Chapter 8

    Bulma stared for a long, silent moment, blanking looking up at the hulking form
of the impatient green dragon. She then turned her head, gazing at the quite
alive and real form of the man behind her. He was staring at the dragon with
something akin to a murderous rage. She quickly turned back to the dragon, eager
to get this little misunderstanding cleared up before Vegeta killed the dragon,
literally.
    “Um, Shenlong, I don’t mean to be rude or anything, but—Vegeta’s right there.”
She pointed back to the man she knew was still simmering, praying he would let
her take care of this. She was surprised he was this silent to begin with.
The dragon cast an uncaring eye over the man she pointed out; then looked back
down at her.
    “He is and is not Vegeta.” Bulma again paused. Then decided she would take a deep breath and handle this one problem at a time.
    “In order to properly make our wish, I’m going to have to ask you how he is and is not Vegeta.”
The dragon let out a long-suffering sigh that Vegeta ground his teeth on. He was
barely able to hold himself in check and let the woman handle this; to not
execute the dragon for such blasphemy. She was truly a diplomat. He would’ve
killed the dragon three times over by now….
    “I can sense life-forces as you probably know, human. This life-force,” a talon
indicated Vegeta, “passed away fourteen days ago.”
    Bulma did some quick calculations, her eyes widening as she realized that was a
week before she had found out about the whole thing. Vegeta had been—dead more
than a week before they had…?
    The dragon continued, disregarding the now numb look on the human’s face.
    “Another life-force, a wolf, took the other life-forces form, as a mean of survival. I believe this species of wolves that can do so is known as goblin-wolves. Every night the wolf changes into its original form, and every day it lives out its life as the one that died.”  Bulma’s mouth opened as she tried to process all of this, unsuccessfully if Vegeta could read anything. Vegeta himself was not so paralyzed.
    Bulma blinked as a blue and black form whizzed by her. Oh no! Vegeta wouldn’t….
Coming to a standstill before the dragon’s eyes, Vegeta’s face was a mask of
rage and disbelief.
    “You lie! You will change me back now, dragon, or I’ll….” His voice trailed off on the threat. For the first time, he wasn’t sure if he could actually deliver. He was—in doubt. Could the dragon lie?
The dragon himself seemed not the least bit threatened or deterred from his
decrees. “What do you wish me to change you back to? Wolf or man?”
    There was an impossibly long moment where Bulma stared up at the man floating
before the dragon who looked back at him impassively. She made a sound, surely
not loud enough for the Saiyan to hear, as Vegeta suddenly spun away and
vanished into the air, away from both woman and dragon.
    The dragon turned its attention back to the woman as if Vegeta had never spoken;
red eyes boring into her.
    “What is your wish?” Bulma blinked. What should she wish? Vegeta was—dead. That—the Vegeta that she had been—he wasn’t Vegeta. He was a wolf. But he acted like Vegeta, talked like
Vegeta—yet he didn’t. She remembered his reluctance to answer her when she asked
him what he was going to do. His training had been cut down by his
transformations, yet she hadn’t sensed the need to transform to Super Saiyan, to
beat the other Saiyan who had reached the goal he hadn’t.
    “Human, what is your wish?” Bulma stood akimbo before the dragon, putting on her best glare.
    “Can you give me a minute, please? It’s not every day you find out your lover isn’t who you
thought he was.” The dragon actually blinked at the human and closed its huge jaw shut, waiting
as patiently as any celestial-like being can, partially because of the
information he hadn’t needed to know. What dragon wanted to think of two mortals
mating?
    Bulma, ignorant of the dragon’s awkwardness, continued to think. But wasn’t
Vegeta who she thought he was? He had all of Vegeta’s experiences and memories
and personality and everything that would make a person a person, right? Bulma
shook her head, silently cursing the Saiyan Prince for leaving, though she
understood. She couldn’t imagine how she’d react to finding out she wasn’t her.
Putting a hand to her temple, Bulma tried to will away her headache. Truth be
told, she couldn’t make any wish without Vegeta’s consent. It simply wouldn’t be
fair. She couldn’t wish the real Vegeta back without this Vegeta’s permission
and she couldn’t wish away the wolf part because this Vegeta was the wolf.
Sighing, she looked up at the dragon. “Sorry, Shenlong. Afraid I’ll have to take
a rain-check. I have to confirm all this with Vegeta before any wish can be made
that will affect him.” She didn’t know if the dragon understood all she had
said; or cared; but at least he had understood the ‘rain-check’ part, for with a
bright flash the dragon shrank back into the dragonballs. The balls themselves
rose into the air, and with another bright flash Bulma had to shield her eyes
from, took off in all different directions.
    Bulma looked around at the now empty clearing, feeling strangely alone now. She
hoped Vegeta would come back to Capsule Corporation, as she was sure he wasn’t
there right now. And back to Capsule Corporation was where she had to go.
Pushing back whatever feelings wanted to surface in the wake of this disaster,
Bulma turned and began to pack up.

    He didn’t care where he was going or what he would do when he got there. He knew
he had a destination, but his mind had checked out for the moment, not wanting
to be presented with such complicated matters as not being himself.
    So it was that he soon landed in a small clearing in the forest behind Capsule
Corporation, blinking out of his mind-numbing trance and looking around. He made
a small noise of discovery in the back of his throat. He was here. This was the
place where he had come to train fourteen days ago, away from all distractions,
to become Super Saiyan and beat that third-class idiot Kakarott into the ground.
And this was the place—
    What had happened here? He sat down cross-legged on the ground unconsciously.
He’d been hunting for some food, not even knowing at the time that the Briefs
had made this a no-hunting zone. Besides, he wasn’t going to waste any of the
animal or sell its parts. When Saiyans ate, they ate. Carrion feeders were lucky
to get an eyeball out of a Saiyan meal.
    He was hunting a strange cat-like creature; he’d thought he’d heard it referred
to as a bobcat; and was successfully gaining on it, trapping it into a corner
where it would then have to fight or die. Oh, it was going to die, but he
expected a fight, and that always heated his blood.
    He had cornered the creature in the dead end of some canyon-like terrain, the
walls too high for the cat to scale, beaten it with bare fists, and was tearing
into it when he had heard a growling sound from above. He’d looked up, surprise
on his features that anything could sneak up on him, seen a blur of black
rushing down at him and—
    And what? His brow furrowed as he tried to remember. What had happened
afterwards? He lowered his head onto hands propped on his knees. He couldn’t
remember. So it must have happened then. He must have…died.
    He raised his head, eyes scanning the area. Slowly, he rose, locking onto the
exact path he had taken in tracking the animal. Step by step, he followed his
own progress from memory, smelling the fear-scent, hearing the padded paws
hitting the ground. He entered the canyon, feeling the walls as if they were
closing in on him. And indeed, his breath quickened and became a harsh pant to
his own ears.
    He stopped completely as soon as he spied the dead end, his legs not wanting to
budge, to go that last distance. His brow furrowed again. Why was he hesitant?
Nothing bad had happened—
    His eyes widened in realization. These weren’t his memories making him feel like
this, these were the wolf’s. Steeling himself with all the Saiyan pride and
endurance that had gotten him through Frieza’s rule, Vegeta took the final steps
to the wall before him. He ran gloved fingers over it lightly, as if trying to
smooth out the bumps and minor crevasses that pierced it. Nothing happened. All
was quiet in the forest and in himself.
    Frowning lightly, almost growling in frustration, Vegeta knelt down where he
stood. He’d have to do this the hard way then. Closing his eyes, the Saiyan
Prince reached down into his subconscious, pulling at the memories there to make
them real. It was not Vegeta’s memories that met him.

    He was running through the woods, something following him and braying his
eventual capture for the man directly behind to hear. He kept running; panting,
a stitch in his side. He knew there was a cliff-like structure ahead of him. If
he could make it there, he would lose the braying thing. The man could shoot at
him, but there were twists and turns, he’d be lost to sight; free.
    He could almost feel the hot breath of the other behind him, hear the snapping
jaws. He would have turned and fought the thing, he had already in fact. He had
been holding his own, fighting down the thing like him but with that hated
man-stench, when the man himself had let out a cracking sound and a tearing pain
had gone through his side. Now that same wound bled freely as he ran, tongue
lolling out dangerously.
    There! There was the drop just a few feet in front of him. He leapt for it,
feeling the snap of jaws as the other leapt at the same time and just missed
him. He skidded down the slope, knowing the other would have to stop and think
of its next move.
    He skidded down the slope right into something else.
    Both of them landed in a heap at the bottom of the slope, the one beneath him
letting out a growl and swinging at him, hitting him directly in his injured
side. With a yelp, he rolled off the one he had landed on, trying to get his
feet under him. He’d never smelled such a scent as was coming off it. He was
wary but not afraid.
    He had barely gotten his feet underneath him, quaking though they were, and
looked at the creature that was looking at him when the braying of the one above
brought the man right to where they both were.
    The wolf discounted the one in front of him immediately. The real danger was up
there. If this one, who looked man and yet didn’t smell it, had wanted to kill
him, it would have done so already. Strangely, the man above only gave him one
look before turning to the other.
    Strange words came out the man’s mouth and the other answered in kind. Whatever
the other had said did not please the man, for he raised the thing that had shot
out the pain that had earlier ripped through him. The wolf tensed immediately.
Without even seeming to move, the other was suddenly in front of the man,
wrenching the gun from its grip and throwing it down toward the wolf as he
lifted the man up by his throat. The wolf immediately skipped back in alarm as
the gun clattered at his paws, faltering in his step and feeling exhaustion send
him crashing to the ground to pant harshly, able to do no more than watch the
scene above.
    The one like him and not, let out a barking growl and leapt at the not-man who
held his master in a death-grip. Without even turning, the not-man struck out, a
hand catching the dog in midair and flinging it to the side. The wolf heard a
sickening thud as the dog literally wrapped around a tree trunk and thumped to
the forest floor quite still and dead.
    It didn’t take long for the not-man to crush the throat of the one he held,
ignoring whatever the man was saying, which sounded like whines to the wolf’s
ear. The wolf levered itself up warily as the other floated down to where it
was, black eyes locking onto golden. There was an understanding there; that of
one who is both hunter and hunted. It was almost as if the wolf was looking into
a kin’s eyes.
    As the not-man walked toward him on the canyon floor, there was the definite
sound of a snap. The not-man’s eyes widened as the wolf himself gave a start at
the very familiar sound, watching with gritted teeth as the not-man crashed to
the ground in a half-upright position, ankle caught firmly in the man’s trap.
He could smell the other’s blood as it seeped out and cautiously ventured toward
the not-man, body parallel to the ground and nose almost touching the dirt,
golden eyes looking up from furred eyeridges.
    As the other let out a definite growl in his direction, hand going back to grasp
the wound, the wolf stilled, hearing the independent strain in the sound that
spoke of pain. He sat back on his haunches. Frankly he was worried. If the
not-man couldn’t chew his leg from the trap, he would starve to death…or
dehydrate.
    The not-man seemed to have other ideas, and his teeth didn’t seem to be that
sharp. He continued to grasp the wound and the metal surrounding it, eyes
closing in what looked to the wolf to be concentration.
    The wolf sat up and backed as a strange glow surrounded the hand and wound, a
smell he didn’t recognize but which raised his hackles permeating the air
thickly. Whatever the not-man was doing, it was taking a great toll on his
energy. He seemed to sway where he knelt, his face set in a grimace combined of
pain and frustrated thought.
    The wolf jumped as the not-man cracked back his head, letting out a
blood-curdling scream that made the wolf’s tail bush out crazily. It seemed to
go on forever and made the wolf wished he could cover his ears. As it was, they
were pressed flat against his skull, but even that did nothing to lessen the
sharpness of the bellow of agony.
    Finally the scream died and the man crumbled to the ground, breath puffing out
harshly. The wolf stood there for the longest moment, staring at the still
not-man before moving slowly forward.
    The not-man’s head slowly rolled around to watch him, black eyes losing their
luster the longer each breath took to come out of the slightly parted lips.
    The not-man was dying, the wolf knew, and did not wish to die.
    With more confident steps, the wolf approached, not backing down as the not-man
growled out weakly, the sound raspy with the blood that was quickly filling his
mouth. The not-man wouldn’t last much longer, but he had saved his life…. The
not-man could have killed him. Instead, he had treated him as kin…and kin did
not let kin die.
    He would perform the old ritual then. As alpha wolf—it was his duty and right.
This not-man did not deserve such a dishonorable death, and the wolf had always
wondered what it would be like to walk on two paws.
~<*>~
 
    Vegeta blinked out of his meditation, staring blankly at the ground before him.
He was the wolf? The dragon hadn’t been lying then. He was the wolf. The
wolf—was him? Or was he even still here? The dragon had said he was dead….
Vegeta was dead.
~<*>~

    The wind played with the curtains in Bulma’s room, skittering over the floor to
curve up into an empty bed. Bulma herself sat in a chair in a corner of the room
facing the window, praying that she was right; that Vegeta would come back—or
the wolf would come back—or something.
    She’d been thinking about it all evening and still hadn’t come to any
conclusions about Vegeta’s—or the wolf’s—identity. Vegeta was dead. She’d been
sleeping with a wolf. Or had she merely been sleeping with a wolf who believed
himself to be Vegeta?
    She frowned and pulled her legs up into the chair, wrapping her arms around her
knees and wishing her slip covered more of her from the cool air. She’d still
been sleeping with a wolf. But it was a man who had held her, a man who had—
She blushed as she recalled everything they had done. Her first time….
    Most women, her mother included, swore that the first time was no big deal. The
first would always be in a woman’s memories; a special place; but the first was
hardly ever the one who stayed with them their whole life. For Bulma though…the
first time, the look on Vegeta’s face as he realized she was a virgin, the
feeling of him moving inside her fluidly and smoothly…. After the pain had
vanished, she had to admit, it had been one of the greatest feelings she had
ever experienced. Even the pain had been part of the pleasure.
    Despite what Vegeta was or was not, he had given her what no other man had.
She’d given him what she’d teased other men about. Her first time had been
great, and her first….
    She started at the silhouette crouched in the window, balanced on her sill and
staring at her with a face hidden in shadow. She stayed very still, wondering
how long he had been there while she reflected.
    Slowly he put one foot and then the other on the carpeted floor, standing in her
room without moving toward her. Bulma audibly gulped and unwrapped herself from
the chair, rising and taking a couple steps toward him before stopping in
uncertainty.
    He just stood there; stone-still, silent; until she almost could imagine him not
there at all. She was still in her chair, had fallen fast asleep, and would wake
up from this dream and find herself alone, the wind the only thing that—
    He moved then, sliding across the floor as if he knew the path his feet would
take before they took them. It wasn’t until he was inches from her, heat
pounding into her suddenly cold form, that she remembered she had to breathe to
stay conscious.
    She stared into black eyes that stared unblinkingly back, nothing written in
either them or his cold and set face. It was almost as if he wasn’t there. If he
hadn’t moved, she would’ve believed that.
    Slowly, her hand reached up toward him, watching his eyes as they flickered
toward the appendage and then back at her, still telling her nothing. It met his
face, cupping his jawline and tracing it. What did she care if he was a wolf? He
was her wolf.
    “Vegeta.”  It was as if she had breathed life into him. His eyes suddenly lit with
something unnamable. His hands were suddenly all over her, clasping and kneading
and removing clothing that hindered him. His mouth descended on her own, her
hand coming back to clasp in his hair and hold his warmth to her, threading
through thick black strands and making sure he never came back up for air again.
Her other hand reached around his side, pulling him into her so that they stood
fully against each other, cradled by their own curves and dips so comfortably
Bulma could’ve fallen asleep standing there by him. If he wasn’t touching her
like that.
    It was she that drew back to let out the low, breathy moan of his name, pulling
his face down to her chest, where his mouth and tongue continued to work, almost
as if she were some delicacy he hadn’t tasted in years and wanted to enjoy all
he could of. She felt—like she was special, like she was all his. “I’m yours.”
    Vegeta stilled, head coming back up and eyes wide as he took in the half-lidded
look the woman was giving him. She blinked at the lack of contact. “Vegeta?”
He tilted his head to the side.
    “You know what the dragon said.” She cocked a brow and frowned at him quizzically.
    “Yes. But I don’t care. You are you, no matter what anyone else thinks. If you believe yourself to be Vegeta, Prince of the Saiyans, destined to become Super Saiyan, you are.” She
pulled back slightly, hands coming to his shoulders. “Do you believe that, Vegeta?”
He ran his eyes over her form; clad in nothing now that he had removed everything.
    “This may not have happened if—” A finger on his lips silenced him in shock.
    “But it did. I am glad it did, Vegeta. I wouldn’t have wanted anything else to happen. I don’t care whether you believe it or not. I do believe it.” Again his black eyes bored into her, as if he could hardly trust himself, let alone her. She set her own eyes down. He didn’t believe it seemed. Well, she’d just have to prove it to him.
    Her hands came of their own accord to his shirt, fisting the blue, skintight material and leaning in to put her lips on his skin, tongue running everywhere it could in an effort to taste the salt of the faint sheen of sweat that clung to it. His head tilted to one side, the throat moving under her with a deep
vibration as Vegeta’s eyes closed halfway, staring at nothing in front of him as
the woman pushed the turtleneck-like shirt down with deft hands and continued.
He could feel the strain of the shirt on his neck, but did nothing to stop her
as it ripped underneath fingernails and pressure.
    Bulma followed the tear all the way down to his hips before pushing the material
off on both sides and continuing to attack him with hands as well as tongue. She
heard the moan she finally wanted from the man above her and smirked, letting go
of him completely and moving to the bed.
Vegeta’s eyes snapped open as Bulma’s warm body was suddenly gone, leaving the
air blowing in to highlight every inch of him she had touched with coldness. He
snapped his head around to look at her, eyes misting with lust as he watched her
lay herself on the bed, turning to look at him with what could only be a
‘come-hither’ gaze.
He was not a stupid man. Quickly kicking off his boots, climbing out of his
pants, and tossing his gloves to the side, Vegeta joined her, watching as the
woman’s smile grew with excitement as he slowly inched toward her.
He practically purred as she impatiently met him halfway, lips clashing his own
as she slid her tongue into his mouth and darted inside and back out. He
mimicked her, pulling her body into his so that their warmth echoed and
rebounded against their bodies, the heat becoming so unbearable that they made
noises of appreciation in unison from it as well as each other’s actions.
Vegeta broke apart and laid his head on her shoulder, panting as he tried to
thrust into her in his upright position. Of course, that hardly worked, and he
found himself being pulled by the shoulders on top of the woman, sighing as he
draped over her.
Bulma clenched her teeth and raised herself up, encouraging him. As he sank down
even further, right before her entrance, she leaned her head up. “I’m yours.”
A shudder wracked Vegeta’s body as the whisper lingered in his ear. He pushed in
with no hesitation, moving quickly to rid both him and her of the aching, almost
numbing need that consumed them.
Bulma clung to him, nails raking against his back as he relentlessly moved
within her, eyes half-closed with the delicious heat that rose and rose inside
her until she thought she’d have to scream to release it.
And scream she did, tightening around him almost painfully as her nails dug into
his back until he bled. He joined her not a second later; the added pressure too
much for his arousal to take without exploding; calling her name so loudly the
windows in their panes shook.
Holding himself up on trembling arms, he looked down into the face of the
flushed woman who had just given herself, wholly, to him. He had not accepted
her; he had not given himself in return; he had done nothing that would even
befit such a gift. Yet she had done it, and as her eyes closed, he had a feeling
she would not be taking it back; ever.
He let himself fall to the side of her, gathering her now peacefully sleeping
form near him and staring at the ceiling, waiting for sleep that would not come
to claim him.

Epilogue

The birds were singing and Bulma was in no mood to listen to them. Feeling a
cold chill creep up her spine, she let out a groan of denial and reached down
blindly for the covers with one hand, pulling them up till they were under her
chin.
Suddenly jerking upright, Bulma’s hand came down on the pillow beside her,
finding not even any warmth to tell her that last night hadn’t been anything
other than a fantastical dream. However, as her hand grasped the pillow cover
convulsively in denial, something did crumple underneath her fingers, making a
distinct crackling sound that Bulma recognized.
With a half-excitement, half-dread, Bulma lifted the folded piece of paper from
the pillow and unfolded it, eyes scanning the flowery script with raised
eyebrows before the words actually focused.
I have taken the gravity room to train. I expect you to have dinner ready when I
return for the baby’s birth. Get rid of the wolf.
Bulma stared for a long moment at the words, short and concise, before leaping
out of bed and dashing to the still-open window. Sure enough, the gravity room
was gone; four, round burn marks the only indication that it been there and then
been launched into space.
He had left her to train in space. She thought that over for quite a bit,
standing there with the sun hitting her comfortably, before she decided that
she’d almost seen this coming. Despite what had happened last night, Vegeta
still did not believe he was himself. He hadn’t refused her, in words or deeds,
when she’d given herself to him, but she hardly expected him to say the same
back to her. This was Vegeta after all, despite the wolf.
Which he wanted wished away. She wondered what exactly had happened to him—to
the other Vegeta—that had caused this. She could ask the dragon….
No, Vegeta knew what had happened and had not told her for his own reasons. It
was his story to tell, not some emotionless celestial-like being’s. She guessed
she would never know unless he himself told her. And she just couldn’t see
Vegeta ever doing that.
She sighed as she looked at the burn marks. What else? Well, she had to
re-gather the dragonballs, and take care of the ba—
The shriek that came out of the woman’s mouth was enough to make the black bear
in the woods outside Capsule Corporation falter in his search for fresh berries.
“BABY?”

A/N: Well, that was the end. Yes, that is my version of the three-year period.
Not canon, but certainly not alternate universe either. Hey, it could’ve
happened. It’s just highly improbable. I do hope the explanation for Vegeta’s
death was clear enough. Remember the earlier scene of the trap? It’s just hard
telling you that from the wolf’s POV. Oh, you want to know where I found the
legend and everything? Here’s the excerpt from the page.

“There may have been a more general belief, of old, that like the goblin-cat the
wolf could take the shape of a person that he had previously devoured, and live
in the family, for some nefarious purpose, in his or her shape. I have, however,
only come across one such legend, which still survives in the mountainous
district between Iyo and Tosa in Shikoku.

There a samurai, walking along a mountain road at night was attacked by a troop
of wolves, but his fearless defense sent them scuttling away. Shortly afterwards
the same troop came again, this time every beast carried, on his head, like a
helmet, an iron pot such as used for steaming the rice. The samurai again
defended himself valiantly, cracking most of the pots with his sharp sword, so
that the wolves again disappeared in the mist.-The second occurrence looked most
suspicious to this warrior, and he though that probably the goblin-wolves had
obtained the pots from some nearby iron-monger. He indeed found such a shop, and
on enquiring had it confirmed by the owner that a good many of his kama had been
found cracked for no apparent reason. Now the samurai's suspicions grew: "Did
anyone in your family perhaps get hurt last night?", he asked. Yes it so
happened that his old mother had an accident when she went to the privy during
the night; [It was customary to have a flimsy small shed at some distance from
the house, with a step or two leading to a platform below which was the
cesspool] she had hurt her head, and was now in bed resting. So then the samurai
desired to see her-and he at once drew his sword and cut off her head....The son
naturally was greatly upset at this, but on hearing the explanation and
remembering some of the queer acts of the old woman, he consented to wait for
developments; and in fact, as was to be, the mothers corpse within 24 hours had
turned into the carcass of a large and old wolf!-Since the animal had evidently
been a bakemono goblin, they then looked everywhere under the floor of the house
for possible misdeeds, and so found the bones of the real old mother, whom the
wolf had eaten....[In most such legends the victim's remains are put away under
the raised floor of the house. Since this is the place where decomposition would
easiest become noticeable to the inhabitants, there would seem to be some
obscure, deeper meaning in the choice of location. It appears to be a fact,
however, that in most regions a dead infant was buried below the floor, not in a
field or cemetery; possibly the idea was that a re-incarnation in a future baby
would become easier.]”

Here’s the URL for the page:

And now, my last announcement: Congratulations, Lupa! You won! Your reach out
onto a branch was dead-on right. And you were the only one. So, all of you who
said ‘Vegeta is a wolf’, the wolf was Vegeta. I know, irking…. Imagine it;
Vegeta was dead for a whole week before this fic began.

Happy Birthday to me, happy birthday to me, happy birthday dear Kahlan, happy
birthday to me! *throws confetti* ^_^

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