Author's Note: This particular piece is based on the manga, where Vegeta comes to live with Bulma and does not leave for a period of time (to return later to meet Goku and Future Trunks) like he does in the anime. This is set before the announcement of the incoming androids. I have moved everything over to syropae (.wordpress) .com but all fanfics will continue to be uploaded and updated on fanfiction (.net) . The website above is meant to function as a space for discussion and critical reviews, uploading of fanart and status updates on fanfics (the last especially important as I often will have long spells between updating).

Normalcy

They sit in the kitchen, listening to the rain beat against the glass. Shadows dance in the evening light, twirling across the walls and reaching down into the floors. She is unfocused, her mind wandering, replaying the odd encounters that have begun to define the ordinary narrative that is her life. The everyday occurrences that make up the lives of others now strange and unfamiliar activities within the confines of her routine.

She glimpses at her lover, his scarred face half hidden in the darkness that has slowly seeped into the space. She wonders if he feels as lost as she does now that their lives have returned to something that others can only dream of. The mundane tasks of daily life frustrating her, making her feel as though there is something more than the simplistic pleasures of labour and domesticity. Her own story has been anything but normal, and her inability to adhere to the particular social script is both exasperating and liberating.

"It is strange to be back." His voice breaks the solitude, his eyes on the world outside the glass. She turns her attention towards him.

"What was it like?" He glances at her, an odd look deep within the dark hues of his eyes.

"Painful. It was painful. And then it was nothing." She nods her head, never having experienced death. It has changed him, them. She wonders if they can still be the same, their lives now each marked differently, the circumstances of their separation more than just a distance. Silence follows settling in the room with only the soft pelts of rain and the ticking of the clock providing a soundtrack.

The stillness that has come to represent their relationship is disturbed by the presence of a third man, his demeanour overwhelming, his aura sparking; hissing in the shadows and bringing to reality the extraordinary circumstances her life sometimes take. He strides into the kitchen, paying no heed to herself and her lover, ravaging the fridge to find something to satiate his never-ending hunger. But she can feel the heat radiate off of his body, the remnants of electricity that is weaved into the core of his existence.

"I cannot believe you let him live here." The resentment is laced within his words; she can sense his seething hatred vibrate from his body. He does not try to disguise his loathing, nor dampen the volume of his tone. He intends on her houseguest to hear him.

"He needed a place to stay." She observes her houseguest closely, water dripping down from his frame and pooling onto the floor, a towel thrown across his bare shoulder. If he can hear them, he is choosing not to respond. Her words do not sooth her lover, his eyes narrowed on the slashes that mar the Saiyan's back.

"What if he hurts you and your family?" She reaches over and grips his hand, entwining her fingers with his.

"He is not a danger to us." He is unconvinced, and turns his attention back towards the rain, the droplets sliding down the transparent walls. He does not understand why she has extended her generosity to this man, and she cannot fault him for it, the circumstances of his death sanctioned by the one who currently resides within the sanctuary of her home.

She glances back into the kitchen, and the monster is there, his obsidian stare burning right through her. She cannot read his expression, but she is drawn to him, and their gazes lock for a moment, sheets of slate piercing the blue gems.

"I wonder when Goku will return." His voice is far away as she continues to observe the man in her kitchen, the vigour of his presence occupying her periphery. He is death and bloodlust, fear and ambiguity. She finds it exhilarating, the uncertainty he brings to her life. "Then maybe things might return to normal." The significance of his statement weighs heavily on her mind. Her bandit is banking on the arrival of their hero to set things right, to bring them back to a time before their lives were tainted with destruction and chaos. She has not determined how this is different from their early adventures, how this particular man has changed everything.

He grips her hand tighter, and for a moment she is pleased with the act of possession. She turns her attention away to give her lover a look of gratitude and content, but she is startled to find his hard eyes focused past her, fixated on the dark man that invades her space. She follows his gaze, and there in the eyes of the monster is a challenge, the slight smirk etched into his face. Her love clenches her hand firmly, and she begins to realise that perhaps it is not the result of his death at the hands of this man that infuriates him so, but the threat of his presence on her notions of normalcy, the manner in which his everyday existence has become an integral thread that is the fabric of her life.