#week3mayhem2018

Image 1:  Can’t you be more careful?

Image 2:  Hey, that was my food!

Image 3:  How can you be this delicate?

From the slight crack in the cellar door Bulma and Tien saw 3 men forcefully enter the cottage. The two smaller men seemed to be carrying a much larger, nearly unconscious one. The concealed two instantly recognized Yamcha. And Bulma recognized the other to be the prince. Her mind was suddenly flying, trying to piece together the situation, and then…

“Who is trip trapping on my bridge, and trespassing in my home?!” yelled a familiar  prepubescent voice. The unsurprisingly agile young boy swung down from the rafters like an exotic eastern monkey. His feet landed in perfect sync as he immediately stabled himself. In his two hands he held a long staff, a memento from Bulma’s father. Though her father had only used it as a walking stick in his later years, Goku seemed to favor it a weapon.

Though she feared for the boy's safety she knew very well he could hold his own in one on one combat. And with the larger man seemingly incapacitated, Goku and Yamcha could defend themselves if need be. She frantically looked around for the other missing two, Oolong would be easy to spot, but Lazuli was a master at hide and seek. Neither were in plain sight, which comforted her to some extent.

“Well speak up mister!” the monkey boy bellowed, pointing the slender red rod towards the prince.

Vegeta scanned the boy, from messy black head to dirty bare toes. Something about him seemed familiar. The hair, his striking dark and determined eyes, even the way he held himself, ready to lunge. He was so familiar yet so foreign and strange. Even the way he spoke, authoritative and calculated. Yes, Vegeta had seen this boy somewhere before, though he couldn't tell where.

“Who are you boy? And do you know who you are talking to?!” he retorted, with a disgusted look on his face.

“I am Goku, and no I don't know who you are, I've never met you before.” the boy replied rather matter of factly.

Feeling the slight tension between Vegeta and Goku, Yamcha cut in to calm the situation.

“Goku, he’s fine, he won't hurt us… for now. We need Bulma though! Where is she?”

The ominous mention of “for now" horrified Bulma, but she trusted Yamcha and decided to reveal herself. She whispered lightly to Tien to keep the girls hidden while she figured the situation out.

Goku completely let down his guard at Yamcha’s reassurance. He grinned a playful and mischievous grin, announcing “Alright I'll go get her from her hiding spot!”

Oh come on! She silently uttered, raising her open palm to her clammy forehead. Disgruntled as she was, she climbed out of the cellar door as quiet as a mouse. Luckily the prince wasn't looking in her direction, rather he focused on Goku with a very odd concentration.

Bulma extended her legs, pushing herself to a mostly standing position. She brushed the dust and dirt from the cellar off of her flaxen colored shift and bloomers. Her hair was tied loosely behind her head, but a large portion of her bangs fell softly in front of her eyes. Some strands from that portion had begun to soak the sweat from her forehead, and stuck to her face.

She stepped from the hallway connecting the kitchen and entryway, fist to her brow in preparation to bow. But she immediately caught herself, a man bows, a woman minds her modesty with a curtsey. Her fingertips traced the lace bottom of her shift and her hands pulled in each direction spreading the cloth for a proper bend. She swept her right leg behind the left and slowly dipped into a low, respectful greeting.

“Your Highness,” she breathed.

Yamcha nearly cried out, your highness?! But was cut off by the prince.

“Disgraceful! Your immodesty is only forgivable because this is an unexpected… visit… but you should be ashamed to even present yourself to me in such a state. Begone! Cover your nakedness!” Vegeta spewed after taking in the shocking visual of her.

Her face spontaneously combusted into flames the second she realized what she was wearing. And the Prince called her out so… elegantly. He could not have worded his disgust in such a way to make her feel any worse. Damn that's embarrassing… She shrieked internally. Without hesitation she fled to her chambers for a heavier, more company appropriate smock.

Yamcha turned to Vegeta when Bulma was out of earshot.

“Listen, I don't know what kind of crime warrants a visit of the prince himself, but please know she's done nothing wrong. Let her pay by healing your friend, and let her go.” The scar faced bandit pled.

“Don’t speak so plainly to your Prince! And I'll see to it she is punished of her crime regardless of what happens to Nappa, mark my word.”

 …

 Soon, the physician's daughter had Nappa situated.

“I've given him quite a large dose of opium, taking his size into account. He will be comfortable for now, but I'll need to know what the ailment is to properly treat him.”

She stood with authority and intelligence in her posture. She sported a white smock, tied in the waist that fell loosely to her ankles. She had a cloth covering most of her face and gloves on in case Nappa vomited again. She'd given Goku instructions to gather the rest of the children and wait in the cellar until this was all over. I'll come get you as soon as they leave. She half heartedly promised. Honestly, she had no idea what would happen to her in the next few minutes or hours. But what did happen was very far from anyone's expectations.

“He said he'd been poisoned. However he's been sick for the last few days, maybe he is just delirious.” the prince explained.

“That would explain the vomiting and the pale complexion, but those would be symptomatic of most illnesses. I need more time to observe him... Your grace.”

Vegeta sneered at the girl. Tch. He wanted to say he didn't really care whether Nappa lived or died. But he needed backup, and if anyone would kill the Great General, it would be the most powerful man in the kingdom, the prince himself. There's no way the prince would let him be beaten by a coward who poisoned him.

“Do what you must.” he replied, grasping his long navy cloak. Before leaving the room he glared at Yamcha, the way an alpha wolf would intimidate another male during meal time.

“Let's let him rest, Yamcha. Thank you, for doing this and I am so sorry to have dragged you into my mess…” Bulma nearly choked out. She felt her eyes becoming hot and wet, feeling responsible for his predicament. Yamcha instinctively leaned in for an embrace or a kiss, but Bulma pulled back. Silently she swept past him to meet the prince in the kitchen. Yamcha stayed a while thinking about his decisions.

“I'll fix you some food, your highness. And you're welcome to stay as long as it takes for Nappa to heal.” she offered.

With a grunt he accepted the food, the sliced apple that was meant for Tien and Goku, along with cheeses, cured meat, and a glass of wine. She secretly hoped the wine would loosen him up because his sober state was nearly unbearable.

Bulma and Goku fixed a room for the prince, with the softest of the hospital's twenty mattresses and a pea blossom bouquet for fragrance. I don't even treat myself to such luxury. She lamented.

She decided to conceal the children longer, in case anything happened to her, they would be able to escape.

 …

 It was early the next morning when Nappa said his final words.

Goku had wandered into his hospital room early in the morning to observe the giant. Goku had never seen such a big man in all his life. It was both daunting and exciting. He wanted to challenge the man to a spar when he awoke, like he, Krillin and Tien did with the old martial arts master in town. Master Roshi had challenged Goku to find bigger and stronger opponents. Goku delighted in the idea of becoming stronger to protect his family… and for fun of course.

 ...

 Nappa dreamt of one thing for the entirety of his sleep. He replayed a peculiar conversation he had with the Regent a fortnight ago.

“Your grace,” Nappa greeted, head low and fist to brow.  He had been called into a meeting in the King’s counsel, though he had no idea what it was about. He was generally not invited to such discussions unless they involved war or battle, both of which had not occurred recently. To say the call for him was odd may have been an understatement.

“General Nappa. Please stand. Join us at the table, our guest.”

Nappa lifted himself from the wooden floor. At the table sat several confidantes, and an ambassador. There was the Regent himself at the head of the table. He was cloaked in black and crimson, which suited him well. There were small golden chains latched from his cloak to his lapels. His collar was a frilly black satin that crawled like a lizard up his thick neck. His skin was dark, and scarred. He too had seen battles, many of the same Nappa had, though they once fought on opposite sides. As handsome as the Regent was, Nappa wasn't jealous. He was thankful that his own face hadn't  been scarred in such a way, or else the castle maids wouldn't favor him!

To the left of the Regent was Piccolo, the highest ranking monk in the kingdom who attended the meetings as a spiritual guide. He was draped in loose white linens, no doubt an inexpensive thread. He was a very serious man and rarely spoke. He was very tall and muscular, but he wasn't intimidating. Nappa respected him.

To the right of the Regent was another confidante, Mistress Baba. She was the master of coin, a mousey broad with a large body and witch-like face. She was a voluntary spinster, though it's not certain she would have married if she wanted to. She was ugly, with an ugly personality to match, but no man could match her expertise in kingdom finance. She too, was clad in black nearly an identical outfit to the regent but in female form. Of all the people in the room, Nappa feared her the most.

Finally, next to the mistress was a man that Nappa recognized as a French ambassador, due to his French Crest proudly displayed on his right breast. His long grassy blonde hair was fastened in a tight braid, flowing gently down his chest and ending in his lap. His uniform was of high military rank, though Nappa could not identify what rank exactly. The deep navy, crimson and white threads in his uniform beautifully highlighted the cool undertones of his skin and bright green eyes.

Nappa took his seat next to Piccolo, so as to not to look highly underdressed next to the ambassador.

“This is Ambassador Zarbon, hand selected by the French Emperor to discuss a treaty with us today. I trust you know the rest of us here?” the Regent inquired.

“Of course,” Nappa replied, trying piece together why exactly the emperor would send an ambassador for treaty talks.

...

 Nappa was restless in his comatose state. His body fought violently to subdue the arsenic, but unfortunately it was too late for the general. He had soaked the hospital mattress with his perspiration. This was his greatest and final battle.

 …

 The meeting was more of a declaration than a discussion. There was to be an assimilation with France, a merging of the armies and joint power to the emperor and the regent, followed by the king when he came of age.

Though Nappa vehemently opposed the idea, there was no arguing as all four other people agreed to the treaty. Nappa could envision a future where the emperor would get his sticky lizard hands on the prince and control him to do anything he wanted. The empire of France would get so large it seemed world domination may even be possible. And that's if the emperor kept his treaty promise. There was nothing him stopping from gaining the kingdom’s army and viciously turning it against itself like he'd done with so many others.

Baba claimed war would be too expensive. This is the only way.

Piccolo claimed that the treaty would bring the least bloodshed. This is the only way.

The ambassador claimed anything less than assimilation would displease the emperor. This is the only way.

And the Regent claimed this was the way to protect the kingdom, themselves, and the prince.

“This is the only way, General. Please order your soldiers at every station to stand down as the French make their way in. They will not be harmed.”

Nappa could not bring himself to agree, his pride being trampled on as it was. Instead, he stormed out of the room, his thunderous footsteps were audible for some time even after his exit.

After the dream replayed, several sickening times, a new event unfolded itself in Nappa’s mind.

The Regent stood from his chair. With a growl he followed Nappa. The regent was smaller, quicker, and caught up to Nappa without even breaking a walk. Nappa felt his legs grow heavy, his lungs filled with heavy unbreathable oxygen. He opened his mouth to give the Regent a piece of his mind when suddenly…

The regent lifted his fist and clenched the space between he and Nappa tightly. His own blood made ribbons on his wrist from his fingernails. His face was suddenly demonic, twisting into an evil scowl. As he tightened his fist, Nappa felt his lungs grow tighter and heavier as well. He couldn't breathe, or speak.

“I will kill you!” the regent threatened, further tightening his grasp.

The general's vision blurred, his pulse weakening in dream state and out.

He opened his eyes for the last time, and beheld a child with wild black hair. The spitting image of the regent. Though he couldn't tell if he was dreaming anymore, his eyes widened.

“Hi! I'm Goku!” the boy said.

The prince stood on the opposite side of the room, leaned against the wall, silently watching his general. When Nappa saw the prince he was relieved to be in at least half friendly company. But as his last breath drew near, so did the prince. In Vegeta’s left hand was a dagger.

“B-bardock! He is going to…”

Vegeta took one look at Nappa and knew this was the end. His face was ashen, purple even, with lack of oxygen. His black eyes were glazed over, veiny and red. Blood vessels all over his face and neck had ruptured forming an almost web like blanket on his face. He looked just like his father had looked so many years ago…

“I won’t let you die weakly, Nappa.”

“Vegeta-" Nappa choked, acid snaking its way from his empty stomach to his esophagus.

“The regent,” he whispered as Vegeta slid the cold smooth dagger into the General's heart.

In that moment Nappa thought nothing and said nothing as his eyes inevitably faded into nothing.

“Hey!! Why'd you do that?! Bulma was trying to save him! I was going to ask him to fight me!! He was your friend!!” Goku valiantly pled.

The prince said one thing and one thing only, not even noticing the boy's tantrum.

“Bardock.”

 …

 Nappa wasn't the only one to be plagued by dark dreams that night. Bulma also had a restless and nightmarish sleep.

 She was walking barefoot on moist ground. The almost mud felt soft on her toes, not an unpleasant experience. It was dark where she was, but she felt like she knew the way. She pressed on, wondering what was next. She could not see much of her surroundings, just black ground and black rock walls. It was a cave of sorts. In the distance she heard a river, an indication of an end to the dark tunnel. She smiled in relief that the trek would soon be over. The smell of the cave began to shift from musty, saturated dirt to a more floral essence. She recognized the distinct scents of lavender and sweet pea blossom. It was an intoxicating mixture, and the promise of a fresh cool drink of water made her press on.

It seemed like ages that she was trapped in the cave, alone but not fearful.  Finally she could see the end. The misty rays of morning sunshine leaked into the entrance of the cave. Outside she could see long blades of green grass, dotted with bunches of pink and purple flowers. Tall pines, junipers and a few silver birch trees lined the entrance of the cave and the river.

“Peasant,” an abrupt, deep voice called.

Curious in nature, Bulma twisted toward the voice, coming from behind her, inside the cave.

“You can never leave me.” the voice was rigid and almost predatory.  The voice began to take the form of a man. He was the same height as herself, and muscular though not overly so. His face was hidden in shadows. Bulma could only just see his chest was bare, but he had dark navy trousers on. She tried to speak but the words dissipated in her mouth before she could form them.

The figure grasped her wrist with his own coarse calloused hand. The hand of a swordsman. He reeked of lavender, a scent she now knew originated with him, and not the outside of the cave. She wanted to recoil at his touch but felt powerless in his grasp. His skin felt much colder than hers, almost stinging when he touched her. When she decided to stop resisting she was electrified. The forbidden feeling of letting go excited her. He pulled her in, wrapping his other arm around her waist and locking her there. Her chest was pressed to his, which she could now see was scarred with snow white lines. She now knew this was the prince, but he had captured her. It felt so wrong to betray her beliefs and ideals in favor of his tantalizing body, but she did so anyway.

“But I hate you,” she was finally able to say. His head moved ever closer to hers as if he hadn't even heard her. When he was so close she could feel his warm breath on her own face, she stopped breathing. Anticipating. Suffering. Craving.

And then she awoke.

 …

 Bulma wore the same medical smock from the day before as she prepared to check on her patient. Yamcha had spent the night with her, though not in her bed. He was still asleep in her large reading chair when she glanced his way. She felt a small pang of guilt for her heated fantasy about the prince, even though it was just a dream. His features were soft and boyish when he slept. She frowned though, when she remembered that he had left her. He had no intention of being with her and she had to accept that. And the feeling was surprisingly mutual.

Out of the blue she heard her small brother yelling incoherently. Goku! Her mind raced.

Without gloves, boots or mask she sprinted to where she heard the voice, the patient's room. When she reached the doorway she was stopped by the broad figure of the prince. Her heart fluttered with visions of her steamy dream. Involuntarily, her face began to redden at the thought of how close they were. “Eep!” she yelped, at the sudden shock.

Vegeta was in his own head trying to work things out when the doctor's daughter appeared. She seemed flustered, red and messy. She hadn't her shoes, gloves or mask, likely due to hearing the child and rushing here. Her skin was dewy and fresh, her hair tangled but soft looking. And her deep blue eyes were wide and easy to look at. She was slender with pale skin and shoulder length hair. If she weren't a criminal peasant, the prince may have even favored her. But those matters were far from his mind when she stopped him in that doorway.

“He is dead. We must discuss some matters urgently, over breakfast,” he ultimately decided to say.

Bulma had to replay what he said before realizing what he meant. She stepped to the side of the prince and forced her way in to see the patient.

“What?” She vocalized. Dead? He was stable last night! She questioned herself.  And then she saw the bloody mess of sheets draped over the patient's heart. And Goku, standing over and studying the corpse.

“What happened?!” Bulma yelled, exasperated. She was so infinitely confused, did Goku do this? The prince? Yamcha or an intruder? She pressed her bare fingers to Nappa’s throat for a pulse. Nothing. Her fingers made contact with some blood from his chest wound, making her regret not wearing her gloves.

“He killed him! I wanted to spar with him when he got better, but he killed his friend!” Goku answered back to her.

Bulma was shocked and even more confused than before. Was she housing a psychotic murderous prince? Was this all part of the nightmare?

 …

 Yamcha had risen just slightly after Bulma, though he was awake long before her. She was restless in her sleep, tossing, turning and moaning the entire night. All he wanted to do was get away but she kept reeling him back in. Her hooks were deep and jagged in his heart. He cared for her and her family so much, and even though he could have escaped in the night and let her make her own bed, he stayed. At some point he was curious about the other children. He assumed she had them tucked away in the cellar but he decided to test that hypothesis. When he found them down there, he brought them food. Six bowls of porridge of varying sizes and temperatures. They were grateful, having not eaten the entire day. Yamcha patted Tien on his fuzzy head. He said something along the lines of Keep everyone safe in case anything happens. And Tien accepted the command with a nod.

And now Yamcha was awake and he noticed the bed in shambles. He lifted the blanket and began to smooth out the sheets. He tucked the corners neatly and fluffed the pillows, when suddenly he heard a commotion. The scar faced boy immediately pursued the noise.

Leaving the room, Yamcha passed right by the kitchen where he only barely noticed the prince sitting at the dining table… In fact the prince was sitting in his own usual spot at the dining table which really seemed to burn Yamcha.

Yamcha didn't exactly grow up learning proper gentleman's etiquette. In fact he was an orphan from the time he was young and he had to beg and steal to survive. It wasn't until recently that Bulma had begun correcting his grammar and social appropriateness. He learned not to call every woman he met a broad because it was impolite. He'd never learned what polite was, but he figured it meant saying the right words at the right time. And it was not a simple feat.

“Hey, ya sod! Make yourself comfortable in my chair why don't ya?” he spat at the prince. Vegeta stared at the young bandit, who had just committed three crimes against the crown in one sentence.

Tch what am I even doing here? He questioned himself sincerely. He came to arrest the peasant woman and maybe publicly humiliate her, but he didn't expect Nappa to die and… I can't go back there… What if the murderer comes after me?

Vegeta now recognized the smaller black haired boy as very similar to the Regent, but he couldn't be sure if there was any relation. Maybe this plot went a lot deeper than he originally anticipated. Just then Bulma entered the kitchen with a scowl directed towards the scar faced delinquent.

“Watch your mouth, Yamcha!” You'll get us all killed! She thought.

“Would you kindly mind explaining exactly what happened in there?!” she screeched at the comfortable looking prince. He shifted silently contemplating whether to tell her or not.

“Your grace?” she added as an afterthought.

“I killed him because he wouldn't have wanted to die in disgrace covered in his own vomit and feces.” he said smoothly.

“He may not have died! He seemed to have a very developed constitution, and-"

“He was choking to death as I watched him! And you have no right to instigate me, the prince and most powerful man in this kingdom! I should be asking you if you accelerated his deterioration?!” Not only did he cut her off but he insulted her medical skill and intelligence and accused her of murder! Almost nothing could stop her from raising her furious fist to his face, almost.

Goku grabbed Bulma's outstretched fist.

“What's a Bardock, Bulma?” he asked innocently and sincerely.

All three adults were silent and waited for what would be said next.

Vegeta decided to break the silence first. “You've tread on very thin ice here, woman. As I see it you have very few options. First you answer every question I have for you honestly and without hesitation. Secondly, you help me clean up this mess and get to the bottom of the poisoning fiasco. Thirdly, you submit to your arrest and face trial and punishment when this is all over. Do this, and I may spare you and these two clowns’ worthless lives.”

With her hand in Goku’s she focused on what the prince said. He doesn't know about the other children yet. She sighed, relieved. But that doesn't mean he can't find out. And Bulma had sworn to protect them no matter what. So she grimaced and bowed low to the prince, who seemingly had her in a corner.

“You may be a vulgar woman, but it takes a lot of guts to raise your fist to a prince,” he said, almost grinning respect for her.

Though arguments were had, Bulma, Goku, Vegeta and Yamcha settled on a quick breakfast before the autopsy of Nappa.

 …

 “Someone's been eating my porridge,” Bulma rummaged frantically through her barren kitchen cabinets. Her voice was hushed, her hands searching. Her fingertips grazed the dust inside, and she frowned at the thought of her siblings going without. Giving up on the idea of porridge, she placed her hands on her hips and sighed. Faintly, the children in the cellar could be heard rustling.

Munching eagerly on a bright red apple, the prince hadn't heard the children at first. Bulma stamped her foot loudly on the solid wood floor, a warning to quiet down for the moment. Though he had been deep in thought, mostly pondering the significance of the boy Goku, the stomp shook the prince to attention. Dirt fell on the children like rain. Tiny Lazuli breathed in, filling her lungs with powdered air.

The moment was short but lasted a lifetime in Bulma’s mind. The little girl’s cough was heard by every ear in the kitchen.

The Prince's first reaction to the small cough was suspicion. Why would this woman be hiding a child? He stood from his chair, and traced the sound with his eyes.

“No,” Bulma breathed.

“What are you hiding from me, woman?”

Like a hunted doe she froze, she waited, she tried to figure out what to say but it was almost too overwhelming.

Tien decided he was done playing hiding seek now. He wasn’t afraid of this stranger. With Goku and Yamcha, they could take him down if need be. The boy grabbed his sisters by their hands and motioned for his two brothers to follow behind. The six short orphans crawled up from the cellar door near the back of the kitchen, Lazuli still hacking away at the dirt.

Revealed and vulnerable, Bulma had no choice but to resort to her feminine wiles in hopes the prince would agree to leave them alone.

“Um, oh, they're just sick children I'm caring for. They aren't related to me at all in fact, run along home little ones,” she gestured to the back door, and then turned to face the prince once again, “so that the adults can get down to business…” her voice and eyes dropped low and sultry, towards Vegeta.

Yamcha flushed as he realized what she was doing. In his limited wisdom he could not see this ending well so he broke his silence.

“Uh look, this has gone on long enough! We all know you're here to arrest Bulma. This is her family and without her they will die. In order to take care of them she had to make a living, and if it's a crime to love and care for your family then this kingdom is doomed.” Yamcha hadn't planned to insult the kingdom or its laws, it just came out that way. He always said what he felt.

“Look, I don't care what is going on here, because the kingdom is compromised. I need your help to figure out what exactly happened to Nappa. Then I can handle that situation and then arrest the woman!”

“Arrest me and let her go!” Yamcha yelled valiantly.

“No! Oh my God stop trying to save me!” Bulma yelled at the bandit.

Yamcha was visibly confused.

“I'll help you,” she stated, a promise. “But you have to promise no harm comes to my siblings… or Yamcha.”

“So far my only interest is punishing those who've committed crimes. The children have not, and you have my word no harm will come to them.” he promised back.

There was no promise to Yamcha, but Bulma had to agree to the terms to protect the children.

With knowing eyes she told Yamcha to take the children to pick apples, silently. And silently he agreed.

 …

 To hasten the process of congealing Nappa's blood, Bulma mixed a fine powder of yarrow and myrrh sap. The mixture was a sticky sweet smelling syrup that she applied to each incision.  The result was thick, molasses like blood that did not spill all over the floor. Nappa was far too large to let his blood in the tub, so this was a necessary process.

While the woman worked her magic on his general's corpse, Vegeta wandered close by in the connecting library. There had to have been a hundred books on medicine, poison, gynaecology, pediatrics and more. Most of the books looked well worn, likely years of reading and rereading. The prince slid his right hand fingers on an odd book, seemingly out of place with all the medical texts; Richard III by William Shakespeare.  A play… how oddly refined for a peasant woman…

His calloused fingers admired the worn leather of its binding. He shook the book open to a page and read an excerpt:

 “Foul devil, for God’s sake hence, and trouble us not; For thou hast made the happy earth thy hell, Fill’d it with cursing cries and deep exclaims. If thou delight to view thy heinous deeds, Behold this pattern of thy butcheries. O! gentlemen; see, see! dead Henry’s wounds Open their congeal’d mouths and bleed afresh. Blush, blush, thou lump of foul deformity, For ’tis thy presence that exhales this blood From cold and empty veins, where no blood dwells: Thy deed, inhuman and unnatural, Provokes this deluge most unnatural. O God! which this blood mad’st, revenge his death; O earth! which this blood drink’st, revenge his death; Either heaven with lightning strike the murderer dead, Or earth, gape open wide, and eat him quick, As thou dost swallow up this good king’s blood, Which his hell-govern’d arm hath butchered!”

 Vegeta mourned the act of killing his friend. As if precautionary, he checked to see if Nappa was bleeding again in his presence, even though he knew it a superstitious and outdated practice.

The physician's daughter cut away, a long Y shaped incision into the general's chest. She was unphased by the sight of blood, organs and the smell. The smell was most horrible, a fleshy and iron smell that turned sour the closer she got to his stomach. Even Vegeta, who had seen some battle in his young life, almost turned away in disgust. But not Bulma.

“Eureka!” the blue haired surgeon shrieked after some time spent digging in the general's stomach. Her blood-soaked and gloved hand pulled out a small amount of what looked like mud to the untrained eye.

“What is it?” he demanded as he got closer, eyes wide as if it could help him understand better.

“Food.” She proudly proclaimed, as if it truly answered his question. She knew it didn't but it was fun to dangle her superior intellect in front of him, teasingly. She turned away from the prince, and towards a table with many dishes and vials. And, next to them was a machine the prince hadn't seen before, even in the castle's infirmary and laboratory. It was a cylindrical device mounted on a small stand which held a glass plate. Curious and disgusted Vegeta watched her work. She placed the bloody mud she identified as food on the small glass plate. Then she ungloved her right hand and grasped the cylinder in it. She delicately placed her eye over the cylinder, where the prince now noticed there was a circular glass piece.

“A magnifier?” the prince guessed, moderately educated in his own right.

“Sort of,” the genius girl teased.

But quickly his mind wandered from what she was doing at the moment, to what she was doing with her life.

“Why do you harbor these orphans and that street rat?” He asked, bluntly.

For a moment Bulma was quiet. Through a quick look she determined the sample was of an apple. Though, the stomach and mouth of the corpse smelled distinctly of garlic. An odd combination that is rarely seen in traditional cooking.

Something inside her told her to answer him truthfully. So she did.

 ...

 “I see. My father also passed when I was young… He appointed the Regent, Bardock, to fulfill his duties until a time when I decided to take over. I promised my father I would follow in his footsteps and become the most powerful man in the kingdom. But here I am chasing a silly criminal getting my most valuable general killed.”

The prince had opened up to her, albeit not without calling her silly, but he had really left himself vulnerable to whatever she could say next. His insecurities and fears of not meeting expectations seemed to weigh heavy on his shoulders. Ignoring the “silly" comment, she opted for a sympathetic response.

“You are doing a fine job, Nappa's death was not your fault. But you can make it better. Avenge him, and prove to your father and the regent that your time to rule is now.” She raised her gloved hand in a fist of rebellion.

“And fulfill your promise to be the most powerful by eliminating the French threat and protecting your kingdom!”

Oops. She had gone off on a tangent and revealed her true political ideals.

“I… what do you know about France?!” Vegeta demanded, cross browed and inquisitive.

“I um, sorry, I just have strong opinions and I let myself get carried away… your grace.” She stated, much quieter than before.

He just stared at her and let the sight of her fill him. That passion…

“Well since you will rot in a cell for the rest of your miserable life, you should know we are in the middle of a treaty with the emperor of France. We will assimilate and become one.”

Bulma was most shocked about the declaration of a treaty with France. It was almost as if she hadn't heard the rotting in a cell part. Almost.

“You fool,” she breathed, involuntarily. “he’ll kill us all before he even thinks of peace with this kingdom. What your father did was unforgivable and Emperor Frieza will make our kingdom pay… this ‘treaty’ is only a ploy and I can't believe you don't see it…”

It hadn't occurred to him that it was a trick, but she had made a fascinating point. If Frieza still harbored any ill will, he could flawlessly execute a coup d'état with the appearance of peace. It left the prince speechless, this woman’s intelligence.

“In fact, the plot may have already begun with the poisoning of your general. Arsenic.” and with that she removed her remaining bloody glove and began to cover the body with sheets.

 …

 They had made a makeshift wooden cart to carry Nappa behind their horses. His body was beginning to stiffen, but Vegeta and Yamcha were able to place him without too much effort.

Bulma mounted the fallen general's stallion with grace. Yamcha grabbed its reins to lead, but she insisted he join her on the horse. When he did Vegeta felt a small jealousy ignite in his chest. Alone on his own dark horse, Vegeta thought about one thing; the unexpected infatuation he'd developed with this vulgar cross-dressing harlot over the last three days.

God, how she glows. She is like a sinful fire and my body is freezing and my mind naive. She is not only beautiful, with porcelain skin, rivers of blue hair and deep twilight eyes, but she is intelligent and strong willed. She's got guts. The mousey maids in the castle are nothing like her. The dutchess suitors I'm accustomed to are so timid and withdrawn. None would even think to accomplish the feats this woman has in her eighteen years of life. I can never have her, and that makes me want her so much more.

Her beauty is nothing if not underrated by those around her. How she even managed to dress as a man for so long looking like that is beyond me. Her facial structure is angular and soft all at the same time. Her skin dewy and perfectly delicious. I don't know if I want to kiss her or eat her. I definitely want to touch every part of her, hair and skin, lips and neck even… Yes, she is certainly the most gorgeous woman I've ever seen.

Her intelligence is by far her most hidden trait. She has knowledge that could rival even the most skilled castle physicians. The graceful way she cut into Nappa, spilling the least blood and quickly identifying the poison. The exact food the poison was in even! She was taught well by her father. And to her credit he probably didn't teach her everything. Not a single book in her library was dusty nor pristine. All were well used, and well absorbed. Even the entertaining reads of plays and poetry showed her deep and critical knowledge. And she squandered her intellect, by working as a stable hand in my stables.

Her will power rivals even that of my own. In my life I have been dedicated to nothing but becoming a powerful warrior and king, to fulfill my father's wish. I can relate to her trials, she too promised her father, and kept it all these years. Here I am hiding away from the man who wishes to usurp me, or worse. And she is burying the friend of her enemy to ensure safety for her family. She has done all I have asked, albeit not without argument, for the prosperity of her family. She is passionate not only about them but the entire kingdom as well. It reminds me… well it reminds me of my mother. She was so strong even at her weakest. And Bulma is no different.

In fact, I respect her for all of this. How different and similar we are isn't so odd. In another world I'd scoop her up and steal her away, and she'd be my princess or I would be her peasant husband. Unfortunately...

Vegeta day dreamed silently as the trio rode further into the forest.

He made a decision then, and although he didn't know it yet, it would ultimately be the death of Bulma.

 …

 The group arrived at a clearing near a river shortly before sunset. Yamcha still wasn't sure why he needed to come, besides being secondary muscle to transport the hulking abomination.  

“Here will do.” The prince called out, halting his horse and dismounting. Bulma and Yamcha also dismounted and looked around. It was a far stretching meadow, mostly grassy with some large patches of sand and rock appearing closer to the river. Surrounding the clearing was a plethora of aspen trees and a few juniper and birch. In the distance the Jura mountain range could be seen, the citrus and peony sunset settled quietly behind it. No one said a word.

Once Nappa was buried, and as if on queue, hundreds of fireflies made their appearance in the dim and fleeting light of day. The floating flames danced around the trio, a spiritual sight to behold. Bulma smiled and reached out to touch one, her other arm rested safely on Yamcha’s shoulder. The prince took notice of the bugs, but to him they were far from wonderful. They stung him like bees, reminding him that his friend and mentor would never see the light of day again. Nor his father. Nor his mother. Nor his infant brother. His entire family, everyone who had ever meant anything to him was completely, utterly gone.

Darkly, the prince demanded “Get out of here.”

Taken aback by the demand, and not quite knowing the exact meaning, Bulma responded, “W-why, are you sending us home? Will you arrest me?”

“I will be back for you tonight. Make the final preparations for your family and leave them in his care,” he gestured to Yamcha. “You will be tried, and if found guilty you will be subject to punishment. There is a chance you may never return, so please make preparations for such a case. NOW GO!!” He roared, a lion towering above two mice. He grasped his cloak and turned to face the fresh grave, his back to the boy and girl.

“But you!” Bulma fought back tears. How could he? I've done so much! This isn't fair!

Yamcha threw his arm around Bulma, who was now a slobbering, whimpering mess, whose words felt like a different language altogether.  He took the reins, poorly leading the horse back home. Bulma sobbed and held her one time beau tightly as they headed back, slowly.

The prince stood in the clearing for what seemed an eternity. His chin was high, but eyes low examining the final resting place of the great general. The fireflies did not tire, even as the sun finally disappeared, they danced on. Slowly, a salty stream manifested in the prince’s eyes. Though he fought it, his thoughts had finally overwhelmed him. The annoying flying flames had finally bursted his last nerve. Withdrawing his sabre with finesse, he swung hard at the air, at the bugs. Frustrated from missing them, he turned his anger to the trees. He hacked and sliced for a while, until sweat had drenched his shirt and cloak. He discarded them without thought and returned to sparring the tree. He hadn't noticed but he was shouting with each swing. Only once he was hoarse and parched did he realize what strain he had put on his vocals.

He collapsed on the grassy, sandy earth in a huff. It was time.

 …

 Though Yamcha had plead for her to take her chance at escape, she declined. He had devised a quick and fairly executable plan to pack the children and run as far from the kingdom as possible. But Bulma was nothing if not brave and honorable. “This is my fault. I need to pay for my actions,” she told him.

They agreed not to tell the children, most of whom were sleeping. The rambunctious Goku was still awake and raiding what little stores of fresh food they still had.

Bulma and Yamcha spent most of the time they had left in silence, scrubbing the death soaked room that once housed Nappa. There was no arguing with Bulma, and there was certainly no arguing with the prince.

“Bulma,” Goku had made his way into the room where they were, seemingly without a sound.

Bulma's face was colored deep red from hours of sobbing, her eyes swollen. She looked up from her position on the floor, to see him standing in the doorway.

Without words, the three of them just embraced. Each one felt it deep in their hearts, it would be the last time. But it wasn't in Goku's nature to give up like that.

“I will become strong! I will rescue you!” his eyes began to glaze and fill with tears.

“Shh, no, please don't. That would only get you killed and put our siblings in danger. Promise me you will take care of them, Goku,” she pled, a lump in her throat.

He just grasped her tighter, his arms around her neck, fingers digging into her skin. He never wanted to let her go, his sister, his rock, he loved her. She squeezed him back with all she had, her hand on the back of his wild head, fingers braided between his hair.

They couldn't let go. That is until they heard him coming.

Bulma grabbed a small bag packed with essentials. But the prince motioned for her to leave it. “You won't need a change of clothes when all you'll be wearing is a prison shift. Leave the unnecessary things and let's go. I tire of waiting.”

 …

 She was voluntarily silent for the entire ride to the castle. She was understandably furious with Vegeta, though he never lied to her. He always knew she would be punished, and he never said otherwise. But his reason for bringing her was not punishment, yet, it was for her help in determining the assassin. Once she helped him to clear out the bad apple or apples, he would release her. Though he hoped she would stay with him, he would never ask it of her. And he knew she would never want to anyway.

Vegeta tugged the reins and dug his heel into the side of the stallion, forcing it to gallop at almost full speed. Having nearly fallen from the abrupt change in acceleration, Bulma threw her arms around the prince’s waist to anchor herself. She grasped tightly, trying hard not to admire the feel of his firm abs against her arms. As though he knew exactly what she was thinking, he leaned forward and tightened his muscles. She'd teased him earlier with her superior mind, now it was his turn to tease her with his superior body.

She both despised and delighted the entire ride.

 …

 In the twilight Bulma could barely see the outline of the stables. Vegeta had slowed the horse drastically, and motioned for her to be silent. She wasn't entirely sure why he required her to be quiet, but she complied all the same.

When they were in walking distance the prince dismounted, and placed a hand on her thigh as a command to stay. She slid forward in the saddle and grasped  the horn. Vegeta soothingly patted the horse, an effort to keep it silent as well. The smell of hay and manure filled the air, a familiar scent to the whole company. Vegeta led the horse into its stall and moved to its side to help the girl down. Not wanting his help, Bulma kicked his hand away and growled like a feral cat. Then she dismounted most ungracefully, her shift sliding well above her thigh revealing her short bloomers. The prince tried to pretend not to see, but his face flushed at the audacity of this wild girl.

“Why are we sneaking?” Bulma asked.

The prince looked around the barn, that had been closed up for hours.  With no one in sight he moved toward the tack closet. “I can't explain you away in your current state of undress,” he explained, which made sense to him but not to Bulma.

“Just take me to my holding cell so that I don't have to be in your royal presence anymore.” she attacked.

“That's not why you are here,” he said, ignoring the insult, and pulling what looked like folded linens out of the tack closet. Becoming frustrated by his lack of explanation for anything, Bulma raised her voice.

“Oh? Then just why am I here, your majesty?!”

Horrified by her rash action the prince used his free hand to cup the woman’s mouth while simultaneously forcing her back to the stable wall.

He placed his head nearly parallel with hers, his lips less than inches from her ear. Her heart began to pound, in fear and in lust. His hand smelt of lavender, his breath like sweet honey.  

“I said you will assist me in my investigation. Until then you will present yourself as my apprentice, hand chosen by the late general. Do I make myself clear, Bull?” he whispered threateningly while shoving the stack of male clothing at her stomach.

She nodded her head and grabbed the clothing from him. He released his grasp on her face and turned the other way, allowing her a small privacy to change.

After removing her shift and boots, she pulled the off white trousers over each leg. She tightened the strings of the waist, this pair was just slightly large on her slender frame. She buttoned up the white dress shirt, more frilly than she was accustomed to, and tucked it neatly in the trousers. The overcoat was navy and gold, but not fancy enough to indicate royalty or similar. She looked the part of a wealthy young man, and not a bit overdressed. Her worn leather boots helped to tone down the prestige in her outfit as well. No one would have reason to question their story as long as she went unrecognized.

Bulma fastened the navy ribbon at the base of her head. That being the final touch on her costume, she turned to the prince and nodded a signal of her readiness.

It fascinated to prince just how beautiful she could be even in such form fitting clothing. It felt awkward admiring her masculine form, but his mind couldn't differentiate between this uniform and her tattered shift dress. All he saw was her beauty, inside and out. He wanted to touch her, so with authority in his movement, he grabbed her wrist. She followed without complaint.

Without a word he pulled her towards two large doors that she assumed connected to the castle. To her slight surprise the room behind the doors was filled with more hay, and what looked like training dummies. On the right wall, many different swords of different shapes and sizes were hung. The prince grabbed a smaller looking saber from the wall, and lifted it above Bulma's head and onto her shoulders. The sword was protected by a worn leather sheath and held to her chest by a belt of the same color. It was ordinary, just like her disguise. She was completely ordinary.

From the training room they made their way into the palace kitchens, no doubt a place the prince rarely entered. The kitchens were vast and empty of life. The walls were bare red brick and the floors hardwood. Several ovens lined the walls, butcher’s block on all the countertops, and dozens of pots and pans hanging from the ceiling. There were more knives than swords in the other room, a fact which excited the aspiring chef in Bulma. To the north of the large open room were several narrow wooden doors. “Servant quarters,” he whispered when he saw her notice the doors.

Discreetly, he grabbed her hand in his and tugged her along. He seemed to know the exact route to avoid people, though most were asleep at this hour anyway.

Finally they arrived at a long hallway lined with several doors on both sides. There was a red carpet with an intricate design down the middle, but it was well worn and faded where it had the most traffic. The hall itself smelled dusty and old, and several spiders had woven their webs in the corners. It gave Bulma a small sense of sadness and emptiness to be present in this hallway, as though only ghosts were permitted here.

“This is my chambers,” the prince stated, pointing to the door closest to them. “You will not enter under any circumstance, you are forbidden.”  Bulma nodded in acknowledgment and watched the prince as he walked further into the hall. The very next door, roughly fifteen feet from the first, was another chamber. The prince grabbed the knob and twisted as he pushed the door open.

“This will be yours for the time being…” he lingered on what to say afterward, contemplating whether to be rude or hospitable. “You may knock on my chamber if you need anything. Do not break disguise, I will fetch you in the morning.” he whispered the last part before returning to a normal tone, “understand Ser Bull?”

“Yes, your majesty,” she responded meekly but masculine. She stepped inside the chambers and absorbed her surroundings. It was dark, save for the sliver of moonlight that peeked in the drapeless window. In the center of the room was a large bed, dressed with red and indigo sheets and quilts. The bed had a canopy frame, though the canopy was seemingly missing. At the foot of the bed there was a large chest, which she assumed held clothing. On either side of the bed were hand carved oak nightstands, on top of each a single unlit candle. Adjacent from the bed was an older looking desk and chair, somewhat out of style for the year, yet not quite antique. On the desk was a quill and an inkwell, though the ink had long since dried. She determined from the dusty state of the room that it hadn't been used in quite some time. But it was more comfortable than the stone cold floor of a jail cell, so she rejoiced.

She kicked her boots off near the door and decided to sleep in her costume, in case any soul dare visit her during her sleep, she would be fully concealed. The mattress was like heaven to her aching bones, and she drifted off in a matter of minutes.

The prince, did not have such luck.

 …

 He dreamt of a deep azure lake with placid waves. He was sailing on the lake, at twilight. Though it was dark the full moon and blanket of stars lit up his surroundings. It was peaceful, for a time. His mother was aboard the tiny schooner, clad in her yellow Sunday gown. Underneath the gown her white lace petticoat peeked through. Her outfit was embroidered at the edges with lavender blossoms, her favorite flower. Her hair was long, nearly reaching the seat she rested on. It was lighter than his own, he inherited his raven hair from his father, hers was a hazelnut colored waterfall of curls. She smiled tenderly at him, as he rowed, steady.  

From the middle of the lake he heard a cry for help. Shooting a glance toward the noise, the prince began to row faster.

As they neared the source of the cry, Vegeta was able to make out the figure of a girl with blue hair. She struggled to stay afloat, gasping as her head bobbed above and below the water. In an instant the weather turned violent. Dark clouds shrouded the once bright stars and moon, as heavy rain began to fall. The small boat began to rock as the waves gained speed and height. The prince bent his torso over the edge of the boat, stretching his right arm toward the maiden.

She flailed about, trying in vain to grasp his hand. As the environment became more intense, his mother stood from her seat. She laid her hand on his shoulder, and lowered her face to his ear. He struggled to reach the drowning girl, each second ticking by she got further away.

“You’ve doomed her,” his mother whispered lightly. The girl’s head sank below the surface as her arm seemed to go limp.

Suddenly, a deafening roar of thunder and lightning crashed in the sky.

And the prince awoke with a jolt, sitting upright in his bed.

 …

 Bardock sat alone at a small tea table in his personal chambers. It was early, still dark outside. Several candles lit the room dimly, just so he could see at about arm’s length. He pulled a small dusting cloth from a drawer in the table and began to wipe his porcelain set of tea cups. They were a gift from a long lost friend, she had purchased them from a ceramic artist in the orient. Of his numerous regrets in life, the one that pained him the most was not marrying her. The mistake had cost him too many years of unrelenting loneliness.

Her image had all but faded from his mind. The last time he saw her was over ten years ago, before the king had died. Each day, as he took his tea, he tried to recount her features. She had blunt black hair, and big brown doe eyes. She was thin, a product of malnourishment due to her chosen profession.  When he first met her she was covered in bruises, her eyes and cheeks sunken in her face. He’d wandered into the amoral establishment by accident when he was looking for the tavern his fellow soldiers where at. She was used, like a scribbled piece of paper,  wasting away in a dirty bin. But she had so many invisible words printed on her skinny face, he could never read them all, not if he had known her his entire lifetime.

She offered him services, to which he blushingly declined, at first. She gave him directions to the tavern he was looking for, but asked him to return to her if he thought of her. He promised he would. And he never stopped thinking about her. So when he did return he stole her away, taking her to his quarters at the castle. There were no women allowed in the soldiers barracks but he defied the rule for her. They laid together every night for four weeks until she was found out. After which, she was permanently exiled from the kingdom, and he was given a stiff slap on the wrist. And he never saw her after that. Their affair was the first and last time he had loved anyone. But he should have known better than to fall in love with a whore.

Slowly, he poured the tea that had brewed into the delicate looking cup. He knew not what became of her, but he assumed she had died at some point. The lifestyle she chose was not sustainable, especially outside of the safety of the kingdom. So to honor her, in his own private way, he drank tea dedicated to her. Gine.

After drinking his tea he made his way to the mirror. He removed the red drape from it, and began the ominous chant. “Mirror, mirror,” he uttered coldly. Inside the figure of a face took form. It was nearly impossible to tell whether the form was male or female, its skin pale blue and long white hair.

“Milord,” it answered predictably.

“I wish to know what has become of Nappa, and where is the Prince?” Bardock inquired.

“The general breathes no longer,” the mirror reported. “The Prince is returned home last night, from a quiet journey where he laid the great general to rest.”  

“And what of the blue haired girl?”

“She is very intelligent. She will help him discover that you were the source of the general’s demise. Should she be allowed to live, she will lead the kingdom in rebellion against the french, as his queen.”

Content with the answers Bardock dismissed the mirror, concealing it once again with the long red drapes.

 …

 It was before sunrise, and his chambers were still dark. The prince rose to light a candle, his body fully awake from the terrifying dream he’d just had. His hands still shook with adrenaline, his breath still hard and cold. He was dressed only in trousers, the rest of him bare. For a split second he worried about Bulma, and decided to check on her.

Quietly he pushed the heavy wooden door open. The hinges made a slight squeak, though no one was around to hear. Barefoot, he crept silently toward her chambers. Her door made a much louder squeak, due to many years of unuse, but she did not stir. He made his way to her bedside and concluded that she was in fact safe and sound. He decided to check her breathing, in case anything had happened in her sleep. As he got closer to her face he heard her gentle breaths. Relieved, he rested his bottom on the wooden floor. He admired her soft features for a long time, entirely too long in fact, as she began to wake up while he was still there.

He rose to his feet immediately, as she began to stretch her arms out. She hadn't opened her eyes or noticed him yet. His heart leapt from his chest as he scurried to get to the door. Safely on the other side, he let a large breath out of his lungs with an audible sigh.  

As Bulma stretched out her well rested muscles she turned to see a lit candle on her nightstand. Alarmed, she looked around the room for an intruder. Seeing nothing she slowly got up and walked to the door where she heard heavy breathing. Expecting to find a creep on the other side she grabbed the sword she had lent against the wall the previous night. Slowly, she unsheathed it and readied herself for war.

She gradually opened the door, where to her surprise the prince was waiting on the other side.

“Oh jeez, it's just you,” she sighed, relieved. And then she remembered the candle. “Oh my God, were you watching me sleep?!” she ordered the prince to answer, her face close to his, an intimidation tactic she'd been using most of her life.

“I! No! I was just!” the prince struggled to defend himself, his face reddening. Narrowing her eyes, she felt a slight smile begin to form on her lips.

“Oh, I see,” she purred, finally aware of his crush. She lifted her extended index finger to his bare chest. “You fancy me,” she accused as she turned her body around, the tip of her finger grazing his nose. She folded her arms with her back to him.

“What?! Of course not!” he growled, his face twisting to a scowl, his fist raising as a threat.

While the prince stumbled over what words to use to articulate his feelings, Bulma tied her hair in a navy ribbon. When she finished the bouncy bow, she turned back around to face the prince. He was frozen as she gracefully moved toward him, stopping inches from his face. Without saying a word she quickly pressed her lips to his, an action which seemed to stop his heart beating. It was just a peck, over in an instant. The feeling of his blood boiling over led him to believe he would surely die. And as if nothing even happened she strolled past him, through the open door and into the hallway.

“Well make yourself useful and show me to breakfast,” she demanded, disguising her voice to sound more masculine.

He found it physically impossible to say anything at all, his jaw clenched so tightly it would take more than will power to pry open.

 …

 In the kitchens several maids scurried about, preparing breakfast for the court.

Near the kitchen entrance the prince sat in his usual chair at the head of the table. It was his usual chair, that is when he didn't take meals in his chambers, which was a rare sight. Bulma sat in the chair to his right, and when she did so she received several wide eyed glances from the servants. No one else in the court had arrived for breakfast so every other seat was empty. It must have been an important seat, but the prince did not protest so she stayed put.

He did everything he could to avoid looking at her. His elbow was propped on the table, his head in it's hand, and pointed away from her. He was red as an apple, and the servants took notice. The most odd thing they noticed though, was that the two, the prince and his new friend, said nothing at all to each other.

“Who-" Fasha began to say to her servant counterpart, Maron, who interrupted her.

“No idea, but he's bloody cute I tell ya what.”

“I've never seen him around before, but he looks awful familiar,” Fasha replied, searching her brain for some indication of the blue haired boy’s identity. The two servant girls whispered away in the kitchens, as Fasha stirred the wild boar stew she was making for that night's dinner banquet. Maron had several baskets of rolls to deliver to the tables, but was neglecting that duty for an opportunity to gossip with her friend.

“Yes but… something is off about him. And the way the prince is blushing… Do you reckon…?” Maron suggested, heavily implying that Bulma may be a homosexual man.

“Gee I hope not,” Fasha aspired, wanting to make the new boy her own.

Just then another maid entered, in a rush to have the rolls served.

“The lords and ladies are arriving, please get these out!” She demanded, pointing to Maron and the baskets.

“On it, Miss Mai,” Maron apologized as she hopped to work.

Mai was taller and older than both Fasha and Marron but had yet to marry. Though it wasn't for lack of beauty. She had long black locks that she kept braided at all times, and lips like ripe plums. Recently she had become a sort of forewoman of the kitchen, since the head chef had disappeared. It wasn't unlike Hit to disappear every once in a while, so she was appointed to a supervisory position in his absence.

“Miss Mai,” Fasha started, still stirring away. “Did you notice the new boy who is sat directly next to the prince? How bold.”

“How bold indeed,” Mai said with suspicion in her voice and narrowed eyes.

Unknown to Fasha and the rest of the castle, Mai had witnessed a very immoral act that morning, of which she was very conflicted. She saw the new boy kiss the prince as she walked past his chambers. She struggled to define her role in the act, and wondered if it was her duty inform anyone. Afterall, sodomy was a sin, punishable by death. But would she risk an accusation on the prince, of all people?

 …

 Several of the high class knights and a few of their ladies joined the breakfast table. These were all high born men and women, who achieved their rank through birthright. Many of them were scarred from enduring many battles with the French. Bulma felt nearly sick wondering how they must feel about the treaty. She wondered if any had protested, or if they feared to do so. Most of the ladies wore a somber look on their faces and in their dresses. Maybe they had heard of the death of the general, though the only people who knew were herself and the prince. Finally, filling the very last chair at the opposite end of the table was a tall and handsome man, with a ruggedly scarred face and black hair. He looked familiar, but Bulma couldn't quite put her finger on who he was. His position seemed to indicate royalty or very close to it. He must be the appointed regent. She decided silently.

Bulma and the prince had nearly had their fill of bread and pastries, and she was beginning to feel apprehensive about being in the presence of so many people. She tapped Vegeta’s leg with her riding boot, and motioned her head toward the exit when he looked at her. He gave a light nod and looked away from her quickly. Just looking at her made his heart race, and he didn't want to risk anyone noticing. He grabbed his fourth Danish, and shoved it in his mouth.

“Prince Vegeta, so nice of you to join everyone,” the regent announced from the other end of the table.

“Not because I want to,” the prince began. “I have news. General Nappa has been slain.” There were some hushed gasps and whispers among the guests, but not a single reaction from the regent. He didn't even blink at the news, it was as if he already knew.

Bulma had a terrible feeling about this man, though it was hard for her to understand why. She swallowed hard on the dry muffin she was eating.

“Unfortunate news. How did this come to pass?” the regent inquired.

“We were dueling, and I mortally wounded him. We didn't believe it to be life threatening. I bandaged him and we rested for the night. In the morning he had passed.” Bulma studied every second of the regent's reaction, scanning him for abnormalities. He twitched slightly at the explanation, almost as if he knew it to be a lie.

“I see. And what of this... “ he motioned a hand to Bulma as if indicating whatever he believed her to be was a dirty word.

“My squire. Appointed by the general himself three days ago. I will train him under my wing until a time when he can join the militia. My apologies if he does not know proper court etiquette, he is of very low birth.” he made it sound like she was a child or at least not even fifteen yet, the age when it is mandatory for men to join the militia.  She pondered for a moment just how old she looked to everyone else in her male regalia. Her sort of short stature, slender figure, and smooth face probably made her look much younger as a boy. She decided she wouldn't be insulted at the implication afterall.

“Excellent…” the regent replied, losing interest in the topic as he turned to one of the other guests to ignite a new discussion.

Out of the limelight, Vegeta threw his hand on Bulma's and pulled her to her feet with him. Realizing that he had actually touched her, he dropped her just as quickly. Bulma felt a grin in her heart, though it didn't make its appearance on her face. I'm disgusting. She lamented, partially enjoying her newfound infatuation, partially hating herself for it.

 …

 Later in the evening, Bulma found herself in a slight dilemma. She'd been assigned a chambermaid, who wished to draw her a bath. In these instances, a normal person would undress and allow the servant to bathe them. This was not in Bulma’s best interest for she was concealing her gender.

“Ser… Bull was it?” the red haired maiden called.

Bulma panicked as she turned to face the servant. “I won’t won’t be needing a bath today, dear.” She claimed in her most baritone voice.

“As you wish,” the maiden said, rolling her eyes and turning up her nose. The gesture reminded Bulma that the last time she had bathed was three days ago, and her body odor did her no favors.

“Can help you dress down for bed, sir?” The maiden offered, with a slightly disgusted tone of voice.

“N-no,” Bulma answered, flustered by the prospect. Persistent broad. She sighed silently. Finally, the redhead left, taking her harsh judgments with her.

Bulma sat at her desk and pondered the events of the day. An awkward breakfast followed by hours upon hours of being alone in her chambers. The prince had several duties to attend to since he had been absent the past few days. He didn't trust her wandering about on her own so he ordered her to stay put. So she did, and the only human interaction save for breakfast; was the annoying chambermaid she had finally gotten rid of.

She pulled a piece of parchment from a leather bound notebook she had found within the desk. In these uncertain times she felt like penning a letter, an activity that usually brought her peace. As she pulled the quill and inkwell from the desk, her chamber door wailed open.

Vegeta had quite the day. He had run from one end of the castle to the other appointing high ranking officers to new positions within the army. Like a cascading waterfall, when he replaced Nappa with Toma the tall, he needed someone to replace him, and so on and so on. Bardock appointed him these responsibilities to prepare him for when he would become king. The day was so soon in fact, he would be turning eighteen in just one month. He always knew it was coming but deep inside his unconscious mind he felt apprehensive about the title. He had always been the prince. And now he had very big shoes to fill.

His heart told him to seek out Bulma in his uncertain mood, though it did not tell him why or what to say. So he stood in her doorway, staring at her intensely, saying nothing.

“Can I help you, your highness?” she asked as she twisted in her seat.

“Rise,” he said, ignoring that she may not know the context of his command. “Er, rise when your prince enters your presence. That is proper court etiquette,” he explained.

Wow, she thought, he isn't demanding me and demeaning me as he does so. She was nearly floored at his unusually kind demeanor. So she rose and bowed formally to him.

“Again, how can I help you?”

He stood for a moment gathering the vocabulary to express what he wanted. He needed her to investigate the safety breach that had occurred, resulting in the poisoning of his general.

“I was wondering if you had any leads,” he whispered, slowly closing the rusty hinged door behind him.

“Ah,” she spoke, bringing her hand to her chin and looking down at her boots. She did have suspicions, but no concrete evidence, of anything. And what's more, she had been ordered to stay in her chambers all day, how was she supposed to have learned anything?

“The typical smell of arsenic is very close to garlic. Although, it has been at least several days since the poisoning, and so anyone who may have had it on their hands would have definitely been washed by now.”

The prince shifted his stance to one side, pulling his hand to his opposite hip. The shift made a floorboard creak slightly, bringing her attention to him. Just the simple act of looking up at him made his heart skip, her eyelashes perfectly framing her large doe eyes.

His face flushed, an action he could no longer control. His treacherous body’s ridiculous crush was absolutely maddening to the prince. His mind involuntary shoved the picture of her soft lips against his to his eyes. His heart betrayed him again as it leapt. Just being in her presence is driving me… He lamented silently.

Bulma took notice of the odd behavior the prince was exhibiting but she chose to ignore it. Instead she focused her brain on the mystery at hand.

“We should investigate the kitchens and the servants who work there.” she suggested.

“Yes,” he agreed, still fighting a great battle with his hormones. “But should we wait until after dinner?”

Bulma nodded, agreeing that he had a good idea.

Again she noted his odd behavior, flushed skin and awkward, stiff stance. The evil prince had fallen so hard for her; she was resisting the urge to gloat. Maybe the key to her freedom was making the prince fall in love with her. He wasn't terrible looking, in fact his body was godly, but she wasn't keen on his personality or political policies.  And God forbid, what if he wanted to keep her because he had fallen in love? What if he never let her go and she was stuck here the rest of her life to be his mistress or else rot in a cell? Bulma mourned not having the answer, like she might have if he were a horse or a sick patient. Still…

She moved on him, fast and hungry like a predator. Without thought, she grabbed his face, and pushed her lips to his, again. Her hand ran through his shock of wild black hair, holding him in place. Her other hand cupped his cheek and square jaw.

He was stunned, his heart had stopped. He did nothing, she had complete and utter control of him.

Her lust enveloped her, controlled her every move. She could not think, she only felt and acted, a slave to her emotions.

Losing all sense of morality and pride he lifted her from the ground and pressed deeper into her kiss. In response she wrapped her legs around him, a surprisingly easy task when equipped with male trousers. She pulled back from his kiss and looked into his eyes, sending a message that she wasn't completely sure of. She wasn't exactly a maiden anymore, the sentiments of which she didn't find too important to her lifestyle. She still valued most virtues, and as a girl she wanted to save herself for marriage. But her carnal desires had soiled that dream not too long ago. Her eyes dared him to take her, she didn't care to debate the morality of the act any longer.

For the prince it was so very much the opposite. He had never laid with anyone, and his hesitation to accept her dare very dangerously showed it. She had been his first kiss even, and he wasn't sure if he was ready to take her bounty just yet. His grip on the underside of her thighs loosened slightly, his courage faltering. He pressed some of her weight against the wall, anchoring himself to a more sturdy position.

As her body was lowered slightly, she felt the eager tightening of his pants, pressing into her. It was exhilarating, a dangerous situation on the horizon.

“Bulma,” he breathed, creasing his brow and questioning himself.

He was brave. He'd been in several battles. He had seen men die, some on his own blade. Some close friends to the enemy's blade. But for this, as with most firsts, he was nervous. And he also believed he would take her womanhood, an act he fervently believed should be saved for marriage. He waited for her verbal reply.

She did not give it. Instead she leaned her head to his and tugged his hair, lifting his face to hers. She again pressed her lips to his, but this time she took his lip in her mouth, and bit down lightly. His pained moans excited her, she felt powerful despite being pinned by him.

He couldn't take it any longer, he tightened his grip once again, lifting her off the wall. He swiveled around to face the bed and began to walk toward it. Not wanting to hurt her, he set her down on the bed gently, lips still tightly locked. When he pulled away from her she rose her hands to the base of her head. She untied the ribbon that held her hair, letting it fall heavy onto her shoulders. Her hands then reached for her shirt, and she began to unbutton it.

And then there was a knock at the door. Both of their hearts stopped, and resumed with an impossible speed. All Vegeta could hear was his heart pounding in his head.

Bulma had no clue what to do, she would be found out. Their sin would have them both killed, or at the very least just her. She looked to the prince for answers. His eyes wide and brow scrunched, he said nothing. She mouthed the words: What do I do? He shrugged in the same moment as he had an idea. Answer it, he replied while lowering himself to the ground, preparing to conceal himself beneath the bed.

She nodded, a determined look on her soft face. She cleared her throat, which she thought would conceal the noise of him sliding along the floor. It was successful. She made her way to the door and opened it, but only slightly.

It was a servant from the kitchen, Bulma did not know her name, but recognized her from breakfast. Her hair was long and dark as a moonless night. She had naturally dark lips that glistened likely due to regular treatment with animal fat. Bulma had heard of the fad of women using animal fat on their lips, but she refrained to maintain a manly appearance on her lips. The servant looked down on her, as she was much taller.

“Dinner, will begin shortly. Have you seen the prince? He did not answer my call at his door…” she remarked, a dark suspicion in her voice that Bulma immediately picked up on.

“No mam, thank you mam.” Bulma replied, wanting to close the door as soon as possible, and never open it again until she died of starvation.

“Please mind your seating at the table, boy.” the servant woman hissed, as she turned to walk away. Bulma noted the harsh remark, and said nothing, only closed the door. She pressed her back to the door, and her knees gave out underneath her. She slid down to the floor, landing quite hard. Ow. She groaned silently.

“She's gone,” Bulma beckoned the prince from his hiding spot. He crawled out, placing himself in front of her, also sitting on the floor.

“Close one,” he said with a mischievous grin.

Bulma however, had an entirely different attitude.

“What is this?” she demanded of the prince, not finding this kind of confrontation very funny in the least.

His grin vanished as he received the demand; though he had no idea how to respond. “I don't know,” he admitted truthfully.

Every ounce that was once lust and energy had completely changed to fear and depression in Bulma. Her eyes became dark and she stared at the ground. “I want to go home,” she said as her eyes shifted up at him. They began to fill with heavy, hot tears. She felt powerless now, playing with fire in a grease filled room. It was only a matter of time until someone realized she was a woman, even if she didn't pursue this perilous affair. Even if she would turn the prince to her side, he was unpredictable and until he was king he had no real power to pardon her.

He just stared at her. She couldn't leave him, he needed her. He wasn't safe until he knew his life was not in danger of the same assassin who poisoned Nappa. And he could only trust her. And now he wanted her, her body and her hand. He wanted to marry her, though the rational part of his brain told him that was just the lust talking. So he grabbed the ribbon on the floor and pressed it to her cheek, where her whale sized tears had fallen. She grabbed it from him and thanked him with her eyes.

He couldn't look at her when she was like this. He blushed and turned his head away with a scowl. The sickness that came with unsatisfied sexual desire began to hit him, along with the pains of hunger. He stood to his feet, smoothing his dishevelled hair to its original shape. Then he dusted off the floor dirt from his shirt and trousers. How unbecoming of him to literally stoop so low.

He reached out his hand, beckoning her to her feet.

She declined, symbolically using her hands to push herself to her feet. As she did so she averted her gaze from him, to the floor. She was embarrassed of her promiscuous behavior, and ashamed of her willingness to fall instantly in love with her enemy. She was utterly disgusted with herself, and she swore to never let it happen again. Then she opened the door and began to make her way to the dining hall.

Her rejection of his help to bring her to her feet felt harsh. Not two minutes ago he had her in his arms, inches from committing carnal sin. And suddenly, with the prospect of being found out on the horizon she froze to him. Her face had looked so hopelessly repulsed by himself, before she turned her back to him and ran off. What a pain it was to lose something he never even had. One thing was sure to him; he would never let that happen again.

 …

 Bulma had done well to place herself at a table very, very far from the prince. He should have told her the first time that she was disgracing herself by sitting in the late general's own chair. But no, he enjoyed seeing her embarrassed by the regent himself. Now she sat with low ranking, bachelor soldiers of no more than fifteen years.  They stunk, like overly ripe gourds and unwashed toilets. It sickened her so badly, on top of the night’s heart pounding events; she found herself unable to eat. So she pushed her stew around in her bowl and listened halfheartedly to the conversation the soldier boys were having. It mostly consisted of nailing the farmer’s daughters, and how many men each had killed already. The number of maidenhoods and French lives the lot of boys had claimed was numerous, and the most flamboyant fish tale Bulma had ever heard. She struggled not to roll her eyes at their exuberant lies.

Finally, after what had seemed hours, someone began tapping their silverware to their glass. A toast was in order, and Bulma was glad to hear anything other than fornication and murder. Her eyes followed the noise and determined it to be coming from the regent. She found herself suddenly very interested in him, a strange acting fellow indeed, whom she was certain played a role in the general's downfall.

Bardock stood, confidence in his posture and a laid back smile on his face. He was dressed very nicely for the occasion, he even had a long red cape attached to his lapels with golden chains. He certainly looked the part of royalty. After gaining most everyone's attention, he began to speak.

“I have an announcement to make to the court,” he began in a low and rich voice. “Very soon our kingdom will have cause for a wonderful celebration. In a few short days we will know peace with France for the first time since the late King Vegeta ruled!”

His voice rang through the halls, and pierced Bulma in the heart. No. She felt part of herself suddenly sadden, the prospect of a treaty with France could very possibly mean death for many people. She had no doubt this treaty was Emperor Frieza’s trojan horse. She scanned the table where Bardock was for the prince, but she did not see him. In fact she did not see him anywhere in the great hall. Whatever. She scolded herself for even caring. At this point she'd rather be locked away because she knew after helping him he'd never let her go anyway. Then the regent continued to talk.

“In one month our kingdom’s young prince will be a prince no longer. He will come of age, and it is time to honor him with a most wonderful coronation! It will be the biggest celebration in the history of our kingdom, we will have ambassadors from all over the continent attend as he is sworn in as the rightful King Vegeta!” this triggered a roar from every single guest in the dining hall; save for one. In the loud commotion Bulma could very nearly not hear herself think. But she wondered; if Bardock would willingly hand over control to the prince, and name him king, what motive did he have to assassinate Nappa? It just didn't fit. Either this was a farce, and Bardock planned to hurt Vegeta in some way, or he had absolutely nothing to do with Nappa at all. Bulma just wished she had no part in any of this. She missed the stables and the manure. Mostly she missed her siblings. But he snuck back into her mind too, as she pictured things that she loved.

Just then Prince Vegeta entered the room from the northern doors. He was dressed from head to toe in a most fabulous uniform. His doublet and trousers were a black velvet, with stripes of yellow, white and blue. He, too, had a long red cloak that attached to his lapels with golden hooks; though his cloak had what seemed to be a fluffy lynx fur around his shoulders. On his head was a small crown, what Bulma assumed was not the king's crown but a lesser version of it. Still it sparkled gold with specks of ruby and sapphire gems encrusted all over. He had on white gloves and white riding boots. He was the stunning image of a most regal prince. And Bulma hated him for his indulgences.  She decided to forego the meal all together, and return to her chambers for the rest of the night.

 …

 It had been two weeks since the announcement of the Prince’s coronation.  The annoying blue haired soldier had been hanging around the kitchen, fraternizing with the younger girls there. Mai had no doubt the deviant was planning to deflower them. She waited for more proof of his sodomy, but he had shifted his interest to her girls. He no longer visited the prince, nor did the prince visit him. Mai had garnered a sort of hatred for the boy, who favored any sex. He would probably fornicate with animals too, the poor sick bastard. She feared for the kitchen maids, this irregular sinner may have diseases of the flesh, and she could not bare him transferring it to them. Something had to be done.

She decided to come clean to the regent about the event she had witnessed two weeks ago.

Very soon Bulma would know the cold hard feel of the stone floor of a cell. She would know the piss and rat dropping smell that infiltrated every bit of oxygen in the castle's prison. She would know the feel of lice in her hair and cockroaches in her cot. She would know the hunger of slowly starving to death. She would wish for that death as mercy. And she would receive it.

To be continued…

As a woman of science, Bulma Briefs was a naturally curious person.

Since she was a little child, Bulma had always been the type who would never be content with short answers. There always had to be an explanation… a logical reason behind everything, every concept and every occurrence.

She needed to be convinced… to know exactly how something worked, before she would ever begin to be at peace regarding anything.

It was because of her inherent inquisitive nature, that Bulma was perpetually aggravated about the one thing in her life right then that did not quite make sense.

Vegeta.

He was the only person who thought of and believed in her abilities, spurring her to begin her research into the true embezzlers. It was something that she, in her focus on keeping her mother alive, had all but forgotten, but he somehow knew that she could have had what it takes to find the true perpetrators.

It had let the corrupt ones know that Bulma was still a player in the game, causing them to go after her, leading her into wishing her problems away. Even though her research had never needed to see the light of day after all, it had still been a catalyst in how everything had wrapped up.

There was also the fact that Vegeta always seemed to have a predilection for protecting her. He had saved her from her would-be rapists and murderers, and now kept near-constant vigil with her.

In the three months that she had known him, the Prince had become a steady companion to her, a regular fixture in her life, no matter how deeply he remained firmly hidden in the shadows whenever any other person drew near.

There were times when he seemed so normal, so unapologetically human, that she almost forgot that he was actually a mysterious phantom, a warrior spirit that she had summoned to grant her impossible wishes.

He was a demon of sorts, who seemed to still be biding his time until he finally revealed the final price that he would be taking from her, in return for his services.

She dreaded the moment when he would finally come up to her and ask for his payment, and that, within itself, aggravated her even more, since she had recently realized that it wasn’t her fear of the ultimate consequences of her wishes that she truly dreaded…

Bulma realized that she was terrified of the time when he finally stopped playing games with her, since she knew that upon gaining his price, Vegeta will, undoubtedly, leave.

It scared her witless when she understood that, all that spectacular golden-haired power aside, she did not want him to go.

She was dying to understand him, to know more about him, beyond the small snippets of random memories that he shared with her whenever he was lethargically pumped full of good food.

And ultimately… she wanted him to stay.

At the moment, she was content with having him literally floating with her in their family’s private swimming pool while they snacked on tropical fruits.

“And what is this one?” he asked, picking up a slice of yellow fruit.

“That is pineapple,” she answered. “You’ve had that before.”

“It looks different,” he said, popping the fruit in question into his mouth.

“This was sliced into chunks,” she commented, picking up a small bit of melon. “Bite-sized, easier to eat.”

“Tch,” he sneered. “You Earthlings… too lazy to even bite into food.”

She lowered her sunglasses, peering at him over the top of the rims.

She was on a pool float, wearing a blue two-piece bikini… one that she had purposefully picked out, as she recalled that it made her boobs look amazing.

The Prince was hovering in the air beside her, hand digging into her fruit bowl. He was wearing a pair of shorts and no shirt, an attire that she had coaxed him into, and as she ran her eyes up and down his obscenely defined chest and abdomen, she rationalized that her scheming to have him half-naked was her benevolent gift to mankind.

He was quite the view.

“Oh, don’t give me that, Mr. Prince of a warrior race. You can’t tell me that you didn’t have servants slicing your fruit for you.”

“My servants cooked my meat and peeled my produce. We didn’t have them cut the plants up into chunks,” he sneered, even as he merrily helped himself to another piece.

He was trying to find another slice of mango when he froze, and Bulma stiffened as she watched his eyes glaze over.

She knew what was coming next.

In a flash, he had materialized into his armor, eyes alert, body tense.

“I need to go,” he muttered tersely, before he brought two fingers to his forehead in a now familiar gesture, a second before he vanished into thin air.

Bulma sighed.

The man was a true mystery, one that she wished to unlock. She wanted to know who and what he was, forcefully casting aside her questions regarding why exactly she was so determined to get to know him.

I.i.I.i.I.i.I.i.I

Vegeta appeared into the middle of the tiny island house, looking around for the old woman who had called to him.

He keenly felt the ki signatures of his men, sensations that he had recently become reacquainted with.

He strode out of the house, noting the pandemonium happening just beyond the shore.

A tall, spiky haired Saiyan floated above the waters. He was wearing an orange martial arts gi and he was soaked in sweat, focusing a small and extremely potent energy ball into his hand, before he, with a strangled shout, blasted the tiny orb into the sea, forcing the placid waters to rise into towering waves of energy.

A few meters up into the sky, Vegeta spied the sparring forms of two disproportionately large men; both wearing the same orange attire as the first man, but while the first was lean, these men are both extremely muscular. For these two, however, one was completely bald headed, and the other had entirely too much hair.

Vegeta powered up, drawing their collective attentions to him.

All activity stopped, and the three hastily flew downwards, dropping down on one knee before him, with their right fists clutched tightly to the left side of their chests, heads down in supplication.

“Your Highness,” the bald one, the highest-ranked of the three, was in the middle.

“Nappa,” Vegeta greeted. “At ease.”

All three stood, facing their Prince.

Their race was gone, and only these three remained as his subjects. Though Vegeta would never admit it aloud, he was glad that they remained loyal to the crown.

“Raditz,” he turned to the man whose thick, dark hair was down to his knees. “I trust your travels went well.”

“Yes, my Lord,” he nodded. “I rushed here as fast as I could from planet Arlia, when I was told that you were back. I am honored to be in your presence once again.”

“And you, Kakarot, how fares your training?” he asked of the youngest one, who had barely been a man when he had last seen him.

“It has been going well, Prince Vegeta,” he scratched at his spiky hair as he went on, “I just need to relearn to focus my long-range attacks.”

“It is understandable that you are out of practice, as you have been at peace for several years,” Vegeta said. “Where is the crone?”

“Here, Prince Vegeta,” a hoarse old voice called out, making all four men turn to look back at the tiny house.

Uranai stood at the doorway, her crystal ball floating beside her as she took her slow steps towards the Saiyans.

“I am glad to see that you have all been reunited now. I am sure that the Prince is delighted to have his team back together.”

“Thank you for gathering us, Uranai,” Nappa said. “When the Prince was released, I felt his ki immediately, but Raditz was off planet, and Kakarot here had rather vague memories of our battles and was thus unable to quickly place the ki.”

“He had been barely more than a young boy at the time,” Raditz said. “Kakarot was only fourteen Saiyan suns old.”

“I am now twenty eight, by Saiyan count, right?” Goku asked. “Because we have been on Earth for nearly thirty years.”

Vegeta did the mental math. He had been imprisoned in the middle realm, within the ball, for fifteen Saiyan suns… thirty Earth years.

“Yes, and it has been thirty Earth years too long,” Vegeta said.

He took a deep breath, passion igniting in his eyes as he commanded. “Prepare yourselves, my loyal Saiyans. Soon, we shall go into war. And this time, we will win.”

I.i.I.i.I.i.I.i.I

Bulma tossed and turned in bed, unable to shake the feeling that something, at that very moment, was going incredibly wrong.

It was a gloomy evening, cool in temperature, but the darkness was so deep that it seemed even the moon and the stars hid from sight. The blackness was so disconcerting, more so since she was bogged down by worry for her missing non-human friend.

It had been three days since Vegeta disappeared, and she wasn’t quite sure if it was alright to call for him since he had looked so troubled when he last left.

She had waited for him to show up like usual, perhaps popping into existence beside her, or slithering into her bedroom in the dead of night.

She sighed, resolved to go to sleep, even as she offhandedly wondered if perhaps she was just uncomfortable on her new bed.

She had purchased a new, larger one after they came back to Capsule Corp, because she felt like the world owed it to her to let her lay on the largest possible bed after she had been forced to sleep on a narrow, hard cot for months.

She had taken forever to choose her bed, rejecting at least twenty mattresses until she finally settled on what she felt was the perfect one.

She was laying on the most amazing bed this side of West City, and yet, was unable to sleep because a certain pea-brained man had her worried to death over his whereabouts.

She was about to finally give up and just take sleeping pills when a dim flash of light appeared beside her, and she turned in surprise as she watched the form of the flame-haired man begin to form.

She almost heaved a sigh of relief, before she remembered that she was actually rather cross with him.

“What the hell have you been up to?” she asked suspiciously as soon as he was fully-visible before her. “I didn’t see you all weekend.”

Vegeta approached her side, floating gingerly beside her bed. “I have been sorting out some… private matters.”

She frowned, then reached over to flick on her bedside lamp.

A loud gasp was wrenched from her chest at the sight that greeted her.

“Oh my God! What happened to you?” she shrieked, one hand reaching out, as if to touch him, but her hand remained hovering a few inches away from his arm as confusion and alarm warred for dominance inside her head.

It was like Vegeta was there, but not completely. She blinked hard, until she finally accepted that what she was seeing was real.

Vegeta was nearly translucent.

It was like he was nothing but a mere reflection on a glass window, and Bulma was utterly mystified, worry eating at her as she looked at him, even while he himself remained nonplussed.

“Do not fret, woman. I am fine,” he responded, carelessly leaning back until he was floating beside her bed on his back.

“Are you… are you nuts?” she shrilled. “You’re see-through, Vegeta. How do you expect me not to freak out?”

“It is nothing. Besides, this is not the first time.”

Bulma’s eyesbrows shot up. “Yes it is.”

“It is perhaps the first time that I have come to you in this condition. I see now that I should not have done so.”

She felt a tiny pang of pain at this. “You… you regret letting me see you… like this?” she asked, and the hurt must have come through in her voice, since he turned to face her directly, brows lowered together as he spoke.

“I do not regret it. However, I did not intend to frighten you.”

She smiled. “I’m not scared, Vegeta. I’m worried for you… with you like this, I think… are you sick or something? Will you… will you tell me why this happened?”

He kept staring at her as she spoke, and she thought she saw a flash of emotion flit through his eyes, only to be rapidly dashed as he answered.

“This night… I am weak tonight, Bulma. My strength follows a cycle. It would have been wiser for me to remain hidden, alone, and yet… I don’t understand why but… but I wanted-” he shook his head. “Never mind.”

“Vegeta,” she whispered, reaching out, very gently laying a hand on his arm.

He felt cold.

It was a shock, considering that she could still remember the fiery heat of his skin, when she summoned him on that fateful night of the full moon...

“Vegeta, tell me? You wanted… what?” she said gently.

He looked away, crossing his arms tight across his chest.

“I don’t really understand my motives… but I wanted to be here tonight, Bulma.”

Her heart stopped, before it furiously began pumping so strongly that the beats seemed deafening within her ears.

He… he wanted to see her, when he was at his weakest.

She could not comprehend the elation that filled her entire body as she thought that perhaps… perhaps this meant that he felt at home with her.

“I can still destroy this entire planet with a single finger, I simply tire more quickly in this state,” he bragged, and Bulma noticed that, in spite of the bravado behind his words, she could still see a slight flush behind his translucent cheeks.

She was no closer to understanding who he really was… what he really was…

But Bulma now understood that on some level, the spectacularly powerful Prince felt at ease with her.

Perhaps.. Just as much as she felt safe, with him.

“Maybe… maybe you should get some sleep,” she said, moving over, patting the side of her bed invitingly.

He looked down at her hand on the sheets, and though he said nothing, she could sense the war going on behind his eyes.

“Vegeta, it is a very large bed. You could just… lay here. If you don’t feel your best today, maybe some sleep would help,” Bulma said as she began to pull the sheets back.

The Prince looked extremely conflicted, but Bulma noticed that he was floating closer and closer to her side. Before he could change his mind, she reached out and tugged him down to lay beside her.

He lay down with a small sigh. “These sheets really do feel good.”

“They do,” she said, turning so her back faced him as she settled into the comforter.

A yawn left her lips then, and she noted with surprise that she finally felt the desire to sleep.

“Good night, my Prince,” she said lethargically, before her eyes closed, and she was lost to slumber.

I.i.I.i.I.i.I.i.I

Vegeta never really seemed to need much sleep.

The morning after his night of weakness, just as he did every day, he woke at the break of dawn. He looked down at his chest, sighing in relief as he noticed that he was back to his tangible form.

However, unlike on all other nights, he woke surrounded by the soft scent of exotic flowers, the smell of fresh morning dew, teasing his body into wakefulness as it quieted the typical chaos of his mind.

Her scent… was like a salve for his exhausted, ravaged being.

He turned to his right, seeing the riotous wave of blue that partially covered the creamy white skin of the woman’s beautifully sculpted face.

He reached a hand out, wanting to brush the locks of hair away from her cheeks, before he caught himself, and with a disgusted huff, he rose, flying out of the room through her large, open glass window.

Perhaps, thirty Earth years without contact with anyone, other than the memories of his battles in his head, had made him soft.

It had been thirty Earth years since he was tricked into being trapped in that blasted orb. He, in a desperate attempt to tether himself to the living world, sent out a final ball of ki that contained a small part of his spirit.

He had intended to use that ball of energy to pull himself out of the middle realm, but as he had not fully mastered ki alchemy yet, the ki ball dissipated in an unexpected way that now landed him in this… problematic situation.

He knew what he had to do.

However, whenever he thought of going ahead with the next step, he would be halted by the image of smiling pink lips and light blue eyes, and his resolve would crumble into dust.

Bulma…

He had realized as soon as he gazed at her terrified face as she summoned him, that things had become a tad more complicated than he had originally intended.

He had stupidly indulged his curiosity that first night, when he had claimed that he was asking her for an “initial fee”.

He had not anticipated the electrifying heat of her skin, the exhilarating feel of her lips.

He was not prepared for how his blood roared to life, pumping madly through his veins as he clutched her close, feeding from her mouth as he appeased his hunger with her softness.

It was a mistake.

He thought of his small remaining team of Saiyans, remembering their determined faces, and he knew that for the sake of these few men who still believed in him, he could not afford to make any more missteps.

For the sake of his men… for the sake of all the Saiyans whose spirits are now clamoring for revenge against the man who betrayed them…

No matter how his own soul screamed at him that he needed to protect Bulma… His own personal inclinations be damned…

He must claim his price.

I.i.I.i.I.i.I.i.I

“Ms. Bulma, your next appointment will be in fifteen minutes.”

Bulma smiled gratefully at her secretary, knowing that the girl must have gone through enormous lengths to squeeze in those precious few moments as her break.

“Thank you, Lazuli,” she said.

The girl turned away with a small nod, leaving Bulma alone in her office.

She needed some spare time for her to be able to concentrate on her new discoveries.

Her curiosity regarding Vegeta, and the circumstances behind their meeting, never ceased to bother her, moreso now that she could not ever seem to get him out of her mind.

Now that she was back in Capsule Corp, she once again had the resources to help her find information, and though she was still unable to find anything about Vegeta, she realized that there was one character whom she could pursue, that could link her back to him.

The old woman who had given her the glass ball.

Bulma did not know much beyond the name that she had been given, but the more she thought about the day she met the old lady, the more she began to realize that their meeting was not by chance.

She was convinced that it had been deliberate, and Bulma used the only thing she remembered from that night to help her find the answers.

The old lady had called herself, Uranai.

The word was common, but fortunately, she had found one peculiar entry in a very old newspaper archive… from two hundred years ago.

She used this as her starting point, and from there, managed to find a contact that had promised to provide her with more information about the mysterious Uranai.

They had found that the old article was referring to a lady who called herself Uranai Kame.

Bulma was expecting an email from this contact, and as soon as Lazuli left, she immediately accessed her personal email.

The first unread email that she saw in her inbox was from her contact, Krillin.

Excitement flowed through her as she opened the attached PDF, and she sucked in a breath at what she saw.

The first page was a very old photograph, a very grainy and shadowy sepia image that showed a lady in her early fifties, wearing a very dark cloak and a stereotypical pointed black hat.

In spite of the clear changes brought by age, Bulma immediately recognized the light hair and small but angular face, and she could have sworn that she could see the eyes turn dark red, the longer she stared at the photo.

It was the old lady Uranai from that night in the dark street. She was absolutely positive.

On the second page was a strange set of coordinates, and Bulma realized that it was the last known location of the old woman.

Bulma nearly ran out of her office, instructing Lazuli to cancel all of her remaining appointments.

This, was more important than all of those meetings, combined.

I.i.I.i.I.i.I.i.I

The coordinates were leading Bulma to the middle of the sea.

She had taken off in a hovercraft, and as she flew deeper and deeper into nothingness, she was beginning to think that perhaps, the information from Krillin was inaccurate.

A large chorus of sparks in the distance caught her attention, and she realized that the sparks were almost right above the point that she was trying to travel to.

She sped up, turning on her cloaking mechanism as her earlier excitement began to return, and she gasped as she finally understood what, exactly, she had been seeing from a distance.

It appeared to be three large men, floating – flying! –in mid-air, simultaneously firing long rays of energy from… something. Whatever they were using, it must have been miniscule, as she swore that, from her vantage point, it appeared as if they were firing blasts from their bare hands.

She tried to slow down as much as possible, to keep the volume of her already silent car to a minimum.

Her head began to pound in anticipation as she saw a tiny island, in the middle of the vast sea, a ways away from the three men.

The coordinates were correct!

A small house stood in the center, shaded by a single palm tree. She parked her hovercraft behind the house, away from the three floating men, before she encapsulated it, storing the miniaturized vehicle in her pocket as she began to walk towards the house.

Her heels dug into the sand, and she knocked lightly on the back door, not waiting for a response before she tried the door knob.

The door was unlocked, and she pushed it open, walking into the tiny home that had sparse furnishings within a tiny living room, flanked by a kitchen and a narrow set of stairs leading down into what she could only assume was a cellar.

Bulma was about to head back outside to sit in the sand until someone came home, when she stopped dead, hearing a peculiar howling sound coming from somewhere close by.

It sounded as if the sound was inside the house, but the entire interior of the house was within her view, so that seemed rather impossible.

She stood silently, unmoving, listening for the sound again.

Nothing.

“Must have been my imagination, then,” she muttered, turning once again to leave.

Another sound, closer to a growling sound this time, sounded once again, and Bulma stilled as she finally realized that the sound was coming from somewhere beneath her.

Her eyes flew to the narrow set of stairs leading downwards.

Before she could think twice about it, Bulma made her way to the small entryway, peering into the darkness below.

The sounds she heard from within sounded inhuman, but even as she shook in terror, she started making her way down the stairs.

She still wore Vegeta’s amulet around her neck, on a longer chain, so it remained hidden behind her clothes. She clutched it through the cloth of her blouse, ready to scream for him at the slightest sign of danger.

The stairs creaked slightly beneath her light feet, every small sound making her cringe in paranoia.

The cellar grew darker as the growling and howling grew louder, and Bulma, startled, missed a step, catching herself on the narrow banister before she fell, but her abrupt movement made a loud, knocking sound on the steps, and Bulma heard the howling noises come to an abrupt halt.

“Who’s there?” a familiar voice, raspy and tinged with irritation, called from further into the cellar, making Bulma freeze.

She heard steps coming closer, small, slow steps…

“Who is trip-trapping into the cellar? I have told you all to stay away from this place when I am on my Spirit Bridge,” the old voice called.

Bulma sucked in a breath as the footsteps turned a corner, and she saw the tiny woman from before, fading pink hair covered by a pointed hat, flowing robes concealing her short and gnarled form.

“Prince, is that-” Uranai stopped mid-sentence as their eyes met, a small gasp leaving her as her eyes widened, jaw slack in surprise.

“Y-you!” the crone shouted, pointing a finger at Bulma. “What are you doing here?”

Bulma put her hands on her hips, glaring at the old woman. “I was looking for you! I want some answers about that orb, old lady!”

“You should not be here! This is no place for a young, living woman such as yourself!” Uranai said as panic settled onto her wrinkled features.

“Upstairs with you! You’re lucky the spirits did not sense you!” Uranai said as she forcibly pushed Bulma up the stairs, and Bulma, in her confusion, just went along with it, taking the steps two at a time as she felt the sense of urgency in the old woman’s hands.

When they were both on the upper floor, the tiny old woman quickly turned, pushing a slab of wood that Bulma had not noticed there before, to cover the entry into the cellar.

Bulma watched as Uranai huffed in exertion, and as soon as the cover was fixed, she turned back to Bulma, a look of astonishment mixed with the upset in her face.

“How did you even find this place?” she asked, and Bulma straightened, annoyed.

“I have my methods. But you!” Bulma pointed an accusing finger at Uranai. “You! When we met, that was not a coincidence, was it? You planned that meeting! Why? What is going on?”

Uranai cringed, and Bulma stared in defiance as the woman’s gaze flitted around, as if trying to find a way to escape.

All of a sudden, Bulma felt a large, incredibly heavy pair of hands clasp onto her arms at her sides, and she screamed as she felt herself lifted up in the air.

“Aiyeeeee! Let me go! Put me down!” she shrieked, trying her hardest to turn her head to see her attacker as her legs flailed helplessly beneath her.

“Oi Uranai? Who is this?” a loud, deep voice called out, and Bulma stiffened at the gruff tone.

“Who are you? Let me go! Just wait til I get Vegeta, he’s gonna kick your overgrown ass into space!” she screamed indignantly.

The man behind her jostled her a bit, before he addressed Uranai. “Oi. This woman. How does she know the Prince?”

Uranai sighed, seemingly in defeat, before she answered. “Nappa. That woman is the Blue Moon.”

The hands holding her suddenly released her, and Bulma fell to the ground, her butt painfully hitting the floor.

“Oof!” she cried, turning accusing eyes at the man who dropped her.

Her eyes widened as they travelled an inordinately long distance until she reached the top of her captor’s head. The man was humongous, a bald behemoth with arms wider than trees, legs twice as thick, and a torso larger than a buffalo’s.

Behind him stood two other men. Bulma realized that these were the three flying men from earlier, when she saw the long, wild hair of the second man, which she recognized even from her earlier distance.

The third man was tall, with unruly hair, and large round eyes… that looked a tad familiar.

Bulma craned her head, peering curiously at the thinnest man.

She gasped as a distant memory from her teens resurfaced, and she scrambled to her knees, not quite believing her eyes.

“Goku?” she asked, a bit uncertain.

Surely, it wasn’t possible…

The man in question perked up, looking at her questioningly, before his own eyes widened comically.

“Bulma?! You’re the Blue Moon?” the spiky-haired man exclaimed, pushing past the two other men as he ran excitedly to her.

“I can’t believe it! It’s been a while! Wow, you look so different!”

Bulma stared.

She had met Goku when she went on a mountain trek with her friends, fifteen years ago, when she was fifteen.

Goku had been a helpful older boy, leading her and her friends to the easiest paths, befriending them before he suddenly disappeared as they reached their destination.

Bulma almost didn’t recognize him, since Goku looked younger than her now.

“We came in because we thought we felt Prince Vegeta arrive,” the long-haired man said from behind Goku. “Now I see why something felt different.”

“It was her, Raditz, that’s why,” Uranai said, before she motioned for everyone to follow her into the tiny living room.

It looked rather ridiculous… three large, muscular men, squatted over a low table, flanking the shriveled old lady, all facing Bulma.

Bulma took a deep breath, before she spoke.

“What was that down there Uranai? And who are you guys? How do know me? And how were you all flying?” she asked, voice rising in volume as she felt her confusion mount.

Uranai regarded her carefully. “That down there, is the Spirit Bridge… a portal into the netherworld. I am the custodian of the portal. And you…” Uranai paused, fixing her red eyes on Bulma. “I know of you, because you share a spirit link with the Prince, whose soul has been under my watch for over a decade.”

Uranai coughed, gesturing at the three men. “These three, are Saiyans. They are Prince Vegeta’s warriors.”

Bulma swallowed. “And where is Prince Vegeta?”

Nappa spoke, brows drawn together in confusion. “We actually believed that he was with you.”

Uranai nodded. “He left today, saying he was about to get ready. You see Bulma… the Prince needs something from you… and we thought he was about to claim in today.”

Bulma stilled with realization. “The price? He needs to take it from me.”

A bright, angry aura suddenly appeared, and all four jumped back as the red glow licked menacingly at them, moments before they cleared and revealed the golden form of an extremely livid Prince Vegeta.

“Woman! What are you doing here?” he demanded. His fists were clenched tightly, eyes blazing, his voice a hair-raising, angry growl that had the three Saiyans cowering before him.

“My Lord!” Nappa said, scrambling to get on his knee before him, head down. “She just showed up. We were about to ask her to leave.”

Vegeta focused his intense green eyes on Bulma, and she cringed back, an apologetic grimace on her face.

“Vegeta,” she said gently, and she felt the eyes of Uranai and the three Saiyans turn sharply to her.

“I just…” Bulma stuttered. “I was searching for Uranai. I… I had a few questions…”

Vegeta swooped down and puller her up by her forearms, lifting her until she stood straight up before him.

He pulled her in with one hand, splaying her flush against his body, while he brought one hand up, two fingers raised to his forehead.

She felt that quick, dizzying sensation that made the bottom drop out of her stomach, a second before she found herself on solid ground, inside her bedroom, alone with the furious prince.

“Let me hear those questions,” he commanded as he released her, gently pushing her down to sit on her bed, while he backed away, leaning against a wall, arms crossed across his chest.

“You’re angry,” she muttered, casting her eyes down, not able to look at him as she saw the furious slant of his eyes grow narrower.

She heard him sigh, before she felt the furious aura surrounding him fizzle out. She heard his light footsteps as he approached her, sitting beside her on her bed.

He sighed. “That island is dangerous, Bulma. If you had been any other Earthling, the portal would have devoured you.”

She looked up, peering into his now dark eyes. “Why? Why me? I went there to ask Uranai why she gave me the ball that held you. I don’t understand… I want answers.”

She turned so her whole body was turned to him, and she slowly reached out until her hand covered his that were resting on his knees.

He turned his hand slightly, letting their fingers twine softly, and Bulma felt an incredible thrill at the feel of his gloved fingers gently linking with her own.

That feeling, was another thing that she needed to understand.

“I… Vegeta. I have grown fond of you. Maybe a little too much,” she whispered hesitantly, and she felt him stiffen slightly as she continued. “I just needed to know… more, before I get into a situation that I couldn’t get out of. I know that… there are a lot of things that you wouldn’t tell me but, can I just have… anything?”

Vegeta looked hard at her, before he too turned his body so he faced her on the bed. “Bulma. I will tell you all I can. But do not ask me for more, as I can tell you nothing beyond this.”

Bulma nodded, anticipation filling her as he took a deep breath, before he began. “I am the Prince of an extinct race. We were called the Saiyans, and we inhabited a planet called Vegeta-sei, a few light years away from Earth.”

She sucked in a breath. She had suspected, from his earlier slip-ups, that Vegeta was not from Earth. His powers, his strange behaviors, and the complete absence of literature for any possible legends behind his glass orb, now made so much more sense.

He continued. “Those three men you met back there, along with I, are the last of our kind. We were betrayed by an evil being thirty Earth years ago, who had not just destroyed our home, but also trapped me in the ball. We are here, waiting for the perfect time to take our revenge.”

“You got mixed up in this because of an earlier complication. We needed someone who wanted to free me, and since you needed a wish, your desire for the wish made it seem to the powers-that-be like you desired to release me. I do, however, need that final price from you still, since I need it to lead my remaining people to victory.”

Bulma nodded. She knew that what he was telling her was just the beginning, but she had agreed not to ask for more than what he could tell her.

There was one question that nagged her though, and unable to stop herself, she asked, “Why haven’t you claimed the final price, then? If you need it?”

He stilled, and she thought she saw a haunted look enter his eyes as he responded. “Because I am not quite ready, yet.”

He brought his two fingers up to his forehead then, and before Bulma could stop him, he disappeared.

She spent the rest of the remaining day mulling about his words, trying to figure out what he meant when he said that he wasn’t ready to ask her for the price yet.

He may have given her some answers… but he just made her come up with even more questions, as well.

I.i.I.i.I.i.I.i.I

Bulma was up to her neck in work, after her impromptu ditching from the day before. She was barely getting by, and not even Lazuli’s fastidiousness helped with the mounting paperwork and twice as many appointments, due to her regular ones and the previous day’s cancelled ones all being squeezed into one day.

She was dying to get to the last appointment of the day, a four o’clock meeting with the head of a refrigeration company.

The last of the paperwork finally petered down, and she looked at the clock in her office with exhaustion, relieved to see that it was finally three fifty-nine in the afternoon.

“One last meeting and I’ll be home free!” she sing-songed, and exactly as the clock struck four, her phone rang.

“Ms. Bulma,” Lazuli greeted. “Your four-o’clock is here.”

“Please send them in, and you can go on home,” she instructed, to which, Lazuli hummed in acknowledgement.

The blonde assistant was definitely not the friendliest or liveliest person, but she got the job done to a ridiculously efficient degree. If Bulma didn’t know better, she’d think Lazuli was a robot.

Her door swung open, and Bulma raised her head to greet her visitor, only for her voice to lodge painfully in her throat.

On the surface, the man was absolutely nondescript. He was rather short, pale, with narrow eyes and a bald head with a large purplish birthmark on his temple. He wore a pristine white outfit, and he was smiling politely at her as entered her office, a pleasant greeting on his lips.

However, something about his manner, his aura, if she could even say that, made her uneasy, but she stubbornly quashed the uncomfortable feelings aside as she smiled back, indicating the chairs before her desk so he and his assistant could sit and be comfortable as they discussed their business proposal.

The assistant was tall, with long greenish hair and a very handsome face. Bulma smiled at him as well, finding it strange that she was so uneasy around such an attractive man. She’d usually be more comfortable with an attractive visitor, but right now…

She felt for Vegeta’s amulet through her blouse…

“Don’t be silly, Bulma. It’s just a business meeting. You’re being paranoid,” she scolded herself as she mustered up a professional smile, leaning back on her chair as she regarded her guests.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen. I am Bulma Briefs, it is a pleasure to meet you,” she said, extending a hand to each of them as they sat.

“The pleasure is all ours, Ms. Bulma. My, but do you look stunning! The magazines do you no justice,” the shorter man said. “My name is Frost. And this,” he gestured to his companion, “is my assistant, Mr. Zarbon.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Ms. Bulma,” Zarbon said, extending a small box filled with chocolates to her. “We have brought you some pastries, hopefully so we can come upon a sweet deal.”

“Oh, thank you, you really shouldn’t have,” she smiled, placing the box before her on the desk. “Now, I received a fantastic proposal from Frieza Corp. about a possible refrigeration deal with some capsule tech. Mind enlightening me on the exact details, gentlemen?”

They spoke about the deal for more than half an hour, and Bulma’s feeling of unease slipped away as she became engrossed in what was rapidly appearing to be a very lucrative deal proposal.

She was about to make a suggestion to one proposed clause, when her stomach suddenly released a very loud, extremely embarrassing growl.

“Oh my God,” she laughed, face flaring red. “I am so sorry, I haven’t eaten all day, my body is just trying to remind me!”

Zarbon was quick to raise a hand in placation. “No worries, ma’am, we understand!” he said with a chuckle. He motioned to the box of sweets on her desk. “Perhaps you should have some of these pastries.”

“Oh no, I couldn’t possibly…”

“Please, Ms. Bulma, we insist. They are absolutely divine, and we feel terrible for taking so long here that you can’t take your meal!” Frost said, nudging the box closer to her.

She looked at the food, and her stomach grumbled at her once again.

“Ah, what the heck, right? I am famished,” she said, opening the box and taking a round, chocolate-coated piece.

She popped the pastry into her mouth, groaning gratefully at her first mouthful of food all day. “Gosh, you were right, this is delicious! Where did you buy these, I might have to place a bulk order.”

“We got it far from here, Ms. Bulma,” Frost said, and Bulma couldn’t help but feel like something about his tone had suddenly seemed strangely different.

Zarbon himself, was grinning, and Bulma, suspicious but with no idea why, simply went back to discussing their deal.

It was not until a few minutes later, when she felt an abrupt spell of nausea take over her, that she paused, placing a hand against her forehead as the dizziness persisted.

“Is something wrong, Ms. Bulma?” Frost asked when she cut herself off, mid-sentence.

“No, I…” she stopped as she realized that her words seemed slurred. “I am just not feeling well. I guess I am actually more tired than I thought,” she tried to excuse herself.

She tried to push herself up onto her feet, but her arms gave way as she tried to brace herself on the table so she can stand.

“Lazu…” she began, thinking of calling her assistant, before she remembered that she had asked the blonde woman to go home.

“Perhaps you should take a seat, Ms. Bulma,” Zarbon said, going around to her side of the table to help her sit comfortably once again.

“Thank you. I’m sorry… I’m not sure what is happening…” she began, panicking slightly when she looked at the tall man, only to realize that she was beginning to see double.

“Don’t worry about it Ms. Bulma, we understand,” Frost said, coming up to stand beside Zarbon.

Bulma stared at him confusedly, when she saw his smile widen into a smirk, and she swore that she saw small fangs peeking out from under his lips.

“After all,” Frost began, his voice now lower, more of a hiss than actual words, “we know fully well how Namekian root affects Earthlings. In just a few more moments, you will lose consciousness. Isn’t that right, Zarbon?”

Bulma’s blood froze in her veins.

“They drugged me?!” she thought, as she tried to lift her hand so she can clutch at the amulet at her chest.

Her limbs refused to move.

Frost watched her, before his eyes narrowed in on her chest.

The amulet had peeked out through the buttons of her blouse, and Frost smirked menacingly as he reached forward, slipping his fingers through the gap so he could hold the amulet between his fingers.

“What do you know? Look, Zarbon, the Prince gave her a keepsake,” Frost snickered, before he viciously pulled at the trinket, snapping the chain as he pocketed the amulet.

Zarbon smirked. “This may turn out to be even more interesting than we thought,” he said. “Perhaps we should begin cloaking before we take her with us.”

“I believe you are right,” Frost said, and Bulma, with progressively heavier eyes, watched as he raised his arms, making small beams of energy surround them in a circular shield.

She tried to keep her eyes open, to speak, to scream, but nothing in her body worked right, and she realized with dread that there was nothing more she could do to fight off the drowsiness that the drug had her under.

“Stop fighting it, Ms. Bulma. Don’t you worry, we will still be here when you wake up,” Zarbon crooned, and his aggravating face was the last thing she saw before the all-encompassing darkness of unconsciousness took over.

I.i.I.i.I.i.I.i.I

Vegeta appeared into Bulma’s room as he so often did nearly every evening.

He would usually spend his entire day training, either alone or with his men, but on this particular day, he had done nothing but wander around the mountains of Earth, longing for his home planet, but knowing that his moping was futile because there was no force in the universe that could give him back all that he had lost.

The only thing left for him was revenge… and oh, how he wanted to wrap his fingers around Frieza’s neck as he wrung the life from him, torturously slowly, like the lizard demon had done to the Saiyans that he had kept as playthings all those years ago.

How he wished to trap him in a hell of his own creation, leaving him no choice but to either waste away in despair, or to exist with nothing but the bitter thirst for cold blood coursing through his every vein.

But more than anything, Vegeta wished that he were once again a fully-living man, not a being with a conditional existence that blossomed and faded at a benevolent god’s whims, one who needed another being’s vitality so he could be restored to his full and former glory.

He would give anything, to be a real mortal once again.

To be a man that needed sustenance, who could sweat and bleed, who could touch another without inhibitions…

To be a man who could care for and protect Bulma.

He shook his head angrily at his wayward thoughts, the futility of it all making his rage rise into an all consuming flame deep inside his heart.

There was no hope for him.

He knew of his choices. There were only two possible outcomes…

And it was becoming increasingly clear, with every day that passed, that he may be fated for the worst possible end.

He looked around his surroundings, noting the clean sheets and straightened up knick knacks, and he realized in a flash that Bulma had yet to come home.

Her housekeepers kept her room clean, and she systematically decimated the neatness within five minutes of her arrival.

He grinned as he thought of how intelligent and yet utterly unorganized she was, how she was the very epitome of a woman raised in privilege, and how she, like him, had experienced what it was like to have a very swift fall from grace, even though her own fall was temporary.

He was glad that he was able to keep her from falling too hard into devastation, at least.

He went downstairs, listening hard lest anyone be in the same vicinity, as he craved to have some of the rich, starchy soup-like concoction that she had made for him the previous morning.

He peered into the kitchen, before he opened the large refrigeration device, and set about looking for the “Tupperware” that she had placed into the very back, so he could come and take some at any time.

He grinned as he spotted the plastic box, then sat down on one of the chairs in the dining area, spoon in hand as he opened the box.

It was half-empty.

“Someone’s been eating my porridge,” he grumbled as he still dug in, regardless. “Fucking Earthlings.”

He turned an ear up as he heard Bulma’s family conversing in the background, ready to spring away at the slightest sign of anyone approaching.

He stilled, spoon halfway to his mouth, when he registered exactly what it was that they were discussing.

“…Yes officer,” a woman’s voice, which he recognized as Bulma’s mother. “She was last seen by her secretary at four in the afternoon. She was still at work.”

“We cannot place an official complaint until she has been missing for twenty four hours, Mrs. Briefs. Are you sure she didn’t just go on a date and forget to take her phone?”

“No, officer, Bulma isn’t like that,” Dr. Briefs answered. “She wouldn’t leave her phone unattended then skip off somewhere. You know that our family had huge legal issues, and we are of course, afraid that our daughter would still be targeted.”

Vegeta straightened, raising two fingers to his head so he can detect Bulma and retrieve her…

Only to stare into the distance, stunned, as he realized that he could not sense her.

Her ki was gone…

Her ki was miniscule to begin with, and it was hard to pinpoint her at all times due to how insignificant her ki number was, but he had always been able to easily find her, even in the midst of chaos.

It was as if she was… gone.

Panic began to set in as he tried to zero in on the amulet he gave her, only to harshly slam into a psychic wall, the likes of which he could clearly remember, in spite of not having encountered it for three decades…

Frieza.

With a flare of power, he raised his fingers again, materializing into the middle of Uranai’s house with an anxious shout, “Men! To your Prince, now!”

Less than a second later, all three remaining Saiyans stood before him, baffled at the furious energy surrounding him.

“My Lord, what-” Raditz started, but Vegeta cursed, cutting him off.

“They have taken her. They have taken my Moon.”

The remaining Saiyans stared at him in shock, digesting the words and the ramifications of such a problem.

“We need to find her. That woman who tried to kill Bulma had said that the name was Cold. Nappa, did you find anything?” he asked, the flames of his power rising, singeing the floor beneath his feet as he tried desperately to control his rage.

They will pay. Whoever they are, they will pay.

“Cold is an alias, my Prince. But I stand by my previous lead. I believe that they are hiding behind a medium enterprise being led by a man named Frost Chiller. I have reason to believe that this man is actually Frieza.”

“Then I shall go there now. I shall destroy his empire once and for all!” Vegeta growled.

“Prince, no!” Raditz said. “You know as well as we do that the time isn’t right yet. It is why we have been waiting to attack…”

“I can wait no longer. They have Bulma,” Vegeta hissed, about to raise his fingers to his forehead once again.

All were stunned when two strong hands held back Vegeta’s, pushing them down to keep him from leaving.

Kakarot.

“You will unhand me this instant, Kakarot,” Vegeta spat, but Kakarot shook his head, defiant.

“No. Your majesty, I know why we need to look after Bulma now, but please... She is such a nice girl. If we go in now, not only will she die, but we will all die. We need a better plan.”

Vegeta wrenched his arm away from Kakarot, eyes blazing with pure hatred, but he tried to calm himself, knowing that the boy was right.

“You have an hour to come up with a plan, Kakarot. Otherwise, I go in and rescue her, by myself.”

I.i.I.i.I.i.I.i.I

When Bulma woke up, a part of her really wished that she hadn’t.

Her head pounded mercilessly, and she felt her insides rioting, bile rising to her throat as the nausea overwhelmed her, making her see her surroundings behind a deep haze of red.

She was flat on her back, and she tried hard to move, but a heavy feeling in her limbs kept her rooted to the hard ground.

It was so utterly disorienting, and it took her a few moments to remember exactly why she was in this predicament.

“Those fucking bastards poisoned me,” she hissed in fury, even as her throat protested the activity.

“I’m gonna kill them. Then I’m gonna make Vegeta kill them again,” she thought mutinously.

A soft creaking sounded off to her right, and Bulma mustered up all of her strength to turn her head in that direction.

Two large men guarded a small door, and Bulma realized as she looked around that she was in a bare room, laying on a concrete floor, being watched by two, strange-looking men.

“Hey Burter, look, she’s awake,” one of the men said, lifting his arms up so he could fix the ponytail that he had his long hair up into.

“Oh hey, you’re right Jeice,” answered the other, a larger man with a bald head and a very flat nose.

“Hey there, princess. You hungry?” the one named Jeice jeered, before both burst into laughter.

“We got some chocolate for you here, if you want some,” smirked Burter.

Bulma tried to part her lips. “Fu-fuck you,” she rasped, making the men howl in laughter.

“Later, princess. For now, we keep you here,” said Jeice, a note of malice in his eyes. “Lord Frieza needs you alive.”

“But as soon as he kills the Prince, we can do what we want with her, right?”

She felt a shard of worry strike her at those words.

She coughed, before she defiantly muttered, “You can’t kill the Prince. He’ll kill you all.”

Burter just laughed again. “He can try, but he won’t be able to even touch Lord Frieza without the Blue and Red Moons.”

“Blue… and Red?”

Bulma had heard many times of the Blue Moon. But Red?

Jeice smirked cruelly. “Why doll, didn’t he tell ya?”

Her face must have showed her confusion, because both men started chuckling, before Jeice spoke again.

“It appears to me, that they have left the Blue Moon in the dark, Burter,” he grinned, before he turned to her. “Lemme tell you a little bit about your Prince, Ms. Briefs.”

Bulma tried to hide the anticipation in her face.

Could it be, that she would get her answers from these two men?

“Listen. Now, we know that you are the Blue Moon,” he said, and Bulma frowned.

Mai had mentioned that “Cold”, her boss, had called Bulma “The Blue Moon”.

Bulma knew that a Blue Moon was either the second full moon within a calendar month, or a more literal one, when the moon appears blue due to scattered particles in the air.

“You know the Saiyans, their powers follow moon cycles. I think they call you the Blue Moon because you have been tainted by the Prince. His life force flows within you, that’s why he keeps you handy. They also call you the Blue Moon because they need to keep you around when the full Red Moon appears,” Jeice said.

She frowned as Burter chimed in. “Yeah, and the Red Moon is when the Saiyans are strongest. The Red Moon will be coming soon, and those monkeys think we’re stupid, that we don’t know that they are biding their time until they attack during the eclipse.”

Bulma’s eyes widened.

It made so much sense.

Vegeta had been saying that he was waiting for the perfect time… that he wasn’t ready to claim his price…

He was truly waiting for a particular phase of the moon.

She thought back on the day that Vegeta had shown up in her bedroom, translucent and weak, and she remembered that it had been an extraordinarily dark night…

A dark night… when even the moon seemed to be in hiding…

The new moon.

He was weak, because the moon was hidden.  

She also began to understand why she had been singled out as the one who could free him from his imprisonment, why the spirits on the Spirit Bridge did not immediately sense her, and why Nappa had said that they thought they felt Vegeta when she arrived at the island house.

Uranai had told her, that she and the Prince shared a spirit link.

It truly made a lot more sense, now.

She was somehow a part of Vegeta… or had a part of Vegeta in her.

Was this the reason why she was so drawn to him?

Jeice’s laughter pulled her from her reverie.

“Did you also know that the reason why your family was targeted by the fund scammers was so they could take you out before you freed the Prince?”

“Yeah, too bad that idiot, Lewis, admitted everything. It would have been easier to make her disappear if she was penniless.”

“Oh, look at her Burter! She looks shocked. Reckon the Saiyans never told her?”

“Probably not, Jeice!”

Bulma tuned them out as she concentrated on her limbs, trying to see if they would work, and she realized with annoyance that her arms still refused to move.

She kept on trying to lift her fingers, but the entire time, in the safety of her mind, she was calling out to only one person…

“Vegeta… help me!”

I.i.I.i.I.i.I.i.I

Vegeta shot up, eyes wide as he heard a voice in his head.

“Bulma!” he thought, looking around, recognizing her voice immediately.

He would know her voice, even in the midst of a billion other voices.

The waxing gibbous moon guided their way to her, a thick patch of silver light that gave him hope as they travelled in a manner that he deemed too slow, but was also the safest way to avoid detection.

He turned to his left, finding Kakarot driving the hovercraft that was carrying them to Bulma. One other hovercraft, ironically produced by none other than Capsule Corp, was a few meters ahead of them, carrying Nappa and Raditz.

Nappa had apparently spent the past thirty years on Earth making an absolute killing in the body-building industry, and owned a small army of Capsule Corp vehicles.

“Is something wrong, Prince Vegeta?” Kakarot asked from his side.

The younger man’s brows were knitted in worry, and Vegeta ran a hand down his face, exasperation filling him at the thought of their plan.

“No… But I thought I heard Bulma,” he admitted, looking off into the distance as Kakarot drove the small vehicle.

“Oh,” Kakarot said. “You know, sometimes, it’s kinda like that with me and Chichi.”

Vegeta raised a brow questioningly.

“Ya know… my wife, Chichi. When I started feeling drawn to her, sometimes I would hear her in my head, so I’d go to her, and I’d find out that she was thinking of me,” Kakarot said offhandedly.

The Prince narrowed his eyes. “I am not feeling drawn to anyone-”

“Whatever you say, highness.”

Kakarot’s infuriating nonchalant response nearly made him blast the fool into oblivion.

He was suffering through this slow vehicle because Kakarot had logically said that if they went in to try to rescue Bulma in their full, powerful forms, Frieza would sense them from miles away and would undoubtedly try to harm Bulma.

However, if they snuck in this way, ki suppressed way down, they could sneak her out, so they could face Frieza at their own terms on a later date.

They were to stay hidden, and Raditz would use his acquired technological methods to gain access into the compound where they believed Bulma was being hidden.

Uranai had bribed the spirits with many valuable things, to get as much information as they could, and their spirit sources had led them to a small villa on the edge of West City.

The only problem that remained, was that stealth had never been Vegeta’s forte.

He was having a difficult time suppressing his ki, what with his aggravation and the fact that his current form did not exactly have all of the control of his original body.

But he needed to try harder, to get to Bulma.

I.i.I.i.I.i.I.i.I

Sweat was dripping all over Bulma’s body as she pushed herself beyond all of her known limits, just to move a single finger.

The drug they had used on her was powerful, and Bulma worried that this long period of physical sedation may have lasting effects.

She would have to study it, when she gets back to her lab.

“Focus, Bulma,” she chided herself as she tried again, focusing on moving her finger…

Her right pinky finger twitched.

“Yes!” she thought.

However, her celebration was cut short when she heard a powerful explosion coming from somewhere very close by.

Her eyes widened, and she turned her gaze to her two guards, who had now stood at attention as another blast came from within.

“Fuck! Is it the Saiyans?” Jeice asked, as Burter looked up in panic.

“Who the fuck else, Jeice?” Burter responded, reaching up to open the door.

“The fuck are you doing?” Jeice screeched, slapping Burter’s hand away from the knob.

“I wanna check outside!”

Bulma tuned them out once again as she concentrated harder on moving the rest of her limbs.

Vegeta was here.

The men continued arguing, but were cut off when a cellphone started ringing.

“Mr. Frieza?” Jeice said, and Bulma stilled, listening.

Frieza was the name of the man who Vegeta needed to fight.  

“Just leave her here? Alone? Alive?”

She felt confusion fill her at that. Were they being instructed to just leave her?

“Yes sir,” he spoke into the phone again, before he turned a questioning eye at Bulma.

“You know,” he said to her still prone form. “I really don’t understand everything, but you’re a lucky little bitch, you know? The Master just told us to leave you here for your Prince to find.”

Burter approached, pulling on Jeice’s arm. “Let’s go Jeice.”

Bulma watched as the two men began to levitate, before they swiftly flew to the door, then sped out of her sight.

Apparently, they were aliens, too.

Several more explosions sounded, coming closer and closer, and Bulma took a deep breath.

“Vegeta!” she screamed, knowing that the Prince was close… he was going to save her.

In the next moment, she felt his unmistakable aura fill the room, and tears of relief filled her eyes as she heard him shout.

“Bulma!” he cried, rushing to her, powering down from his golden haired form, kneeling beside her as he checked her body for injuries. “Are you alright?”

She looked at him, a watery smile on her lips, as she nodded. “I’m fine, but I can’t move… they drugged me with some sort of root…”

“Namekian root,” he hissed gathering her into his arms.

Bulma curled into his chest as much as her paralyzed limbs would allow her, sighing as the masculine scent of him washed over her, comforted her…

She stiffened, remembering the words of the two men from earlier.

She had a part of Vegeta inside her. She needed to understand what it was before she let herself succumb to the rapidly growing feelings in her heart, the fondness that she felt for him more and more keenly each day.

She felt her stomach drop, and realized quickly that he had used his teleporting powers to take them out of the building.

“Men!” he called loudly, and Bulma felt his ki flare around her for a moment, before the three Saiyan men from earlier were again before them, all sooty and looking like they had just escaped from hell.

“We have her, let us go, now,” Vegeta commanded, before he shot up into the air with her in his arms.

It was a strange sensation, flying without a plane, and she was both fascinated and terrified by the feel of the wind in her hair as she flew through the sky, safely tucked into the arms of the alien prince.

She realized that he was flying rather slowly, apparently making a leeway for her as the extreme speeds that she knew that he was capable of would undoubtedly injure her.

She noticed that the three other Saiyans were nearby also flying at the same leisurely pace.

“Where are we going?” she asked, nuzzling her face into his chest as she spoke.

“To the island,” he answered, eyes trained straight ahead.

A brilliant idea popped into her head, and she frowned as determination filled her.

“No, don’t,” she said, and Vegeta turned to her, brows raised in question.

She cleared her throat as she continued. “Take me to Capsule Corp.”

“Bulma, your family cannot see me, you know this,” he answered.

“Please,” she said. “I will just tell them that you saved me, but we need to deal with this somehow… Also, I can house all of you until the next Red Moon.”

His eyes widened. “You know of the Red Moon?”

“I also know more about the Blue Moon. Vegeta, we need to talk,” she whispered. “Take me to Capsule Corp, and I will set you and the other three up with decent living spaces and a training ground until the full Red Moon shows up in a few days. Let me help you.”

“You have already suffered enough,” he growled.

“But so have you,” she soothed, and she felt his shoulders sag slightly as she realized that her words had gotten through to him. “Let’s go to Capsule Corp.”

Vegeta clutched her tighter against him as he mulled it over. “I suppose… if we were closer to you, we could watch over you more easily. Now that Frieza has begun to actively target you, there is no telling what else he plans to do.”

He turned his head to the side, and yelled out to his men, “Saiyans! We are going to Capsule Corp.”

They made the rest of the trip in silence, until all five of them finally touched down onto the front lawn of the main house.

Vegeta approached the door, still holding Bulma, and Bulma heard her mother’s panicked voice from within the house, shrieking at someone that her daughter still had not made it home.

Bulma did not have her keys with her, so she pressed the doorbell, waiting for someone to open the door for them.

Panchy herself came to the door, staring in shock at Bulma and the large men surrounding her, before she started screaming for Dr. Briefs.

As soon as they were inside, Vegeta sat Bulma down on a chair, and she calmly explained to her parents that yes, she had been kidnapped, and yes, it was probably orchestrated by the men who tried to frame her father, and no, they did not need to call the police.

Bulma also explained the four Saiyans as being soldiers who were about to be deployed to war.

Panchy cried buckets, hugging each and every single one of the large men as she thanked them for saving her daughter.

“Let me see again, you are Vegeta, you are Goku, you are Nappa, and you are Raditz,” Panchy clarified, pointing to each man as she spoke their respective names.

“You are all so big and scary looking!” she said in delight, marveling at the enormous men and their ridiculously ripped bodies. “But you are all angels for saving our Bulma.”

“I agree,” Dr. Briefs piped in. “Is there anything we can do to repay you?”

Bulma sat up straighter at that. “Dad, could we let them use Capsule 4 for a while? They need to do some strength training for their deployment in a few days, and Capsule 4 would be great for them.”

Dr. Briefs frowned. “Do you think they can handle it?”

“Do they look like they can’t? Also, Capsule 4 has four bedrooms, they could sleep there until they need to leave.”

Dr. Briefs immediately agreed, immediately asking someone to prepare Capsule 4 while Panchy flew to the kitchen to prepare food for their guests.

Bulma stayed behind with the Saiyans, smiling gratefully as Vegeta held his hands up to her, a warm glow emitting from his fingers, and she realized that he was pulling the drug out of her system when she began to feel her fingers and toes once again.

“Capsule 4 is an experimental venture. We call it the gravity chamber,” Bulma explained. “It simulates up to fifty times the Earth’s gravity, and we intend to sell it to the military for their training. It is surrounded by the toughest polymer and metals on Earth, and I am pretty sure that you could use your hand explosions or something in there without being detected by anyone.”

Vegeta stared in shock at her. “You have this sort of technology?”

Bulma nodded. “The prototype, which is Capsule 4, was finished last week. It was one of the projects that were put on hold when the government seized Capsule Corp from us, and my father and I just finalized the programming a few days ago. You guys can test it out. However, even if the gravity function does not hold up, you still have a training room and a place to rest.”

Panchy slinked into the living room then, stopping their discussion. “Oh boys! There is food in the kitchen!”

All men turned questioning, hopeful looks at Vegeta.

The Prince sighed. “Go and eat. You are dismissed.”

All three were gone in a second.

I.i.I.i.I.i.I.i.I

Bulma sighed deeply as she emerged from her bathroom, rubbing a soft towel onto her head to dry her hair.

After the three Saiyans ate, and Vegeta had fully healed Bulma from the effects of the Namekian root, the Capsule Corp guards escorted all four Saiyans to Capsule Corp, so they could get settled in for what remained of the night, and could begin training the following morning.

Dr. Briefs had volunteered to assist the Saiyans in Capsule 4 the following day, so Bulma could stay in her room, rest, and heal from her harrowing experience.

Panchy had still been insisting on calling the police, but Bulma had given her the excuse that Vegeta and the rest had used illegal means to save her, and she did not want the police to get involved because of this.

Now, as Bulma prepared for bed, she thought back on the events of the exhausting day, realizing that there was so much that she still wanted to discuss with Vegeta, but she was also so exhausted that she could barely keep her eyes open as she dressed in her sleeping clothes.

A mere second after she had dressed, she felt the familiar crackle of fire and energy in the air, and she turned just in time to see Vegeta materialize into her room.

His dark hair was a mess upon his head, and he looked uneasy, fidgety even.

Bulma realized that he felt guilty for all that had happened to her on that day.

“Hey, Vegeta?” she called.

He looked up at her, eyes soft, while his body spoke an entirely different language, defensively crossing his arms across his chest.

“Thank you, for saving me,” she said.

“Tch,” he spat, looking away from her, an expression of rage and disgust in his face. “Do not thank me, woman. You are in this situation because of me. If anything, you should be cursing the ground I walk upon.”

“I don’t blame you for anything, Vegeta,” she said, walking up to him.

Slowly, she lifted her hand, placing it upon his chest, watching his face as a vast array of emotions flitted chaotically across his eyes.

“You should,” he muttered.

“But I don’t,” she whispered. “However… I learned a few things today… and I really want to talk to you about them. Could you… could you help me understand?”

She swallowed, before she continued. “Those men told me about the Blue Moon, and the Red Moon. They said… they said I had a part of your life force in me. I… want to know…”

“Bulma,” he rasped, and she started slightly when he reached up to touch her hand on his chest, squeezing her fingers even as he refused to meet her eyes. “I will answer your questions. But can we… can we wait until tomorrow?”

Bulma looked curiously at him, trying in vain to get him to look at her.

“You… you were injured just a few hours ago. I want you to rest. Tomorrow night, I will come to you again, and I will answer your questions. I suppose it is high time that I did,” he said gently, pulling his hand away from her.

She smiled, and she almost sighed in relief when he finally glanced at her, and he too gave her a tiny grin as their eyes met.

“I will see you tomorrow then, Vegeta,” she agreed.

I.i.I.i.I.i.I.i.I

Bulma watched the Saiyans train in Capsule 4 through a monitor that she and her father had installed prior. The feed was linked directly to her tablet, and she scrolled all day through all the cameras to better be able to see all angles.

All she could say, was that these men were incredible.

They took to the increased gravity like fish to water, and their actions were impossible for any Earthling man to ever hope to follow.

Dr. Briefs immediately figured out that the men were not ordinary soldiers, but didn’t question Bulma too much, since he was just happy that she had these men help her out of a tight spot the previous night.

Bulma stayed glued to the screen, analyzing the four alien warriors.

Nappa threw the most powerful punches, shaking the very foundations of the building, while Raditz displayed amazing stamina, outlasting Nappa in all their endurance trainings.

Goku had impeccable aim, and his ki blasts - as she had finally learned that they were called – were so powerful that they nearly blew holes through the reinforced walls, and it took both Nappa and Raditz working in tandem to hold his ki blasts back.

And then… there was Vegeta.

His movements were by far the most fluid and refined, and a single charged attack from him could blow all three Saiyans away, both literally and figuratively.

He was smart with his movements, his hits calculated and yet devastating. His body was poetry in motion, and Bulma felt her throat go dry when he removed his armor, revealing the amazing lines of his chest and abdomen.

The one thing that she found strange about him though, was that in spite of all the exertions, Vegeta, never once, broke a single bead of sweat.

She could hear him screaming at Goku, that he could “ascend” as well, as he mercilessly beat the other Saiyan into the metal floor of the domed training hall.

It all looked so brutal, and yet, watching them helped Bulma understand what was truly at stake.

In two days, the sun will set and give way to a bright night with a full blood moon.

That night, is what the Saiyans have been waiting for, all these months.

That night will be the time when their powers will be at an all time high, and they will attempt to gain their revenge against their common enemy, the being who destroyed their home world.

And Bulma hoped that, when the time arrives, they will be ready.

I.i.I.i.I.i.I.i.I

Bulma waited anxiously for Vegeta to appear in her room that night.

She was brimming with questions once again, and she was desperate, so unbelievably desperate, to know the answers.

Shortly before midnight, Vegeta appeared.

He was wearing his usual blue suit, but he had foregone his white gloves, boots and breastplate. For the first time, Bulma realized that the attire was not actually a full body suit, but a two-piece outfit composed of a tight long-sleeved shirt and form-fitting pants.

Bulma herself had worn a night dress, a soft red silk that hugged her body gently, and she sat primly on her knees in the center of her bed as Vegeta arrived, motioning for him to take a seat beside her.

He sank onto the bed, his hands grasping the soft cotton of her sheets, and he seemed lost in thought as he slowly ran his hands over the rich material.

“Back in Vegeta-sei, I too slept on soft sheets,” he murmured, eyes distant even while he stared down at her pristine white blankets. “We had servants, cooks, and courtesans. I was to be King, and I was treated as such from the day I was born.”

Bulma kept silent as he straightened, crossing his arms across his chest as usual, and Bulma marveled at the hard lines and scars that littered his large hands.

“Frieza is the purger who destroyed my planet. We had been a part of his network for centuries, but the Saiyans have had enough, and we were fighting for our freedom. We were not winning, but we were not losing either. However, on the day when it all ended, he had lured me onto a different planet, where I, Nappa, Raditz and Kakarot had foolishly followed him. As soon as the four of us were gone, he used his full powers to… to…”

He swallowed hard, and Bulma placed a small hand on his shoulder, lending him her strength, encouraging him to speak.

“I was devastated. Mad with grief and fury. I used my instant transmission to reach him, and I found him near death, having used all his energy on destroying my world. I gathered my strength for a final attack, but I didn’t realize that he had tricked me once again… his minion, a sorcerer named Babidi, had been waiting to ambush me. Babidi used a spell to push my entirety into a tiny ball, where I was to exist in the middle realm, neither dead nor alive.”

He was shaking now, and Bulma came forward, moving to sit beside him and she wrapped her arms around his neck, resting her head on his shoulder as he carried on.

“I used my gathered energy to kill Babidi, but it was too late, the spell had already taken effect. Before I was sucked in, I pushed out my life force into a blast of ki, thinking I could use it to tie me to the world of the living so I could find a way out, but it failed.”

He turned to her, then, without warning, gathered her into his arms, burying his face into her hair as he shuddered, and Bulma felt tears fill her eyes as she felt his pain through his tight embrace, through the deep and heavy breaths he was releasing.

“I made a miscalculation. My life force… it flew off into the galaxy, searching for a soul that it could join with. A… a compatible soul. We believed at first that it would join with the soul of a man similar to me, a warrior, or a prince. I never imagined that it would find a soul that would be a complement to mine, instead.”

Bulma took in a shaky breath as the implications of his words sank in.

“Vegeta… are you trying to say…”

“We call you the Blue Moon, Bulma, because the fragments of my life force merged with you. I attain full power during the full moon, and you are the second moon that I need in order to become whole again. I… I never would have thought to foresee that my spirit would look not for its twin… but for its mate.”

She pulled back with a sharp gasp, staring in shock at Vegeta.

“Its… mate?” she asked in a hoarse whisper.

He pulled away from her as well, looking blankly at a spot on her wall, trying to avoid her eyes, as he nodded. “I felt it, the moment you touched the orb that held me. I made you kiss me that night because… Because I wanted to feel it more.”

Bulma’s heart pounded madly in her ears, as she finally began to put a name to all the strange feelings that stirred within her heart whenever Vegeta was near.

“This is why Frieza had tried to have you discredited, and killed. He must have sensed my life force in you, but knew that he couldn’t touch you because you were in such a high profile position. He is scouting Earth, and I suppose that he couldn’t afford to destroy it yet. It is also how Uranai found you, and the reason why the Spirit Bridge did not immediately try to absorb you, because it sensed me in you. I had been in the middle realm long enough that I had siphoned some of their powers, and they thought me to be one of them, by now.”

Her lips trembled, and she reached up, bravely letting her fingers caress his powerful jaw.

She caught his eyes as she turned his head to face her, and gathering her will she asked him…

“Vegeta… this soul-merging. Are you saying… that we are, in effect, soulmates?”

He tried to look away as a furious blush stole across his cheeks, but Bulma held fast, holding his face in her palms, forcing him to meet her gaze.

“Vegeta, please! I need to know. Did… did your spirit bind us by accident and cause us to feel drawn to each other, or did it seek me out because it was meant to be with me?”

“…The latter, Bulma.”

Her eyes widened, and she raised one of her hands to her trembling lips, holding back a sob.

His soul had traveled through literal galaxies to find hers…

She could hold back no longer.

With a soft but reckless cry, she flung herself at him, and as he caught her, she held her arms out, reaching around him…

And she wrapped her arms around his neck, using his surprise as leverage so she could slant her mouth passionately against his.

He groaned loudly as their lips met, his hands flexing against her waist as he fought an internal battle, fighting back his desire to hold her with his will to stay single-mindedly focused on defeating Frieza.

But Bulma persisted, pressing her body against his own, letting him feel her softness as she ran her hands down his taut back, clutching greedily at the muscles of his arms as her mouth forcefully made him comprehend that he was not alone in this all-consuming need.

She moaned against him, her hands going up to hold the angled slant of his jaw, palming at his neck.

She cheered internally when she finally felt his arms go around her, possessively caging her in his unbelievable strength as he used his large hands to press on the small of her back, pulling her flush against his hard body as he began to aggressively lead their kiss.

He took over completely, dominating her mouth as his hands desperately clawed at her night dress, and she heard more than felt the flimsy material disintegrate in his hands as he suddenly pivoted, turning them so that she was suddenly laying flat against the soft cushions of her bed.

She couldn’t stop touching him, and she kept her eyes tightly shut against the sensations as his sinful mouth left her lips to burn a passionate trail across her jaw, sucking madly at the skin of her throat before making his way further down to lap trails of fire across her chest.

She moaned, and she finally opened her eyes when she felt him pause his movements. Her eyes were soft as they landed on him, shaking with need above her, eyes roving her nudity as his hands reverently hovered a hair’s breadth above her skin.

“Touch me, Vegeta,” she whispered, as her hands began to softly tug at his skin-tight suit, trying to get him to remove his clothing so she could feast her eyes on the beautiful body underneath.

He groaned as he descended, his hands cupping her round breasts as she watched him magically dissolve his clothing, and in an instant, he lay naked above her while he eagerly kneaded her breasts as he went back to kissing her lips.

Bulma let her eyes rove over his form, lustfully taking in every detail of his contoured chest, his exquisitely-defined arms, and the alluring curve of his hips, leading down to his firm bottom and thickly corded thighs.

She hissed in pleasure as she felt him pinch her nipples, and she used her own hands to grasp as much of his luscious caramel skin as she could reach.

He left soft kisses along her cheeks, before he rose up, and she watched with eyes narrowed in desire as he lowered his lips to her breast, his tongue slipping out to flick at her hardened nipple.

Bulma gasped, and she threaded her fingers through the surprisingly soft strands of his hair as he suckled on her breasts, leaving a hollow ache in her lower belly as her arousal began to mount.

She could feel herself getting wet, and she rubbed her legs together to sooth her rising desires.

Vegeta caught on quickly, and with a single smooth movement, he slinked down her body to grasp her panties, melting the thin scrap into nothingness so she was now completely bare beneath him.

She keened when she felt him slip a finger into her core, and Vegeta smirked back at her as she gasped in pleasure, a lascivious twinkle in his eyes as he pressed harder into her weeping center.

“Does this feel good, Bulma?” he asked, and she could do nothing but nod as she closed her eyes, relishing in the exquisite feel of his thick digits exploring her depths.

“Oh… Vegeta!” she exclaimed after a particularly hard push, and she could feel her hips rising to meet his hand as she began to thrust his finger faster and more urgently within her.

Her hands grasped at the silken sheets beneath her as she moaned loudly, her body losing control as her passion climbed higher…

She felt him crawl down, and without warning, she felt something firm and rough smooth across her nether lips.

Bulma screamed as he licked her, hips bucking madly as Vegeta tasted her with unbridled enthusiasm, thrusting his tongue into her as his fingers moved to press and encircle her clit.

“Vegeta! Don’t stop… Oh! That feels so good!” she cried, gazing down the length of her body to watch his head move ardently between her thighs.

His eyes were closed, and she melted in desire as she realized that he was relishing in her taste as much as her body was luxuriating in his touch.

The physical pleasure, coupled with the feelings he stirred within her chest, all came together, and soon enough, Bulma was wailing in anticipation of a powerful release.

She can feel it, and she arched her back, reaching for it, feeling it within her grasp…

Vegeta pinched her clit hard, as his tongue dove in deep…

“Vegeta!” Bulma screamed as she shattered, bucking wildly against his hand and mouth as he kept licking her, lapping up her wetness, using her moisture to stoke his own fires as he rubbed his hardness with one hand.

She peered down at him as she recovered, and saw his hard body ready and waiting for her, his magnificent cock weeping for the feel of her body as she too yearned to have him inside her.

“Vegeta, please,” she whimpered, spreading her legs in invitation, her arms reaching for him, needing to touch him, to become one with him.

He rose to meet her, his gorgeous face hovering intimately close to hers, and Bulma was unable to resist, reaching out to pull him down so she could kiss that wonderful mouth again.

She felt him rubbing his hardness between her netherlips, and Bulma moved her hips, enticing him to enter her, to let her feel his body in the most intimate of ways.

His hand reached up to caress her cheek, and her lust gave way to a more tender emotion as she stared deep into his eyes, dark eyes full of unnamed passions and yet unspoken words.

“Bulma,” he whispered, the words blowing softly against her lips, as she felt him begin to enter her.

He was so large, and Bulma gasped as he began to move deeper with her, filling her in a most delectable way.

When Vegeta was fully inside her, he slumped against her, and Bulma stroked his back tenderly as he panted against her chest, unmoving save for the heaves that wracked his frame as he struggled to contain himself against the pleasure of their joining.

She understood his agony, as the feel of him within her was the most exquisite of all sensations, and she felt tears rim her eyes as the indescribable pleasure brought a sob to her chest.

He was in her, pulsing softly inside her body, and she had never, ever, felt this all-encompassing sense of fullness and completion before.

It was too much, and yet she didn’t think she could ever get enough.

She felt him lift his hips, then thrust within her.

“Ah!” she cried, her hands going around him to hold him, one hand clutching at the smooth firmness of his buttocks.

“Vegeta!” she keened as she felt him begin to move, and he raised himself up onto his elbows so he could gaze at her face while he pushed in and out of her body.

She tried to keep her eyes open, so she too could watch the various emotions playing across his dark eyes, but the pleasure was too much, and she fought a losing battle as her eyes clamped closed, needing the darkness so she can focus on the remarkable sensations that he poured into her very soul.

“Bulma,” he groaned as he began to thrust faster, and Bulma wrapped her legs around his hips, locking her ankles together above his tailbone.

“Vegetaaaa… oh!” she groaned, and he gave her an answering growl as his movements became more frantic, less controlled, but so much more amazing.

They moved against each other, writhing helplessly together as their passions rose higher and higher, until neither could take much more…

“Oh… my Prince… I want to- oh!” she cried, a particularly hard thrust cutting off her thoughts and words.

“Bulma… cum for me,” he whispered, before his lips found hers again, and he panted harshly into her mouth as his breathing became more stuttered, and sweat began to drip down his brow.

“Cum with me,” she keened, her nails raking across his back as she shuddered in delight under his touch.

Their emotions flew high, and their raptures soared fast, and in a few more hard thrusts, both were lost to the sensations and passion of their souls, screaming each other’s names like desperate benedictions from the bottom of their hearts.

They were both breathing hard, and Bulma smiled shakily as she felt the evidence of his passion sliding between her thighs.

She placed a hand on his back, loving the feel of his sweat in her palms…

“Sweat?”

“Vegeta,” she gasped out.

He lifted his head, a lazy grin on his lips.

She lifted her hand to his face. “You’re sweating!”

His eyes widened, and he grabbed her hand, staring at the moisture in disbelief.

“How… how is this possible?” he asked.

“When I was watching you in Capsule 4, I noticed that you don’t sweat at all, and-”

“Bulma!” he exclaimed. “After I was released from the ball, I took on this incomplete form. In this form, I don’t bleed and I don’t sweat… at all.”

“Then why…”

“It seems to me, that being with you like this, literally completes me,” he murmured, letting go of her hand to stroke her cheek.

She smiled at his words, and she tangled her hands in his hair once again, pulling him down she could place a soft kiss on his lips.

“I guess, in a way, we both complete each other,” she smiled.

He silently nuzzled her, and after a few more peaceful moments of bliss, both fell asleep, still entwined in each other’s arms.

I.i.I.i.I.i.I.i.I

He did not want to get up.

Laying with Bulma, having her in his arms, was unquestionably the most healing experience of his entire existence. He knew that the feel of her against his body was something that he would never forget, not even as he strode, either brokenly or proudly, into the afterlife.

He tightened his hold on her, squeezing her gently, before he regretfully extricated himself from her, rising to begin a new day.

They had coupled twice in the previous night, and every touch, every sensation, was more intense than the ones that came before, and as he brought her to her peak on their final joining, the scent of her skin drove him so wild with desire that he pulled back, biting savagely into her pillow so he would not mar her perfect skin.

He would never, could never, harm her.

And that fact, coupled with the everlasting memory of her touch, spelled his certain doom.

I.i.I.i.I.i.I.i.I

Bulma couldn’t quite believe that the night of the Red Moon was coming upon them.

Only two nights before, she had lain for the first time with Vegeta, and his gentle touches spoke of a man who needed and wanted more than just physical completion.

She could feel it in his every caress, in every desperate touch of his lips onto her skin.

And she understood now, why she had longed so badly to have him stay with her, in spite of the consequences that his existence in her life may inevitably lead to.

She loved him.

And if their souls were correct, then it was inevitable, and she had always been meant to love him.

She was not able to tell him this as they pleasured each other beneath the light of the gradually brightening moon over the past two nights, but now, as the sun began to set, she found her lips trembling with the desire to let him know that her heart belonged to him.

The Red Moon will rise in less than an hour.

While other people around the world got ready with their cameras and telescopes to watch the Blood Moon, Bulma stood by the window with her heart in her throat, watching Vegeta dress in his usual armor as he prepared for a battle that may or may not be his last.

She almost felt physically ill as she thought of his oncoming fight, and she held her tears back as he affixed his breastplate, adjusting it carefully before he donned his gold-tipped boots.

He too, was stalling, it seemed.

“Vegeta…” she started. “I’m… I’m scared.”

“Don’t be,” he said, fixing his eyes on the nearby horizon.

She pressed a hand to her mouth to stop the sob that she felt was about to spill out. “Promise you’ll come back to me?”

Vegeta finally turned to her, regarding her out of the side of his eye. “I will come back to you, Bulma.”

She smiled, a soft, watery smile that did nothing to hide her concern. She stood, walking slowly towards him, wrapping him in a loose embrace from behind. “There is still so much I want to learn about you, still so much I want you to learn about me. I… I need to hold you again after this fight is done, do you hear me?”

His hand squeezed her hands around her, a tight, comforting contact, but Bulma’s worries did not ease.

He turned to face her, and Bulma brought her arms down to wrap them around his waist. Vegeta too, wrapped an arm around her while he brought his other hand up to his forehead, and after the now-familiar disorienting sensation, Bulma found herself standing in the middle of Uranai’s small hut, surrounded by the three other Saiyans, Uranai herself, and old man Kame Roshi, Uranai’s brother and Goku’s martial arts instructor from several years ago.  

Uranai’s large crystal ball was set up in the middle of the hut, where she, Roshi and Bulma were about to watch the fight, and Bulma felt a distinct roil of dread crawl through her as she thought of how morbidly fascinating it would be to watch the Saiyans fight for their honor, and their very lives.

She gave Vegeta’s waist a final squeeze before she pulled away, and she stared longingly at him as he turned away from her, giving his final instructions to his men before they gathered together, each placing a hand on the Prince’s arm.

Vegeta refused to acknowledge her as he lifted his hand to perform the instant transmission, and though Bulma desperately wanted to make him look at her one more time, her voice got stuck in her throat, and her soul wept along with her eyes the moment they disappeared, heading to the biggest battle of their lives.

She watched with Uranai as the Saiyans stormed into Frieza’s lair, a large, dark hangar in the middle of an abandoned, forgotten city. The two men who had abducted her, along with several other warriors on the enemy’s side, surrounded the Saiyans, and in spite of the unbelievable strength that the four had displayed, it was clear that they were having a hard time fending off the attacks of hundreds of other fighters.

Vegeta used his ki blasts, and she heard him scream “Galick Gun” as he blasted away at several men all at once.

Goku used the old Kame style, two hands lifted to expel tremendous energy into fighters that did not expect this magnitude of power from the lanky warrior.

Nappa and Raditz were brutal, bloodily hacking off heads and limbs, using hands and teeth to rip lethal wounds into increasingly non-human looking warriors.

But most harrowing of all to Bulma, was the realization that with each blow, each parry, every ki blast dispelled, the Saiyans were beginning to tire out.

They were tremendously outnumbered, and the hangar they were fighting in had long since been demolished, a particularly powerful blast from Goku leaving nothing more than a crater where the humongous structure used to be.

Vegeta leveled an entire mountain to get to Jeice, and Bulma saw that with each injury, Jeice and Burter began to look less and less human, until their forms were completely alien, terrifying monsters.

But the most terrifying vision to ever grace Bulma’s eyes, was when Frost and Zarbon came out, and she found that the men who kidnapped her were actually the Frieza, and his powerful right-hand man.

Frost stood unmoving, watching with near amusement as his men began to slowly die out, and when only the Saiyans and a few elite members of his squad remained…

Frost began to glow an angry, malicious purple, and his human skin began to melt, a horrifying vision ripped straight from all of Bulma’s worst nightmares.

Beside him, Zarbon began to transform, his skin turning an inhuman pea-green, before his head began to elongate, and before Bulma even understood what had happened, Zarbon had turned into a reptilian monster who was twice the size of Nappa.

Frost’s skin had turned white, a thick, reptilian tail spouting from his backside as his clothes ripped clear off his body, and Bulma gasped when she heard Vegeta’s furious voice scream…

“Frieza!!!”

Zarbon stood before Frieza, fending off most of Vegeta’s infuriated blows, and Bulma shook as he saw that Vegeta had clearly lost his cool, detached façade, attacking with unrivaled rage, his face contorted into a look of unparalleled grief and wrath.

The other three Saiyans were thrown back, and Goku, who had clearly grown more powerful than the two larger men, flew towards Vegeta to help him in his fight against Zarbon.

Vegeta got knocked back by Zarbon’s tail lashing out, and he began to heavily favor his right arm as Bulma noticed that he now sustained a huge gash, even though the wound refused to bleed.

Bulma curled her hands into fists, watching as Goku finally managed to divert Zarbon’s attention to him, giving Vegeta an opening to confront Frieza.

Frieza was powerful, and at first, it seemed to Bulma that Vegeta’s attacks weren’t even making a dent.

However, as the fight wore on, and the two became more engrossed in trying to destroy each other, she saw that Vegeta’s attacks kept getting stronger the more he got wounded, and Frieza was weakening exponentially with each successful hit from the Prince.

Vegeta was winning.

He pushed Frieza back, each blow stronger than the last, and his hair glowed a darker golden hue as he became more intent, more focused…

Just when he had Frieza cornered, Frieza snuck in a small but potent blow, catching Vegeta off guard…

“No!” Bulma screamed, nearly bowling over Uranai’s crystal ball as she lunged, panic written in every line of her body.

She watched in horror as Vegeta stood, shocked and furious, as the powerful beam struck him right through his chest, piercing his armor… going through his heart.

“Vegeta! No!” Bulma screamed, and she swore she felt physical pain as she watched her Prince struggle to his feet, hand hovering over the large hole where a part of his heart is supposed to be.

Vegeta persisted, in spite of the pain…

And Bulma realized that he was forging forward, pushing through, on willpower alone.

The ensuing scuffle went by in a blur, and Bulma watched as Raditz and Nappa defeated the last of Frieza’s minions, and Goku vanquished Zarbon with a power that made his hair turn as gold as Vegeta’s.

And Vegeta, with a final burst of energy, pinned down Frieza, pummeled him to the ground, turning his very flesh and bones into goo with the force of his punches…

Before he rose up, brought his hands together, and with a mighty roar, screamed, “Final Flash!”

As dawn broke, Frieza was no more…

And Vegeta, spent from the battle, closed his eyes, his hair turning darker than the midnight sky, and fell unconscious, plummeting to the ground where Goku came up to catch him in his arms.

Nappa and Raditz ran up to the two other Saiyans, and Goku brought two fingers up to his forehead, taking them all back to Kame House.

“Vegeta!” Bulma screamed as soon as they arrived, and she rushed madly to Vegeta, uncaringly pushing Goku aside as she fought to hold Vegeta in her arms.

“Vegeta! Please! Wake up!” she begged, and she felt tears streaming down her face as she begged him, with all her heart, to open his eyes…

“You promised me! Damn you! Wake up!” she screamed, her tears falling onto his face, and she noticed that he was full of small abrasions that began to bleed with every second that she held him close.

He coughed, and Bulma almost fainted in relief as he looked back at her, eyes unfocused.

“Bulma,” he whispered, and one of his hands rose up, his fingers touching her cheeks, weakly trying to wipe away her tears. “I promised, I’d come back to you.”

“Not like this!” she cried. “Heal yourself, what are you waiting for?! You did it for my mother…”

“He can’t heal himself, Bulma,” Uranai interjected softly. “And he cannot bring someone back from the otherworld. In this form, he is from the otherworld.”

“He needs to live, Uranai!” Bulma shouted, words slurred by her grief. “I am supposed to be linked to him, right? Is there something I can do? Tell me!”

Nappa, who had remained silent, spoke up. “He needs to claim his price from you, Blue Moon.”

“Then claim it now! Vegeta, take it now!” Bulma cried, holding him gently, watching in horror as the large, gaping wound in his chest began to bleed…

His dark crimson blood stained her skin, and she cried harder as she saw the amount of blood that he was rapidly losing.

Vegeta simply stared at her, his hand still slowly stroking her face.

“Vegeta please!” she begged, leaning down to plant a soft kiss on his blood-stained lips.

Uranai spoke again. “Bulma… he’s not going to claim his price. If he had intended to claim it, he should have done so before fighting Frieza, as claiming that would have restored him to full power.”

“What is the price, Vegeta? I will give it to you, whatever it is…”

“Bulma…” he spoke, and Bulma had to lean down to catch his words, as his voice was painfully soft. “I’m not going to claim it.”

“You have to, Vegeta-”

“The price was your life, for mine,” he rasped, and Bulma stilled, shocked.

“The Gods who helped him come back to this realm had a condition… he needed the Blue Moon to give up his or her life for him, willingly,” Uranai answered gravely. “Only then will he have been restored to full form.”

Bulma realized… this was the initial reason for the wishes. For the exchange… So that she would agree to give up her life for his.

“But I ca-can’t do that to you… I c-can’t, Bulma,” Vegeta rasped, and she saw that his eyes had begun to glaze over, his lips twisted into a cringe of pain. “It was either you or me… and I can’t… kill you.”

“Vegeta, you just won! You have avenged your people! You can’t die now!” Bulma tried again. “You-”

“I have no regrets,” he said, his hand falling limply to his side, even as he tried to keep his unfocused eyes on her.

Bulma stilled as she saw that he was beginning to turn translucent… just like the time he visited her during the new moon.

“Vegeta… No…” she wept, pressing her lips to his once again. “I need you!”

He simply smiled, a serene grin that lit up his fading eyes. “Stay safe. My precious Blue Moon… My Bulma…”

And as he finally closed his eyes… he vanished.

Bulma stared at her empty arms… Disbelieving, or rather, refusing to believe…

Vegeta… was gone.

I.i.I.i.I.i.I.i.I