Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Yellow Roses ❯ Afterglow ( Chapter 9 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

Her hand brushed inside the back cover of her old poetry book, trembling fingertips gently exploring the slight indentation inked on dusty paper. It had become a nightly habit by now, a ritual at once soothing and masochistic, tired eyes, blurred by scalding tears, battling to focus on those four alien words, handwritten by her beloved mate himself.

It had been such a triumph, such an unexpected victory to see him finally opening up, so eager to share a part of himself, and of his treasured fallen race with her, that the memory of such an extraordinary night would forever remain imprinted in her heart.

She’d never forget the way it felt to simply lie in bed with him, his body flawless and impossibly warm, propped up against the plush pillows and gladly allowing her to rest atop him, strong arms lovingly holding her, pressing her back against his solid heat as she indulged him by reciting her preferred poems for him.

The Prince’s tail would wrap itself around her waist, or on one of her alabaster thighs and, every now and then, the sounds of the contented grunts vibrating in his chest, whenever the mischievous appendage succeeded in tickling her in just the right spot, would send shivers down her spine, and she’d end up turning around in his possessive embrace, seeking retaliation as only she knew how.  

Never had Bulma seen her lover as utterly relaxed as during those last ten days spent in each other’s company, ten days of Heaven, fully devoted to blissful idleness and ardent pleasure.

Only once had they been apart, on the morning of their first day of idyllic isolation when, after getting a few hours of vital rest, following their dreamlike mating ritual, Vegeta had briefly left her side, alluding to his need to discuss certain matters with Nappa before his Saiyan subordinate had to leave on his own for some undisclosed mission, and with the firm vow to convince her boss to release her from her work commitments for as long as it suited them.

As always, her mate had kept his promise, eagerly returning to her merely a couple of hours after his departure, never to leave again, and offering her, without a doubt, the best ten days of their lives, ten days of complete seclusion, getting lost within one another in the private luxury of those four lavish walls.

Vegeta’s actions had mirrored those of that first night in which he’d brought her to the over-the-top hotel, pampering and spoiling her rotten in each and every way possible, catering to her every wish as he took great care to fill their moments together with heaps of the most appetizing delicacies she’d tasted in longer than she could recall, alternated with hours of passionate lovemaking and intimate confessions.     

One of her fondest memories took place in the morning of the second day when, just as the besotted couple was about to take a shower together, Bulma had dared to admire the immense bathtub nearby with nostalgia, coyly venturing to ask if they’d ever be able to enjoy a hot bath, and confessing, not without shyness, how that used to be one of her favorite indulgences, back in the old days when she still had a place to call home.

Needless to say, Vegeta showed no hesitation in entertaining her wishes, letting go of her naked body and nodding in silent agreement, quite literally rushing to get down to business. In the end, soon after the Saiyan displayed his embarrassing lack of experience in such matters, the earthling had ended up being the one teaching him both how to run a proper bath, and how to take one.

Bulma would never forget the expression in his face when, right when the temperature and aromatic bubbles were just to her liking, she’d bravely stepped first into the water, happily leaning on the tub and extending her arm to him in invitation. It’d been just one of those moments, out of countless others, that reminded her of how unfamiliar her Prince was with such frivolous and intimate moments.

He eagerly accepted her generous offer, the sight of his awkward steps as he carefully entered the hot tub, making her bite her lip to stop herself from smiling at how insanely adorable he looked whenever she introduced him to new experiences, knowing how difficult it still was for him to let go and just be, to simply enjoy the company of another being.

To this day, the weak sigh slipping his lips when she gently encouraged him to turn around and rest his back against the softness of her breasts could still bring tears to her eyes, and so did the extraordinary sensation of his broken body relaxing under her comforting caresses, while she smoothed soap all over his golden skin. The way his big hands readily reciprocated, fondling her thighs as they draped themselves around his legs, would never leave Bulma’s heart, or his head lolling back, leaning on the curve of her shoulder, letting her do as she pleased while she laid light kisses on his face, whispering words of affection and silly human stories in his ear, pleasantly surprising her when he eventually ventured to share a few tales of his own.

Out of all the pleasurable attentions he’d bestowed upon her during those heavenly days of seclusion, this breakthrough had been the greatest gift of them all, the privilege of getting a real glimpse, at last, of the man hiding beneath the impenetrable mask of stone, the man who’d inexplicably chosen her as the only woman good enough to decipher his secrets for him.

Those would forever be her most sacred recollections, when he’d finally drag her out of her adored bubble baths, after endless hours of girlish babble, soaking until her fingers looked like wrinkly little prunes, and tenderly turning her into a cozy bundle of warm towels as he held her in his arms, taking her back to the comfortable bed which had now become their second home.

He’d fall into the bed, lying carelessly face down while awaiting one of the naughty sneak attacks that he knew was coming, grunting in amusement when his Bulma proved him right by dropping the large, fluffy towel on the carpet and crawling atop him, as mellow as a needy puppy. She’d sprawl on top of him, skin on skin, her arms and legs covering his as if he were her new favorite mattress, smiling wickedly against the still damp nape of his neck when she felt him groaning again, pretending to be annoyed by her mushy antics when she knew, oh too well by now, that he secretly loved every minute of it.

It was then that she dared, it was then, with those iron muscles melting like butter beneath her devoted touch, that she finally gathered the courage to embark into the most painful journey ever walked, pronouncing the first truly personal question that perhaps anyone had ever run the risk to ask her Saiyan Prince.

Bulma had never feared crossing some invisibly forbidden line with Vegeta as much as she did that night, his body tense as the sea in a storm, almost letting her hear the wheels spinning frantically in his head while he mused on whether he should disclose some of his most humiliating secrets to his new mate.               

When he grudgingly satisfied her desires, just as he always did, his voice was but an ashamed whisper, confessing that the degrading story hiding behind the sleazy scar crossing his right shoulder blade was his refusal to bow down to some long-forgotten, distinguished emissary, in front of Frieza himself, when he was roughly six or seven years old.   

Her hand, stroking with such care that deep mark forever tarnishing his skin, froze in the spot, fingertips beginning to tremble at the aching realization, not only of the criminal amount of torturous pain that the man she loved had endured from such an early age, but at the profound mortification wrecking his beautiful voice and features as he unveiled his secrets to her.

After a drawn-out, agonizing silence, Bulma decided to take matters literally into her own hands, nudging him gently on the shoulder, calmly trying to encourage him to lose his innate fear to face her after being forced to recall such memoirs. A tearful smile flourished in her mouth when his eyes opened at last, flashing her an insecure side-glance that confirmed her worries, those of her mate dreading that she’d mock him for his past weaknesses.

The earthling’s lips descended on him, lavishing his skin with tender kisses all over, wandering from his neck to his robust shoulder, and to that cursed scar whose hurtful story had just been exposed to her, tracing every inch of it with her doting mouth, as if her touch were enough to erase all the pain, all the unfair suffering of a lifetime of terror.

Bulma resumed her healing journey, nuzzling and kissing his burning cheek with all the affection that she was capable of, until a few treacherous tears fell from her blue eyes, soaking his skin and instantly driving him to roll on his back, trapping her bare figure against him with possessive arms. He engaged their lips into a deep, meaningful kiss, hungrily drinking in her ingenuous compassion, and allowing her to taste his gratitude, the sincere gratitude of a man born and brought up brainwashed by the glum notion that each and any display of emotion was nothing but a dangerous weakness, but who’d found, against all odds, a woman willing to love and accept every part of his soul, flaws and all.

When the time came for both lovers to part ways, the warrior standing in front of her as the Sun rose was a different man altogether, a healthy, jubilant man who hadn’t touched a drop of alcohol ever since their extraordinary reunion had taken place, a proud man governed by the renewed strength that only his lifetime mate could instill inside of him.

Her last recollection of Vegeta was the clean scent of his freshly cleaned armor as he brought himself closer to her, delicately holding her face in his hands, large fingers stroking her cheeks, struggling to keep his emotions in reign in view of those sad, pleading eyes, quietly wondering when he’d return to her.

“My destination is Base-055,” the Prince freely informed, eager to mitigate her anxiety as much as he could, despite having the gloomy certainty that nothing ever would, not until he mastered his Ascension and became strong enough to put an end to this miserable madness, once and for all. “Bulma, I haven’t been assigned a mission yet, so I don’t… I don’t know yet when I’ll come back…” His head bowed to hers, their foreheads touching, loathing with all his might the new air of hopelessness overcoming her striking turquoise gaze. “But I will come back to you, you hear me?” Vegeta promised in a heated whisper, erasing with one thumb the defiant, salty droplet escaping her eye. “I’ll be back as soon as I’m able…”

Bulma nodded with apprehension, throwing herself in his arms one last time, in that pointless battle against time that had become their most detested enemy. “J-Just… Just be careful, alright?” She mumbled weakly into his neck, the Saiyan’s stomach shrinking anxiously when her throat bobbed audibly in nervous anticipation. “Vegeta… What…? What does it mean?” Her brave question came at last.

“What does what mean?” He asked back with curiosity, his hold on her tightening as he comfortingly rubbed her back in quiet encouragement, helping her share her troubles with him.

“What… What you wrote…” Bulma timidly explained, her nose sniffling, holding back a new onslaught of tears threatening to spill. “What you wrote in my book…” She carried on, watching him as wide-eyed as a little child when her stare rose shyly to meet his own. “What does it mean?”

The tension creasing his brow gradually loosened up as he grasped the meaning of her snoopy question, and his expression softened into one of goofy amusement, his playful smirk broadening at his beautiful woman pouting grumpily when she realized that he wouldn’t cave in this time.

“Are you really not going to tell me?” She scowled petulantly, drying away her tears with the back of her hand, annoyed to no end by that self-satisfied grin, yet secretly elated to see his smugness coming back in full force, forever fading away those past few months of grief.          

Vegeta shook his head slowly, giving the palm of his calloused hand permission to cup her face one more time. “Someday, Bulma…” He vowed in a silken murmur, his demeanor growing somber, merging their lips into a final, painful kiss. She never spoke again, neither did she offer any resistance when he pulled her to him, holding onto her with one solid arm while petting the smooth skin of her neck with the other. “Someday…” The Prince promised irreversibly, landing a tender peck on her temple, and using every ounce of willpower in his possession to let go of her, knowing that if he didn’t leave now, he’d never find the strength to do so.

Her last image of him was the vision of his unique silhouette standing by the glass windows, battle-worn hands adjusting pristine white gloves and his Father’s old scouter, and a Delphian smile curving his lips as two of his fingers gestured the most cryptic of goodbyes, a peculiar symbol, she’d thought back then, perhaps representing hope.

He then took gracefully to the air, with that athletic poise which belonged to him alone, his small but immeasurably powerful body getting lost in the distance, evanescing in an ethereal midst of flaming morning light.

 

That was it.       

 

The four words, so methodically penned in Royal Saiyango dialect, vanished from Bulma’s view when her hands closed the old poetry book, handling it like a precious treasure, with just as much care as she’d handled Vegeta’s ancient scouter on the night she’d discovered the heartbreaking story behind its enigmatic origin.

She sat on the squeaky bed, bringing the small item close to her shattered heart as she bent her legs, burying her puffy face into her knees and dissolving into a flood of nonexistent tears, having reached that point where her bloodshot eyes had no more tears left to shed in them anymore, and breaking down into uncontrollable tremors.      

 

Three.

Three months.

Three months ever since Vegeta had departed this world.

 

Three months of abject desolation, of perpetually sleepless nights, tossing and turning amongst tattered blankets while the most horrifying nightmares pestered her with no shadow of respite; dark, tormenting hallucinations in which the faded echoes of her fallen lover’s voice would desperately call out her name, over and over again, until she saw his smashed body viciously tearing apart, blowing up into scorching ashes and dying out in a vast cloud of faraway stars until nothing, absolutely nothing remained.    

Worst of all was not knowing, not knowing just why in Heaven’s name had Vegeta been destined to some secretive location with no mission or assignment whatsoever, only for the entire place to blow up to smithereens mere days later for no logical reason.

There had been rumors, of course, a wide incongruity of stories told and retold a thousand times by the diverse horde of soldiers stopping by the military base; prattling tales to which Bulma had paid a great deal of attention, urgently seeking to comprehend, to some extent, just what exactly had brought the Prince’s final demise. But, the more she learnt, the less she understood, reaching the disheartening conclusion that neither one of those idiots knew any more about the enigmatic situation than she did, and that most of those stories were nothing but ignorant gossip shared by a bunch of bored fools.

Nothing.

Bulma lay down on the bed, rolling tiredly on her side and curling up into a drowsy little ball, keeping the timeworn booklet stubbornly pressed to her chest and hoping that, at the very least, her proud Saiyan Prince would have died in some honorable battle, just the way he would have wanted to, before his time to relinquish life had come in the end.

A loud sob burned in her sore throat as she fought to suffocate the new wave of nausea swirling violently in her empty stomach.

 

Gone.

All of it.

Gone.

 

Every single flicker of hope, every cherished instant shared with her dear mate, the greater and greater promise that there was light at the end of the tunnel, that they were close, so frighteningly close to freedom and that, perhaps, a real chance for true happiness was still possible for their providential bond.

All of it gone forevermore, savagely spirited away from her, replaced on a dime by the sadly familiar belief that she was cursed, eternally destined to lose the people she loved, but too obstinately coward to find a way to put an end to her misery by taking her own life in return.

A vital reason had kept Bulma alive during those early days of pure agony, the secret hope that Vegeta would have made it out alive somehow, that his colossal strength and impeccable survival instincts would have allowed him to survive the infernal explosion that had turned some furtive medical installation, located in the middle of nowhere, into a nebula of sizzling cinders.

But a few days turned into a month, a month gradually morphing into two and, by the time those two months had become three, the earthling reluctantly accepted defeat, yielding to the overwhelming evidence that her lover wasn’t a part of her physical realm anymore.     

The desire for self-destruction had been irresistible, a wicked voice invading her exhausted mind, trying to make her buy into the naïve fantasy that, if only she found a way to end it all, she’d find solace and peace in a divine reunion with her loved ones, and her unbearable loneliness would cease to be. 

But then there he was again, her man, her savior, the voice of reason, commanding her to put one foot in front of the other and take another step, just another step into the grueling journey still lying ahead. And, when the lights were off, and she was met face to face with her crippling solitude, Bulma would focus her weakened senses in the godlike presence of her Dark Prince, and she could almost feel it, almost feel the warmth in his touch as large hands caressed her tear-stricken cheeks, his black stare shining brightly into the night as he whispered words of avid encouragement to her.     

 

‘You never think like that! You hear me? Never!’

   

And so she’d make it another day, just for him, one small victory at a time, working herself to the brink of collapse in those wretched hangars, and saving up every credit earnt by the sweat of her brow, lying in bed at night, eyes wide open and staring at the chipped ceiling, carefully planning her next plan of action now that Destiny had thrown a new challenge at her, now that she’d discovered that loneliness wasn’t even the ultimate enemy to beat anymore.

 

Life.

 

A miraculous sparkle of life burned radiantly inside of her, a child conceived out of the purest love during her last life-changing encounter with her lost mate, ten unforgettable days of intimate lovemaking, tasty purple berries, poetry and nighttime confessions, culminating in the one experience which she’d truthfully believed, ever since the devastation of her idolized home world had taken place, that she’d never get to enjoy.

When her body had announced the first surprising signs of pregnancy, Bulma had thought them to be a strange fluke, perhaps the result of far too many hours of strenuous work and too little sleep. But, as time went by, and even though she had no access to a proper medical diagnostic, the time came for her to surrender to the overwhelming evidence, admitting to herself that her symptoms couldn’t be anything but the unmistakable proof that she was, indeed, expecting Vegeta’s baby.

In the beginning, her initial reaction had been one of sheer panic, the dismal fear and debilitating depression of carrying the child of a man who was no more, a little boy or a girl who’d grow up, assuming that they’d even make it out of the military base alive, without knowing who their Father was, or just how much good there was inside of a heart that only his mate had ever had the valued opportunity to explore.   

But her visceral maternal instincts soon took over, motivating her to keep fighting, for her sake and that of her unborn child, choosing to believe that this wasn’t a misfortune but a blessing, that Fate may have taken her man away from her far too soon, but that it had shown her at least enough mercy to leave a piece of Vegeta behind, a part of him to nurture and care for, a child who’d someday learn from her who the Saiyan Prince truly was.

Thus, her last few weeks had been fully devoted to the exhaustive elaboration of a plan, a secretive masterplan that would allow them to escape from the base before the evidence of her new physical condition would become much too obvious for the rest of the world to ignore.

Her mate may not have dared to share in great detail just what kind of atrocities he’d committed in Frieza’s name, but the earthling had already seen and heard enough to make an educated guess, concluding that a soldier like Vegeta, raised and bred with the sole purpose of executing his Master’s dirtiest bidding, would have amassed more than a few enemies in his lifetime, some of them perhaps still lurking around, dangerously eager to sink their evil claws on his child if it was ever found out that he’d sired one before his demise.   

Thanks to her new position in the Science Department, Bulma had already succeeded in saving sufficient money to support herself for quite some time in the near future, and her almost unlimited access to the flight logs had also given her enough power to embark on a discreet investigation, checking out and analyzing, with scrupulous attention to detail, a decent number of interstellar maps so far.

Bulma’s shaky arm reached tiredly for the nightstand, placing her little book of poems on its surface with painstaking care, and turning off the faint light, quickly seeking shelter beneath the false protection of the blankets, adopting the same sleeping position once again.        

In just a few days, she’d receive her new wages, and all that’d be left for her to do would be to make her final choice, hopefully picking a distant planet, relatively peaceful and safe enough to handle the rest of her clandestine pregnancy, and giving birth without grabbing any unwanted attention, in a spot where no one would ever connect her or her child to Vegeta in any way.

She lay on her side like a tiny bundle, clammy hands instinctively sneaking under her old, pink sweatshirt, protectively caressing the still barely noticeable curve in her tummy as she closed her eyes and took a series of long, deep breaths, desperately seeking to calm her agitated nerves for her own safety and that of her baby, praying with all her heart that everything would be all right in the end.

 

‘Perhaps Vegeta would be watching over them from Hereafter…’

 

******************************************

 

She found herself lying on the ground, inside a narrow, claustrophobic space of impersonally metallic walls and loud, fluorescent lights, giving no respite to her deteriorated eyes.

Bulma couldn’t move, could hardly breathe, limbs stiffened by the bone-shattering cold, and the most excruciating pain piercing her ribs whenever she tried to cough, or even swallow a deep gulp of air, in a poor attempt at getting rid of the foul taste lingering in her numb tongue.   

Every now and then, her ruthless executors would take pity on her, turning off the merciless lights and giving a break to her crushed senses, and then she’d see them, the obscure contours of her enemies’ shadows, looking at her through the small window of the metallic door, her one and only connection to the outside world.

Each and every one of their scornful laughter was like a brutal kick to her fractured ribs, making her unconsciously grit her teeth, only to stop her straight off when a new rush of pain reminded her of just how incredibly stupid that would be, given how swollen her gums were, and realizing that she might end up losing a tooth or two this time around, unless she found a way to a regen tank as soon as possible.

So, she’d lie completely immobile in the dark, eyes tight shut, gathering whatever remained of her sanity and making a prodigious effort at trying to shut it down, all of it, the exasperating mockery of such low-rank soldiers, the wild echoes vexing her broken ego, and that terrifyingly tempting invitation, the magnetic voices of the Gods of the Underworlds themselves, luring her, inciting her to yield and bow out of the game, finding some peace at the hands of Death at last.

It was in moments like this, when Bulma could almost feel the pain fading away, and her body floating, drifting off in pursuit of some righteous peace, that she’d cling to the silver light of Life the most, and the bones in her bruised fingers would creak as they hardened, tightening her desperate grip around the prized object hiding within the safety of her fist.

Every bit of her weak strength would serve to bring the mysterious golden coin a little closer, wearily lifting her hand and pressing the small treasure to her bloodstained lips and nose, inhaling its familiar, soothing scent, in short and hurtful wisps of air.

And then, then that dry mouth would gape in need, the same expression leaving her lips in perpetuum, speaking her name with utmost reverence, as if only she were allowed to pronounce such a holy word.

 

“Bulma…”

 

But her voice wouldn’t be her own anymore, and its inimitable femininity would soon delicately entwine with the unmistakable undertones of her lover’s masculine speech.

 

“Bulma…”

 

‘…’

‘…ma…’

‘…ulma…’  

‘Bulma…’

 

“Bulma…” The man’s adoring voice called upon her, whispery sounds laced in quiet veneration, real, infinitely more real than those haunting her nocturnal nightmares. “Bulma…” He spoke yet again. “Bulma… Wake up…”

Her eyes opened in a flash, hollow lungs filling up with air, struggling to catch her breath as her weakened vision battled lethargy, blinking anxiously at the dark silhouette standing on her small balcony.

For a moment, the woman hardly moved, too terrified and confused to understand what was happening anymore, doing her best to bottle up that rare sense of déjà vu engulfing her, the old memories of her late mate cheekily visiting her modest apartment in the middle of the night, during their first fateful encounter.        

“Bulma…” The enigmatic visitor uttered, his compact but commanding figure perfectly still, as if the last thing he’d ever wish to do were to aggravate her clear distress. “Woman… Bulma… It’s me…” 

Bulma’s hand slid surreptitiously beneath the covers, heading towards the small weapon always hidden under her pillow, while her puzzled gaze remained fixated on what she could only assume to be either a damnable ghost, or some kind of cruel trickery, perhaps played by one of Vegeta’s numerous enemies.

“D-Don’t move…” Her croaky voice ordered, clumsily pointing the ki inhibitor at the intruder in the dark.

“Bulma…” The male whispered anew, his voice awfully disappointed as he took one cautious step forward in her direction. “Bulma, it’s m…”

His bold physical move awoke something inside of her, that impressive survival instinct ever-present within her spirit, empowering her to keep fighting, not only for her own protection, but for that of her unborn child. 

“I SAID DON’T FUCKING MOVE! YOU FUCKER!” Bulma yelled at the alarmingly familiar trespasser, her hands still shaky, but firmly determined to not go down without a fight. “If-If you move… I’ll f-fucking shoot you! I’LL SHOOT YOU!”

The warrior couldn’t suppress the sad chuckle in his chest, as if he were both disillusioned by her mistrust, yet unbelievably proud of her outstanding ballsiness.

“Woman…” He murmured, a long sigh on his lips, instantly halting his steps in aims of earning her trust. “Bulma, turn the lights on…” The blurry figure pleaded with surprising humbleness.

“D-Don’t move! DON’T MOVE!” She threatened, her throat bobbling nervously.

 

Her name.

The sound of her name, pronounced by that voice, was pushing her over the edge.

 

She stood from the bed on wobbly legs, an ice-cold hand feeling about the night table, looking for the light’s switch as she kept precariously pointing the weapon at the traitorous intruder with the other, finally succeeding in her clumsy quest, and bringing some light to the small place.

 

Impossible.

 

“N-N-No…” Bulma gasped in unadulterated horror, her eyes widening like those of a lost child when the dim lights revealed a dangerous stranger who looked exactly like the Saiyan Prince himself. “N-No! NO! STAY AWAY!” She barked at him the second he dared to take another step forward.

“Bulma, look at me...” He gravely commanded, his calm patience surprising even himself. “You know me, woman. You know who I am…”

“N-N-No! Y-You’re dead!” She stuttered, eyes burning, already blurred by the onslaught of anxious tears pooling within their blue depths. “DEAD!”     

The mysterious apparition proceeded to coolly raise his arms, until both gloved hands were at the height of his head, his empty palms facing her in a non-threatening gesture.

“I’m not dead, Bulma,” the soldier announced with quiet confidence. “Bulma, put the weapon down…”          

“E-Exploded… It… It exploded! I-I heard! I HEARD!” She cried frantically, flailing her gun at him like a madwoman.

“Yes…” He exhaled in tired frustration, battling his primitive need to simply yank the gun out of her trembling hands, but knowing that it would do the woman more harm than good at this point. “Base-055 exploded, Bulma, but I was evacuated in Frieza’s ship before it happened.” 

He kept repeating her name as he addressed her, almost caressing it with his errant tongue, as if the exceptional way in which only he could enunciate it were enough to let the truth inevitably unveil itself. And his efforts seemed to be slowly giving fruit, for the woman’s air of enraged fear was gradually morphing into one of skeptical wonder.  

“Impossible…” Bulma panted breathlessly, a handful of shocked tears rolling down her pallid cheeks. “It… It’s impossible… It can’t be…”  

“Bulma, look at me,” the man insisted, seeing how completely lost she looked, shaking her head to herself in anxious denial, weary eyes staring at the ground, as if about to lose consciousness any minute now. “Your name is Bulma. Bulma Briefs from Earth.” He disclosed, trying to change tactics now that his mate was finally considering the possibility that he might, indeed, be who he claimed to be. “You told me the first time we met, remember? Back in your laboratory, when… When I saved your friend…”

Her glare was now back on him, unrestrained tears falling from those large, unblinking eyes, terrified of accepting that this lifelike phantom playing games with her beaten mind could, in fact, be her Saiyan Prince, only to have life snatch her hopes away from her, as it always did. 

“Launch…” She whispered in thoughtful confirmation.

“Launch,” he nodded solemnly, the hint of a smile willing to crop up now that his Bulma was slowly beginning to come around. “I saved her from Nappa back then, remember? And then… Then you fixed my scouter for me…” The soldier’s flawless memory evoked nostalgically. “You defied me, woman.” He recalled, absolute admiration in his voice. “You defied me like no one and nothing before…”

There was no retort from Bulma this time, nothing but streams of hot tears soaking her old sweatshirt, and a shaky hand still feebly pointing her clever invention at him as she drank in every one of his words with wide-eyed captivation.

“We… We spent ten days together the last time we met. It was at the ‘Constellation-X Hotel’, do you remember, Bulma?” He carefully reminded her, lessening the volume of his already low voice, with as much intimacy as the one about to be evoked. “Y-You… You confessed that bathing was your favorite thing to do back in your home planet, so we…” His words got trapped in his throat, barely keeping his own emotions on a leash as he reminisced on the best days of his worthless life. “We bathed together every day, Bulma…”

The Saiyan lowered his chin, his stare openly pleading, begging her to accept that the miserable beliefs hounding her during the last three months had been a lie, just another one of those countless tests for their relationship to endure. “Y-You… You enjoyed washing my hair, Bulma. Remember? Bulma, tell me you remember…”        

The desperation in his plea forced a reaction out of her at last, and never had he wanted to kiss her silly as badly as when she nodded back at him with an expression of pure innocence in her face, bottom lip trembling, barely repressing the sparkle of real hope breaking through her haunted aura.

“Your Father was a scientist, Bulma. He… He taught you everything he knew.” He stated, starting to carefully remove his white gloves, finger by finger, and relief washed over him when she didn’t point the weapon at him again, too entranced as she followed his slow movements, knowing that her man would only take off his regal gloves in her presence. “Your Mother… Your Mother had a garden, Bulma…” The Prince reminded her hoarsely, walking one step forward, and extending one of his bare hands to her with utmost respect, savoring his victory when she didn’t recoil this time. “A garden of roses.” His fingers wiggled gingerly, inviting her without words to place her ruined faith in him again. “I do not know what a rose is, Bulma. But I do know that you… You preferred yellow roses above all the others…”   

Bulma dropped her armed hand bit by bit, a part of her still terrified at the cruel chance of her delusion still being one of her senseless nightmares. Yet, as she watched with suspicion the hand so generously tended to her, she felt powerless to ignore the heartbreaking recognition that his gesture couldn’t possibly be coincidental.

“You know me.” The Saiyan declared with unshakable confidence.

The earthling’s hand tentatively reached out to his, glassy eyes broadening in marvel as soon as her edgy fingertips confirmed that this man was, indisputably, made out of flesh and blood.

“You know the story behind that scar…” He said knowingly, wanting, needing her to hold his hand and jump into his arms, right where she belonged. “Don’t you, Bulma?”

She nodded almost without thinking, tracing the distinctive shape of the faded scar crossing the palm of his hand with curious fingers, the identical scar whose shameful story she’d wished to know about during one of their private nights together.

“Y-You…” Bulma hesitated, the terror that she might be literally talking to a ghost still weighing heavily upon her. “Y-You… You refused to… To enslave a colony of stray children, and… And F-Frieza… He…” Her brow furrowed in grief, the very same grief overcoming her the first time her mate had shared his tragic tale with her. “He flung you across the room, a-and into a m…”

“Into a mirror,” the man confirmed, swallowing his pride, just as he did when he first described such a disgraceful event to her. “A large mirror, Bulma. The mirror broke, and one of the shards pierced my hand, and… And Frieza didn’t allow me to remove the broken glass from my flesh for three…”

“For three days…” She murmured in hypnotized awe, unconsciously finishing his sentence, and stealing a sad smile out of her Prince when she finally dared to envelop the firm palm of his hand with her own anxious fingers.

“Bulma…” He whispered again, gratefully responding to her first sign of trust by closing his hand around hers, fully embracing it with heart-wrenching tenderness.

His caring touch ultimately broke her fearful spell, dissipating the wrong belief that her mate had perished in some distant galaxy, never to be seen again, tempting her to pronounce a name whose memory stirred such raw emotions inside of her, that she hadn’t been brave enough to pronounce it in longer than she was willing to admit.

 

“Vegeta…”

 

The Prince’s reflexes were quick enough to barely catch her when her legs gave in on her, cushioning the blow on her knees as she fell on the ground, her limp body verging on the edge of unconsciousness.

Vegeta eagerly imitated her actions, kneeling right in front of her and taking her in his arms, pulling her as close as he possibly could as she battled a feverish state of shock. His hands soothingly stroked her back, feeling a gratitude he’d never felt before, profound gratitude that she’d recognized him, taken him back and, most of all, that she’d somehow kept herself alive during his prolonged absence.    

“Ssshhh…” He shushed her comfortingly, a tight knot burning in his throat at the realization that his worst fears had become true, that she had indeed thought him dead while he was missing, and absolute astonishment at just how much suffering the mere belief of his death must have brought her. “I’m here, Bulma. I’m here…”       

His strong promise got her attention, empowering her to feast her eyes on the warrior who looked every bit like a man who’d just returned from the Dead.

The small, trembling fists, still cowardly hidden under the protection of his chest, carefully inspected his armor, a brand-new model in pristine condition, most definitely not the one she’d designed and built for him with such loving care. Vegeta shuddered in need when her hands moved upwards, her touch still shy but slowly growing in confidence, exploring the sturdiness of his neck, his tense jaw, and up to his cheekbones.

“Y-You’re here…” She whispered in breathless amazement as she fondled his blushing cheeks, her gaze lost in thought, not daring to look him in the eye for fear that he’d vanish from her presence one more time. “You’re… You’re really here… Y-You…” 

“I am here, Bulma…” The Prince patiently emphasized. “Bulma… Bulma, look at me…” He implored, his hands now mimicking hers, cupping her face with large palms, and delicately inviting their eyes to meet.

As always, her body followed her man’s commands as if she didn’t even possess a will of her own, unable to control the flood of conflicting sentiments making her lose her senses after all these months of sorrow and loss.

“Y-You… You…” She mumbled, her breath accelerating in distress, and that beautiful face contorting in a way so utterly perplexing that it shook Vegeta to the very core, making him truly wonder what her next response would be. In the end, out of all the possible reactions playing in his head, she took the one he dreaded the most.

She smacked him.

Hard.

“Y-you…! YOU ASSHOLE!” Bulma yelled with unrestrained fury. “You stupid asshole! I HATE YOU!” She spat at him, slapping him again. And again. “I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU!”

Vegeta suppressed his ki as low as he could to stop her from hurting herself, his face stoic, taking blow after blow from her feeble hands with quiet resignation. Her unusual rage was absolutely heartbreaking, but the way her voice kept faltering, choked with bitter emotion, let it slip that her hatred wasn’t directed at him but at life itself, that strenuous, cosmic joke of a life relentlessly conspiring against them, seeking to destroy and keep them apart, refusing to yield and accept that they were both meant to keep finding each other, over and over again.

“I hate you! I-I hate…!” The enraged woman cried, throwing everything at him, knowing that he could take it, her anger and hatred towards their miserable existence, and all of those never-ending days and nights of mourning, grieving the loss of the man she loved, struggling to come to terms with a terrifying future where she’d have to raise a fatherless child all on her own, in a world that she didn’t even understand anymore. “I hate you!” She slapped him again, her exhaustion rapidly causing her to waver, miniscule fists punching his biceps with laughable strength. “I-I thought…! I thought you were DEAD! I THOUGHT YOU WERE DEAD!” It wasn’t long before her need for him defeated her wrath, helplessly throwing her arms around his neck, holding fast to him as if she never meant to let go. “I… I th-thought you were d-dead…” Bulma whimpered weakly, voice strangled, bursting into tears of pure relief.

“I know, Bulma… I know…” Vegeta murmured in understanding. “I know…” He mumbled into her hair, encircling her petite torso with one strong arm, while calmingly caressing her disheveled turquoise curls, burying his nose in them and taking in her fresh scent, that rich, cozy perfume that he couldn’t live without anymore, much to his shame.

“I… I thought… Y-You…” She hiccupped pitifully. “G-Gods… Oh, Gods…” Her new rush of tears soaked the neck of his battle suit as she let it all out, all the unbearable sadness and frustration, fully convinced by now that her mate was real, and inundated by infinite gratefulness that the Gods had chosen to spare him this time.

The Prince’s embrace never failed her, waiting patiently for her emotional outburst to simmer down, never ending those whispery words of understanding in her ear, letting her know that he knew, that he understood just how much suffering his absence had cost her, if only because her pain had been as great as his own.

“Better now?” He asked with peacefulness when he sensed her noticeably calm down, the fondest of smiles on his lips, not even bothering to hide anymore just how completely besotted he was with his mate as he watched her sniffling adorably, wiping her tears with the pink sleeve of her sweatshirt.

“Yeah…” Bulma nodded timidly, finding Vegeta’s expression so beautifully reassuring, that she couldn’t help but smile back at him through the few stubborn tears still spoiling her features.

His hands fell on her still trembling shoulders, running up and down her upper arms in a soothing motion, trying to help her get a hold of herself. “It was about time, woman,” the warrior playfully scolded her. “For a moment, I was afraid you’d try to tickle me to death with that thing…” He teased her with a smirk, pointing with his head to the weapon now laying totally forgotten on the floor.

“You’re such an idiot!” She replied, punching his bicep good-humoredly, and swelling his chest with pride when her soft chuckle revealed that he’d succeeded in lifting her spirits, after all. “Vegeta,” the earthling resumed after a brief moment of silence, now relaxed enough to be able to hold a proper conversation. “What…? What happened? I thought that… That the place exploded. Was that true?”   

Vegeta’s sharp nod of assent only served to confuse her even further, and she gladly entwined her fingers with his as soon as he took her hands, ready to solve his woman’s many doubts. “It exploded, Bulma. That’s true.” He quietly explained. “Who told you about this?”

“No one, really…” Bulma shrugged with modesty. “You know how it is… The soldiers talk about all kinds of stuff. I did read about the explosion on one of the teletypes, but the data was very vague, and it didn’t… It didn’t explain much...” She grimaced, trying to forget how excruciatingly hard those first few days of turmoil had been, walking completely in the dark while constantly bombarded with thoughtless misinformation. “Those guys talked… They talked about the place being really mysterious. Something… Something about medical research or something like that. But I don’t… I don’t know if…”

“They were right,” Vegeta corroborated, his semblance troubled. “The base exploded, but I was evacuated by Frieza himself in his private ship.”

“Seriously?” She enquired right back, surprised at that bastard Frieza even bothering to save her man, given how deeply he seemed to loathe the Saiyan Prince. “Is that…?” Her next question came without delay, her naturally inquisitive mind taking charge. “Is that why it exploded? Was it some kind of medical experiment gone wrong, or…?”

“No,” he refuted, his concerned scowl deepening, fingers shrinking around hers, as if the mere memories of the grotesque things seen and heard in that sickening place were enough to turn his stomach. “I… I did most of the damage myself. And then… Then Frieza finished the job and blew up the place.”

A short pause ensued while Bulma strived to assimilate this unexpectedly new information. “So, your… Your mission was to destroy the place? Why didn’t Frieza do it himself if he was there? I don’t… I don’t underst…”

“No, Bulma. I destroyed it because… I… I saw things there... I didn’t… Didn’t even know that Frieza would be there… I… I just…” This time it was Vegeta the one losing his composure, haunted eyes suddenly avoiding hers, blinking nervously as he evoked the colossal magnitude of the evil chaos he’d just about survived to.

“Vegeta,” Bulma whispered with kindness, one of her hands still firmly holding his own while the other reached out to his cheek, inviting their eyes to meet again with a simple caress. “Whatever it is, you can tell me. You can share anything with me, you know that.”

“Nappa… He… He’d already been there for a while,” Vegeta recounted, carefully omitting the fact that he’d refused to travel with the older Saiyan to the base when he should have, disobeying Frieza’s direct orders in favor of spending every precious minute with his mate instead.

If Bulma found out that he’d risked his own life for her sake, she’d never forgive herself, especially if it was discovered that every one of his revolting suspicions, in regard to the Emperor’s enigmatic assignment, had ended up materializing tenfold. Because it’d been, by all means, a trap, a treacherous trap meticulously designed to test the Elite Forces and identify the top warriors still willing to pledge unconditional loyalty to their Master, and those whose allegiance was already going astray.

And it’d been a well-known secret that the Prince’s fidelity had been slipping for a while, long before Frieza had ordered him and his Saiyan subordinate to go to some obscure medical facility and wait indefinitely for new instructions, for a mission that never existed to begin with anyway.

Far too many years of consuming humiliation and demeaning assignments had winded up whatever was left of Vegeta’s endurance, and his patience had been put to the test with such frequency, that the young soldier had reached that extremely dangerous point where he could barely bother to even pretend to like or respect his beastly Master anymore, not even in his chilling presence.

It didn’t help matters that his woman had barged into his life, like a luminous, invigorating summer breeze, turning his world upside down and showing him that life could be more, infinitely more than death and destruction, making his violent existence appear more and more pointless and vacuous by the day.

“And then…?” Bulma calmly prodded, caressing his heated cheek with dainty fingers, bringing him out of his sad reverie.

“Like I said,” Vegeta uttered, carefully resuming his baffling story. “Nappa had already been there for a while, waiting for me. And so was Frieza…”

Her eyes broadened imperceptibly, the change in the usually confident tone in the Prince’s voice betraying that something truly terrible must have taken place in that cursed base.

“Frieza was there already? Was he…? Was he waiting for you?”

“N-No… I’m not… I’m not sure, Bulma.” He replied in all honesty. “I don’t think he was there waiting for me. I believe he’d been taking care of some business he had in that clinic.”

“So, he didn’t…?” The scientist mumbled tiredly, trying to make some sense of it all. “He didn’t do anything to you?”         

His sapped lungs let out a long, ragged breath, the memory of his degrading confrontation with Frieza still fresh in his mind. “No.” Vegeta answered. “Not when I first got there, anyway…” He clarified, promptly resuming his narration without giving her a chance to ask another question, swallowing the odd sense of guilt that the compassion in her face was awakening in him. “I spoke privately to Nappa when I first got there, and he told me… He told me a few things he’d already found out on his own during his time on the base.”

“What kind of things?” Bulma urged him, readily emulating him when he sat on his heels, still kneeling on the cold floor, both of her hands possessively trapped in his own as they rested on his lap, as if her touch were the one thing holding the power to help him preserve his sanity anymore.    

“He told me… He told me about some of the things happening in that place. And then, then we were ordered to meet with Frieza.” Vegeta spoke, his eyes lost again, never forgetting the look of sheer disgust in his older comrade’s face when he’d first landed on the base. “Frieza was… He was surprisingly calm… Too much, if you know what I mean. He just… He just said that he was glad to see me, and we were dismissed until he’d call for us again.”

Bulma said nothing this time, absolutely enthralled by her mate’s account of events, as curious as she was secretly terrified to learn of the aberrant mysteries hidden in that underground location.

“When we left Frieza’s side, Nappa… He spoke to me again, one on one. He told me about some… Some of the experiments occurring in the base.” The Prince disclosed, not without apprehension. “He’d suspected something big was going on from the start, and he’d… He’d been grilling some of the soldiers working full-time in there for a while…”

“Vegeta… What…?” Bulma asked fervently, bright eyes squinting in confusion. “What kind of experiments? What…?”

“Mind control, Bulma,” Vegeta revealed with somberness, his hands involuntarily trembling at the meager idea of a monster like Frieza having free access to such mighty technology.

“Kami!” She gasped in stupefaction, finally understanding the rare horror etched on her man’s features. “Is-Is… Is that even possible? Did you… Did you see it?”

Bulma gulped audibly at the sight of the fighter nodding in grave assent. “I’ve seen proof of it, Bulma. I’ve seen…” He sighed shakily again, trying to help his frail mate to remain calm by regaining his own composure. “Nappa showed me where the main data processors were located. We… We went there, Bulma. We went through the files… M-Many races… Many…” 

“My Gods, Vegeta!” Bulma exclaimed in wide-eyed horror. “Did he do it? What did he…?”

“I believe the end goal would have been to be able to read someone’s mind. But I don’t… I don’t think he got that far…” He paused briefly, rubbing her hands with his thumbs when he felt her shiver too. “He did manage to get pretty far in terms of interrogation techniques. He could… He could break some really resilient races, Bulma. Races with strong psychic abilities…”

“A-And then what happened? What…?” She stammered with trepidation.

“I confronted him, Bulma. I just… I lost it… I just lost it!” He whispered ardently, the passion in his voice moving her profoundly, like never before, a triumphant reaffirmation that, in spite of his terribly violent upbringing, her mate knew right from wrong, and that a wildfire of good still beamed within his heart. “I blasted the whole thing, the computers, the backup files... Everything!”

Bulma wiped off a new flow of tears with a trembling arm, never letting go of his hands as she swallowed his every word, knowing where this story was inevitably leading by now, and thanking the Gods, once again, for seeing it fit to bring him back to her in one piece.

“And then you fought him…” She guessed in a soft murmur, her pale hands clutching his fingers with such force that her knuckles turned white.

“I did, Bulma.” He confirmed with mortified seriousness, barely finding the courage to keep looking her in the eye after he’d failed her so. “It was… It was rough.”

Rough.

It was quite an understated way to describe the most grueling, life-and-death combat of his lifetime, a fight that could have changed it all if the outcome hadn’t ended up being exactly the same as that of those innumerable matches with his godlike Master, fighting like the useless wimp which he honestly believed himself to be, an inept warrior incapable of getting a hold of the endless fountain of power lying dormant in his insignificant body.

The lowest moment in that humiliating beating had been a kind of tearing fear never experienced before, the fear of utter failure, of failing her, of dying long before he could keep his honorable promise, departing this world drowning in shame and leaving her behind, all alone and vulnerably unprotected.

Every inhuman kick and vicious punch, every one of the ruthless cracks fracturing his armor, her armor, the one so adoringly designed and crafted solely for him, disintegrating around his beaten body in the same way as the pitiful vestiges of his wounded pride, both as a Saiyan and as a mate.    

Vegeta didn’t even know the reasoning behind Frieza’s last minute decision to spare his mediocre life, especially when his body had been well on its way to being reduced to charring ashes, just like the rest of that infernal place. But he could only presume it to be deeply connected to the Ruler’s macabre obsession with keeping him alive for his own sadistic pleasure, always pushing him over the edge, and bringing him back in the end to have his little toy to keep playing twisted games with. And, if there was any truth regarding the astonishing information he’d acquired about Frieza’s top-secret Masterplan, the possibility of the lizard Demon wanting him around to witness his final raise to Immortality, was as real as life itself.        

“But you still made it…” Bulma murmured in encouragement, draping her arms around his neck and saucily nuzzling his cheek in hopes of cheering him up, knowing that his appalling state wasn’t only due to the disturbing memories of the experiments discovered in that hideous place, but to his inability to control, yet again, his desired Super Saiyan status. “That’s the only thing that matters, right?” She smiled at him, one of those gestures so full of joyful understanding, that no man could sulk for too long in its presence.

“I did,” he agreed, grunting softly and eagerly hugging her back, doing his best to remember the very same life lessons he’d always tried to instill in her, that nothing mattered but today, and that every precious instant should be relished as if it were to be the last.

Her short nails scratched the nape of his neck with playful tenderness, giggling happily when he instantly responded to her attentions, and dizzy with excitement now that she’d finally embraced the astounding truth of her mate being alive and by her side. “You’re still a bit of an idiot though…” She pouted childishly, peeking at him through heavy lidded lashes.

“How come?” He rapidly asked back, frowning in slight confusion, afraid of his woman still ending up mocking him for his failures.

“Because…” Bulma whispered with irresistible coquettishness, pressing her body even closer to his while nipping her bottom lip flirtatiously. “You have the most gorgeous woman in the Universe sitting on your lap, and you haven’t even kissed her yet…”

Vegeta couldn’t help but chuckle at his little temptress and her bewitching charms. “The most gorgeous, uh?” He teased her, cursing her for always being right; despite her messy bed hair, reddened nose, eyelashes still wet by her early tears, and a conceited ego that could only match his own, she was still the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. “I guess we should do something about that…” He murmured against the full lips so freely offered to him, touching them shyly, tentatively at first, as if rediscovering her once again, slowly getting reacquainted with her delicious taste, still amazed by this marvelous creature belonging exclusively to someone like him.

His humbleness moved something inside of her, a protective warmth that made Bulma’s arms tighten even harder as she deepened their kiss, hungrily, desperately, reawakening that blazing flame, that insatiable thirst for one another than only each mate could fully satisfy.

“Vegeta…” She moaned into his needy mouth when he grabbed with full hands her almost naked bottom, barely covered by scanty panties, squeezing hard enough to revive that burning want through her entire body, no words needed for the Prince to instinctively understand what she was asking for.

More.

He pulled her tightly against him, encouraging her to wrap her long legs around his waist, his own body, famished by all those eternal months of his woman’s absence, carefully standing on unsteady feet, doing his best not to drop her without breaking their sultry kiss. He was already about to get his stunning mate to her small bed, ready to ravish her until Doomsday, when she did the one thing she’d never done before during their moments of intimacy together.

Stop.

“Kami!” Bulma gasped with dread, her face growing paler, hurriedly standing on her feet and literally pushing him away as fast as she could. “Not again!” She whined, covering her mouth with her hands while rushing to the bathroom without even giving the warrior a second thought.

“B-Bulma?” Vegeta sputtered in surprise, a sudden rush of fright crushing him when he heard some sadly familiar sounds coming from behind the thin walls. He wasted no time in walking to the minuscule bathroom, finding her, just as expected, kneeling on the cold tiled floor while dry-heaving with her head in the toilet. “Bulma… What…?”

“Please don’t look!” She whimpered pitifully, clearly uncomfortable with her lover seeing her in such an embarrassing position.

The fighter couldn’t suppress the fond smile threatening his lips, and if he hadn’t been so darned worried about these new developments, he would have openly laughed at how ridiculously charming her coyness was, as if a warrior like him hadn’t seen enough people hurling in the past, way more times than he could count.

“Nonsense, woman.” He gently chastised her, kneeling beside her and holding her hair back with kind hands, scowling with increasing concern when he peeped at the latrine, noticing that the woman’s stomach had already been empty to begin with. “Bulma, are you…? Is…? Is everything alright?” Vegeta asked with hesitation, happy when she at least welcomed the steady hand that he was so generously tending, patiently assisting her in getting back on her feet.

“Yeah… I’m fine, Vegeta.” Bulma replied croakily, her poor attempt at flashing him a reassuring smile failing miserably the moment her timid eyes met the ground, her demeanor, so filled with passion mere instants earlier, now laced in trepidation, as if being sick in front of him held some unknown, yet significant meaning.

She walked the few steps separating her from the sink, giving his supportive hand a tiny squeeze of gratitude before letting go of it, thankful, despite her growing anxiety, for the unbelievable care he was treating her with.

An awkward silence hovered in the room while Bulma rolled up the sleeves of her sweatshirt, embarking in that accustomed routine which had virtually become a daily ritual during the last three months. Only this time, this time, as she methodically brushed and rinsed her teeth, and splashed cold water all over her exhausted face, she wasn’t alone anymore, but in the presence of a man meticulously examining every one of her actions through her tired reflection in the mirror.

There he was, casually leaning on the doorframe, arms crossed on his chest, impenetrable eyes piercing her small figure, scrutinizing her in a way only a skilled strategist like himself could, all the while making her stomach flutter, legs growing weaker, wondering if he could feel it, if he could actually feel the bright spark of life growing inside of her.

Ever since she’d mistakenly believed her Saiyan mate to have abandoned this world, Bulma had been so painfully devastated, so utterly consumed by the grief of his death, and by the idea of having to embark on a new chapter in life as a single mother, that she’d never had to consider the possibility of having to explain to Vegeta that he was about to become a father.

Fatherhood was one of those things that not once had been discussed between them, simply because the earthling had never imagined such a scenario to even be possible to begin with, and she was now starting to ponder if perhaps her mate would not be pleased with these new, accidental circumstances.

“Bulma, look at me,” he softly commanded, after having waited tolerantly for her to freshen up and feel more comfortable in his presence, his uneasiness growing by the minute when she turned on her feet, reaching his spot and standing in front of him. His hands took a hold of her delicate jaw, lifting it a little and trying in vain to get those nervous sapphire eyes, staring at the ground in distress, to look at him. “You’re sick!” The Prince whispered in horror when he became fully conscious of how bizarrely unbalanced her ki felt that night.

Her mate’s heart-warming concern was enough to bring some of Bulma’s old confidence back, trusting him to care about their child just as much as he cared about her. “Vegeta, I’m not sick,” she tried to tranquilize him with a weepy smile, holding one of his hands with her own, interlacing their fingers with maddening affection, and guiding him slowly back to the main room, smiling proudly to herself when he offered no resistance whatsoever, following right behind her with the same compliance as that of that first night they showered together, the first time the Prince learnt of his unexplored power to comfort another being.   

“Come here…” Bulma pleaded invitingly, sitting with an audibly tired sigh on the old bed while trying to remember that all of those rollercoasting emotions were doing her and her baby no good.

She parted her legs slightly when Vegeta chose to kneel on the floor, in front of her, instead of sitting by her side. “Bulma, what…?” He asked in haste, not even bothering to hide his distress. “What do you mean you’re not sick? Has this…? Has this happened before?”

“Yeah…” She replied quietly, her coy smile never leaving her lips.

The Saiyan took her face in his hands again, his mind spinning, so completely disturbed and worried about his mate’s health, that he entirely overlooked how shockingly calm she seemed to be about this new ailment of hers. “How…? How often? How many times?!”

“Almost every day for the past three months,” the earthling explained straightforwardly, covering his hands with her smaller ones, seeking to get him to cool down.

Her words had the exact opposite effect on him, dismay written all over his face, the fear of a thousand possibilities driving him insane. He’d always found his mate fragile in strength, but surprisingly resilient to the punishing life that she was being forced to endure, and the threat of some violent event taking her away from him had been so prevalent in his mind, that he’d never really considered the prospect of losing her to some mysterious illness in the end.      

“Three months!” His voice broke off in panic. “Bulma! That’s not normal! We… We need to get you out of here! We need to find some medical…!”

“Vegeta, it’s not what you think,” she promised, her heart bursting with emotion at the sight of his increasing concern. “It-It’s true that something happened, but it’s… It’s not…”

“Then what is it, woman?” He implored, hurt by the growing impression of his woman keeping something valuable from him. “Tell me!”

“I’m pregnant.”

 

“…”

 

He wouldn’t have been more shocked if she’d just told him that she was Frieza himself, and for a short while, all that he was capable of was kneeling on the floor absolutely stunned, gawking at her in stupefaction like a fool while her words bounced wildly in his head.

“Vegeta, do you…?” Bulma spoke in a small voice after a prolonged silence, her early fear about her mate not fully embracing their baby turning into a strange doubt, the rare possibility that he might not even know what she was referring to. “Do you know what that means?” She asked considerately, mesmerized by the way his face softened when she slowly sneaked in both of his bare hands under her thick sweater, placing them right above the faint curve of her naked tummy. “It… It means there’s a child growing inside of me…”      

A marveled glint fizzled in his raven eyes in response to her intimate gesture, his gaze dreamy, completely lost as he struggled to adjust to these new revelations. The Prince already knew the meaning behind the concept of pregnancy, he simply couldn’t believe that he’d conceived a child with his woman, for not only was unauthorized procreation deadly dangerous in his world, but also, absurdly uncommon.

The wide majority of the races he ever chanced upon were of a reptilian origin to begin with, and those few belonging to mammal species, either female warriors or enslaved concubines, were always submitted to a highly strict protocol involving systematic sterilization.

All in all, it was virtually a prodigy that his Bulma had somehow managed to escape such a barren fate, and so was the fact that their alien races had turned out to be well-suited enough for such a spectacular phenomenon to arise.

 

Miracle.

Their child was a miracle.

 

“Bulma, how…?” He uttered hoarsely, finding forming a coherent sentence still a challenge as he watched her carefully, shaking his head in disbelief. “How?”

“I don’t know, Vegeta…” She shrugged back, the greatest relief flooding her when she grasped that it wasn’t anger or rejection what he felt towards their child, but shock by its very existence. “I guess… I guess we’re more compatible than I thought,” Bulma answered in frank honesty. Her fingers comfortingly caressed the solid wrists of the hands still lingering on her abdomen, braving to ask him the only question worth asking in that precious moment. “Are you…? Are you happy about it?”

Her affectionate touch, and the sound of her emotive voice breaking down, revealing her pained insecurity, brought him back from his musings, and he inwardly cursed himself for neglecting her own emotions with such clueless egotism. He’d been so lost in his own selfish emotions, that he’d forgotten that Bulma had been the one handling such a stressful situation all on her own, thinking him dead, and without even knowing if her mate would have ever been happy about becoming a father for the first time in his life.

 

Father.

 

The sound of the word alone was enough to forge a knot of anxiety in his chest, butterflies at stepping into the one experience which he’d always, ever since Vegeta-sei had become a nebula of faded memories, thought denied to him. But, through it all, and regardless of his insecurities, the unexpected news had also filled Vegeta with an exotic joy, only comparable to that renewed sense of purpose felt during the night when he’d bonded with his darling mate.

His mouth opened inelegantly with the intention of telling her that he did feel ecstatic about this new turn of events, and that, even though he knew nothing about parenthood, and he’d most certainly turn out to be quite useless when it came to raising a baby, he’d do his best to be there for her and their child, protecting them both and standing by their side, come what may.

But, as always, words simply wouldn’t come, and the warrior was left to deal with his heinous inability to express any kind of emotion as only he knew how.

Vegeta kept kneeling on the floor, the nervous hands still covering Bulma’s minuscule baby bump moving slowly, gliding across her soft skin until they reached the small of her back, freely allowing his strong arms to envelop her waist with utmost care as he carefully hid his face in her abdomen.

He buried his nose in her stomach, taking in a deep breath and losing himself in the warmth of her essence and that of their unborn child, her balmy scent washing through him, calming and revitalizing his spirit, and casting out his unforgiving Demons as he reached even deeper inside of her.

 

There he was.

Their child.     

            

A tiny sphere of radiantly white energy, his ki already stronger, infinitely stronger than that of his Bulma, yet his spirit as pure as driven snow, just like hers, forcing a ragged sigh of heartfelt relief out of his lips, his raw emotion moving his woman to tears of equal happiness.

Through the years, the Prince had come to believe that perhaps his incapability to have any offspring was a blessing in disguise, and that his Saiyan blood and tainted past would turn the nature of any child of his into an evil one, but not this child, not a child who had Bulma as a mother.

“I love you, you know?” She reminded him in a fond whisper, languidly running her fingers through his hair with tender devotion as he relaxed little by little, quietly embracing his new role in life, and smiling inaudibly into the old fabric of her clothing when her small figure vibrated with a girly outburst of teary laughter, the grateful laughter of a woman who just hours ago truly believed herself to be all alone in the world.

Her tears were joyful ones, but that didn’t stop him from raising himself and reaching out to her, bringing that adorably weepy face of hers closer and kissing her within an inch of her life, happy tears and all.

Bulma was as quick as a wink, reacting with a needy fervor that surprised even the Prince himself, rushing into his arms, wrapping her own around his shoulders and losing no time in deepening their passionate kiss, taking full advantage of her slight dominance in height, with him still kneeling on the ground, and robbing him of his breath as their tongues delicately played together.

The more they tasted each other, the greater that burning desire, their smoldering proximity reigniting that overpowering flame, growing beyond any rational control as they threw themselves into the fire. Her fingers swayed all over his powerful muscles, stroking, caressing, pulling the skintight fabric covering his arms and neck and impatiently jerking at his resilient armor.

“Vegeta… T-Take it off!” Bulma panted in frantic need, minute fingers tugging, begging him to remove his every barrier, to let her feel his powerful body against her. “I want to feel you… I-I want to…!”

Vegeta’s mouth made his way to her neck, turning her desperate words into moans of pleasure, holding onto him as he obsessively licked and kissed her, tracing every bit of deliciously exposed skin, from her collarbones to that delectable dip at the base of her neck, compulsively exploring his Saiyan mark, cherishing every bit of it as he swirled the tip of his tongue all over the precious brand.

He was pleased to find the minor wound already healed, leaving a faint scar behind, a prized scar symbolizing that she belonged to him and only him, his woman, his mate, the only one who mattered, the only one who’d ever made him feel this way, healing and fulfilling him, igniting this unbearable heat pooling in his loins, and making him lose all trace of reason whenever he had her in his arms.

Bulma’s head fell back, heavy, giddy by the thrill of the night’s intensity, a night that started with blue tears of loneliness, but now bursting with excitement. She could have stayed like this forever, giving herself to his all-consuming attentions, but her body seemed to have different plans on its own and, before she could even help it, her hands were urgently trying to undress him again.

“Mhmm…” The Prince moaned into the damp skin of her neck, a mean chuckle grumbling in his throat at the sensation of those puny hands of hers jerking at his clothing with such impatience. “You’re so insistent tonight, little woman…” He mocked her, making her hiss in delight by playfully nipping at her neck, sweeping his tongue over the bite and across her luscious throat, reaching her mouth and engaging their lips into another spine-tingling kiss.

Bulma obliged with eager gratitude, kissing him with just as much hunger, but it didn’t take much longer for Vegeta to succumb to those squirmy hands yanking at his chest plate, and to the way those tempting legs fidgeted restlessly, trying to wrap themselves around his waist with such charming clumsiness.

“Is this what you want?” He lured her in his worst bedroom voice, reluctantly breaking their kiss and taking off his shielding armor with practiced ease, only to find his brazen mate needing more, much more from him, when she instantly grabbed him by his combat suit, shamelessly dragging him to her.

“Yes…” Bulma rasped seductively, biting on her lip and flashing him the most devastating smile. “I want you now…” She pleaded, wicked hands creeping under his shirt, nails hardening his nipples, grazing them just a little harder than usual. “Right now!” Her tiny claws urged as their mouths merged into another savage kiss.

Vegeta had never seen his woman like this, so libidinous, so aggressively demanding, her boldness growing to agonizing levels, inviting him, drawing him in with her magic, and the sensual scent of her arousal saturating the air.

“May I?” He asked humbly against her avid mouth, his trembling fingers barely keeping his need in check as they lingered at the edge of her sweater.

His modest question, so surprising coming from a man so accustomed to taking her in any way he pleased, especially with his body as oversexed as in that moment, startled her right away. But, when her lustful eyes met his, she could read the gleam of fascination sparkling in them, knowing that his sexual desire had suddenly been overcome by his yearning to explore her body as he’d never seen it before.

With a timid nod, Bulma delicately lifted her arms in silent invite, gasping ticklishly when his hardened hands got to work without delay, caressing the naked skin of her milky midriff as he carefully slid them all over her, pressing his lips to hers when he finally got rid of his obstacle and he had her sitting before him in nothing but her old lacy lingerie.

“Let me look at you…” He implored, an avid whisper on her mouth, his forehead resting on hers with a look of pure adoration in his face, a look that she knew, as sure as there was Moon in Heaven, was reserved for her alone.

This time he didn’t wait for her approval, simply leaning back slightly, giving his captivated gaze the liberty to freely roam all over her enticing curves. Vegeta didn’t even know how a woman with child should even look like, all he knew was that his mate was looking lovelier than ever, and her new condition was making him feel like a smitten, sentimental fool.

His calloused palms fell on her thighs, drawing long, sensual circles all over her creamy flesh, and slowly smoothing their way upwards, fingertips caressing the feminine curve in her stomach, quivering at his loving touch. At first glance, she looked small as ever, but as he contemplated her as if under a beautiful spell, he could sense the minor changes already developing in her alluring body, from those lightly curvier hips to her tiny baby bump, resuming his erotic exploration until he reached her much fuller breasts, rose nipples bursting from the see-through fabric.

She shifted forward when his fingers reached for her back, making it easier for his impatient hands to skillfully unhook the clasp of her bra, freeing her from any constraints. His hands were at once on her writhing body, his touch alone enough to send lighting bolts all over her as he fondled the soft mounds of flesh, his starved mouth kissing and licking her skin, voracious tongue lapping its way across the delicious valley between her breasts.

It was then that he knew just how much he’d missed her, this, that small body trembling under his hands, her back arching, arching in frenzied need as she gave herself to him, tiny fingernails raking hard into the steeled skin of his shoulders while his lips gently suckled on her nipples, a taste so heavenly that he felt as if he could taste her forever.

“Ve-Vegeta…” Bulma moaned wantonly, clutching a handful of his coarse mane and pulling his face even closer, the franticness in her voice destroying his every barrier, every bit of self-control he’d ever possessed. “M-More!” She sobbed when his mouth finally let go of those bouncy breasts, hissing in bliss when he playfully blew over the damp flesh of her hard nipples, right before lavishing them once again, the tip of his thirsty tongue swirling, tracing long, lazy circles across the rosy flesh.

He pressed an open palm on top of her fragile sternum as soon as he felt her really starting to lose herself, her arms and legs fiddling nervously, wanting nothing more than for him to satisfy her beautiful body, badly deprived from the touch of her man for far too long. His rough hand mildly pushed her onto the bed, his touch firm but unbearably gentle, inviting her to lie on her back and just let him take full control, giving him the freedom to please her as only he knew how.

Bulma readily complied, her hands letting go of his shoulders as she reclined on the bed, whimpering in eager anticipation, waiting for her Prince to bring her the release that she so urgently needed. His dominant hand remained inflexibly pressed between her breasts, seconds that felt like an Eternity, struggling to calm himself down as he reveled in the wild rhythm of the heartbeat drumming underneath, that heart, so full of life, reminding him that this was real, that she was real, and not one of the torturous illusions haunting him during all of those months of loneliness.

Only when her needy voice called out his name again, riddled with fear that he’d tease her much longer, did he wake up from his momentary trance, turning back his attentions to the shivery woman tossing impatiently between rumpled bedsheets.

Vegeta’s knees stayed firm on the floor, the hand so possessively laid above her heart now travelling a long, sinuous path downwards, from the glistening vale between her tits to her curvy tummy and hips, exploring and caressing the softness of her skin until it reached down to the back of her knees, gently encouraging her to lift the anxious legs still hanging from the side of the bed and placing both feet on his solid shoulders, stealing a sharp gasp out of her when he spread her legs for him, as wide as they’d go.

Bulma’s tiny toes sank into his hard muscles, hands grasping the sheets in expectation, his hot breath panting savagely against her fully exposed core making her feel just minutes away from losing her goddamned mind. He inhaled and exhaled several times, just like an animal, filling in his lungs with the intoxicating scent of her libido, the musky aroma arising his basest Saiyan instincts while his strong fingers held her thighs in the fiercest grip.

He raised her hips slightly, lifting her ass and pulling her even closer to his famished mouth, right at the edge of the bed, smirking in cocky satisfaction when she let him manhandle her like nothing but a little rag doll. He buried his face between her legs, running his full tongue across her smooth labia, sucking on the thick juices already smeared all over the juncture of those drenched thighs, his fingers digging into her flesh even harder when her body bucked off the bed in a mad fever.

“Don’t hide from me, woman,” his throaty voice commanded when she turned her face to the side, smothering a loud sob into the sheets, almost ashamed at how easily this man could make her lose herself, never to be found. “I want to hear you…” Vegeta demanded, the divine taste of her essence lingering in his mouth as he lifted his gaze, finding her doing just the same, staring at him through half-opened eyes, mouth parted, and skin covered in gleaming pearls of sweat, cursing him for feeling so good. “I want you to fucking scream for me, Bulma…”

His fingers burrowed even deeper into her legs, emphasizing his demand by playfully sinking his fangs into her inner thigh, drinking in her frantic screams while gently lapping at the bite, only to return to piercing his mouth back into her center, his nose pressed against her soft blue curls as he licked and suckled at her dripping little pussy.

Bulma didn’t hide anymore, thrashing and turning on the old mattress while screaming his name at the top of her lungs, her dazed mind now fearless, unafraid of being discovered, heard by some dangerous stranger, and letting herself go, right over the edge, knowing that the man with his face hidden between her trembling legs, the man bursting with nothing but domineering power, showering her with a pleasure that never even existed before, would always catch her fall.         

“Vegeta!” She cried hoarsely, eyes clenched shut as she threw her head back in reckless abandon. “I’m cumming!” She yelled uncontrollably, roars of ecstasy erupting from her sore throat while her hands, the shaky hands that seconds earlier were violently hanging onto ragged fabric, now seized clumps of her lover’s hair, pulling, begging him to stop his merciless assault on her body before she would lose all reason, before she wouldn’t even know who she was anymore.

But her man wouldn’t stop, relentless at all times, his grip on her thighs growing harder, growling wolfishly into her heat when her sticky thighs shut around him, pressed tightly against his ears as he kept playing her, pleasuring her through her orgasm and skillfully prolonging the hurricane of bliss for as long as he could.

 

“Mhmm…” Bulma purred sensually, her voice dripping with the eroticism of a sated woman, feeling his movements expertly slowing down, knowing just how she liked it, how to draw out her pleasure without overwhelming her. “That was so good…” A silky whisper sang to him, idle fingers running across his scalp, smiling at him when his lips brushed her inner thighs one last time, waiting patiently for her to recover from her climax.

He needn’t wait much longer for one of her wobbly hands to find his, small fingers tugging at it, mellow but appetent, begging him to end her aloneness and join her on the bed. And no waiting was needed for him to instantly react to her desires, happily obeying her wishes by disentangling her limp legs from his shoulders, resting her feet on the ground with utmost care as he stood from the floor.

Vegeta swiftly undressed himself under her absorbed stare, dizzy eyes of sapphire admiring the provoking way in which his every muscle flexed and bent while getting rid of his battle suit and boots. He stood before her, delectably bare-skinned, leaning to her and taking her spent figure in his arms, lying her properly on the bed and delicately easing her down onto her small pillow.

His Bulma wouldn’t let him get too far from her anymore, febrile arms and legs surrounding his entire being as her lips sought his for a slow kiss, full of yearning and delight at their reencounter, all time stopping, quickly building up into a desperate need for her body to become one with his once again.

“Vegeta…” She mumbled excitedly on his mouth, her fingertips digging into his cheeks as he hovered above her. His face was but an inch from hers, and his body, that powerful wall of pure muscle, coming down on her. “Please…” She whimpered pitifully, her body writhing, rising her pelvis to meet his and grinding herself against him, hissing in anticipation when the tip of his hard shaft rubbed down against her core. “Please, make love to me…”

 

Love.

 

He looked at her with startled eyes, a mouth running dry, and no words to describe what the sound of that expression meant to him, knowing that, whatever it was that he’d done to those other worthless wenches who’d shared his company in past times, it sure as Hell was not ‘love’.

Only his woman made him feel like this, like such words actually meant something, and even though he could already feel himself entering her, filling her up completely and giving her what she needed the most, there was a rare emotion holding him back tonight, a foreign sensation he didn’t fully identify until she took his manhood in her hands, unable to wait anymore for him to fulfill her every desire.

“B-Bulma… Wait!” He groaned in an anxious whisper, molars grating, clasping her wrist with a trembling hand and stopping her dead in her tracks, going against his body’s most primal needs.

“Wha-What is it?” She whined in feverish disappointment, his rejection feeling as if he’d thrown cold water all over her body, that body that kept instinctively rubbing and sliding against his in desperate want.                    

His hand barely kept her own captive one in check, while his other hand reached for her flushed face. “Is… Is this safe?” He asked in a tremulous undertone, his fingers moving a few damp locks away from her eyes in the most loving manner, trying to make her understand that the reason behind his refusal wasn’t due to his lack of feelings for her, quite on the contrary.

“Safe?” Bulma pressed on in confusion, thin eyebrows knit together. “Vegeta, what…?”

“I… I mean… Safe for the child, Bulma…” He stuttered, his fingers narrowing around her hand, his face burning, heart rate picking up, mortified by such unfamiliar sentimentality.

A new surge of emotion rippled in her chest at the astounding realization that it was fear, or rather abject panic, what was holding her mate back from ravishing her in the same way he normally would, going to great lengths to bring her to her peak first, and even choosing to withhold his own satisfaction if that meant keeping her and their child safe.

“You won’t hurt me, Vegeta,” she promised, gifting him with a warm, compassionate smile, placing her free hand on the back of his neck and bringing him closer. “Come here…” She pleaded, teasingly running the tip of her tongue across his lower lip before inviting their mouths to meet for a long, agonizing kiss.

Her reassuring words were all he needed, making him instinctively loosen his grip on her and unleash the roguish hand that wrapped itself around him in a second, stroking him with slow and gentle movements, up and down, sobbing into his mouth when his hips started to move atop her, in unison with the sensuous movement of those skilled little fingers.

Both lovers screamed and shuddered in relief when he succumbed to the hand guiding him to her heat, pressing the thick tip of his manhood into her tight entrance and sliding in, plunging deep inside. Vegeta moved slowly at first, allowing her deprived body to get used to his immense size, inch by excruciating inch, gradually thrusting further and further, until the base of his cock hit her pussy lips, pushing, dancing inside of her as they lost themselves in the overwhelming pleasure, in the joy of their bodies and hearts being reunited at last.

“I’ve… I’ve missed you…” Bulma whispered in his ear, her limbs tightening around him as he set up his pace, leisurely but powerful, always domineering, yet unbelievably tender, his arms enveloping her in the fiercest embrace as he kept moving with her. “Gods! I’ve missed you!” She gasped louder when he groaned into her shoulder and one of his arms glided under her bottom, gripping her plump flesh and raising her hips to meet his, wanting no part of her to be left untouched, while his other hand cupped the back of her head in it, cradling her against his shoulder as he hid his face in the crook of her neck.    

“Bulma…” He called out for her, over and over again, his voice ragged, filled with devotion, reminding her of all those times in which he’d called for her in her dreams.

“I love you…” She reminded him, fearless to express her feelings for him, all of those feelings that she knew he felt just as much, but which he’d never dare to vocalize.  

Vegeta hissed into her skin at the sound of her ardent confession, never stopping the sensual, unrelenting rhythm of those hips, grappling with his need to pound into her unrestrainedly, just about keeping his wildest urges in control. “Again!” He demanded fervidly, unashamed of his woman knowing that he enjoyed, loved, those goddamned words of affection.

“I… I love you! I… I love…” She sobbed against him, her mouth now pressed into his red-hot cheek, feeling as if she were about to fall apart any minute now. “I love… I love you! I… Kami!”

His body kept moving with hers, still hiding his face into her flesh as he drowned in the senseless, mindless chaos of sensations spinning within him, both physical and emotional, poignant and hedonic. That small body desperately clinging to him, missing him, craving him, and that velvety scent, that intoxicating perfume pervading his senses like no other as she screamed her love and need for him.

Her minuscule nails drilled his shoulders when sharp Saiyan teeth grazed the saturated skin of her neck, his ravenous mouth latching onto her, careful not to break her fragile skin, but dominant enough to break something in her, viciously tearing her apart. Drenched bodies rubbing against each other, that ruthless crescendo of pleasure building up, spinning out of any rational control until he felt her beginning to tighten around him, draining every drop of his thick essence as he roared his release, spilling himself inside of her and giving her his all, every single part of him, not even knowing who he was anymore.    

They lay completely spent in each other’s arms, basking in the raw, sumptuous energy surrounding them, their thirst gratifyingly quenched, yet refusing to let go for fear of finding themselves as utterly alone as they’d both been during such a boundless absence. Bulma’s fingers languorously stroked his back, her hands running down his shivering spine, getting reacquainted with each scar and imperfection, powerless to forget the horrifying stories hiding behind every one of those washed-out marks.

Her greedy arms never let go of him, not even when a long sigh left Vegeta’s lips, kissing her still trembling shoulder with heart-wrenching tenderness while carefully pulling out from her pulsing heat, afraid of his weight being too bulky on her, especially now that he had no clue as to what to expect from her new physical condition.

“Bulma…” The Prince murmured in her ear, bringing her with him as he rolled on his back when she still refused to release him from her needy embrace. “Are you alright, woman?” He asked in a low whisper, the hot moisture soaking the curve of his shoulder making his heart constrict in anguish.

The earthling’s silent answer was a pathetic nod. “Y-Yeah…” Bulma whimpered shakily into his skin, loathing to let his worry towards her grow, but impotent to stop her entire frame from quivering, thoroughly overcome by the slew of emotions that his return had enthused within her soul. “I’m f-fine… I just…” She stuttered in the smallest voice, her arms tightening around his neck, slick legs still entangled with his. “I’ve missed you s-so much…”

“I know, Bulma,” Vegeta exhaled tiredly into her damp curls, finding some relief in the fact that his little sensitive woman wasn’t physically hurt, but emotionally overwhelmed by the night’s surreal events. “I know…” He mumbled in understanding, praying that she’d recognize that he’d missed her just as much, even though his cursed Saiyan pride still wouldn’t allow him to say it out loud.      

“Vegeta,” she murmured weakly after a brief moment of silence, still sniffling from her emotional outburst, but lifting her gaze and looking at him nonetheless, a shy question floating in her outstandingly blue eyes. “What happened to your tail?” She asked with uncertainty, not entirely sure if she should let him know that she’d noticed such a vital change in his appearance.         

His body instantaneously tensing beneath her was all the answer she ever needed. “I lost it during my fight with Frieza,” Vegeta replied somberly, and even though the sad nostalgia vibrating in his voice was to be expected, he truly surprised her this time by looking her straight in the eye, instead of retreating or pulling away from her in shame as he’d done in past times, triumphant proof that she had, beyond any doubt, earned his full trust by now. “And I… I lost my Father’s scouter as well…” He confessed without prompting, one arm still firmly wrapped around her waist while his free hand caressed her pink cheek, almost ready to dry the beautiful tears of empathy that he knew were coming.

“And Nappa?” Her brave question arose almost without thinking, already aware, for some mystical reason that escaped her still, of the miserable fate of Vegeta’s brutish comrade.  

“He didn’t make it, Bulma,” the Prince admitted in a gruff murmur, trying to keep his tone neutral, but unable to conceal the pangs of conscience eating him alive at the impotence of not having been strong enough to save the only other remaining member of his expunged race from Frieza’s rage.

“Gods!” Bulma exclaimed gloomily, her delicate face contorting in grief while pressing her frowned brow to his, softly holding his face in her hands. “I’m so sorry, Vegeta…” She wept, deeply and honestly lamenting the loss of her mate’s every connection to his ancient Saiyan heritage, because now he’d truly lost it all, because now he was just as painfully alone as she was.

“Bulma, look at me,” he commanded, his raven eyes passionately locked on her own tearful ones. “It doesn’t… It doesn’t matter anymore, you hear me?” He assured her with calm confidence, holding the absolute belief that nothing else was of importance but being alive, right here, right now, lying in each other’s arms with their child’s angelic energy shining brightly between their entwined bodies.

There was a quiet simplicity in his words, yet she understood, she understood precisely what he was trying to convey, as if their minds had already become one, a prodigious connection that didn’t even belong to this World anymore, and all that was left for her was to submit to that supernatural force with the most fervent kiss her lips were capable of, surrendering to the power of his zealous embrace and falling into her first peacefully dreamless sleep ever since he’d been away from her existence.

 

******************************************

 

He awoke while the Moon was shining brightly, still high in the sky, roused by his squirmy little mate trying to wriggle out of his possessive hold, and obviously failing in her pointless attempt not to disturb his sleep.

“Bulma?” Vegeta groaned nosily, drowsy but amused by his woman’s childish antics, wondering if she truly knew by now that his sleep was as light as a cat’s, and she’d never get away from him without him noticing first. “What are you doing?” He asked in a gruff murmur, his arms tightening around her waist, pulling her back against his chest and stubbornly refusing to let go of her.

“Sorry… Did I wake you?” Bulma whispered back, her hands lightly petting his in apology for interrupting his slumber. “I just wanted to get some water. I’m thirsty.” She explained sheepishly, her nude figure fidgeting against him, once again, with little success.

The Prince grunted grouchily, laying a soft kiss on her shoulder and giving her hips a final squeeze before proceeding to slowly get out of bed, barely stifling a loud yawn as he did.

“I’ll go,” he offered, with that rare generosity exclusively dedicated to her. It was peculiar, he admitted to himself while filling the small glass in the bathroom’s sink, how natural it was for him to go out of his way to please her in any way he could when, throughout his entire life, he’d never really cared much about anyone’s needs but his own.     

When he shortly returned to her, he found her sitting on the bed with her legs crossed casually, stretching her arms with the balletic limberness of a lazy kitten. She was staring sleepily out the window, faraway eyes and a body as naked as a jaybird, breezily covered with unkept sheets from her waist down. If she was aware of being watched, Vegeta wouldn’t know, all he knew was that he couldn’t stop gawking at her like a love-struck twit, still in addled disbelief at how completely taken he was with this woman.              

“Thank you,” Bulma murmured appreciatively, extending her hand to take the glass with a somnolent smile that could charm gold from the Gods themselves.

Vegeta sat side by side with her while she quenched her thirst, his fingertips drifting, gently resting his hand on her leg and tracing idly distracted circles on her knee as he peeped at her even closer.

He’d always thought her the most attractive right after he’d made love to her, reveling in those chaotic turquoise curls and appetizingly flushed skin, his musky scent imprinted all over her, and that resplendent afterglow as she lay shamelessly naked, sharing her bed with him without a care in the world. But there was something about her tonight, something beautifully unique about the way her porcelain skin glowed under the moonlight, maybe because of her clear joy at their unanticipated reunion or, perhaps, such radiance was owed to the extraordinary changes blessing her body as she carried their child inside of her.

“Have I ever told you…?” Bulma asked, breaking the placid stillness they’d both been engrossed in. She left the empty glass on her nightstand, crawling on the bed in his direction with the most mischievous of smirks, and landing right on his lap, sitting on his muscular thigh and draping her arms around his neck. “How cute you are?”

 

‘Cute.’

He knew it.

His woman was certifiably insane.

 

His reply was a cranky grunt, putting on his usual front of annoyance at her mushy displays of affection, but drawing her closer nonetheless, cradling her to him and closing his eyes in compliance, the tips of his ears burning as she giggled vivaciously, having the time of her life as she covered his cheeks and neck with playful pecks.

“Mhmm…” Bulma moaned in peacefulness, softly rubbing her cheek against his. “I’ve missed you…” She whispered in his ear, wanting no one else to hear her secrets, even though they were both alone in the room. “Did you miss me?” She asked kittenishly, eagerly drinking in his enthusiastic answer in the shape of a flaming kiss as he pulled her even closer, nestling her protectively against his chest like one would a small child.  

“What is it?” Vegeta questioned when she abruptly took away her lips from him, her sapphire eyes falling on the armor laying abandoned on the floor, side-glancing the mysterious sparkle unexpectedly grabbing her attention.

One of her hands clung to his neck for safety, while the other reached down to his battle gear, tentative fingers striving to touch the hypnotic spark of gold shining under faint moonshine.

“The coin…” Her soft voice huffed, wide eyes staring at the golden chip while she grasped it between tremulous fingers, blinking in confusion as if under a fearful spell. “Vegeta… It’s the coin…”

“What…? What coin?” The warrior asked, never releasing her, still supporting her with secure arms as she leaned down to pick up her enigmatic prize. An alarming shiver soon whizzed down his spine, both at the chilling sensation of the tiny hand in his neck growing colder than ice, and in embarrassment when he understood what it was that she was after. “Bulma, don’t!” He begged in a horrified whisper.

Bulma returned to sitting comfortably on his lap, letting go of his neck and exploring the minuscule, shimmery item with both hands, placing it atop one of her palms while running a shaky finger all over the golden trinket with another, choking on a mouthful of crisp air when she learned the true nature of the object so carefully hidden inside of Vegeta’s new armor.     

“Kami!”

On the surface, the enigmatic object looked just like the puzzling coin she’d desperately clung to in her dreams, those disturbing nightmares of solitude and shattered bones, squeezing the gleaming treasure in a bruised fist with whatever strength she had left in her, as if the small jewel were her one and only lifesaver. But now, as she examined the obscure gem through and through, she could clearly discern that the foreign coin was no coin at all but a golden square, one of the many pieces that used to make up the straps of the armor which she’d so faithfully fashioned for her mate.         

“Vegeta, what…? Is this…?” Bulma faltered, a tight lump stuck in her throat. “Is this a piece of your armor?”

The Prince’s gaze eluded hers, watching the object in her hands instead, his lips pursed into a thin line, trying to maintain his dignity but blushing in the mortification that Bulma’s discovery of his weak sentimentality evoked in him.

“What…? What happened to it?” She begged to know when he answered with a shy nod, his visible chagrin already bringing tears to her eyes.    

“It got destroyed during my fight with Frieza,” Vegeta’s confession came at last, the tips of his rough fingers delicately grazing Bulma’s bare thighs, in hopes that the warmth of her skin would be enough to exorcize his shameful ghosts.

The earthling’s hand closed around the golden token, the stinging tears suspended at the corner of her eyes now falling of their own free will. “A-And you… You kept this with you all this time?” She uttered throatily, her voice cracking, smiling sadly through her tears as she turned to him, impulsively fitting her lips against his without even giving him the chance to reply, because now she knew, she knew just how much her gift had meant to him, to the point of keeping a piece of it with him at all times, long after his Master had completely demolished it.

Bulma deepened their kiss, sobbing in rapture when he didn’t shrink away from her, taking her in his arms and losing himself in her, freeing her up to do what she did best, take it all away, take away all the insufferable pain and shame of these past infernal months, loosening the vile grip that his Demons held in his soul, and replacing all of it with unconditional love instead.  

“I… I thought…” She admitted reticently, still breathless by her tumultuous emotions. “I th-thought it was the coin from my dreams…”   

“Bulma,” Vegeta prodded with interest, much calmer now, thanks, as always, to his mate’s attentions. “What dreams? What is this coin you keep talking about?” He gently asked, placing one of his fingers under her chin, carefully tipping her head up for their eyes to meet again.

“I’ve been… I’ve been having these dreams…” Bulma quietly explained, frowning to herself as if trying to make some sense of her own thoughts, and to better explain her dark hallucinations to her lover. “I have them practically every night. And they… I’m in them, you know?”

The Saiyan tilted his head to the side, the haunted look in his woman’s pretty face intensifying his thirst for knowledge. “What are you doing in those dreams?”

“Um… I’m not… I’m not actually doing much, you know?” She shrugged in defeat. “I’m… I’m lying on the floor, and it’s a really small room. And it… It has metallic walls and very low ceilings, and… And it’s cold, Vegeta…” Bulma’s shoulders trembled noticeably, a sharp shudder flushing through her at the mere memory of the torment that such iciness inflicted on her broken bones. “Very cold…”

Vegeta swallowed with difficulty as her words gradually sank in, the cold scenario of her intriguing nightmares resonating in the most horribly familiar way.

 

Impossible.

‘It couldn’t be…’

 

“And then…” He exhaled tiredly, a long, ragged breath, afraid of asking for more, yet needing to know if his gloomy suspicions were right. “Then what happens, Bulma?”

“I can’t… I can’t move. It’s like I’m hurt, really hurt, like my bones… M-My bones are broken, especially my ribs, and I… I can hardly breathe…” She unraveled, with as much detail as her exhausted memory allowed her to. “And there are people outside. There’s this… This door with a little window, and there are men outside…” The woman shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut as if the humiliation endured during those frighteningly real visions had genuinely happened to her. “A-And they’re laughing, Vegeta... Laughing!”

His fingers erased the few salty droplets falling from her eyes, struggling to keep a cool head now that he knew that his worst fears, the one outcome he’d hoped would never occur, had ended up materializing somehow. “Bulma, that’s enough.” He quietly shushed her, brushing his lips over her damp forehead, trying to rescue her from her dreamlike pain. “You don’t have to…”

“And then I get mad. Really mad!” Bulma carried on in a feverish whisper, completely possessed by her daunting fantasies. “B-But I can’t move, because everything hurts… And I just want to die, Vegeta… I j-just…” A piercing sob flared in her chest, her fingers tightening around the golden object still buried in her tiny fist, glancing at her mate with the most distressing anguish. “So I hold onto this… This golden coin in my hand, and I squeeze it really hard, and it’s… It’s like it makes me feel better, you know? A-And sometimes… Sometimes I bring it to my…”

“To your lips,” Vegeta guessed with extraordinary accuracy, his eyes avoiding her in shame and fury once again, fighting to hold back the manic guilt controlling him, the guilt of a man whose stupid sentimental choices may have very possibly destroyed his mate’s brilliant spirit forever.

Bulma’s features hardened, chilled to the core by the warrior’s alien ability to literally read her own mind. “Vegeta, what…? How do you know that? How…?”

“Those dreams of yours, they aren’t…” He sputtered agitatedly, his obvious insecurity breaking her heart just a little more. “They aren’t dreams, Bulma. Those… Those are my memories.”   

“What are you talking about? What memories?” She promptly asked, holding his face in her hands and boldly forcing his eyes back on her. “Vegeta! You need to tell me what’s going on!”

He didn’t even wait for his anger to fade this time, he just got rid of her unnerving touch with as much care as he could, taking her hands away from him and getting off the bed, pacing back and forth through the small room like a wild, caged animal.

“We’re bonded, woman! THAT’s what’s going on!” He frantically yelled at her. “I can’t… I can’t believe this… This shouldn’t have happened!” His anxious hands run up and down his unusually pale face repeatedly, a sheen of cold sweat coating his naked body as he kept moving across the place completely unrestrained.

By now, Bulma could hardly find the strength to articulate a response, all she could do was follow the Prince’s frenzy with her eyes, trying to understand just what in Heaven’s name was happening.

“Bonded?” She asked at last, tired hands dropping the piece of armor on the bed as she sat wearily on it, clutching the rumpled bedsheets while trying to make some sense of the situation. “Like when you told me about your culture? Like…? Like a permanent bond?”

Bulma’s smart hypothesis made Vegeta cease his hectic steps, turning to her and assenting lugubriously, powerless to hide the shameful remorse suffocating his dark gaze.

He’d never looked more vulnerable, never more exposed to her than in that very instant, standing before her without a stitch on, that handsome face of his falling in sad relief when she stood from the bed and joined him, her head held high, and the distinct ghost of a mesmerized smile on her pretty mouth.

“Is that what this is?” Bulma asked in a carnal murmur, making his Saiyan blood boil in primal heat with the way she brazenly seized his hand, skillfully laying it above her delicate collarbone, right atop the distinctive brand he’d carved on her flesh.

“Yes…” He replied huskily, still drowning in an ocean of guilt, but helpless to stop the tip of his tongue from caressing his own lips at the sensation of those rough-skinned fingers on his mark.

Her hands sought his powerful body, burying themselves in the thick hair at the nape of his neck and pulling him to her with fearlessness, resting her brow against his as she proudly held his gaze. “I thought you wanted this, Vegeta.” She softly challenged, a thunderous demand wrapped in smooth silk. “I thought you wanted me…”     

“I want you, woman!” The Prince’s fierce response exploded, heavy hands on her shoulders, passionately crushing her tiny form right against him without even trying to deny the terrifying truth anymore.

 

He wanted her.

He wanted her in the worst way. 

            

“Then what’s bothering you?” She openly pleaded, their panting lips almost touching. “Talk to me, Vegeta…”

“I wanted this bond, Bulma,” Vegeta promised, his tone filled with desire and heartbreaking hints of that ever-present guiltiness. “But I didn’t… I would have never wished for you to endure this! You… You are not Saiyan, woman! I never… I never thought that you…!”

“That I’d be able to get into your mind?” Bulma cleverly deduced, all the pieces of the obscure puzzle that was her Prince finally coming together, understanding that Vegeta’s fear of bonding with another being hadn’t been purely driven by his terror of losing those he loved, but also by the distress of giving his woman free access to witness his most disgraceful experiences, suffering his own excruciating pain as if it were her own.

Vegeta assented again, cupping that exquisite face in his hands as he examined her and her enigmatic smile attentively, awestruck by how amazingly calm his mate appeared to be, completely unperturbed by the horrid consequences of having her soul forever bound to that of a ruthless warrior.

“Nappa used to… He used to talk about the Saiyan bond and how it happened…” He carefully explained, her odd calmness gradually, and inexplicably, rubbing off on him. “When two Saiyans chose to bond as one, it wasn’t… It wasn’t only a physical union, but a spiritual one as well. Their minds, their memories and… And emotions… All of it…” One of his thumbs brushed her lower lip absentmindedly. “But since you… Since you are not Saiyan, I thought this wouldn’t happen. I-I thought I’d be able to spare you from…”

“Spare me?” Bulma interjected, her demeanor as kind as ever, but vaguely offended by her lover’s implications. “Why would you even want to do that?”      

“Why? What do you…?!” His lips twisted in stunned incredulity. “Bulma! You don’t want to live inside my head! You don’t…!”

She hushed his neurotic babble with a new kiss, clinging to him as she pressed her nude warmth against him, moaning into his famished mouth when he instinctively wrapped his arms around her, just letting her, letting her turn every one of his failures into nothingness.

“Vegeta…” She sighed, grudgingly breaking their kiss but keeping her arms firmly engaged in her impassioned embrace. “Remember the night you first told me about the Saiyan bond?”

“I do,” he answered simply, his spartan reply hiding just how much that night, the first time anyone had ever cleaned and dressed his wounds with such care, had truly meant to him.

“I told you that in my home planet we had a similar commitment, remember?” She patiently explained, unafraid to candidly share her the most intimate memories of her old life with him. “We… We didn’t bite each other, but we… We had a ceremony, in front of our friends and our families, where we declared our feelings towards the person we wanted to spend the rest of our lives with.”

The Saiyan’s perplexed silence lingered on as he gave heed to his woman’s outlandish stories, counting his lucky stars for his Bulma having chosen to become his, in spite of the vast differences prevailing amongst both of their alien ancestries.

By Saiyan ideals, a mating ceremony was a profoundly private occasion, and no warrior would have even conceived the notion of inviting anyone to witness such an intimate ritual, in the same way that no member of his long-forgotten race would have ever publicly discussed their oaths or feelings towards their chosen one.   

“I don’t… I never memorized our vows very well, but…” Bulma admitted, a sudden shyness softening her voice in the most loveable manner. “But they talked about… About two people being together in sickness and in health… Just… Just being there for each other, Vegeta! No matter what!”

Vegeta frowned with a questioning look, for most of his mate’s human tales still resonated as nothing but exotic mystification to him, but the passion in her voice couldn’t be ignored, and neither could the sense of relief engulfing him when he grasped that what the little earthling was trying to convey was that she’d stick with him, through thick and thin, for all time.

Her rose cheek found the stiff curve of his shoulder as she hugged him once again, frail but reassuring arms encircling his neck as she whispered words of caring encouragement in his ear.

“I already told you, Vegeta, I love you.” She murmured, her promise brimming with her devotion for him. “You can tell me anything. Anything…”

He took in a deep, exhausted breath, yielding to his woman’s invincible power and taking her in his arms, carrying her to the bed and sitting on it, carefully accommodating her in his lap as he waited for the awfully intimate questions that he knew were coming.     

“So, what I saw…” Bulma quietly asked, trying to ignore the loud thuds of her heart’s dreadful pounding. “What I saw were your real memories?”

“Yes,” Vegeta replied darkly, his stare focused on the thin fingers running up and down the open palm of his coarse hand as it rested on her thigh, wondering just how she did it, how it was possible for her to get him to open up to her as easily as she did.

“Were they…? Were they recent memories?”

“Yes.”

His fingers twitched restlessly, and Bulma must have noticed, because she intuitively pressed her own palm against his, closing her own fingers around him in support, grateful for his sincerity, and knowing how hard this was for him.   

“That place… The room…” She hesitated, scared stiff of finding out the actual details behind her poignant nightmares. “Where was…?”       

“It was Frieza’s ship, Bulma,” the Saiyan enlightened, concluding that he might as well just bare it all and get it over with. “I was locked up for about a month.” He muttered hoarsely. “Then he finally had his men take me to a regen tank, and I’ve been on supervised duty ever since.”

Her teeth bit on her inner cheek, her face blanching, screaming in sheer horror at the mere vision of the sinister torture described by the man she loved. And, even though she’d been trying her best to remain cool, and to prove that she was strong enough to endure whatever diabolical tales he dared to share with her, she now found herself incapable of putting a stop to the new torrent of acrid tears scalding her eyes.

 

One month.

One month of Hell.

 

One month lying in oppressive confinement in some airless space, one month of shattered bones and loose teeth, being denied the most basic right of proper medical care by his barbarous Master, for the only reason of the filthy bastard enjoying and reveling in inflicting the greatest amount of agony and humiliation on his most renowned subordinate. 

One month in the dark tomb that was Frieza’s ship, with the most severe pain as his only companion, utterly isolated from the outside world. His Saiyan ego pummeled into the ground by every schmuck watching his door or simply walking across the sinuous corridors, glancing through his one and only window and mocking him with blatant disrespect.

One month hanging onto that tiny golden square, zealously hidden inside his wrecked fist, clutching, squeezing it like a Guardian Angel whenever his strength and will to live would inevitably falter, nearly destroyed by the malevolent sounds of the soldiers’ ridiculing echoes.

He’d then bring the small treasure to his trembling lips as he murmured her name with quiet devoutness, that cherished piece of her reminding him that she was still out there, somewhere, waiting for him, inspiring him to carry on, because every single day lived through Hell was one day closer to coming back to her.

It was at moments like this that he’d burst into an explosion of febrile laughter, unafraid of looking and sounding like a deranged madman to the rest of them, howling like a wounded wolf under a Red Moon, ribs burning, a pain so unbearable that it was impossible to even faint and fall into sweet oblivion anymore.

And he’d pity them, he’d pity every single one of the idiots thumbing their dirty noses at him, because he had something they’d never possess, a woman waiting for him, a woman who cared, a woman who loved him with just as much irrational need as the one he held for her.

 

He had his Bulma.                    

       

“So that’s why you… Why you didn’t come back for so long…” Bulma whimpered, already shedding tears for him.

Vegeta draped one comforting arm around her waist, pulling her to him while running his fingers through her hair, lovingly tucking a few rebellious strands behind her ear. “I thought of sending you a message, Bulma, but I couldn’t.” His masculine voice cracked up, barely keeping his blasted emotions in check. “I couldn’t risk it, woman. I couldn’t take the chance.” He brought his lips even closer, laying a shaky kiss on her temple, as if the mere gesture could make him forget the greatest terror of them all. “If Frieza… If anyone found out about you… About us… I just…”

“I know, Vegeta,” she whispered back, her lips finding his, kissing him affectionately, and offering him one of those enchanting smiles. “I understand. It’s okay. I just… I j-just got scared, that’s all. I just thought that you… That you were dead. And I j-just…”

“Never!” The Prince vowed with renewed faith, melding her small body with his and slaying her worst fears with another kiss, whimpering urgently into her mouth when he felt her impulsively reciprocate with just as much fervor.      

 

Never.

He wouldn’t die.

Not yet.

Not until he fulfilled his solemn promise and murdered their vile tormentor.

Just for her.     

 

“Better now?” Vegeta asked in a gentle voice, a peaceful smile lightening up his face when he sensed her steadily relaxing in his embrace, as if all she’d really needed was to know, as saddening as they were, the exact circumstances keeping them apart all this time.

Bulma graced him with a kin gesture, her face softening as she recalled, once again, her mate’s precious wisdom, that all that counted was this moment, and the extraordinary marvel that was his survival, and his unexpected return by her side.   

The serenity in her smile never faded as she let him settle her on the bed, safely nestling her head in one of his firm hands and resting it on her small pillow with great care. She rolled dozily on her side while he tucked her in, her torn blankets warmer than usual when he joined her with gusto, getting underneath the covers and sharing their protection with her.

Vegeta slipped quietly behind her nude figure, bringing himself as close to his little mate as he could, indolently stroking the softness of that womanly contour between her waist and hip, up and down, smiling in pleasure when she shivered under his touch.

He then hooked both arms around her creamy midriff, closing his eyes as he placed a mellow kiss on her shoulder, fingertips exploring that ever captivating curve below her bellybutton, so fascinating indeed that it could almost make him forget the bitterness that the much-too-recent loss of his tail still stirred in him, as significant to him as if he’d lost an arm or a leg, longing for those moments in which he used it as the most intimate connection with his woman.

“The boy is strong,” he mumbled sleepily into her skin’s heat, almost unconsciously and already drifting off, lulled by the rhythmic flow of her body’s slow breathing and their child’s luminous energy, streaming under his fingers.

“Mhmm…” Bulma moaned in agreement, her bright chuckle making her stomach quiver under the gentleness of his touch. “Just like his Papa…” Her drowsy voice playfully whispered.

The Prince’s strong legs furtively entangled with hers, her little toes curling and uncurling on his naked calves, while the tips of Vegeta’s curious fingers stayed on her minute belly, twitching in his sleep as they dozed on and off for a handful of minutes, absolutely drained by the night’s events, but floating in a cocoon of contentment for the first time in far too long.

“Vegeta?” She called huskily for him with sudden curiosity.

“Hn?” The warrior groaned back, the clear surprise in her tone bringing him back from his pacific slumber.      

“Did you…?” She asked again, her breath hitching while her worn-out brain fully assimilated the meaning behind her lover’s words. “Did you just say we’re having a boy?”

Vegeta blinked in confusion when he sensed her instantly turning around in his embrace, facing him before he was even given the opportunity to reply. “I did.” He confirmed with absolute confidence, a light scowl furrowing his brow at the rare beam in her expressive eyes.

Her lithe body started to tremble. “How…? How do you know?” Bulma prodded, anxious hands digging in his chest.

“I can sense his ki,” the Prince made clear, hit by the obvious realization that his woman held no such ability, which meant that she’d been carrying their child all this time without being aware of the baby’s gender. “It’s a male energy, Bulma.” He whispered, an unmistakable hint of pride in his assertion, pride at the resolute certainty of his son growing up to become a fine warrior someday.

But, based on the horrifying way in which the earthling broke down in choked tears, it looked like his mate didn’t share his enthusiasm. “Bulma, what’s the matter?” Vegeta asked with vacillation, gingerly reaching out to her with one hand and finely stroking her tear-soaked cheek. “Do you…? Do you not wish to have a boy?”

“N-No, Vegeta,” she sniveled pitifully as she shook her head in denial, worried that her emotional outburst might have given him the wrong impression. “I don’t care about that. I just… I was so afraid that it’d be a boy. I was… I was afraid he’d look j-just like you and…”

An icy lump lashed his chest when he finally understood what had, most certainly, been one of his mate’s greatest fears during his absence. “You feared the child would remind you of me,” he concluded in a somber murmur, drawing his arms around her and pulling her closer, kissing her forehead with shaky lips when she nodded into the crook of his neck, bursting into silent tears of relief as she let it all out.    

The Saiyan held her securely, smothering her with support while admiring, as he always did, just how ferociously strong this little woman truly was, for not only had she spent the past three months grieving the inconsolable loss of her mate, but struggling to come to terms with the frightening prospect of raising a child on her own.

If their child had been a daughter, a little girl who looked just like Bulma, Vegeta couldn’t possibly imagine a more painful scenario than having to care, all by himself, for a child who was the spitting image of his woman, a little brat reminding him, day after day, of the person he’d treasured the most, the person who wouldn’t be by his side to nurture a child conceived out of love.

“I am here,” he faithfully reminded her, overjoyed when her arms constricted around his torso in acceptance, letting him know that she believed him, and that, against all odds, her trust in him hadn’t faltered in the least. “You are not alone, Bulma.”

“I know…” Bulma stated as she stared at him, a hopeful smile springing through the tears, a smile of optimism and faith in her mate’s promises.

She took his face in her hands, brushing her lips over the proud smirk curled in his mouth and kissing him softly, over and over, feathery kisses braided with the light giggles that his meek grunts incited in her. He looked so handsome, she thought to herself as she brought her brow against his, so utterly handsome when he radiated that unique kind of pride, pride at doing right by her, uplifting her spirits as only he knew how.

“Vegeta…” Her faint whisper stole his attention again, after a comfortably long silence.

“Yes?” The Prince answered without delay, intrigued by those wide, shimmering eyes watching him with great care, as if his future reply were of utmost importance to her.

“You think…?” She asked with reservation, her voice small and vulnerable, tremulous fingers caressing his angular jaw. “You think he’ll be happy here?”  

 

Their son.

Her one and only concern was their son’s future happiness.

And in the profound anguish of those turquoise gems, buried behind the happiness that their reunion, and his consequent encouragement, had brought her tonight, Vegeta could discern that she already knew the inevitable answer to that question, and the sheer terror that such a future elicited within her.

 

No.

He would not.

 

No child would ever be happy in a world as tenebrous as the one surrounding them, and if there was one being, one goddammed being in this whole Universe, who knew the type of injustice that throwing a young boy right into such dark chaos meant, that would undeniably be the Saiyan Prince himself.

Vegeta knew all too well what being a child poorly striving to survive in an adult world felt like, losing his naive virtue, drop by drop, by being exposed to a myriad of sickening individuals, and situations, far too disturbingly sinister for a youth his age to even comprehend.

There had been far too many purging missions, too many nights sitting by the bonfire, surrounded by endless tales of nauseating violence and pillage, of dirty, much-older soldiers roaring in revolting laughter as they described, in great detail, the kind of pain inflicted upon those far weaker than them, for the mere pleasure of reinforcing their power, even going as far as relating how they’d force themselves on more than one or two maiden slaves, simply because they wanted to, simply because they could.

In retrospect, even his older Saiyan comrades hadn’t shied away from freely discussing, right in his presence, fables and anecdotes of a nature much too delicate for his inexperienced mind to properly handle.

Only now that he was about to become a father, now that he literally held the fate of his mate and their unborn child in his own hands, did he fully understand the perversity of it all, and to what immense degree such abominations had contributed to the irreparable numbing of his soul, and he’d be damned to the Gates of Hell itself if he allowed the innate purity of those he cared for the most, to be destroyed in the same way his own innocence had been.

As much as he’d love nothing more than lying in bed with Bulma indefinitely, the moment of truth had come at last, the time to prove himself as a warrior, a mate and a father, the time to take a real chance and make things right, once and for all.

When Vegeta had chosen to come back to her tonight, he hadn’t done so purely out of the indestructible attachment binding him to his mate, and the desperate need for her presence in his life, but also with the strong desire to set the most outrageous of plans in motion, the seed of an idea firmly planted in his mind during that interminable month of torturous isolation.

As it turned out, those days and nights spent in total seclusion, drifting in and out of consciousness in a ruthless battle of life or death, had perhaps turned out to be a blessing in disguise, and all thanks to the unlimited stupidity of Frieza’s right-hand men, for the very same tongue they had wasted in ridiculing him while thinking him unconscious, had also been a little too loose when it came to revealing none other than their Master’s secretive project.

It was then, amongst the endless string of useless gossip carelessly exchanged between the Lizard’s soldiers, while he was fighting with whatever was left of his strength just to remain awake, that he’d first gotten wind of the greatest discovery made in the depths of the private medical facility he’d just contributed to destroy.

Out of all the vast number of races sequestered, tortured, and put to the test by the Emperor’s top-notch researchers, one of them had revealed itself as extremely different from the rest, a unique species of green-skinned aliens in possession of extraordinary powers and psychic abilities.

This particular breed had proven to be quite the challenge but, given enough time, and a merciless bombardment of their complex brains, the scientists had somehow achieved the impossible, tapping deep into their remarkably resilient minds, awakening the latent knowledge dormant within and stealing it for their own depraved purpose.    

By the time Vegeta and Nappa had arrived in Base-055, Frieza and his genius minions had already obtained, and cautiously stored, all the information required to turn such valuable data into something which could be of vital use to the corrupt Overlord. And, ironically, the Saiyan Prince had ended up doing the demonic Ruler a favor by setting the blasted place on fire, thus getting rid of any evidence of such sinful deeds.

However, what the Tyrant didn’t know was how ludicrously stupid his most reliable subordinates would turn out to be, engaging in gossipy conversations, and discussing confidential details in his surroundings, completely oblivious to the hypersensitiveness of his Saiyan hearing range, or to the fact that he too could be just as devious as his detested Master, faking his loss of consciousness inside that dark room, while secretly paying attention to every word exchanged between the Lizard’s imbecilic soldiers.        

If there was any truth in such rumors, the rewards for those able to find and make use of such magical abilities could be spectacular. And, if Frieza acted in the same way as he always did, presumptuously waiting far too long before making his final decision, his excess of precaution could eventually mean his defeat. The arrogance that his Master held regarding his almighty power, and the erroneous belief that no one would ever dare to disobey or defy him in any way, or to steal what he wrongly assumed to belong to him alone, could this time bring his downfall. 

Vegeta was no foolish adolescent anymore, and despite having just recovered from the brutal consequences that the disobedience of Frieza’s orders could entail, he still held the conviction that this was a once in a lifetime opportunity, a real chance to change things someway, and maybe bring a little joy and security to his mate, and to the new life growing inside of her.

He knew the risks better than anyone else, and though there was nothing in this world that he detested more than the idea of endangering Bulma and their son by his own initiative, something told the warrior that his woman’s intrepid nature may not be opposed to putting their lives in jeopardy if the final reward meant the real possibility of a harmonious future for her and their little family.

 

As always, the choice would be hers to make.

 

“Bulma,” Vegeta asked in a pensive murmur, holding one of her hands in his and tenderly grazing her cold knuckles with his lips. “If you… If you had a chance, a real chance to… To change things… Would you take it?”

“Of course I would!” She whispered ardently, without even thinking about the hazardous implications behind her mate’s enigmatic question.

“What if it were dangerous, Bulma? What if…?” He immediately shot back, noticing it was quite likely that she’d found his words to be just an imaginary hypothesis. “What if it were truly dangerous? Would you still…?”

“I still would, Vegeta,” Bulma affirmed, her audacious confidence making the Saiyan’s heart blaze with pride, reminding him, once again, just why it had been this woman, and no other, the one he’d chosen as a lifetime companion.  

His fingers tensed around her dainty hand, kissing it again as he inhaled deeply through his nose, mentally bracing himself for the monumental risk he was about to expose the woman he loved to.  

“Are you sure, Bulma?” He asked in search of some final reassurance, an intensity in his eye packed with thrill and pure fear. “Are you absolutely sure?”

“I am,” she smiled fondly at him, a touching smile silently communicating that she knew, that she’d understood his words were a lifechanging proposal, rather than some absurd fantasy. “There has to be more to life than this, Vegeta.” Bulma assured him, a promise which reminded him that, once upon a time, she’d been fortunate enough to enjoy an existence made out of more, infinitely more, than pain and devastation, and that, perhaps, such a life could still be within their reach, if only Destiny deemed them worthy of benevolence, at last. “There has to be…”   

Her devout words were all he needed to see the light, the invigorating breath of fresh air that made him get out of the bed with newfound fortitude, standing by her side, stark-naked, yet enveloped by a magnificent aura of unstoppable determination.

“Ve-Vegeta?” Bulma asked in a state of complete shock, sitting on the mattress as fast as she could, despite her somnolence, while watching him in confusion. “What…? What are you…?”

“I’m leaving tonight.” He stated with simple but grave significance.

The earthling couldn’t stop her face from falling in sad disappointment in response to his disheartening words. “Already?” She enquired, her voice small, disenchanted. “But… But I thought…”

“And you’re coming with me.” Vegeta announced without even letting her finish her sentence, yanking off the sheets from her and taking her in his arms in one smooth motion, smirking with mirth at her loud gasp of girlish excitement.

“I am?” She giggled breathlessly, astounded by her mate’s resolve but instinctively holding onto him, wrapping her arms around his neck as she gawked at him in childlike expectation. “Right now?”

Vegeta bowed his head in assent, carefully contemplating the glorious smile slowly unraveling in that beautiful face of hers, a smile where wonder and exhilaration were quickly shutting out whatever understandable fears that might still be crossing her mind.   

“Bulma…” He murmured on her glossy lips, his arms greedily pulling her tighter, every fiber of his self overjoyed when she naturally reacted to his proximity, a needy moan caressing her throat as she pressed her cute little nose against his. “Do you trust me, woman?”

“With my life.” Bulma pledged in a fierce whisper, melding her mouth with his for a long, languid kiss, letting him know that she trusted him, and that she’d follow him, to the End of the World and back, in whatever quixotic quest he’d invite her to.

He gave himself to her with zeal, pouring everything he had, everything he was into that kiss, unafraid to let her feel his fear, that everlasting fear of loss and failure which had always been his greatest shame, but that he could so openly share in the sacred privacy of their own little Haven.

“Good…” Vegeta smiled, one of those rare, honest to God smiles reserved just for her. “We’re getting out of here.” He proudly declared, stepping into her tiny bathroom while still carrying her in his arms.

 

******************************************

 

Less than an hour later, the couple stood in the middle of her plain apartment, freshly showered and fully dressed for their new adventure. As per Vegeta’s instructions, Bulma had chosen to put on some warm, comfortable clothing, encapsulating all of her belongings except for the magnetic card specifically designed to give her full access to the military base’s secluded hangars.

“Ready?” The warrior questioned, walking towards her balcony while skillfully adjusting his white gloves, and after having tolerantly waited a decent amount of time for Bulma to make sure that she didn’t leave anything of value behind.

The earthling gave one final squeeze to the miniature capsule buried in her clenched fist, before putting it inside the pocket of her pants, zipping it with great care and joining her lover on the balcony. She enfolded her arms around his neck, legs melting at the electrifying sensation of his solid armor pressed against her softness, and her heart rabbiting in sheer titillation at the prospect of the new, unknown journey unfolding before her very eyes.

Bulma turned back to the small room, taking one last glance at the place which had been her home for all of those months, a place first shared with the most unconventional friend she’d ever made, the sadly departed friend whose eccentricities had, quite literally, brought the man who’d changed it all into her life, a place that had been the only witness to the extraordinary bond unexpectedly flourishing between them both.

 

‘A place she’d never, ever, come back to again…’

 

“I’m ready,” she whispered with self-assurance, not even knowing what her mate had in store for her yet, but holding the unwavering belief that Vegeta would do everything in his power to keep her and their son safe from harm.

The Prince’s robust arms found her waist at once, allowing himself the indulgence of affectionately kissing her forehead one final time, before firmly securing her slight figure in his hold, taking to the air and into the starry skies.

They reached the hangars just before twilight, benefiting from the darkness of the night to conceal their surreptitious presence and, this time around, it was Vegeta’s turn to follow his brilliant mate’s advice.

The scientist’s masterful expertise on picking just the right door for access, and on how to take full advantage of the few blind spots that would make it nearly impossible to be spotted by the numerous security cameras, made the fighter cleverly suspect that the little female had already been planning a covert escapade on her own, as did the fact that she appeared to know that the number of sentinels guarding the large building at this hour of the night was considerably smaller than during daytime, with most of the nightguards already sleeping off the copious amounts of cheap booze used to cope with such a boring task anyway.

Bulma shrewdly chose the ideal space pod to flee from the place, a sophisticated, brand-new model which she’d personally repaired herself two days earlier, smartly instructing her man to hide in the shadows while she swiftly removed the tracking device attached to it with her always dexterous hands, and signaling for the Prince, without a word, to join her as soon as she finished her task.

Vegeta entered the cramped vehicle first, carefully sitting cross-legged in the only seat available, while tending a chivalrous hand to his woman. He groaned in want when her voluptuous derriere landed right between his legs, dangerously close to his most delicate area, wriggling on his lap as she accommodated herself, and making him instantly dread the tormenting agony he’d have to endure having to travel with his tempting woman literally atop him throughout their entire trip.

The pod’s door closed slowly, the hangar’s mobile roofs opening for them while the spherical ship gradually took off. The temperature inside descended as they left the base and the vehicle remained suspended for a handful of minutes, levitating outside the planetoid’s atmosphere while Vegeta determined its course, typing in the mysterious coordinates he’d stolen and meticulously memorized, from Frieza’s central computers, before leaving in search of his mate on his first permission off duty after three months in Hell.    

Bulma’s lips remained shut while she let the Prince usher in their new adventure, laying the open palms of her hands on the tinted glass of the pod’s window, praying that no one would have seen two people entering the high-tech vehicle instead of one, thus giving them enough time to leave the spot before arising any suspicions. She gawked in innocent marvel and anticipation at the place they were well on their way to leaving behind, thanking the Gods for saving her from having to carry on her old plans of desertion on her own, knowing just how daunting it would have been to embark on such an odyssey without her man beside her.

“Bulma,” Vegeta softly called for her, moving her away from the glass with utmost care, holding her small hands in his and gently encouraging her to rest her back on his chest. “Are you ready?” He whispered in her ear, his voice warm and reassuring, erasing whatever fears still lingering in her heart.

“I am,” she turned her face to him, a trusting expression adorning her tired features as she nuzzled his cheek with her small nose. “But you still haven’t told me where we’re going…” She pouted, murmuring her demand in her most adorable voice.

Vegeta examined her for a short instant, pondering on whether he should reveal in great detail the particulars of his unusual plan, for as much as his woman loyally believed in him, and in his aptitude to make the right judgment, he wasn’t entirely sure if she’d happily go along with the most bizarre scheme he’d ever bargained for.

“Planet Namek,” his response came following a brief silence, after all, if he couldn’t trust his considerate mate to believe in his instincts as if they were her own, he’d be completely lost.

“Oh…” Bulma muttered in understanding, a secret part of her overcome by a strange sense of déjà vu, as if she’d somehow heard of such a place before. “And what’s in Planet Namek?” She asked with frank curiosity.

His gaze froze on that candid smile of hers, his tongue numb, wondering how, just how he could possibly explain the strand of surreal tales stolen from the broken minds of exotic alien races, stories of wizardry power and alchemy that no one in their right mind would give credit to.

“Magic,” Vegeta answered cryptically, the smoldering intensity in his eyes begging for her to trust in the apparent madness of his ridiculous claims. 

She could have laughed at him, she could have laughed at the absurdity of it all, ordering him to put a stop to this insanity, turn around and get her back to the military base, and out of that stupid pod.

She didn’t.

Instead, her smile sprung up even further, a glowing grin as bright as new silver. “Really?” His mate gasped quietly, staring at him in childlike awe. “That sounds nice…” She murmured graciously, stealing a knowing smirk out of him when he found no hint of prejudice or disapproval in her babyish voice.

 

He knew it.

Only his Bulma could believe in magic, because his Bulma was magic.

 

“We’re sleeping the whole trip, right?” The earthling asked implicitly, taking the freedom to remove his white gloves without even asking for permission.

His response was a grunt of compliance, thoroughly intrigued and amused by his little mate’s actions as she bared his hands for her, a daring sign of intimacy that no other creature in the Galaxy had ever been privy to, most definitely not without his consent.

“Alright…” Bulma whispered with grit, leaning to him for one last kiss, a sensually hot kiss, deep and slow, before the ship’s artificial sleep would claim them both, leaving Vegeta almost out of breath by the time her lips let go of him half-heartedly. She nipped playfully at his bottom lip, smirking naughtily at how ridiculously cute he looked when she was the one bending him to her will and igniting his desire, stopping as she pleased and leaving him wanting for more.

When the nape of her neck rested comfortably on his shoulder, with her hands carefully slipping one of his underneath her thick sweater, and placing it right above her tummy, the Prince stretched to the pod’s controls, prudently releasing the lowest quantity of sedative possible. After all, years and years of space travelling had made his body virtually immune even to the highest amounts of the powerful narcotic, and he’d rather spend the next two weeks in a state of semi-hibernation rather than risking his family’s life by administering a dose far too high for their frail bodies, even if it meant that he wouldn’t get nearly as much rest as his mate and child would.      

“I think we’re ready…” Bulma mumbled sleepily, heavy eyelids dropping, and a contented smile rising in her mouth at the sensation of Vegeta’s second hand gladly joining the first, hiding beneath her cozy clothing and fully covering the small curve in her naked abdomen. 

The Saiyan lowered his chin, carefully accommodating his face into that smooth, welcoming arc between her neck and shoulder, pressing his lips against her honied skin and cracking a faint smile when his mischievous little mate placed her hands atop his, blithely inviting him to keep them right where they were throughout the rest of the trip, knowing that he’d be all too happy to oblige.

Vegeta closed his eyes and took a deep breath, yielding at last to the reassuring calm of the energy of those he cared for the most, drowning in the peaceful glow of the immaculate essence lying under his fingers, reminding him that there were still things worth fighting for, things still worth having, and tempting him to relax and gather as much of his colossal strength as he could, ready to confront the greatest battle of his life.

 

‘If Luck finally smiled their way, maybe someday his Bulma would show him and their son what a yellow rose smelled like...’