By QueenSaiyajin
Disclaimer: I do not own Dragonball Z or any of its characters, and am writing this fanfic purely for entertainment purposes.
She knew he was sick. Delirious. Yet the words he had spewed in his anger had cut through her heart like a knife, wrenching at her insides as they touched upon every insecurity she had ever sought to keep under control. She knew in the deepest part of her soul that he would not have hurt her. Yet she had feared him. That in itself was more disturbing than anything he had said.
Even now, as she made her way back to the house, she tried desperately to touch his thoughts with her own, to reach out to him in the only way that she sometimes could, in a place where his unspoken emotions betrayed him, and his spirit wrapped around hers with such unbridled love that it brought forth tears of joy. In those times she could forgive all that had been said, and all that should have been said but hadn’t been. Standing now on the balcony of their bedroom she looked down on the GT chamber where her heart lay, and closed her eyes, calling out to him again and again, praying he would respond…
The hot touch of hands on her shoulders made her jump out of her skin, and she turned wide-eyed to see who had come up from behind her.
“Goku?” she asked in confusion, though she breathed an audible sigh of relief. “Kami, you scared the hell out of me; I thought you were Vegeta—“
She stopped mid-sentence as her friend’s face darkened, and she realized with regret how that had sounded.
“I’m sorry I scared you, Bulma, but… why would you be afraid of Vegeta?” he asked suspiciously. That same dark anger that she had seen yesterday fell once more over his face. “Bulma, has he hurt you in some way? Because if he has—“
“No, he hasn’t,” she assured him quickly, realizing that his eyes were glazed over with the fever as Vegeta’s and Trunks’ had been.
“Are you sure?”
She nodded, then, knowing she could hide little from her friend, said, “Not physically, at least. We just had a bad argument. It’ll be okay.”
Goku seemed to relax somewhat, but still appeared troubled. “I don’t like how he treats you. He’s not very nice to you.”
Goku’s concern, expressed in his characteristic simplicity, was touching. The fever seemed to have only enhanced the friendship and loyalty he had always shown her. “I know,” she admitted shakily. “But he does love me, Goku,” she said, not sure if she were trying to convince him or herself.
Goku shook his head in disgust, something so unlike him, as he said, “No. Bulma. I wanted to believe that he would be good to you. I thought having you and Trunks would change him, and make him think of someone besides himself. But it hasn’t. He’s still selfish, and mean, and doesn’t care about anything except his own power.”
Bulma was too stunned to respond. She’d never heard Goku speak of her husband in that way. He’d always seen the good in everyone, including Vegeta, and had gone out of his way to reassure her in times when her own optimism had faltered. But now, if even Goku had come to such a conclusion…
No, he has the fever, too, she reminded herself.
“Look what he’s done to you, Bulma,” Goku said softly, the rage in his eyes having been replaced with anguish. He lifted a strong hand gingerly to her face, his thumb wiping away tears that she hadn’t even realized she’d shed. “He’s made you cry…and I know it’s not the first time.”
“Son-kun, he’s sick,” she said quietly, using the affectionate term she had called him since he was a child. “You’ve all been infected with some kind of virus—“
“He doesn’t deserve you, Bulma,” he said, barely above a whisper, looking at her in a way he never had before. “You’re so good…and smart…and brave…and beautiful—“
“Goku, no,” she protested as he brought his lips towards hers.
She should have seen this coming. Yet before she could react, Goku had crushed his lips against hers, in a deep kiss that caught her totally off guard. A kiss so gentle and loving that she never for an instant felt threatened. Yet even in its innocence, it was so wrong that she immediately pulled her face away. “Goku, stop it!”
“I can’t,” he whispered, nibbling at her ear. His hands were roving all over her, as he pressed his body against hers, backing her into the railing of the balcony. She realized suddenly that if the fever had made him lose all reason, she would never be able to physically fight him off. For the second time that day, fear of someone she had loved and trusted crept into her soul.
“Goku, I want you to stop!” she said firmly, in that voice she had used on him when he was just a boy. At the same time she pushed him away, relief flooding her as he let her do so.
“Bulma, I’m sorry, it’s just that…I love you so much. I can’t watch him do this to you!”
“I know,” she said tenderly, knowing that the emotions behind his madness were sincere. “And I love you, too, Goku. But not…like that.” He looked like he would cry, and she added, “Goku, you’re not thinking straight. The fever has affected you, too. You know you love Chichi. She’s the one you want that way. Not me.”
He hesitated, and she knew that mentioning his wife had brought a second of clarity to his mind. But then he smiled at her a way that was so unlike him, one of those wicked smirks that fit much better on Vegeta’s face. “But you were the first girl I ever saw. Don’t you remember? When I took off your panties in your sleep to see why you felt different, and realized you had no—“
“Goku!” she yelled, her face turning crimson. She couldn’t forget the humiliation, when she’d lifted her nightgown to show that pervert Master Roshi her panties in exchange for his dragon ball, only to find that she had nothing on underneath! She’d nearly killed Goku when she’d realized what had happened, but had chalked it all up to his naivete. But as he stood before her now, he was no longer an innocent little boy. “Goku, I want you to leave here, right now,” she said angrily.
Goku’s lustful smirk fell away as his more characteristic wounded puppy look took over. “Don’t be mad, Bulma. I didn’t mean anything bad by it. Please, don’t be mad at me.”
Her face softened. “I’m not. Just go. Please. You need to go
home and rest until the fever breaks.”
He hesitated a long moment, as if trying to clear his thoughts. Finally, he relented, but not before looking into her eyes to say, “Even when the fever’s gone—it won’t change the way I feel about you.” He paused, adding sadly, “Or the way he treats you.”
With that he was off into the night.
Bulma heaved a deep sigh of relief. She knew for certain that once the fever had left Goku, his feelings for her would go back to what they had been—protectiveness and love, as towards a sister. Goku’s illness had only exaggerated something that was really innocent and pure. But on the other count, Son-kun had been right. Even cured, Vegeta would most probably not change the way he treated her.
It was a grim realization, but suddenly a far more frightening one struck her. It would be almost impossible for her to hide from Vegeta what had nearly happened here tonight. Through their bond, everything was shared. If he were ever to learn that Goku had tried to…
Footsteps behind her made her start. She turned to see Vegeta standing at the door to the balcony.
“Woman, I came to tell you that—“ he began. Suddenly, his face turned white. And as he stepped towards her, fury rose in his eyes.
Bulma swallowed hard.
He knew.
Vegeta had watched her leave with only half-hearted satisfaction. She’d turned him away when he’d needed her desperately, then come to him when she’d realized what had really happened. What, would she make love to him now out of pity, now that she knew of his disgrace? He didn’t want her pity. So he’d purposely pushed her away, although for the life of him he couldn’t even now remember the harsh words that had flowed from his lips. He hadn’t meant them, of course. He never did. It was just so much easier to revert to the selfish brute he pretended to be, than to tell her how much he really needed her. So much that it hurt to imagine what his life would be like if he had never come to this forsaken place, if he had never taken her to be his mate…
But then he had seen in her eyes something he’d never seen there before. And it haunted him, plagued him, even as he tried to block out the image, and focus on the workout he no longer had strength or desire to do.
She’d been afraid of him.
He’d evoked fear in his enemies, in his prey, and reveled in the power. Yet she had never feared him, not even before they had come together. His threats had been empty—he would die rather than cause her harm. Didn’t she know that? Or had he pushed too far this time, and broken the unspoken trust that lie between them?
Relenting finally, he shut down the gravity control, and abandoned his training, knowing there was something more important he had to do right now. The cold night air hit him with a chill that was uncustomary, and again he tensed at the sense of Kakarot’s ki somewhere nearby. Maybe Bulma was right. Perhaps he had been affected by some illness that was clouding his mind and weakening his body. He thought of his son, no, his sons, and wondered if they were all right. He would have to check on them both after he and Bulma had resolved things.
He stepped into their room to find the bed empty, and looked up as he sensed that she was outside on the balcony. He took a deep breath and walked towards her. “Woman, I came to tell you that---“
He stopped dead in his tracks. And as his senses were assaulted at once with the presence that had been there, the blood drained from his face. The closer he came to her, the stronger it grew, and the realization brought sudden fury raging to the surface even as he felt his entire world crash around him.
“Kakarot…was here…with you,” he rasped, choking on the last words.
“Vegeta, it’s not what you think,” she began to say as she came towards him, trying to put her arms around his neck. It only intensified the stench that had filled his nostrils, and confirmed the horror of what was unfolding before him.
“His scent…is all over you…” He could barely say the words, and her gentle touch was threatening to bring his despair to the surface. He pushed her away, then burst into Super Saiyan, his ki raging with his pain and fury, and shot off into the sky, heedless of her cries.
He would kill Kakarot for this. He would rip him to shreds, or die in the attempt.
It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered any more…
“Vegeta!!!!!”
Bulma screamed his name, begging, pleading for him to come back, but in moments he had disappeared into the night sky. It was worse than she’d feared, oh, so much worse… She had seen the pain in his eyes, the anguish of believing that she had betrayed him. He’d given her no time to explain that nothing had happened, that Goku, in his own delirium, had tried to kiss her. Vegeta didn’t know that she had pushed him away, that she would never, could never, be untrue to him. All he knew was what his primal senses had told him in his own fevered state. And she knew what he had gone off to do.
She ran to Trunks’ room, knocking wildly on the door, relieved to find him lucid once more. “Trunks, you need to stop your father. He’s gone to kill Goku.”
Trunks’s eyes opened wide, but he nodded and headed for the balcony. “Don’t worry, Mom—“
“I won’t,” she said, putting a hand on his arm before he could leap into the sky. “I’m going with you.”