.:SEVENTEEN:.
Yamcha was outside in the backyard, drenched in sweat, as he drilled through a sequence of punches and kicks against a punching dummy while Puar hovered nearby. Midway through his training routine, the glass door to the balcony he was near slid open sharply. He looked up to see Bulma storm out, slam the door shut, and plop down into one of the lounge chairs. He watched as she fished out a cigarette, placed it between her lips, and lit it with a flick of a lighter.
"Hey, I thought you quit that?" Yamcha questioned as he wiped his brow and placed his hands on his hips.
At his voice, Bulma looked down, seeming to notice him and Puar for the first time. She raised an eyebrow, exhaling smoke in a slow stream before shrugging.
"You try quitting when you've got a Saiyan to babysit," she shot back, her tone laced with sarcasm.
Yamcha nodded once, understanding.
"How is he, anyway?" He hadn't wanted to ask, but it felt like the polite thing to do.
Bulma rolled her eyes and took another drag from the cigarette.
"He'll live," she replied dryly. "Assuming the new chamber doesn't end him first."
She gestured with her cigarette toward the massive machine that dominated the backyard. Yamcha's gaze followed hers.
"Who gave him access to the new chamber, anyway?" Yamcha murmured. "Shouldn't the guy take at least a day off before diving back into training?"
"My dad!" Bulma answered, her brows furrowed. "Vegeta can barely stand, and now he's in there pushing himself again!"
Yamcha huffed and crossed his arms.
"Let's hope he doesn't blow this one up like the last one," he muttered mostly to himself. Then he looked back up at Bulma. "Have you given him a senzu bean?"
"That's it!" she shouted suddenly, excitement surging into her voice.
She flicked the last ash from her cigarette, took one final drag, and stamped it out. Without another word, she turned on her heel and disappeared into the house, leaving Yamcha blinking in surprise.
"Wonder what that was all about?" Yamcha asked, glancing at Puar, who shrugged in equal confusion.
With a sigh, Yamcha resumed his training. But a few minutes later, he was disrupted again by the unmistakable sound of Bulma's heavy footsteps. She stormed out of the house, her face contorted with anger as she made a beeline toward the gravity chamber. Yamcha watched as she marched across the yard, practically radiating fury. He couldn't help but cringe, wondering what kind of hell was about to go down.
With a screwdriver in her hand, Bulma crouched beside the gravity chamber, popping open a panel on its side. Intrigued, Yamcha wandered over, curious about what she was up to. He watched as she worked quickly, her fingers adjusting wire connections and loosening bolts with focused precision. Yamcha found himself leaning in, watching over her shoulder as she worked. Then she made one final adjustment, and to his astonishment, the chamber's hum dulled to silence. With a decisive twist of her screwdriver, the chamber door hissed and slid open.
No sooner had the door opened than Vegeta stumbled into view, eyes half-way open. He was drenched in sweat, and his usual fierce gaze was nowhere to be found. Yamcha immediately stepped back, not wanting to be the focus of Vegeta's frustration if he snapped out of his daze. Instead, the Saiyan collapsed in a crumpled heap onto the floor.
Without a second thought, Bulma sprinted up the ramp and into the chamber. Yamcha's stomach twisted at the sight, and a pang of jealousy surfaced as he watched his recent ex rush over to check on Vegeta. His heart sank even deeper as he saw the worry etched on her face, unmistakable in her frantic movements as she knelt beside the unconscious Saiyan.
"Shit," she cursed, her voice laced with concern. "He's passed out again."
Bulma looked over at Yamcha, a desperate plea in her eyes. And at that moment, he knew exactly what she was going to ask.
With a heavy sigh, he nodded, feeling a pang of resignation. "I'll go find some help."
Bulma gave Yamcha a brisk nod, barely sparing him a glance before her gaze drifted back to the Saiyan. The dismissal hit Yamcha like a slap. He felt a sudden pulse of resentment lodge in his chest, gnawing at him with each step as he turned and walked back into Capsule Corp, his pace deliberately slow. Let Vegeta suffer; it wasn't Yamcha's problem. The Saiyan had only himself to blame for pushing his body beyond reason.
A few minutes later, Yamcha located Dr. Brief down in the lab and passed along Bulma's message about Vegeta. Yamcha lingered around for a beat, then slipped into one of the empty labs nearby, needing some solitude. He sank heavily into a chair at the work table, rested his elbows on it, and buried his head in his hands.
Nearly two months had dragged by since he and Bulma had ended things, yet the sting of it all was still fresh to Yamcha. Seeing her look at Vegeta with a tenderness that had once been reserved for him left an icy knot in his stomach. He muttered a curse under his breath and ran a hand through his hair in frustration.
Deep down, Yamcha knew that his own actions had led to their breakup. Over the past year, he'd grown complacent, letting their relationship slip through his fingers. As much as Yamcha hated to admit it, he'd strayed–distracted by the thrill of attention from others, drawn to the novelty of something new. He'd drifted away from Bulma, and now he was left with only regrets.
For the past month, Yamcha had tried to move on. He'd gone out a handful of times, hitting the clubs with his buddies, hoping the loud music and laughter would drown out the thoughts of Bulma. He'd danced with a few girls his teammates introduced him to and tried to let go and have fun. Yamcha had even gone on a couple of casual dates just to distract himself from the guilt he carried over how things had ended with Bulma. Though each attempt felt hollow, leaving him wondering if he was just going through the motions. Somehow, he still felt tied to her, his thoughts always wandering back to her. Yamcha had a bunch of memories he wasn't ready to let go of.
The way Bulma had rushed to Vegeta's side, the way she'd knelt on her bandaged legs and gently cradled his head in her lap, looking at the Saiyan with a tenderness Yamcha hadn't seen in so long–it had shattered his heart to pieces. How could she, he wondered, show such kindness to someone as ruthless and dangerous as Vegeta? A man with blood-stained hands who had taken the lives of Yamcha's friends. A man who held nothing but contempt for human life?
Bulma was treating the Saiyan as if she actually cared about him. About a killer! The thought struck Yamcha hard, and he shivered where he sat, a prickling pressure building behind his eyes. The thought of the two sleeping together crossed his mind, and he clenched his teeth. Yamcha knew how determined Bulma was. Whatever she wanted, she got. No matter what. And if she wanted Vegeta... Well, it would happen. Simple as that.
Yamcha clenched his fists, anger boiling up. With a fierce growl, he slammed his hand down on the empty work table before him. The wood splintered under his strength, splitting in two. He thought about how she'd acted around the Saiyan, the care in her eyes. Yamcha felt certain they'd already crossed that boundary. His mind spiraled then, wondering how often they might have been together. It was a painful thought that tore through him with relentless sharpness.
A heavy sense of regret settled over him as he wiped the wetness from his eyes. Yamcha knew he had no one to blame but himself. If he hadn't become so complacent, so distracted, maybe he and Bulma would still be together. Maybe they'd be back at his penthouse, laughing and teasing each other, worrying only about what to have for dinner as they spent the afternoon tangled in between the sheets.
Yamcha sat in the darkness for a long time, replaying the choices he'd made and the opportunities he'd wasted. If he had just paid more attention to her and been more present for her, maybe none of this would've happened. Maybe she wouldn't be looking at Vegeta the way she used to look at him.
When he finally felt stable enough to leave the room, he made his way out to the backyard, where the gravity chamber stood ajar. Puar hurried over to tell him they'd loaded Vegeta onto a stretcher and brought him back inside.
"Where is Bulma now?" Yamcha asked quietly, feeling as if he already knew the answer.
"With Vegeta, I guess. She stayed with him the whole time," Puar replied hesitantly.
Yamcha nodded, his chest tightening. He didn't comment on that; he only muttered to Puar that he was ready to head home. The two of them took to the sky in silence, making the flight back to his apartment without a word.
Yamcha didn't return to Capsule Corporation again until the day the androids arrived...
When he had no choice.
xXx
Bulma lay curled up on the bed beside Vegeta, her head resting close to his shoulder, her eyes never straying far from his face. She watched his chest rise and fall, listening to each slow, rhythmic breath. In the dim room, Bulma recalled her conversation with Kenji. He'd said Vegeta was severely dehydrated, and pushing himself so hard had put the Saiyan in an exercise-induced syncope. Kenji had applied an IV to the back of Vegeta's hand again to give his body some much-needed fluids.
When the medical staff arrived at the gravity chamber with the stretcher in tow, Bulma instructed them to take Vegeta to his room, where she was lying beside him. She found she was unwilling to leave his side. Gently, Bulma began to trail her fingers up and down his arm, her touch featherlight as she avoided the small bandaged cuts dotting his skin. She didn't know why, but it seemed to bring him peace whenever she touched him.
Earlier, with the bustle of people around his unconscious form, Vegeta had grown restless, his body jerking, arms twitching as if he were fighting something in his dreams. Kenji had suggested a mild sedative, worried about Vegeta injuring himself in his sleep, but Bulma had dismissed it. Instead, she'd spoken softly to the Saiyan in a soothing tone, her voice low and comforting as she gently ran her fingers through his hair. Slowly, his movements had quieted, his muscles relaxing under her touch. It was as if her presence alone was enough to anchor and pull him back from whatever darkness gripped him. Bulma had hated seeing Vegeta like that–worn down, vulnerable, completely unlike his usual intense self.
And now, she knew that if he woke up to find her lying beside him, he'd probably throw her out without a second thought. But right now, she didn't care. And besides, with the way he was snoring, it was clear he was in a deep, unshakable sleep. A smile crept onto her face as she looked up at him, his head tilted slightly toward her, his mouth hanging open just a bit. It gave him an unexpected gentle look. Bulma had never seen him look so… human. In this moment, he was just another person asleep and powerless, and she found herself savoring it, drinking in every detail, knowing this moment of closeness wouldn't last forever.
Outside, the sun was setting, slowly casting the room around them into darkness. She debated reaching over to turn on the lamp to see his face, but a yawn crept over her, and she decided against it. Moving slowly, careful not to disturb him, Bulma finally slipped under the blanket beside him, feeling the warmth of his body radiating just inches away. She pulled a pillow close to him, inching herself forward until their bodies almost touched.
Tentatively, Bulma reached out, her hand finding his. She gently placed her hand in his, his palm warm and calloused. Bulma marveled at how perfectly his hand fit in hers. Then, to her surprise, his fingers tightened around her own, gripping her hand in his sleep. She froze, her eyes widening as she looked up at Vegeta's shadowed face. The flicker of surprise on her face eventually faded into a smile.
As the last remnants of daylight faded away, Bulma felt her eyes grow heavy. Nestled so close to Vegeta, hand in hand, she let her guard down, and as sleep began to overtake her, Bulma found herself wishing that, somehow, she could fall asleep beside his strong presence every night.
xXx
It was pitch black when Vegeta's eyes blinked open, and his mind sluggishly stirred into consciousness. Trying to piece together where he was and what had happened to him, he took deep, steadying breaths. The only thing Vegeta could last recall was pushing himself again within the new gravity chamber until his memories slipped into nothingness. Now, though, Vegeta found himself lying in his bed, and judging by the darkness outside, it was well into the middle of the night. He glanced down and noticed an IV drip secured to the top of his hand, delivering fluids into his body. A pang of frustration flared within him, knowing he must've been in worse shape than he thought for him to have no recollection of anything substantial other than the explosion and forcing Dr. Brief to resurrect another chamber.
Then, Vegeta became aware of something else–someone else. He felt warmth against his hand and saw her when he shifted his gaze. Bulma was lying beside him, her body curled up close, her delicate fingers laced through his own. Even more surprising, Vegeta realized he was holding her hand back, his fingers wrapped securely around hers. His brow furrowed, frustration mingled with confusion as he looked down at their entwined hands.
Vegeta forced his eyes back to the ceiling, cursing himself for becoming so weak. Training had become his obsession. It was a consuming, desperate mission to break past his limits and become what he was destined to be–a Super Saiyan. The sting of failure gnawed at him, the frustration boiling up inside. Kakarot had only trained under a hundred times Earth's normal gravity, and when he'd faced Frieza, he'd transformed into the ultimate legend of his people. What did Kakarot have that he was missing? What was he doing wrong?
A small sound beside him interrupted his thoughts. He turned his head, noticing Bulma's expression–her brows knit together, her lips parted in a faint whimper. It took him a moment to realize the cause of her distress; he'd been holding her hand too tightly. Vegeta relaxed his hand immediately, though he didn't let go entirely. He watched as her expression softened, the tension in her brow easing as she settled back into slumber.
Vegeta let out a slow, quiet breath, surprised by the strange sense of calm he felt as he continued watching her sleep beside him. Her presence was grounding in a way he couldn't quite understand, easing the tightness he often found coiled within his chest, if only for a little bit.
Vegeta lay on his side, turned carefully toward the blue-haired woman beside him, cautious not to make the slightest sound that might wake her. The room was dark, yet his Saiyan eyes could pick up every delicate contour of her face with perfect clarity. Her features were softened in sleep. Her hair spilled freely over the pillow, strands framing her face in a gentle disarray. All the while, Vegeta's hand never left hers, his grip unwilling to let go.
Her breathing was deep and rhythmic, a sure sign of the depth of her sleep. Her chest's steady rise and fall reassured him that she was completely undisturbed, oblivious to his watchful gaze. Vegeta allowed his eyes to trace every inch he could see of her, memorizing each line and curve as his mind wrestled with a hundred conflicted thoughts.
He found himself wondering, yet again, how things had reached this point. He had done everything he could to keep his distance from her, to discourage her, hoping she would lose interest and leave him to his solitary existence. And yet, here she was, lying so close, her warm presence an undeniable reminder that it hadn't mattered that he'd been ignoring her. It hadn't worked.
In her sleep, the woman muttered his name softly. "Mmm, Vegeta…"
Vegeta's eyes snapped down at her, locked on her face as his heartbeat quickened. Each beat echoed through him like a warning, but he couldn't look away from her, caught in the quiet of the moment. His mind raced with questions. Why had she murmured his name? What was she dreaming about for her to call out to him so tenderly? The moan that had accompanied his name made something deep within him stir, a response he was unprepared for, as his body reacted instinctively to her nearness. He backed his hips away from her.
For a long moment, Vegeta lay still as he listened to her deep breathing, hoping to hear his name from her again. Then, from out of nowhere, the thought struck him: never in his life had someone slept beside him so openly, so trustingly. No one had ever cared enough to keep vigil at his side as he had slept like she'd been doing after the explosion. The thought left him unsteady, and a flicker of something he didn't recognize settled in his chest as he realized that here and now, she was the only one who had ever been willing to share this quiet, vulnerable space with him.
A strange, almost instinctual urge made him gently tighten his hold on her hand, feeling the warmth of her small fingers against his own. But the faintest twitch of her brow made him freeze, and with a breath held tight in his chest, he let go, pulling his hand back. As if the broken contact had been her lifeline to sleep, Bulma's eyes fluttered open slowly. His heart raced as her hazy and unfocused eyes blinked up at him in sleepy confusion.
"Vegeta…?" she murmured, her voice thick with drowsiness, her words barely a whisper.
His breath caught, and for a moment, he lay there silent and still, unprepared for her to wake, let alone for her to see him looking at her this way—this close. Vegeta struggled to find something to say.
"Go back to sleep," he finally said, his voice firm yet low, gentle to his own ears.
But she didn't look away, gazing at him as if searching his face for something she wasn't sure of. Without thinking, Vegeta reached up, his fingers moving on their own to brush a stray strand of hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear.
"Are you okay?" she asked softly, carrying a note of concern that he hadn't expected.
Her concern for him moved something within him, and before he knew it, Vegeta rested his hand on her cheek.
"I'm okay," he said, a steadiness in his voice that surprised him, for his emotions inside were a roiling mess.
She stared at him for a long moment, and he saw a tear escape. Gently, he caught it with his thumb and wiped it away.
"Are you sure?" she whispered, her voice so quiet it was almost lost on his ears.
"I'm sure," he replied, keeping his gaze steady. "Now go back to sleep."
She nodded, her eyes drifting shut as his hand fell back to his side. Vegeta lay there, unable to close his eyes as he watched her inch closer, snuggling against him until her head rested just below his chin, her body fitting neatly next to his. Vegeta's chest tightened at the closeness, feeling her breaths match the rise and fall of his own. He became intensely aware of her warmth, the scent of her hair, and the way she seemed to relax more with each passing second. Then, a sudden, inconvenient need made itself known again, a reminder that his body had its own demands, but Vegeta ignored it. Instead, he shifted his hips away from her again.
When he felt more in control of his body, Vegeta carefully wrapped his arms around her, drawing her against him. She seemed to mold against him perfectly, her body fitting next to his as if it had always belonged there. As they lay together with her asleep in his arms, Vegeta felt his usual guardedness begin to fade, replaced by a calm he had never experienced before. His mind drifted, thoughts spiraling between the strange peace of this moment and the sudden yearning for more nights like this. The idea was unfamiliar, almost startling, yet it warmed him in a way he didn't know he needed.
Before long, his eyelids became heavy, and he surrendered to the soothing rhythm of her breathing beside him. Vegeta held her close as he drifted off to sleep, cradling her securely in his arms. In that moment, he realized, he had found something he couldn't bear to let go of.