Chapter Two:
Blue

The days bled into one another, and Vegeta still found himself locked in an angry rut. The power within him was building, reaching extraordinary new heights that he hadn't known he was capable of. He was strong enough to kill Frieza now, surpassing his one goal in life as if it was nothing. He could feel the potential deep within him, gurgling like a volcano getting ready to erupt. Yet, it still wasn't enough. He hadn't been able to tap into that fire, hadn't found a way of harnessing it to achieve the Legend that he had been promised to him at birth. Which meant he wouldn't be able to surpass that bastard clown Kakarot, and he wouldn't be able to put up a decent fight against the androids. Meaning everyone was going to die, and not by his hand, and he'd failed.

He growled as his bones popped, threatening to dislocated, or simply snap clean in two, with every push-up he completed.

Vegeta felt useless, and it was disarming. He wasn't used to feeling like he owed anyone anything, but all he had to offer the Earthlings that housed him was his body. His strength. And no matter how hard he trained, he couldn't even give them that.

Providing them monetary support so that he didn't feel quite so... pathetic should have been easy, but of course, nothing in his life was a simple as it should be. Despite being Frieza's glorified slave, he had been paid for his services generously, and amassed a fortune perhaps rivalling Bulma's own. Not that he'd had much use for it, mind you. Raditz and Nappa usually blew most of their comparatively meagre salaries in brothels and bars whenever they had some free time. Vegeta, on the other hand, drank very little, stayed well away from any establishment that required you to pay for sex, and only occasionally splashed out on meals that were more favourable than the scattered limbs of the race he'd just annihilated, and a comfortable bed for the night. So his wealth had continued to stack, perhaps even without Frieza's knowledge, built up as a means of eventually surpassing the bastard that stole away his race and his life. But that had been in galactic credits, a currency Earth had never even heard of before, much less adopted for its own use. Now the black card sat uselessly on his bedside table. The most expensive paperweight in the galaxy.

He had contemplated snatching it and abandoning Earth for good, hitting it with a Galick Beam, and watching it fall apart like Arlia. Then he'd use his enormous wealth, as well as his enormous strength, to take over the galaxy and rule in Frieza's place. He was a prince, after all, and a Saiyan prince at that. Sitting atop of a throne of fear and destruction would only restore balance and order to cataclysmic fuck up that was his life. No androids. No infuriating earthlings. No Kakarot.

But...

It not only felt like a cowardly solution to a looming problem, but the idea no longer appealed to him. Though he'd enjoyed planet purging and slaughtering entire species, they were often merely moments of respite. An escapism from Frieza's tyranny. Before Kakarot had turned his world upside down and inside out, Vegeta's entire existence had been dedicated to usurping the galactic war-lord. He'd planned to take the title for himself out of spite, as a finally fuck you to the monster that had ruined him in every way a person could be ruined. But without Frieza to fuck over, and without the heavy burden his father placed on young shoulders, the desire to rule completely fizzled away. Enslaving others wouldn't wash away the scars of his own subjugation. Extirpating planets wouldn't bring back Planet Vegeta. And becoming the self-proclaimed King of the Galaxy wouldn't requite the blood right that was lost the moment his father drew his final breath.

Though he'd never admit it aloud, often refusing to admit it even to himself, Vegeta had a pretty good thing going on Earth. Even if it was just temporary.

The blue-haired Earth woman and her family had been more than accommodating. Providing him with a large room in a mostly private wing of the house (the wench herself had a room in the vicinity, but far enough away to make avoiding her, and the disgusting noises she and her former mate made during their late night rendezvous, easy enough if he put in the effort), an endless supply of surprisingly delicious food, clean clothes, as well as the brand new Gravity Room that she had built from scratch for him. Speaking of, if you could get through the self-entitled, rich-bitch attitude and suggestive mouth, she wasn't such bad company. Bulma definitely had her uses, giddily accepting his demands for faster, stronger drones, or improved armour as a way of challenging herself. It almost reminded Vegeta of the near-suicidal urgency in which he'd accepted mission after mission as a means of bettering himself, honing his senses and increasing his power-level. He had to respect her for that. Her determination to not just win, but endlessly improve upon herself, and her fiery temper would have made for an excellent Saiyan, and it was a shame that this potential would go to waste with her complete lack of any physical power. Still, Bulma provided Vegeta with a verbal sparring partner that helped ease him through his agitation at not being able to ascend, and helped quell the frustrated sense of isolation perpetually nipping at his heels.

Not to mention, she was easy on the eyes. Quite pleasant, actually. Pale and soft, the unusual aquamarine of her hair, coupled with the bright blue of her eyes, giving her an almost ethereal complexion. She was a much more attractive specimen than most of the females Vegeta had dealt with in the past. That being said, Vegeta's experience of females was extremely limited, and his experience of women who somewhat resembled Saiyans – in that they had skin, two arms, two legs, and hands that didn't resemble claws or hooves – was even more so. Bulma was definitely aware of her own beauty, frustratingly so, prancing around in tight, revealing outfits, littering most conversations with dirty innuendos and lewd comments. She'd even had the gall to kiss him.

He flinched at the memory, his cheek suddenly hot where her plump little lips had brushed up against his skin. His opinion of her abruptly changed, darkening.

That bitch and her fucking sneak attacks.

He'd shown her mercy, when she was hunched over and sobbing, and she'd repaid the favour with an attack designed to reduce his ego to rubble. He hated her for it. The only consolation was the bitch seemed utterly miserable, moping around the compound lacking all purpose, huffing quietly and consoling herself with unhealthy amounts of sweets, cakes and alcohol. Good. Fuck her. Vegeta was glad she was suffering.

He continued with his pushed ups, his breathing laboured thanks to the stifling gravity. Everything hurt, and it was becoming increasingly more difficult to draw in a breath deep enough to satisfy his starving lungs.

Fuck her. Fuck Kakarot. And fuck those fucking androids.

Bulma sat on the floor of her lab, empty blueprints spread out across the floor, the trash can overflowing with a mountain of discarded plans and ideas. She'd been attempting to design a new armour for her houseguest, busying herself with the request. The chest plates had been the easy part, and she'd managed to adapt them so that they were light and flexible, but twice as strong. It was the under-armour that was proving to be the issue. Still as skin tight, as per his demands (and Bulma was beginning to wonder whether he had a fetish), but with increased durability and protective properties. She'd been tossing around ideas, toying with different materials, different structural patterns, but she just couldn't get it to do what she wanted. In truth, she was finding it hard to concentrate. It had been fifteen days since she'd last spoken to Yamcha. The longest they'd gone without speaking in years. At least, the longest they'd gone without death or space travel keeping them apart.

She'd missed him less when he was dead. At least then she'd known she'd get him back somehow, even if it meant traversing across galaxies and fighting an alien war-lord. She'd always been so certain that they'd succeed in their quest, because even when faced with the very worst life had to offer, they'd always succeeded and come through in the end. It was just part of who they were, part of the brilliance of her friends, and it had kept her sane throughout the chaos.

She checked her cell for messages. Nothing. She checked her answerphone for third time that morning. Nada. Getting desperate, she checked her emails, knowing full well Yamcha never wrote emails. Probably didn't even have an email address. Zilch. Bulma groaned, hugging her knees to her chest and suppressing a sob. Deciding enough was enough, and having a pretty good idea where her boyfriend – now ex-boyfriend – may be hiding, Bulma pulled her phone out of her pocket.

She keyed in the number, holding her breath until it picked up on the fourth ring, "Krillin?

"Oh, uh, hey …Bulma. Long time no speak," Krillin sounded nervous, and she could hear the muffled voice of someone who suspiciously sounded like Yamcha in the background.

"Yeah, it's been a while," Bulma said, swallowing the lump in her throat along with her pride, adding: "Is Yamcha there?"

Krillin spluttered, and for a moment Bulma felt guilty. She knew all too well that her friend was ill-equipped to deal with any sort of potentially awkward or uncomfortable situations, and yet she'd gone out of her way to involve him in her relationship drama. "Hey, listen Bulma, I know things are awkward between you guys right now, but we kinda have more important things to be focusing on, don't ya think?"

"He's there, isn't he?"

"He is... he came to Kame House to train for a while. But I... uh, I don't think he wants to talk to you right now," Krillin said. After a moment, he sighed and added, "for what it's worth, I'm really sorry."

Her temper flared within her. Yamcha had been the one to cheat on her, and yet she was the one grovelling. Rapidly losing patience, and not accustomed to being told no, Bulma grit her teeth. "Tell him to come to the phone right now. If he doesn't, I'll send Vegeta over, and I've given him permission to do whatever he want to you guys."

"...hang on."

There was a scuffle, and Bulma could hear the back-and-forth, hushed, frustrated tones and a healthy sprinkling of cursing. 'Come on, man. She's fuckin' bluffing. Do you really think Vegeta would do anything she asked him to?' 'Probably not. But I also don't think he'd pass up an opportunity to kill one of us. Besides, he, uh, might still hold a grudge about Namek.' 'Maybe we could take him?' 'You're kidding, right?' 'Hey, fuck you, man. What's that supposed to mean?' 'It means I'd rather not beshort, dark and grumpy's latest victim just because you don't want to have The Talk with your ex-girlfriend.' '...Fucksake. FINE.' There was another scuffle, the phone being passed between hands,

"Bulma," It was Yamcha's voice, uncharacteristically sullen. "What do you want."

"You've been ignoring me ever since..."

"Yeah, no shit. What. Do. You. Want?"

Bulma swallowed, unnerved by Yamcha's hostility. She should have expected as much. Bulma had broken his heart when she'd finished with him for good, even if he'd been somewhat responsible. "To talk."

"You realise I'm trying train for the androids, right? But whatever, I'm listening. Talk."

Bulma froze, realising only then that she didn't actually know what she wanted to say. Her goal had simply been to grab his attention, to kill the lonely feeling seeping through her veins and fill the void in her chest. She felt as though she might throw up, too many ideas and words and notions swarming around in her mind. Instead, she simply said "I miss you."

"Don't...don't do that. It's not fair."

"Refusing to talk to me for weeks isn't fair either, but such is life."

An uncomfortable silence fell between the two of them once more, and Bulma fidgeted with one of the pencils she had been using to draw up her plans. She could almost hear Yamcha scratching the back of his head, shuffling from foot to foot. She wanted him to say something, anything, even if he was just going to berate and insult her. She could handle that, insults rolled off her back easily enough.

"Look, Bulma you can't just have your cake and eat it too. You don't want me, that's fine. I know I messed up, and I'm sorry. You have to make up your mind, if you want me, that's great. But if you don't, it's really fuckin' cruel of you to string me along like this."

Somehow, despite her overall lack of strength, Bulma snapped the pencil she was holding. She looked at it numbly, her heartbeat quickening. "Yamcha, you know I don't want to get back together. I love you. I love you so much. But I'm not in love with you anymore. It wouldn't be fair on either of us to stay like this... It's... it's why it's easy enough to forgive you for your... indiscretion."

"Is there someone else?"

Bulma froze, and despite herself her eyes flicked to monitor displaying the currently empty Gravity Room. Images of Vegeta, his muscles rippling, skin shining, flashed across her mind. Shovelling meals into his ravenous mouth, occasionally grunting his 'thanks'. His uncharacteristic, almost kind smile when he'd walked in on her crying in the kitchen. A blush inadvertently crept across her skin. "No, I swear I haven't touched another man." Neatly avoiding the question.

"Oh, okay. That's ...good. I guess."

"Yeah."

God, this was so awkward. Bulma wanted the ground to swallow her up, wishing she'd never bothered to track Yamcha down in the first place. Was he even worth it? That frustratingly handsome and sweet bastard wasn't anything special, right? It wasn't like he'd been the number one person in her life for over a decade. He was just... Yamcha. At least, that's what she tried to tell herself.

"Look, B, I've really got to go," Yamcha said finally. "Krillin wasn't lying when he said I came here to train. The gap between us and the Saiyans is just getting bigger all the time, and I'd like to at least protect myself so I don't die." He laughed darkly. "Or, at least I don't die so easily."

"Oh, yeah. That's fine."

"So... just give me some time, okay? And don't send Vegeta to kill us. I'd rather not die by his hands. Again."

"Okay."

And then he hung up on her, and Bulma was left alone with her thoughts again. Time, yeah, sure. That was more easily said than done. They didn't have time. If things didn't work out in their favour, if The Boy From The Future was right and they were killed, then time was a commodity they were rapidly running out of. Fuck Yamcha. Fuck his spiky hair and charming smile. Fuck him right in the ass. Vegeta too. For good measure, fuck Goku and all other others. She was fed up with muscled boneheads, with big pecs and bad attitudes. She was fed up with being tossed on the sidelines now she was no longer needed by them. She was fed up of feeling lonely and scared with no-one to comfort her or tell her it was all going to be okay.

Pulling her knees up to her chest again, she hugged herself tightly in an attempt at comfort. She felt as though her grip on her life had slipped substantially, and she was now merely a spectator to the events that were happening to her without her consent. She used to feel important. Like she had some modicum of control over the world around her. She used to be front and centre with the others, even if she had little to offer in way of physical strength or ability. But her role was slowly being tugged away from her, and she'd even been abandoned for long stretches of time while on Namek. Now she wasn't needed, not by anyone, and she'd isolated herself even further.

With a shuddering sob, Bulma pressed her face against her knees and tried to shut out the world around her.

Bulma must have dozed off, waking with a start as a trill ringing echoed through her lab. Drowsily she stretched up and clicked the 'accept' button, rubbing her eyes as she tried to re-orientate herself.

Vegeta's angry face flashed up on the screen, his onyx eyes absolutely blazing with unchecked fury.

He'd been grumpier than usual, as if being so nice to her (or, as nice as he possibly could be) had sapped him of the finally vestiges of kindness he had left within him. Not that that well had ran particularly deep anyway, but the fact that he hadn't snapped her neck was yet (despite his many half-hearted threats) was a sign that he wasn't quite the bastard he had initially been when he'd landed on Earth.

"Woman, your fucking Gravity Room is broken. Again."

Bulma didn't have time for the Prince of all Assholes, not today. She had been watching him via one of the monitors, distracting herself (or, at least attempting to distract herself and failing miserably) by making sure he was still alive. And, if she was being honest with herself, admiring the view of a very sweaty, shirtless Saiyan. But Vegeta had, as usual, pushed his body and the technology to the limit, and Bulma, having decided enough was enough, had manually overwritten the gravity when he'd left for a food run. Her already frayed patience was wearing thinner and thinner by the second, and she didn't have enough of it left to deal with him or his self-destructive bullshit. "And what do you want me to do about it?"

"Well, if you want to fucking live and not be slaughtered by the androids that will be here within the next few years, I suggest you fix it. Alternatively, I can save the machines a trip, and kill you all myself because I can't fucking train any other way."

Bulma rolled her eyes, tired of his melodrama, too invested in her own. "Relax, jackass. I remotely overrode the system because you were damn near killing yourself. I'll turn it back on tomorrow."

"You bitch. You'll turn it back on now," Vegeta threatened, his expression darkening.

"No. You're pushing yourself too hard. You're going to end up getting seriously hurt. Or worse."

He tensed, and Bulma could see the veins popping on his forehead and neck. "Don't test me," Vegeta growled. "I've killed stronger men for far less."

"I know you won't hurt me," Bulma said defiantly, hands on hips.

Vegeta laughed, his eyes narrowing, the vein on his forehead still throbbing dangerously. "Woman, I spent a year of my life travelling to this God forsaken planet with the sole intention of stealing your Dragon Balls and then obliterating every last one of you."

"So do it now," Bulma dared. "You could probably destroy this planet in a heartbeat if you wanted to, and you've got the element of surprise on your side this time. The others wouldn't know what hit 'em, and by the time they do work it out it'll be too late for them to do anything about it."

"Are you mocking me?"

"No, just pointing out the obvious."

"The obvious being?"

"You won't ever destroy the Earth because you don't want to. You're not the same person as back then, and I think you secretly like it here."

Vegeta spluttered, comically so, and Bulma had to dash a hand to her face to stifle the giggle that lurched up and out of her. For a master tactician and mass-murderer, Vegeta was far too easily flustered. He was incredibly prudish, his rich, dark skin burning crimson whenever Bulma said or did anything mildly suggestive. Bulma had put that down to Saiyan biology, though. After all, Goku had been painfully oblivious to anything sexual, so much so that she often found it hard to believe he was capable of creating a child. Saiyans just didn't seem biologically wired to desire or understand sex, so it wasn't entirely surprising that Vegeta didn't know how to react around the subject. Though it did provide Bulma with endless opportunities to amuse herself. But, more than that, any time Bulma switched the conversation to anything remotely resembling pleasantries, or any potential affection he might hold for her or her planet, he'd clam up and shut down.

When he'd regained some sort of composure, scowling like a petulant schoolboy, he jabbed a finger at the monitor. "Don't mistake my desire to get stronger and defeat Kakarot for attachment to this miserable rock. Test me any further and I'll soon forget about my pursuit and turn you into dust instead"

"As I said, do it then. Kill me. As soon as Goku and the others find out, they'll come and kill you. We do have a Super Saiyan on our side, after all. And after they're done killing you...then they'll wish me back with the Dragon Balls rendering this entire thing completely inconsequential."

"I'm going to kill you slowly," Vegeta growled. "I'm going to kill you, and then I'm going to murder all of your friends one by one."

"What is your problem?"

"You. You're my problem. Your incessant babbling, your overbearing need to try and mother me by tending to my wounds. Your audacity to kiss me, then turn off the power during the middle of my training."

This time, she couldn't restrain herself Bulma collapsed into laughter, "So that's why you've been sulking. You're pissed because I kissed your cheek. Honestly, Vegeta, how old are you?"

He huffed, and even through the monitor Bulma could make out the rush of blood to his face. "Now I know why that weakling chose to satisfy himself with another woman. I'd probably do the same if I were in his position."

His words slapped Bulma hard across the face, and she winced in spite of herself. Her bottom lip trembled, just slightly, and pang of what appeared to be guilt momentarily flickered across Vegeta's face. But it was gone before she could decipher it, along with the last remnants of her patience. Her fingers travelled robotically to the switch that powered the Gravity Room and flicked it.

"Fine, whatever. Everything's back online. Enjoy your training, jackass. Don't expect me to do anything about it when you die."

He opened his mouth the reply, but Bulma killed the video feed before any words left his lips.

The air was hot. Suffocatingly so. It weighed down on Vegeta, searing and wet in his lungs. It made trying to draw in a substantial breath near impossible.

His shorts were soaked to his skin, both with his sweat and blood, and his normally gravity defiant hair was beginning to sag under the increased pressure. One of the drones zipped past him, the shot it fired at him barely missing his right thigh. Vegeta roared, firing a weak ki blast at it to disarm it. He wanted to destroy it completely, but fuck if he was going to go crawling back to her again so she could fix it.

Vegeta couldn't get Bulma out of her head. Her arrogant sneer as she dared him to kill her, her tinkling laugh as she openly mocked him. He was training again to spite her. Of course, he was chasing Super Saiyan status too, but the very fact that she had told him to stop – that she had attempted to force him to stop – had been enough to convince him to push his body twice as hard. He was done with being told what to do. He'd been forced to bow to Frieza for over twenty years, and enough was enough. He refused to be anyone's little lapdog ever again.

He kicked at another drone, catching it when it came hurtling towards his chest and swiftly disarming it.

Who the hell did she think she was? Did she know who he was? He was a prince. He demanded respected just by virtue of being alive. Not only had she been toying with him for months now. Parading around in little more than her underwear, and throwing herself at him with a cackle whenever he sneered in disgust. She'd been bossing him around for months too, dictating his workout schedule, demanding that he shower, or change into clean clothes, or rest his aching body. And now she was tampering with the Gravity Room. Again. Delaying his ascension to the Legend. Again.

That stupid fucking blue haired whore.

Bulma was able to crawl under his skin like no other. Perhaps with the exception of Frieza, but even then Vegeta had tolerated most of the shit that came flying his way with the knowledge that he would one day overthrow the bastard and then he'd be the one laughing. Nappa and Raditz were able to irritate him, sure, but they couldn't rile him up the same way she could. Frieza's peons were easily enough dispatched if any of them happened to get a little too cocky and forget their place, and when people in general very rarely went out of their way to aggravate someone who could fell entire planets with the tip of his finger. But Bulma seemed to relish in tormenting him. In making him squirm and boil. She didn't seem to fear his anger, instead enjoying the flare of his temper, as if getting on his bad side was a good thing.

He'd assumed that she'd be more tolerable now that she'd tossed aside that worthless excuse for a warrior she'd paired herself off with. If anything, she'd gotten worse. It had only gone downhill since the kissing incident, and he was able to tolerate her company less and less. She was either in a foul mood, sulking aimlessly around the building – often in his way – and the once witty back-and-forth between them was no longer enjoyable, but insufferable. Or, she'd dial up her vulgarity to the max, making him frustrated and uncomfortable in a way he had no patience to deal with.

Another drone swooped by, beginning to glow as it powered up it's attack. Vegeta's fist connected with the it, using more force than usual, and he instantly regretted it. It shattered under impact, showering him in scraps of metal and glass. He could feel dozens of little shards splitting the skin across his chest and upper-arms, but it was his fist that suffered the most damage. The pain ripped through him like a tidal wave, working its way up his arm and across his nervous system.

"FUCK"

He dared to look down at his hand to inspect the damage, cringing when he he saw large chunks of the drone sticking out of it. Some shards hard sliced flesh all the way to the bone, flaps of skin and flesh hanging sickeningly away from where it should be. It definitely wasn't the worst injury he'd ever sustained, not by far, but it did hurt.

More than anything had hurt him in a while.

He grit his teeth, clutching his fist to his heart, the blood staining his chest and puddling on the floor with a rapid drip, drip, drip. It would definitely need a couple of days to heal, ruling out any intensive training for the time being. Pushing the goal of Legendary even further out of his reach. He could already hear the smug 'I told you so' that he knew would be coming.

"Kami, what happened to you?"

Vegeta was perched on the edge of the couch, clumsily trying to the clean his hands and wrap them in some sort of bandage. He had several small, thin gashes across his chest and upper arms too, but his hands seemed to be in the worst shape, bleeding profusely and somewhat misshapen. Bulma had followed the trail of blood from the kitchen door, but she hadn't expected him to look this bad. He was pale, his usually bronzed skin an unhealthy ashy colour, and his eyes looked sunken and bruised. Her earlier anger towards him instantly melted away, replaced by a concern that made her chest throb uncomfortably. His jaw tightened when she took a seat next to him, but he stopped in his attempts at patching himself up and held out his hands for her to inspect. They were a mess, large shards of glass and metal embedded in the flesh, and when her gaze roamed over the rest of his body, Bulma could see smaller splinters littered throughout his torso. She sighed, realising that he'd been trying to patch himself up without even removing the offending foreign objects, losing an alarming amount of blood in the process.

"One of the drones... exploded," Vegeta said finally, avoiding her gaze and staring at the crimson puddle forming in the floor between the couch and the coffee table.

"Uhuh. By itself?" Bulma asked, reaching into the bloodied first aid kit, taking out a pair of tweezers, various dressings, saline and stitches. She took his offered hand wordlessly, setting to work on clearing him up. Vegeta's skin was unusually cold, and the image of him broken and near death from the Gravity Room explosion flickered involuntarily into her mind, making her flinch. Yet again something of her creation had caused him excessive pain, and she felt guilty for ever agreeing to help him.

"No... I hit it."

"You're an idiot."

"No-one asked you to help me, you know," Vegeta groused. But his words lacked their usual venomous edge, and he was struggling to keep his eyes open. Bulma tried not to let the fresh wave of panic overtake her senses. She needed to be sensible. Let the rational, scientific side of her take control. She could freak out later, in the privacy of her own room.

"True. But no-one's asked me to stop."

"Tch."

The sat in silence for a moment, Bulma trying to disguise the tremble of her hands as she patched him up. Occasionally she'd steal a glance up at his face, alarmed at how tired and unwell he looked, angry that he had put himself in this position. That he had put her in this position. Again.

"Why do you push your body like this?" Bulma asked, tweezing out a shard of metal from between his knuckles and dropping it into an empty coffee cup. She picked up his hand, inspected the wound and tutted. It was deep, almost to the bone. It would still only take a couple of days to heal, but it had to hurt.

"To get stronger."

Bulma gently lay his hand down on her lap, soaked a cotton ball in saline and set to work cleaning the wound. He flinched at the touch. ."Well yeah, no shit. But do you have to almost kill yourself every other week? It's like you weren't content with just surviving the Gravity Room explosion. You have to try and out-do yourself and find more creative ways to attempt suicide."

"I want to beat Kakarot," Vegeta said simply. He pulled himself up a bit more, straightening himself out. To Bulma's relief, the colour was already returning to his face, and she couldn't help but take a second to marvel at the healing abilities of aliens. "Didn't your little bald friend tell you that Saiyans grow stronger every time they nearly die? I'm being pragmatic."

Bulma sighed, "And what if you actually die? I can't wish you back with the Earth's Dragon Balls again. You've already died once before, remember?"

"Oh yes, I remember." Vegeta spat out through gritted teeth. "If I die it's none of your concern. You said as much yourself."

"Of course it's my concern. Can you think of the media frenzy? 'Body of alien prince found on Capsule Corp. grounds, killed by the latest inventions of the ever fantastic, incredibly beautiful Bulma Briefs.' There'll be paparazzi everywhere, and probably a dumb petition saying we should shut down and it's all my fault. That I killed the handsome would-be hero and doomed the world. Give it a few years and there will even be a crappy made-for-TV movie about us, and they'll paint you as some poor, misunderstood hero, and me as some negligent, big business shrew."

Vegeta stared blankly at her, not fully understanding half of what she had said, nor really caring. He made a non-committal noise and turned his face away.

"I'm kidding," Bulma said, an edge of concern to her voice. She began to suture the smaller gashes on his hands, turning them occasionally this way or that to get a better angle. "I don't want you to die because you're one of us now. I've had enough of my friends die on me in the past, I don't want to add you to the list."

"As you've so thoughtfully pointed out, I've already died," Vegeta muttered. "And we're not friends."

"Oh."

The words stung, and Bulma couldn't help but feel a little sad that he continued to push her away. She was so sure she'd urged something resembling a friendly familiarity out of him following her breakup with Yamcha. As abrasive as he was, she liked having him around. It made her feel useful, testing the boundaries of her scientific abilities. It eased the loneliness that came with the absence of her friends. She was lost between worlds, and so was Vegeta. Though his loss was a lot more literal. She had hoped that they could share a sort of comradery.

Sensing the shift in mood, Vegeta huffed, his shoulders tensing and jaw popping. "You humans always take everything so personally. I don't have any friends. I never have."

It made Bulma feel a little better. Just a little. "What about that big guy who came with you to Earth?"

"Who, Nappa?" Vegeta snorted.

"Sure, Nappa, whatever."

"He had to look after me. I was a child when Planet Vegeta was destroyed, and the only living heir to the Saiyan royal family. He was duty bound."

"Okay sunshine, so what about Goku's brother?"

Vegeta shrugged. "Raditz was an imbecile who clung to Nappa and I for survival. Though, if given the choice now, I'd choose him over Kakarot."

Bulma's brows knitted together. It just seemed incredibly ...sad. It felt as though he was attempting to brag, like any sort of emotional attachment was a weakness to be tossed aside immediately, but he just came across as someone who was painfully lonely attempting to pass it off as a choice, rather than something beyond his control. She looked at him, but he refused to hold her gaze. She wanted to reach out and cup his face, forcing him to look at her, but she restrained herself. Her hands were thick with his rapidly congealing blood, and even if it wasn't she knew there's no way he'd allow her to do so. It was hard to believe he was a mass murderer when he sat there like that, looking dishevelled and broken.

"Aren't you going to say it?" Vegeta huffed, his cheeks a faint pink.

Bulma's brows knitted together in confusion. She went back to stitching he wounds, thankful she had a strong stomach. "Say what?"

"'I told you so.'"

Bulma stopped, staring at him open mouthed with a look of undisguised shock on her face. "No, of course not."

"Tch. Not like you to pass up an opportunity to be an insufferably smug bitch."

Bulma winced. "Yeah, well gloating isn't as fun when you're seriously hurt. The worry kinda wins out."

"Tch."

They didn't say another word as she finished the stitches. Nor did they speak as she bandaged his fists. When she was done she packed away the first aid kit and cleaned up the bloody coffee table and floor as best she could. He watched her through half-lidded eyes, breathing noisily through his nose as she went about her business. When she was done, and the living room looked less like a crime scene, and Vegeta less like a murder victim, she rose to her feet and made to abandon the living room in favour of going to bed. Before she left Bulma glanced back over her shoulder. Vegeta was reclining on the sofa now, his head thrown back, but his eyes were fixed firmly on her. He looked tired, and surprisingly young. It made Bulma's heart spasm uncomfortably in her chest.

"Hey, Vegeta?" She asked softly.

"What now, woman?"

"Just... be careful, okay?"

Vegeta narrowed his eyes, his lips parted ever so slightly as if he were about to speak. Bulma braced herself for a scathing remark or insult, but to her surprise it never came. Instead he closed his mouth again, nodded his head sharply just the once, and turned his face away.

"Woman?" She was halfway out of the door again when he called for her, his voice low.

"Yeah?"

"...I was wrong when I said that I understood why your lover cheated on you. I don't understand at all."

Bulma sucked in a sharp way, shock giving way to a sense of giddy understanding. Vegeta never apologised, but this was as close as he had ever been to saying sorry. The corners of her lips turned up.

"Thanks, Vegeta. Goodnight."

"Hn."

A/N Thank you for all of your lovely reviews, I treasure them all. Currently I update more regularly to Ao3 (username: Mynsii), including NSFW content that I need to omit to comply with guidelines, a series of one shots, and a vegebul AU 'City of Stars' which won second place in TPaTH 2017 Awards 'Best of the Undiscovered' category. Although I promise to make an effort to try harder with updating here on .

Thank you all again for your lovely comments, and I'm glad you're enjoying the story so far

-Mynsii