forth. She wasn't sure how many times she crossed the small space, but by the time the timer on her watch hit three minutes, she had worn a path into the tiles.
She swallowed hard and turned toward the counter. Her stomach twisted violently as she reached for the small plastic test. This was it. This moment would decide everything.
Either she wasn't pregnant, and life could return to some semblance of normalcy or… If she were pregnant, everything would change forever. Her fingers closed around the test, her grip unsteady. She inhaled sharply, bracing herself, and looked down.
'PREGNANT'
The test slipped from her fingers, clattering onto the tile floor. Her knees buckled, and before she could stop herself, she sank to the ground, her back pressing against the wall.
No emotions came. No tears. No panic. Just nothing. A hollow, empty feeling as her mind scrambled for what to do next.