The spiraling white tendrils that rose from her cigarette comforted her in a way she couldn't explain. They seemed so free, so light, dancing in the night air from between her fingers. She sucked in from the stick, expelling a puff of grey-white. That substance tucked in between paper and tobacco slid into her blood stream, wrapping around her nicely, and she sighed softly.

Bulma's heart was finally slowing down for the first time that day. In retrospect, she was amazed that it hadn't burst right through her chest at any given point. But now, safely hidden within the confines of the massive Capsule Corporation headquarters, she felt as though time were drawing out and soothing her into a lull. She looked down at herself now, sneering with contempt at her overly bright red dress. Even though they had been home for hours, she hadn't yet found a moment to change out of it. It seemed too flashy for all that she had endured today. A mockery of the trials they had all been put through.

The humming of the house suddenly quieted, and Bulma stilled, her lips curled around the filter of her cigarette. It had been racing for the last three hours – the Saiyan she had wept over having thrown himself within the confines of his personal facility as soon as they had returned. She wanted to feel angry; instead, she felt chilled by his disregard and jealous of her invention and his goals.

Had nothing changed?

Grimacing, she flicked the nub of her remaining cigarette into the yard. The orange tip fettered out dully, and Bulma drew her legs up closer to her chest. Planting her chin between her knees, she exhaled unevenly again, her eyes misting over as she thought then of her son. Her smile thinned and she pressed her cheek against her bare knee. He fell asleep so fast, she remembered, she could see his little eyelashes falling almost instantaneously against his cheeks.

Her heart caught simultaneously with her breath at the sound of the glass doors sliding apart behind her. Bulma willed the threatening tears away as padding footsteps approached, and she glanced out of the corner of her eyes to spy a pair of bare feet. Blearily, she looked up, finding him towering above her, his countenance turned out upon the spacious gardens and his expression unreadable.

Vegeta. His name swam in her head within an ocean of emotions and thoughts that long ago would in no way have been reflected upon him.

Her fingers flexed around her knees. "You're back," she observed, breathless again as her heartbeat sped up. She realized how weak she felt now.

In the dark, with what spare light the interior of the home provided, she could barely see his gaze flit back down to size her up. "I've been inside the whole time," he countered after a moment, when he had settled his attention on some invisible speck beyond them.

"I just meant—"

"I know what you meant," he spoke over her in a tone that was implacable.

She looked down at her toes as he moved wordlessly, stationing himself on the ground beside her. He seemed guarded in his movement. Bulma couldn't recall when it was she had last seen him move so precisely around her. So careful. Part of her wanted to laugh at the irrationality of it, though she knew it would be inappropriate at this time.

Instead, she shifted uncomfortably, her bottom aching from being perched upon the earth for so long. "Trunks is asleep," she informed him in a quieter voice, one red toenail digging into the dirt. "It was so fast, like he hadn't slept in days."

"Hn."

Bulma gave another small sigh as her mind moved as though through molasses. Usually quick to come up with ways to entertain her companion, she seemed to fall short now. They seemed so uneven. What level they had been at just earlier that morning had washed away to unearth something rare and unusual. This tightness between them was becoming unbearable the longer the minutes dragged on.

Her buried toe twisted and reburied itself as she spoke up again, a little louder, "It's awfully quiet tonight, ne?"

Harrumphing, he drew her full attention and shot her a sidelong glance. "Until you opened your mouth, it was."

At once the flame lit low in her chest. Bulma saw his irises flash in a sliver of light and she gaped with a half-open mouth at him. "Ass!" She hissed, both in awe and amused with the readiness of his reply. "Why did you have to respond in such a way?"

"Why do you have to fill the space with your meaningless prattle?"

"Because something needs to be said, Vegeta!" Bulma gasped at her own sudden vehemence, noting the nervous widening of his eyes before he turned away from her. She almost felt guilty for taking the moment away from them. "It can't… just stay quiet." Her words died into a murmur as she looked to his feet, saw his toes curled into the dirt. Just like hers.

"Why not?" Vegeta wondered after a beat, and Bulma marveled at how exhausted he sounded.

Her shoulders shrugged as she leaned further over her knees. She folded her arms across them to cushion her chest. "Because it's not us to do that."

"It's me," he responded almost automatically.

"Well, it was you," Bulma argued with distinct emphasis and met his gaze head on. She inclined her head to the minimal distance between them. "But it's not us now. When have we ever been quiet, Vegeta?" It was her weak attempt at a joke, to lighten the mood. She had hoped he would bite, but he did not. He merely stared, as though analyzing her from the inside out.

She was not sure what compelled her, but she couldn't stop herself. Curiosity always got the best of her. "Is that what you really think?" His eyebrow twitched, and his gaze flickered like he might look away – but she held on. This is important, she tried to tell him without the words. Stay with me. "Is that why … I mean, is that why you did it?"

He was struggling under the wonder of her eyes; that hopeful blue pulling him in and she could see him fighting against his natural state. She pleaded silently that he stay connected to her, and she didn't really know why, but she thought she'd be completely lost if he turned away now. Especially after she cried for him at the top of the world.

"No," came his hoarse response. "It's more than that, Bulma."

Progress, she thought. Bulma was proud he held her stare for so long. She relented and let go of his gaze, blinking down instead to his hands that were loose between his knees. "Is it because of Goku?"

His initial silence answered her. Mostly. "It's what—" Vegeta began, and Bulma looked to see him quickly glance upward into space. She could see him searching between stars – she'd seen him do that before, seeking out his long-lost home world. She pitied him in that moment, as he sought out the debris that lay on the outer reaches of the universe. "It's what I wanted."

Her blood went cold. Suddenly, Bulma wished she had brought her cigarettes outside. What an awkward time for a craving, she reflected numbly, eyeing his stern features. "What you wanted," she softly echoed.

"I thought," he supplied with a sideways look. He was stepping outside of himself; she could clearly see that now, as he grit his teeth behind tight lips. "It wasn't what I had entertained it to be." As though in defeat, Vegeta tilted his head downward, his eyes boring into the soil beneath their feet. "It hasn't been … for a long time."

Something began to unfurl in her belly, and Bulma felt the promise of a smile edge at the corners of her lips. "Oh, no?" She didn't mean to sound coy or teasing, but the pleasure under her words was inimitable.

Vegeta looked aside to her, his scowl lessening at once. Bulma touched her cheek self-consciously, her smile wavering as his gaze seemed to linger and search her visage as he had the stars. "What … what was it, then?"

Those dark eyes were roving somewhere just beneath her eyes. "Why must you have a question for everything?" He asked of her quietly. She thought it might be her mouth at which he was staring so intently.

"I'm just naturally curious," Bulma defended herself weakly and felt her cheeks growing hot under his scrutiny. "I can't help it."

"Hm," Vegeta mused, and she could see him slyly nearing her face. He seemed amused by something, his downturned lips twitching northward minutely.

In a way she hadn't felt in ages, the air began to drift out of the space between them, rendering Bulma lightheaded. "What are you looking at, anyway?" She asked him breathily, already sure of his answer as it coiled warmly in her stomach and nestled there.

Vegeta hesitated and Bulma felt that warmth threatening to flutter away as he inspected her glowing cheeks, her hazy eyes. Abruptly he closed the gap between them, his mouth hovering seconds above hers. With a seriousness she had not anticipated, he met her inquiring gaze and told her on a single, hot breath, "What I want."

Searing with need, his lips crashed upon her. The force was almost bruising, as his hands came up to tug at her upper arms and draw her closer into him. Bulma gasped upon his urgency and his honesty, instinctively moving her mouth in time with his and opening up to allow him in. When he finally pulled apart from her, there was a heartbeat in time, and her mind kicked into life once again. With a harsh and unexpected sob, she launched herself forward, her arms locking firmly around his neck.

That aching inside broke apart and fell away as she hugged him close to her, her hands winding tightly amid his thick hair. She could feel him stiffen in her arms, and she tightened her embrace. "Tell me you mean that," Bulma pleaded jaggedly against his neck, feeling his arms hover just around her waist. "You have to tell me you mean that."

"I said it," he permitted and dipped his nose meaningfully against the crown of her head.

"Not the same," she drew back slightly and saw his expression darken just so. She imagined how she must look, frazzled and desperate, eyes red and cheeks tear-stained. But she couldn't care at that moment – because she wasn't Chi Chi and he certainly wasn't Goku. "You have to promise me you won't do this again, Vegeta," Bulma told him, the barest shell of hope protecting her words.

He vacillated, his hands having long since fallen from her sides. Gradually, Bulma unwound herself from him, leaning back to look upon him with what determination she could muster.

After moment's pause, his nostrils flared. "I do not make promises, Bulma," he told her resolutely, and she felt a vague stream of horror course through her. "You should know better than to ask so much." The sick disappointment ran down into her stomach and settled there like lead, her head bowing shamefully under his words. So she was caught off guard when his thumb and forefinger curled around her chin and lifted her face to him.

Bulma looked – really looked – at this man. The only man who had ever absolutely defined her in any way. By no means had she ever been any man's woman; she was not something to be obtained and had, a mantra of sorts she'd told herself when she'd get desperate or find herself longing. But were there any such man to lay this claim, unquestionably it was him. What she felt as she stared up at him now was painful and certain. Not really love, but it had that same kind of necessity and exigency underneath it.

He was important, vastly important to her. And as she delved deeper into his eyes, those expressive onyx orbs, past his pupils and into whatever variant of a soul he may have possessed, she found it there, too. Similar feelings and a similar need. He let her see it in that instant, and her heart began to pump and swell.

"Your word," she whispered, her gaze unwavering. Vegeta swallowed, she could see his throat bob in her peripheral. "That's what this is."

She saw him war with his pride for mere seconds, before his gaze softened and shifted into something not wholly recognizable. In the moment it took her to unravel it, he had lowered his forehead enough to touch hers, and he exhaled slowly. She blushed, unaccustomed to this conscious movement of affection from him.

"You must make everything difficult and uncomfortable," he chided her in what could only be considered exasperation.

At once, it occured to her how ridiculous all of this was. His literalness, his proximity, the years and planets spanned between them. How of all the things they really were not, the dramatic arch of this moment was the least of them. Giggles errupted from deep within her and she immediately became consumed by her laughter. He settled his eyes down upon her to find her pink-faced and beaming, and confusion wrinkled his face. "What is your problem, now?"

"There's no problem," she assured between hiccups of laughter, her face relinquished by him. Quickly, she ducked her head to control herself. "Gomen nasai!"

"You are the most absurd creature," Vegeta chastised her with pointed agitation and rose to his feet, disdainful and displeased with the turn of their conversation. "This entire thing is completely ludicrous."

Bulma scrambled to her feet as he moved from her side, stumbling up after him as he began toward the home again. Whatever poignant moment they had been edging upon was abandoned, as a certain familiarity burst anew within her chest. "Matte, Vegeta! You were going to say something else, weren't you?"

He snorted derisively and swiftly opened the sliding doors. Undeterred by her haste to follow him, he continued through the kitchen and toward the staircase, barking over his shoulder, "Absolutely not! What else would I have to say to you?"

"Like you're sorry?" Bulma called after him as he picked up speed. She matched his gait, hot on his heels. "Like you swear you'd never hurt me or Trunks like that again? Like you love—"

"Bulma!" Vegeta growled in warning as he bounded up the staircase, seeking safe haven from the enthusiastic sprite marching purposefully behind him. He halted unexpectedly on the landing and whirled upon her, brandishing a threatening finger into her face. "Would you shut up already? You are insufferably loud and annoying!"

"Don't be so mean, Vegeta! It's not like you!" She playfully batted his finger away and puckered her lips in a kiss to the air between them. "Remember, now I know what you really want!"

Vegeta groaned upon her antics and exaggerations. Before her mouth could open tauntingly once more, his warm hand wrapped deftly about her wrist. Pointedly, he glared upon her – a threat to hush her - and she abided by tightly folding her lips together. Assured of her silence, he set immediately to tugging her along with his ardent strides down the hall, both unaware and uncaring of the dirty footprints left behind them.

Author's Note: So, I swear to god I didn't die, nor did I forget this thing. Term is coming to an end and I have been SWAMPED with essays and projects and academic decisions! Not to mention I suffered SERIOUS writer's block on this chapter. There were so many different ways I wanted to go with this chapter, and every avenue I tested didn't work. But then I sat down and churned this guy out and ... well, I'm really happy with this!

I think this chapter is the best way I could've concluded this fic. Bulma and Vegeta, finally at that point of total comfortability where they can literally just be side-by-side, rehashing where their relationship is at. Obviously, this takes place the same day as the Buu/Majin Vegeta events.

I really, really hope you guys enjoy this chapter, especially after it took me so long to get it to you! I want to thank all of you for reading and sticking with this fic. I hope I haven't lost some of you guys during the waiting period for this chapter! ^^;;