Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Vengeance ❯ Chapter 29

Disclaimer: I don't own Dragonball Z, or any of the characters featured therein; they belong to Akira Toriyama and whoever he's decided to share them with.

Author's Notes: Two weeks to the day, I think? Not so bad a wait, for once. :D This chapter is not work safe!

.

.

.

PRESENT DAY

.

.

Vegeta rolled out of bed, resolutely refusing to look at the empty space against the wall. It was several days since Bulma had moved her mess from his room and taken up residence on the couch in the common room, and he didn't like to admit it but he knew her absence was getting to him. He hadn't been sleeping all that well and while he was eating properly, it was only because he knew he must; he'd suffered the wasting before and had no desire to do so again. Vegeta knew he had to stay in control of himself and his body, for the sake of his men, his reputation, and his sanity. It wouldn't do for him to start moping around like a brat after his first rejection; he had more dignity than that.

The thing was, it really sucked. Bulma was an adult, yet she stubbornly held the foolish ideals of a child. She thought that with enough work, she could turn the universe completely around, but Vegeta knew better. Words like `peace' and `harmony' were bandied about with as little care as dust in the wind; everyone who wanted to be seen as good was naturally in favour, but the moment it came time to sacrifice, all the selfish desire that characterized the sentient animal would come to the fore. Bulma acted as though if she could simply get her point across, all the drug lords, pimps, and tyrants of the universe would suddenly realize that their power and money was meaningless in the face of true harmony.

Fat fucking chance.

Shaking his head, Vegeta turned on the shower and cranked the heat up high before undressing. By the time he'd finished his morning piss and flushed, steam was clouding the small private bathroom. Not normally one to indulge, Vegeta took his time in the shower. He'd never thought of it as relaxing before, not until Bulma had said something about it, but the feeling of hot, hot water rushing over him was quite soothing to his mind as well as his muscles. He couldn't hear anything but the water spraying from the showerhead and dripping onto the floor. No yelling, no breathing, no creak and groan of a ship under the pressure...just water.

It couldn't last long, of course. Nothing pleasurable ever did. Vegeta had scheduled an early morning training session with his men, and it wouldn't do for him to be late. Regretfully, he stepped out from the stall and grabbed a towel, feeling his sense of peace evaporate along with the water on his skin. By the time he'd dressed and gotten to the training deck, he was in a foul mood and his waiting comrades were dreading the end of their warm-up period. They'd all come to know the signs preceding a major tantrum and they could feel that this one was going to be a doozy. No one spoke as they stood around stretching, not even Radditz, who could always be counted on to diffuse a tense situation with an off kilter comment. They hardly even dared to look at each other, each reflecting gratefully on one fact; their ship was equipped with two state of the art regeneration tanks. When they got slammed, they wouldn't be down for too long. It was a comforting thought.

Surprisingly enough, the training match didn't start with Vegeta kicking someone in the face - usually Nappa, when he was this pissed. On the contrary, it started quite calmly, quite civilly, which naturally set the trio of underlings even more on edge. Vegeta was like a bomb, quietly ticking away and they couldn't read the timer. He'd been ticking for days, and they all knew why, which probably made it even worse because Vegeta surely would have preferred if that little mess had been kept secret. Their presence added shame and embarrassment to his irritation.

Vegeta felt the eyes of his men, covertly watching him though they tried not to show it. He could feel their apprehension, their fear of what was to come, and most infuriating of all, their concern for him. He felt like a child, as he had immediately after the destruction of Vegetasei when Nappa had monitored his every move, hovered and clucked over him as a brood female with her newborn cub, as though he might self-destruct at any moment. Well, he hadn't as a child, and he sure as hell wasn't going to let a woman like Bulma take him down, he thought, as dodged a punch from Radditz. He felt Nappa gripping his shoulder from behind, the big man probably intending to pull him off balance, but Vegeta was too quick, grabbing his old mentor's hand and yanking him off his feet, up into the air to slam into the ground. Nappa landed with a thump, wheezing as the wind was knocked out of him, and Vegeta turned his attentions to the other two while the old fart tried to catch his breath.

Damn Bulma, damn that foolish woman, Vegeta seethed, hardly paying attention as he knocked away the uncle and nephew team. “What's wrong with you today?” He snarled at them, turning his fury also to Nappa, who'd hauled himself up from the floor and was looking for an opening. “You're weaker than Kakarott, the three of you together!” He spat, hoping to provoke anger in the absent saiyan's relatives at least, anything to share the rage and misery that roiled within him. He wanted everyone to feel the same hurt and helplessness that engulfed him. His tactic worked and the bristling pair launched themselves to action, throwing everything of themselves at him in the hopes that they could at least tire him out quickly and end their own suffering. Nappa hung back a little, watching with keen eyes as the prince moved, as quick and light on his feet as though he weighed no more than little Gohan, who was currently doing his best to land a hit and not getting even close. Nappa frowned, eyebrows drawing low as he thought about what was happening in the air above him.

Something was different, Vegeta realized very quickly as he easily evaded the attacks of his opponents. He felt faster, stronger, lighter than ever, and yet at the same time, as though he was sick to his stomach, which lurched and burned with every move. A bubbling little pit of something, the dark place within him was cracking open again, feeding his body with power that he could not handle. Bile rose to his throat as he spun round, deftly deflecting attacks from three sides and he swallowed it back, ignoring the fiery sting in his throat and the burn at the back of his nose. He lashed out, imbued with the power of his pain, and kicked Radditz straight in the face. The other saiyan began to fall, but Vegeta grabbed hold of his hair and yanked, instead throwing Radditz straight upward to slam into the ceiling. The crash of flesh against metal rang in Vegeta's ears, reverberating through his body and making his blood hum. Power surged and he laughed at the sensation, knowing instinctively that it was different from last time he'd opened up the abyss. There was more control this time and he was less a puppet to the forces that blew through him, though he could tell he was not yet their master.

The thought irritated him further, and more of the black rage power bubbled out from the crack between his sane mind and whatever lived within him. He could not control this power, nor Bulma, nor even his own men, who shot each other slanted glances behind his back. He had no planet, no people, no kingdom to rule. Was there anything left in his life that he had some power over? He would gain control of the power, his men would once again tremble with his every word, he would kill Frieza and gain back all that he had lost, but Bulma...Bulma was the worst. He'd begun to feel he didn't need to control her, that she would stay by him of her own accord, even though he'd never thought of it himself in such clear terms. All he knew was the anger that ensconced him at Bulma's rejection, at the sight of his cold, empty bed every night, and her mess all gone from his room. His heart jumped and a fresh surge of power flowed through his veins, its sudden force startling him enough that he allowed a hit from Gohan to make it through his defences. He snarled and kicked back, knocking the boy into the wall. He thrust out his hand as though to blast the boy, remembering at the last minute to curb himself - he did not feel confident that the ship's walls would stand up to the strength that was currently hissing through him. In fact, with every moment and every subsequent thought of Bulma, more came pouring out and he wasn't so sure he could handle it anymore.

With effort, he pulled the ki back from his hand, through his arm and into his body once more, felt it shoot through his heart as though he'd been stabbed. The shock of it vibrated through his veins, burning him from the inside out. He clutched at himself, too absorbed in the feeling to see that the other three had backed off and were watching him with wary eyes.

“It's the same.” Gohan whispered in awe as he pressed himself against the wall he'd flown into, as though with enough effort he could simply push through to the other side. “It's the same as that time...” He could feel panic building within him as he recalled the black sky, the lightning-bright form of the prince illuminated against it as he fought for control on that lonely little rock planet. If Vegeta were to release that power here on the ship, they were all doomed.

“Back off!” Nappa warned Radditz, who had cautiously approached the prince's still form. “Vegeta!” He yelled, “You have to control it!”

“He's going to blow!” Gohan insisted, hauling himself up and dashing to where Nappa stood, closest to the hatch between floors. “He'll take the whole ship out!” He grabbed Radditz's hand along the way, dragging his uncle to the relative safety of Nappa's power level. Perhaps if they all shielded together, they'd survive the blast, but the ship itself was unlikely to. “Oh no, Bulma's upstairs on the top level! She doesn't know!” He added, still clutching at Radditz's fingers.

“CONTROL YOURSELF!” Nappa bellowed, unconcerned with the conversation that was taking place next to him. He took two quick steps toward the prince, who had sunk to his knees, but he went no further. Even two steps closer to that much uncontrolled power was painful.

“What the fuck was that?” Radditz gasped, not quite believing his eyes as a ripple of gold seemed to pass through Vegeta's hair, originating at the bottom of his widow's peak and disappearing at the tips of his spiky mane. “Great Gods...” he whispered. “Is that...” he trailed off at Gohan's shout.

“Look, there it is again!” He stuck his arm straight out, pointing as the shockwave of colour ran once more through Vegeta's hair only to disappear as it had before.

“Hold on to yourself, Vegeta.” Nappa implored, and when the prince looked up they could see the flickering colour of his eyes, from deepest black to clearest blue. “You have to control yourself, or you'll kill us all.” He braved a step closer. “Bulma is on the ship. You'll kill us all.”

“Bulma.” Vegeta gasped, clutching at his hair with gloved fingers as he struggled to get himself under control. The power was his, he was on the cusp, but it was too much for him, too much for the ship that held them all. He felt his skin sizzling, just as it had that time he'd nearly killed himself, but he couldn't let it out this time, couldn't risk damage to the ship. He had to pull it back in, stuff it back into that black place in his belly, or he'd rupture the ship and Bulma would die. That was all there was in his mind, the fact that if he failed, Bulma would be sucked, screaming, into the black, cold void of space and she would die hating him. “Uhnn,” he grunted, yanking his hands from his hair to plant them on the floor as golden energy danced and crackled around him. Gohan began to cry, silent tears leaking from his eyes as he watched Vegeta's face contort with effort, eyes closed so they could no longer see if his eyes had stopped flickering as his hair had.

“Come on...concentrate.” Nappa muttered, still holding his position even as wave after wave of energy boomed out from the prince. The walls shook with each one, but they were lessening in intensity. The flickering golden aura was fading too, but with every second they could see Vegeta's body trembling progressively harder until he was convulsing on the floor, his face contorted with pain as the energy gathered and crackled within his flesh. His veins bulged and his skin bubbled in waves as the power coursed from his extremities back to his core and into the cracked place within.

.

Up on the residential deck, Bulma screamed as she felt the ship shudder and shake, the parts she had been working on clanking to the floor as the table bounced and jumped with each boom. Small stacks of notes crashed to the floor, scattering about the room. Even without the ability to sense ki, she could feel the electricity crackling up from the training deck that made her hair stand on end and her heart race. She heard the screaming from downstairs, Nappa's gruff bark commanding Vegeta to control himself, and felt panic jolt down her spine. “Oh no,” she moaned, “no, no no. Vegeta, be okay!” Bulma raced from the room, uncaring of the absolute mess she left behind her. Something was wrong with Vegeta, and suddenly that was all that was in her head. He'd nearly killed himself once; what if he succeeded this time? She was panicking at the thought, close to hyperventilating, and dearly regretting the last few days in which she'd spurned him completely. What if he died, thinking that she hated him, when it was really the opposite? Oh gods, it was so much the opposite that it wasn't even funny. Her heart absolutely ached with fear for him.

The ship around her creaked and groaned ominously but she didn't care, hardly even noticed in fact. She just had to get to Vegeta, and that was the only thing that was important to her. Eyes streaming with tears and lungs screaming for breath, she flew down the hall as fast as her legs could carry her and took the ladder down to the next deck two rungs at a time. She ran into the saiyans just as they emerged from the lower deck, Nappa hauling Vegeta up through the hatch by his armpits as Radditz and Gohan pushed from below. None of them said anything to her, and she didn't ask any questions as she followed them to the infirmary that was housed behind the control room, too afraid that she might burst into sobs if she tried to talk.

Vegeta was alive. She could see the rise and fall of his chest, and though he looked a little crispy in spots, she knew that the regeneration tanks on board were top of the line models and she'd tuned them up herself one boring afternoon while the saiyans trained away below her feet. The experience had shaken her, but he'd be back to his old self in no time. His old self, she reflected as she watched Nappa set him in the tank, the man that she'd been so unsure of just days ago. The man who'd consumed her thoughts when the possibility of her own imminent death should have been at the fore. Bulma let out a sob as the Nappa hooked the breathing mask to Vegeta's face and stepped back to allow the tank to close. None of them looked at her, though she did see Gohan's shoulders tense a little bit as they all saluted their prince.

“It's going to be okay, Bulma.” Gohan paused beside her as Nappa and Radditz filed out of the small infirmary. Nappa shot her a dark look as he passed and she nodded. She wouldn't make the same mistake she had last time. “It's going to be...” the child paused, caught between sympathy, uncertainty, and a sense of excited wonder, “he...he became something else, something amazing even though it only lasted a moment before he lost control again.” Bulma looked down at Gohan and saw that he was shaking, a head to toe vibration as though every nerve in his body was firing on overtime.

“Gohan!” It was Radditz, leaning back in, one arm braced heavily on the doorframe as he waited. Catching the boy's eye, he jerked his head back. “C'mon.” With an apologetic shrug and a grimace, Gohan followed his uncle out into the hallway without another word, leaving Bulma to contemplate his cryptic words.

“Super Saiyan.” The phrase sprang unbidden to her lips and she marvelled at the possibility of it as she settled into the infirmary's only chair. Had he really done it, she wondered as she studied his battered body, blue tinted by the regenerative fluids. Bulma cocked her head to one side, taking him in. The damage was not nearly half as bad as it had been the time he'd shown up on Red Station, though the feeling of panic that trilled within her was so much stronger today. He'd been a stranger then, and a threat, and even the knowledge that he was Vengeance had not completely eased her frazzled nerves. He looked the same, she thought. Aside from the bruises and the crusty look about him, he appeared no different than he had that morning. Somehow, she'd expected something sweeping and drastic, as though some mark from above would suddenly appear on his skin, demarcating the chosen one, the higher power of the Super Saiyan. But then again, she reflected, Gohan said he'd lost control of it and from the pattern of the scorch marks on his skin - most notably his charred palms - she surmised that this was not the first time. Vegeta had been on the cusp of this legendary power twice now, and both times it had nearly killed him. Bulma had the sudden and paralyzing though that success might mean death for him. What if the super saiyan was just a destructive ball of energy, destined to obliterate both himself and his enemies in the process of ascension? Was that why the transformation was so rare, so surrounded in mystery? Was it possible that there was some genetic predisposition, some kind of wall to prevent that kind of power ever being unleashed unless some great need preceded it? Was it that those with enough strength and ability to reach those heights simply ended up killing themselves before they could procreate and pass the ability along? The thought made her shiver, and she scooted her chair a little closer to the tank.

Vegeta was unconscious and safely ensconced within the healing bubble so there was really no need for her presence, but the thought of leaving his prone form twisted in her guts like a knife. So that was that. The second the ship had begun to rumble, she'd felt a terrible bolt of fear for him, for his welfare and safety, and she knew with startling clarity that she loved him more than anything. Despite all that he'd done and all that he would do in the future, she knew where her heart was, and it scared her to admit it. It was all too fast, too strong, too crazy. It flew in the very faces of reason and logic but there it was; stark and true. In her own way, she was bound to him.

Sick with confusion and crashing adrenaline levels, Bulma got up from her chair and hoisted herself onto the padded examination table, where she lay down and curled up on her side, still facing the regeneration tank and its precious occupant. Her whirring mind calmed as she lay there looking at his peaceful face, serene but for the mottled skin and the dark, dark circles beneath his eyes. Gradually she fell asleep, taking comfort in the fact that when she woke, Vegeta would be that much closer to healed.

.

.

Goku lay awake in bed, Chichi snoring softly beside him. They were not touching; they had not really touched at all since Goku had taken up residence in his wife's room. Certainly, they hugged sometimes and every so often Chichi would peck him on the cheek good morning or good night, but Goku longed for more than that. He desperately wanted to grab her up in his arms, to bury his face in her neck and feel her soft, sweet body pressing against his own. He wanted her naked and writhing beneath him, her flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes and pink mouth all professing her desire for him. In truth, things between them were so strained and so awkward that Goku wondered if he would ever make love to his wife again. He'd tried, of course...what man wouldn't? But every time he advanced, she seemed to shy away, or she'd pat him on the head like a dog seeking attention and he'd feel himself wither with it.

Heaving a deep sigh, Goku tried to remember if it had been this way before Earth's destruction and his subsequent imprisonment. He'd spent so much of that three year gap reminiscing and fantasizing that he wasn't really certain anymore what was reality and what was his own fevered wishing. Had he so romanticized their marriage that he could no longer comprehend the reality of what they'd shared?

Flat on his back, Goku looked sidelong at his wife from the corner of his eyes, somehow fearing he might wake her if he turned his head to look at her properly. He sighed again, confused. Chichi was just as he remembered her; maybe a little harder around the edges, but still utterly recognizable. Physically, she hadn't changed much. A few telltale streaks of silver shot through her silky, black hair - stress, he wondered, or genetics? - and her skin had become pale in the artificial light of the space station, but her smile was the very image of the one within his memory and her curves were still perfectly matched to his for snuggling...if only he could work up the nerve.

Gods, had he always been this pathetic? Had he always feared his wife, the potential of her rejection? Goku recalled his wedding night, remembered his confusion and naiveté as his blushing, stammering bride was forced to explain the principles of human mating, and felt deeply embarrassed for the young man he'd been. He remembered, also, the jolt of hot understanding that had rocketed through his body at the sight of her, all sweet, rosy curves in her wedding night attire. He'd felt, for the first time in his life that he could recall, a little bit out of control. Looking at Chichi now, with her hair all pulled back into a messy knot on the top of her head, mouth half open, a shapeless flannel nightgown covering her body from neck to ankles, he was surprised to feel the blood stir within his veins. Three long years since he'd known a loving touch, and suddenly it felt as though he'd die if he went a moment longer.

Tentatively, Goku reached out and poked his wife in the arm with one finger. She didn't stir, so he jabbed her a little harder, forcing her body to rock ever so slightly. She grunted in her sleep and mumbled something incoherent before rolling away onto her side with her back to him and curling up like a little flannel clad shrimp. Undaunted, Goku scooted closer to his wife and snuggled in beside her, curling his body against hers and draping his arm across her ribcage. “Hey, Chi.” He said softly, and when she didn't respond, he upped the volume a little. “You awake?”

“Hmmm, Goku?” She sighed, half asleep. “What do you want?” Chichi stretched and squirmed a little, plainly no longer accustomed to sleeping trapped within someone else's arms. Her eyes sprang open in surprise as the answer to that question poked her square in the bottom. “Oh!” She squeaked, and Goku felt her body stiffen in his arms as though shocked. Lacking the words to say what he felt, Goku simply edged closer, his hips thrusting forward as though he could convey all the urgency and need he felt with one simple motion.

“I've missed you,” he mumbled against her shoulder, suddenly feeling shy despite the fact that he was still pressed right up against her.

“G...Goku.” Chichi let out a strangled gasp as his palm trailed across her stomach and down to her hip, pulling her tight into him.

“You're so soft.” He said, fingers squeezing plump curves through the flannel barrier. He nuzzled the back of her neck, hot breath tickling at her skin. She yelped when she felt him nip her, just below the hairline behind her right ear. “How are you so soft? Were you always?” His questing hand trailed down to squeeze her thigh, rucking up her nightgown by a few inches to bare the lowest portion of her calves.

“Goku!” Chichi yelped, “What's gotten into you?” She tried vainly to tug her nightgown out of his grasp. “What are you doing?” She gasped as his warm hand found its way under the nightgown and up her leg. He stopped advancing right around her knee, but his fingers danced over her skin and sent shivers up through her body. More than three years since she'd been touched like this, and suddenly she was shy of her own husband, the man she'd yearned for all that time.

“Is it wrong, Chi?” Goku panted in her ear, “That I want you so much? If you only knew how much I dreamed of you, how much I thought of you...” He bent his head to kiss her neck, feeling the pulse race through her veins as she squirmed against him. “Don't wiggle like that.” He murmured, squeezing her hip beneath the flannel. “You're making it worse.” He pressed against her again and she felt a rush of heat as the hardness pressed into her backside.

“And you think I didn't?” Chichi snapped, wrenching herself from his grasp and flipping herself over to face him. “You think I didn't think of you every single night for three long years? Wishing and hoping that things had been different?” She choked off a frustrated sob. “I know you think I didn't suffer, Goku, and maybe I didn't as much as you, but you have no idea what my life has been like since...since then.”

“I...I'm sorry.”

“Well...” she faltered, not expecting his quick capitulation, “you should be.”

“I am,” he laughed softly, bringing a hand up to brush it down her cheek. “I'm sorry for everything. I know I haven't always treated you the way I should have, but I want to make it better. I need to.” He bent his head and kissed her then, pulling her body close as her lips yielded to his own. She moaned, a soft, breathy sound as his hand stole once more to the hem of her nightgown, pushing the weighty fabric up and over her hips. Chichi made no protest as his hand slipped between her thighs to cup the soft flesh there, only a thin barrier between them. “Chi?” He asked softly, questioning fingers pushing down, and she nodded back, hoping he couldn't see her blush in the dark. He was clumsy at first, fumbling her panties aside with hands gone shaky with nerves. He was out of practice, not all that confident he'd ever been good in the first place, but her soft moans drew him in, bolstered his confidence so that he did not have to think of what he was doing, second by second. I remember this, his body seemed to say, as he felt the first touch of slick warmth on his skin. His limbs moved of their own accord, muscles working to some unspoken command as he rolled onto her after helping her to wriggle out from the absurdity she'd donned before bed. Her hands, so small and delicate, rested on his chest, fingers splayed out over his skin, and all they shyness and uncertainty in him disappeared, replaced by urgency and need like he'd never felt before.

Goku buried his face in her neck, panting hard, trying to get a grip on himself and the sudden, raging lust coursing through his brain, but her nearness made that impossible and the scent of her skin filled his nostrils as he breathed, making his head pound with each pump of blood through his cock. “Goku...” Chichi moaned as he dragged his mouth across her skin, and he had the sudden urge to open his mouth and bite her, not hard enough to break the skin, not to hurt her, just to...to hold her there with him, to stop her squirming, like an animal. He shook his head, trying to clear it, trying to understand what she was saying, for she'd been panting something into his ear for the last minute, and hadn't a clue what it was.

“Hush.” He insisted, sliding a hand over her body and down between them to grasp himself, he found his way to her entrance and slowly began to ease his way into her. Goku bit his bottom lip, letting his breath out in a hiss as he tried to control himself, tried to keep himself from simply ramming it all the way in like a brute. She was tight, so warm and snug around him, but he could see her face, wincing under the cover of darkness as he stretched her, settled inside and suddenly filled sensitive places that had not been touched in long, lonely years. In all the way, he stopped moving and waited for her to relax, feeling as though perhaps he should have waited longer, built her up more, despite the fact that she had plainly been ready for him. “Are you okay?” He asked, picking his weight up off her chest, bracing his arms against the bed on either side of her shoulders. He was trembling with the effort of controlling himself; he'd forgotten how good it felt to bury himself within her, forgotten how his troubles sank away into her flesh, how it was just the two of them together as if the rest of the universe had simply disappeared. With a heartfelt sigh, he bent his neck down, forehead pressing lightly against hers. His eyes were closed, but after a few seconds he opened them to find her staring upward, meeting his gaze. “This close,” he smiled, “it looks like you only have one giant eye.” Chichi snorted at his sudden joke, the tension in her body dissipating as she let out a brief spurt of giggles.

“Oh, Goku,” Chichi reached up and laid her palm on his cheek, “I did miss you.” She returned the smile, angling her head ever so slightly so that their lips met. She'd meant it to be a tender, chaste sort of peck, but the intensity of Goku's reaction surprised her, as did her own response. With each passing second, each nip of his teeth and swipe of his tongue, she felt the need rise within her, found herself arching against him, her hands tangling in his hair as she crushed her mouth to his with bruising force. “Oh, Goku!” Chichi said again, though this time as a breathy sigh, heavy with passion. She wrapped her legs around his hips as he began to move within her, and clutched at his trembling shoulders, short-bitten nails driving into taut muscles. He grunted, moreso in surprise than in pain, as she broke the skin. Looking at her, with her head thrown back, eyes closed and body straining, he doubted that she even realized she'd done it. She was panting, her breath coming in short little gasps, and her cheeks were rosy with the exertion.

“Mine,” he thought suddenly, fiercely, and he felt the piercing ache that he had when he'd seen her in Sixteen's arms on the day of his return to the real world, except this time triumphant. He wanted to howl out his glory, like the victor in some vicious, bloody battle, to crow and preen and boast to anyone who would listen. It was an odd sensation, for Grandpa Gohan had raised him to believe in the virtues of modesty and humbleness, and he suddenly wondered if this was the Saiyan side of him.

The startling thought was not explored, however, as his mind melted in a hot whirl of sensation. Not confined simply to the feeling of her, tight and warm around him, he savoured the feeling of her skin gliding against his, the soft sounds she made, even the smell of their mingled sweat added to the heady mist of lust between them, so thick in the air and in his own head that he wondered if one could possibly become drunk on feeling alone. If anyone was there to ask him, he would have said most definitely, yes. No question.

Their coupling was quick, intense and desperate, though no less meaningful for the lack of time they'd taken. There would be time to explore each other later, to discover new quirks of the body, new marks and new scars, to find that old delights were no longer so craved. They had years ahead for tenderness and slow, languid lovemaking; tonight had been about proving that the spark - that strange and exciting passion they'd discovered on their wedding night - was still there. The force that had drawn them to each other and kept them together was still strong. The challenge would come in the morning, when they would be forced to look at each other in the light of day and think “Yes, I can spend the rest of my life with you.” For the time being, they were content to lay in each other's arms, silent and thinking muggy, tired thoughts in the dark.

.

.

Bulma awoke to find Vegeta staring at her from across the room, his image slowly rippling with the constant motion of the viscous, syrupy liquid in which he was immersed. She blinked and sat up, self consciously patting at her hair and setting her t-shirt to rights. She wasn't at all surprised that he was awake in there; she knew there were no anaesthetics running through the tank so there was nothing but his own pain to block him from consciousness, but it was a little unnerving nonetheless, considering the fact that she'd not spoken to him about anything beyond the gravity room for days on end. Add to that the fact that she had no idea what to say to him now about the recent revelations concerning her feelings for him, and she was completely tongue tied.

How do you tell someone, she wondered, that he could do just about anything - any horrible, terrible, unspeakable thing - and you would still love him, and yet at the same time impress upon him how important it is that he not do those things? She knew Vegeta, though she'd begun to realize that she did not really understand him so well, and she knew what he was capable of, what lengths he was willing to go to. She had no doubt in her mind that he would burn the universe to the ground, killing everyone within reach, even their closest friends, if it meant Frieza's death. She also knew, with a sickening sense of certainty, that as long as she was left alive in the aftermath, she would always return to him. Bulma didn't know what that made her, exactly, but she knew it wouldn't make a bit of difference. All she could do was to minimize the damage so that she wouldn't drive herself to madness with the guilt of it all.

Swallowing her reservations, Bulma hopped down from the infirmary bed and crossed the small room to stand before the tank. “Hey,” she said, “I know you can hear me in there. I've been doing some thinking and well...I guess I wanted to apologize.” She looked shyly away, heat rising to her cheeks as Vegeta's eyes bored into her, made all the more intimidating and eerie by the aura of blue that surrounded him. “I reacted badly the other day. I...I know you're a killer, Vegeta.” She forced herself to return his gaze. “I know you've done awful things and that you'll continue to do awful things but I...” she cocked her head to the side and allowed the corner of her mouth to turn up in a small smile. “I'll believe you if you tell me they're necessary. And I'll forgive you all of it, if you'll promise to keep the killing to a minimum. If you avoid it, when you can.” She put one hand on the glass and leaned forward, willing him to understand her position. “Do we have a deal?”

Vegeta was still for a long time, staring at her through the glass barrier as though deep in thought, and she began to worry that he hadn't understood after all, that she'd just poured out her heart and it had come to him as liquid-garbled noise and nothing more. Then she watched as he closed his eyes, saw his chest expand slowly as he took a deep breath. When he opened his eyes again, she swore she could see the faint curve of his lips, smirking beneath the breathing mask. A flurry of bubbles rushed up as he moved, placing his hand against hers, through the glass, fingers splayed out to match her own.

It was a deal.

.

.

.

That's it for now, folks. Hope you liked it.