Disclaimer: We don't own Dragonball.

Brought to you by RaiynetheHedgehog.

Blood.

Red blood everywhere, coating everything—the landscape, his clothes, his hands…

The metallic taste of blood resided on his tongue; the smell of it, both freshly spilled and dried, hit his strong Saiyan nose.. the feel of it, still warm and fresh on his body and now tainted-red gloves.

He didn't bat an eye at the carnage that surrounded him, he didn't care that he was surrounded by dead bodies. He was used to this, it was his life... slaughtering for a tyrannous lizard. Even though it repulsed him to think that he, the Prince of all Saiyans, was forced to work as someone's slave, he had long since accepted that it was his job. And he knew that he was good at it, he could do it and he could do it well.

The servitude was only temporary—the second he was strong enough, Frieza would be nothing more than an empty corpse while he bathed in the tyrant's vial blood. He was simply biding his time.

A scream sounded from behind him and he couldn't help smirking murderously as he turned around to face the source of the cry. Quickly tapping the red scouter on his eye, he found that there were still smaller power levels that he had not picked up earlier.

His tail lazily uncurled itself from his waist, waving behind him slightly, back and forth as the look on the two creatures' scaly faces rapidly turned to one of horror. Their pure orange eyes shuddered in fear as he took a single step towards them—they knew that this was the end.

In a vain and yet valiant move, the larger of the two threw herself in front of the smaller one, as if trying to offer some type of protection for the smaller one who was probably her son. The child held onto his mother's hand, fear clearly shining in his odd eyes as the two looked at the Saiyan in pure fear.

The young man's features were twisted, seemingly contorted and inhumane, remorseless; his onyx eyes murderous and holding the slight glint of insanity within their depths. Even though he seemed to be only about sixteen years of age, his hardened features and the terrifying, hope-destroying look in his eyes made him seem much older and so... so, much more deadly.

"I could've sworn that I had gotten all of you pathetic beings," he chuckled darkly. His voice was death personified, dripping with malicious detachment and deadliness. Despite the sheer amount of horror that his dark voice exuded, there was an eerily casual undertone to it; as if he did this everyday.

"Please, please don't harm us!" The mother sobbed desperately, while her son clinged onto her for dear life, "I'll do whatever you want, I swear! I'll give you whatever you want... just please don't hurt my son or myself... please."

The woman returned the hold on her son possessively, as she tried to protectively offer him comfort. The Saiyan watched bemused, as she ran her three-fingered hand through the boy's electrifying blond hair, trying to shield her son and herself from him as he took yet another step closer.

The Saiyan smirked sadistically, and he let out yet another dark chuckle. "Oh, no, I won't harm you," he snickered, almost cordially. Every now and then, he enjoyed toying with his prey.

For an instant, the female's eyes lit up with the smallest spark of hope for a fraction of a second—perhaps she and her son would be able to live after all, perhaps they would live, they might receive mercy…

She wasn't even able to register the pain when he suddenly plunged his bloodstained hand into her chest and viciously crushed her heart.

Letting out a gasp, the woman fell to the ground in a heap, as shocked orange eyes stared at only the monster standing before her dying body. Her shocked eyes flashed quickly to betrayed ones, before finally changing to hateful ones.

"Damn you…Saiyan scum," she spat out, with the last of her strength.

For some reason, he hesitated for a moment; her voice sounding oddly…familiar, for some reason. Something about the voice had a familiar lilt to it, something that tickled his memory…

He brushed those thoughts aside with a growl as he dropped the lifeless woman to the rocky, dusty ground of the now-barren planet.

"Mom!" the little boy cried out as he stared at the lifeless body in front of him, tears collecting in his big eyes as he began to cry over the loss of his mother. For some reason, that young voice had seemed oddly familiar to the teenaged Saiyan as well, but he paid no mind to it.

"Oh, don't worry, you'll soon join her," the Saiyan smirked maliciously, causing the little boy to back up in pure fear. His cry for help went unanswered as the prince felled him with one hit, causing the child to cry out in pain as he hit the floor. Then, he began to squeal and shriek in pain as the Saiyan's boot pressed upon his temple, his heel digging into the little boy's head as he screamed in agony, tears falling relentlessly from his eyes in his pain and utter agony as the prince wore nothing more than a smirk on his face.

The little boy was screaming for someone... anyone to come and help him, screaming for his mother and his father and his friends and his people and everyone. None of these things had an emotional effect on the soldier of Frieza, who continued to press down on the boy's temple with his heel, relishing in the screams of pain coming from the child. The Saiyan prince continued to smirk sadistically as the boy's screams reached a new octave as he pressed down even harder—

"PAPA! PAPA, PLEASE, STOP!"

Suddenly, it was as if he was hit in the gut, or as if he was slapped across the face. He suddenly removed his boot from the little boy's head, nearly gasping in shock at what he saw, seeing that the boy had suddenly transformed from an alien with scaly silver skin, orange eyes, and blond hair. Now, the child's skin was tanned and lightly muscular, his facial features were achingly familiar, the same ones that the Saiyan saw every time he looked into the mirror, and his hair was now a gentle lavender color. His eyes, were perhaps the most shocking feature of the child, a bright brilliant blue which opened a crack as tears began to leak out of them.

Vegeta was unable to form coherent words as everything suddenly came rushing back towards him. He had just been torturing his… his own son. Trunks hadn't called him "Papa" since he was four years old...

Quickly, the prince turned his head, and gained yet another shock—the woman that he had killed had manifested into Bulma. There was no denying the pale pigment of the skin, the silky aqua-blue hair that was now caked with blood and dirt. However, strikingly familiar were the beautiful, bright blue eyes, the eyes that she had given to their son, opened and glazed, never to truly hold the spark of life within them anymore…

Shakily, he looked down at his gloved hands, which were trembling. No longer was he merely a sixteen-year-old teenager under Frieza's servitude—he was once again his true age, and surely some of the blood that covered his hands belonged to his lover and son.

He'd killed his wife mercilessly, tortured his own flesh and blood and had done nothing but laugh while it happened… he truly was no better than Frieza, he was nothing but a murderer, he didn't deserve to be revived…

But he couldn't have. He just couldn't, but there was now no mistaking the painfully familiar scents of his family members in the air, no mistaking that the voices had been theirs.

"Don't you see, my little monkey prince?" Frieza's damnable, irritatingly-sick voice taunted in his ear, so agonizingly quiet that it was almost a hiss. "You really are just like me."

And it was then that he suddenly walked over to his son, seeming to be taken over by some unforeseen force, and, even though every single muscle in his body screamed against it, his arm reached down and ripped the boy's head off of his shoulders. He was screaming inside, but on the outside he was laughing, sounding oddly like the tyrant who had made his life a living hell, as Trunks' blood splattered on his armor—

Vegeta's dark eyes suddenly flashed open as he shot up in his bed like an arrow, his breathing slightly heavy and a bit strained. Beads of sweat had gathered on his bare chest and on his forehead, and his heart was thudding loudly against his chest.

As his mind irrationally told him that he had just killed his family, his experienced eyes darted around the room in a panic, worried-

It was then that he heard gentle, soft breaths next to him, which seemed to take him out from his slight panic and shock. Looking down, he was relieved to see the woman's gentle face, her eyes closed peacefully in sleep, her luscious pink lips parted slightly, her blue hair mussed against the pillow as she slept on her side, facing him. The prince suddenly found that it was easier to breathe again when he saw the woman next to him, that she wasn't dead... that he hadn't killed her.

She shivered slightly as she pulled the blanket closer to her—it had temporarily been thrown off of her bare shoulders when he had suddenly shot up in bed. He simply gazed at her beautiful features for a few moments, allowing the peaceful image of his wife to replace the terrible one from his dream, where she laid bloodied and unnaturally pale... and dead.

Quietly, as to not rouse his sleeping partner, Vegeta got out of bed, careful not to make too much noise. He glanced at the clock; the red numbers glared 2:48 a.m. right back at him. He knew that, even if he did fall asleep again, that it wouldn't be for a while, as he was still slightly unnerved by his nightmare.

He'd had many nightmares before—he was no stranger to the terrors that would attack in his sleep. However, he had never had a nightmare where he had been the one to slaughter his family, where he had been the one who killed his wife and son…

Abruptly, he left the room. He simply stood in the hallway, wearing the ever-present scowl that always seemed to be on his features as he thought for a moment, before he began to walk down the dark corridors of his home.

What he didn't know was that a certain blue-haired woman had blinked, her eyes opening gently as she came out of a soothing slumber, and that she had been able to catch a glimpse of her husband's bare back before he left their bedroom.

His feet led him to his son's bedroom. Even though he was sure that his child was perfectly safe, there was still the irrational seed that had been planted in his mind. The mental image of Trunks, screaming for his Papa to stop hurting him, of ripping the boy's head from his shoulders—

When he pushed on the slightly open door to his son's room, he was relieved to see that his perhaps somewhat-ridiculous suspicious had been unconfirmed.

Trunks was out like a light, sprawled completely across his rather large bed. One of his arms was hanging off one side of the bed as his leg dangled precariously over the other end, clad in only a pair of boxers, much like Vegeta himself was. The little boy's lavender hair was mussed in his deep sleep, and his mouth was slightly open as he took in deep breaths as he rested. There was even the tiniest line of drool coming from his mouth.

Vegeta allowed a small smirk to grace his features, allowing this mental image of his son to completely take away the one that he had seen in his dream. He stood there for a few minutes, watching his son with a slight hint of protectiveness in his dark eyes, before he began to walk away from the room and out into one of the many balconies of the large domed building.

He reached the balcony that was closest to his son's room, and simply stood near the railing as he crossed his arms, looking up at the night sky, at the many stars that were glittering against the backdrop of velvety blue. The moon was a mere sliver, barely even noticeable, and it was waning—soon, it would be a new moon and would leave the world in darkness. It was in this peaceful darkness that he became slowly lost in his thoughts as he watched the innumerable stars with a pensive look in his dark eyes.

"Vegeta?"

He hadn't sensed her coming, too absorbed in his own dark thoughts, which had begun to return to times that he would rather not remember when he was still slave under Frieza's reign. Slightly surprised, he turned his head at the sound of her voice, making eye-contact with her for the briefest of seconds before he turned his gaze back to the night sky again.

Even though a normal person wouldn't have noticed that Vegeta was surprised, Bulma had been around him long enough to see the signs. If he had sensed her coming, he would've said something the moment that she had walked out onto the balcony, or wouldn't have reacted when she'd called his name. The slight widening of his eyes and the way that he had completely turned around on pure instinct at the sound of her voice told her that he hadn't been expecting her, and Bulma could probably count on the fingers of one hand how many times she had successfully managed to sneak up on her prince.

Bulma walked over to her husband, standing next to him and scrutinizing him with a critical eye, not saying anything. Eventually, the pure-blooded Saiyan got annoyed with her constant staring, and growled slightly.

"Woman, stop inspecting me like I'm one of your many insane inventions," he growled at her peevishly.

The beautiful genius rolled her eyes. "Oh, don't be such a drama queen," she told him offhandedly. "I am not looking at you like that."

"Then cease your incessant staring," Vegeta grumbled.

Bulma sighed, shaking her head slightly. "How can I not worry about you, Vegeta?" she suddenly said quietly, causing the prince's dark eyes to flicker to her once more. "I mean, you woke up at, like, two in the morning, and you didn't sense me coming. What happened?"

He huffed and rolled his eyes, turning his gaze back to the sky. "It does not concern you," he told her curtly. This was the comment that caused her to pin him down with her blue gaze, which was unrelenting as she looked straight at him, glaring slightly, fire dancing within her eyes.

"The hell it doesn't concern me," she shot back. "Look, Vegeta, I know that something's bothering you—"

He snorted. "Yes, and that 'something' is you."

Bulma continued, as if she hadn't been so rudely interrupted by her husband. "—and I won't stop asking you until you tell me."

"Well, you'll have to keep on asking for quite a while, then," Vegeta told her, sarcasm dripping from his tone.

Bulma let out an aggravated huff as she ran her fingers through her short blue hair, a habit that she had picked up over time to sometimes calm herself—she needed ways to control her temper when she was dealing with the surly Saiyan. She let out a slow, long breath, sighing as she shook her head slightly, before she gently placed her hand on Vegeta's bare chest. The slight tension that she felt in his muscles eased, almost unconsciously, at her touch.

"Vegeta…honey, you honestly can't say that I have no reason to be worried," she said quietly, using a different tactic to get him to tell her the truth. "I mean, after the whole Buu scenario and everything…I just…" She shook her head, not allowing herself to think of when she had heard that he was dead, the agony that had pierced through her heart before then, the sense of foreboding that something terrible had happened to him, and then hearing that he had died…

The prince let out a breath through his nose—from her tone, he could tell that she was holding back slight tears. He hated seeing her cry, and almost on its own accord, his arm gently wrapped around her waist. She moved her arms so that they encircled his thick, corded neck, and placed her head in the place where his neck met his shoulder.

"I don't plan on leaving for a while yet, woman," Vegeta reassured her, and then allowed a small smirk to grace his features. "You can't get rid of me that easily."

His slightly dry attempt at humor had the desired effect—Bulma couldn't resist the laugh that escaped from her at his words, the almost exact same words that he had told her when he had come back after fighting Buu. Then her laughter trailed off, before she looked up at him with concern shining in her blue eyes.

"But still, Vegeta…something's bothering you, and I'd like to know what it is," she said gently.

At that, Vegeta's gaze hardened slightly as he looked away from her, refusing to make eye-contact. "And I have told you, it does not concern you, woman."

"Bulma," she muttered under her breath, even though she knew that he just called her 'woman' to piss her off.

"And it does concern me, Vegeta, and you wanna know why?" She gently brought one hand up to his face, and turned it so that they made eye-contact, her blue eyes like an open book, shining with love and caring and concern for his wellbeing. "I love you, sweetheart…and seeing something hurting you, hurts me too. Please, tell me, I'll listen."

There was silence after she spoke—she decided that silence was better than a complete refusal to tell her anything, and bided her time. Patiently, she waited for him to speak, simply content with being this close to her prince, away from prying and judging eyes as she indulged in the moments of silence, feeling his strong heartbeat against her cheek as she rested her face over his left pectoral, closing her eyes and allowing herself to be engulfed by his warmth.

Finally, he spoke, his voice so quiet that it may have been part of the light breeze that was blowing.

"It was another nightmare," he confessed, and she looked up at him to see that he was gazing pensively at the stars in the sky once more.

"They've been worse since the whole fight with Buu," Bulma noted quietly, bringing a delicate finger up to his chest, tracing one of the numerous scars that littered his bronze skin. "Do you think that you… dying a second time had anything to do with it?"

He grunted—it meant he wasn't sure, but he wouldn't actually admit that aloud with words. After that, Bulma stood silent—she knew that if she pushed him too much that he could clam up instantly, refusing to tell her anything else. If she allowed him to tell her in his own time, it was more than likely that he would be honest and slightly open with her.

After more silence, he continued to speak. "The nightmare that I had tonight was…different than the other nightmares that I'm used to having."

He meant different from the usual ones that were flashes of his past, probably from the torture of Frieza. "How was it different?" she whispered gently, not looking at him. She knew that he also responded better without eye contact sometimes, and when he was showing anything he deemed as 'weakness,' he did not like making eye-contact.

Even more silence filled the balcony, nothing but the sounds of their breathing and the gentle breeze that was passing by. Bulma shivered slightly as she tightened her robe around her, and she felt Vegeta's arm hold her slightly closer to him, almost instinctually—he didn't seem to be fazed by the slight chill, and, in fact, seemed to enjoy it, the feel of the breeze good on his hot skin. She was content to rest on his bare chest, allowing his warmth to warm up her slightly cold body.

"You and Trunks were there," the Saiyan prince told her, his eyes distant as they were fixed on a spot over her head. She couldn't stop her slight reaction of surprise as she looked up at him in confusion, but he wasn't looking at her, staring out at the endless sea of stars. "Except Frieza didn't kill you, like in most of the nightmares with you and the boy in it."

He paused for a moment, as if weighing his words carefully. Bulma kept her mouth shut, waiting for him to answer her.

"…You were killed by me," he finally said, and the beautiful woman's eyes widened with shock as she looked up at her husband. "It was a normal purging dream, but then it morphed into you and our son being inhabitants of the planet as well…and me killing you before you revealed who you really were."

Bulma waited a few moments, deciding on what she should say, carefully choosing her words. "It was just a nightmare," she told him dismissively. "It wasn't real."

Suddenly, a growl vibrated in Vegeta's throat, and he was now glaring at her. "Yes, that's what you say now," he snarled out. "But will you be saying that when I become delusional and begin to slay everything in sight? When I actually kill you both?"

"Vegeta…" Bulma shook her head as she trailed off, wondering why he was acting like this. "You wouldn't kill us; you promised that you'd protect us. I think killing us would kind of cancel that out."

"This isn't a joke, Bulma," he said, and the heiress suddenly knew that this was serious—he only ever used her name in a few rare cases, and one of these cases was when he had something extremely important to tell her... something very serious. "One day, I could easily kill both you and our son and not realize it, possibly after waking up from another nightmare or having a sudden flashback. Through freak chance, that hasn't happened yet."

"But, Vegeta, I know that you wouldn't harm us. I trust you," Bulma told him reassuringly, bringing her hand up to caress his face gently. He didn't respond to the contact, his eyes still boring into hers with almost startling intensity.

"You may believe that I am 'reformed,'" he told her, emphasising the word 'reformed.' "But, no matter what you or anyone else may say, I am a murderer; a killer. I am no better than Frieza.. I'm just like him."

A few moments after those words came out of his mouth, Bulma suddenly and unexpectedly punched him on the chest as hard as she could. Slightly surprised at her unpredictable reaction, he looked down at the woman quizzically—it hadn't hurt him at all, he'd barely felt it, but it didn't make sense for her to suddenly hit him like that. In her eyes, that same fire was ignited once more, and she looked fiercely at him as she rubbed her now sore hand.

"Don't you dare ever say that again," she said sternly. "You are not like Frieza, not at all, do you hear me?"

Vegeta scoffed. "What do you know, woman?" he demanded of her haughtily. "You have no damn idea what Frieza was like."

"I know enough to know that you are not like him," she shot back, with as much venom and conviction as was in his voice. "Frieza was merciless, cruel, and completely heartless; I wouldn't fall in love with a man like that. You're…different, Vegeta." Before he could roll his eyes and retort, she beat him to the punch. "No, you jackass, you will let me finish what I have to say before you say anything. Even though you may not believe it, you've changed a lot from the man that first came to Earth for immortality. You care for me—"

"I could care less about you," he interjected with a snort, causing her to glare at him once more and smack his arm, before she continued as if she had not been interrupted again. She was used to ignoring the comments that her surly husband sometimes made.

"—and you care for Trunks. You've been a very, very good father to him—you're his dad," she said, putting emphasis on the last word. "You're more than just his father; you're his dad, the person who always has his back at the end of the day, who bails him out of any shit that he gets into, who gives him just the right amount of discipline so that he knows where the boundaries are, who sort-of listens to him when he excitedly tells you what he did with Goten that day…you've changed so much, Vegeta, and yet you don't seem to realize it. I don't think Frieza would've been like this, do you?"

He remained silent, and Bulma took this chance to gently place both of her palms on either side of his face. She forced him to look at her as their eyes clashed, her sparkling deep blue ones which were filled with emotion, sharply contrasted his dark onyx ones which were almost devoid of emotion.

"Vegeta, you've changed," Bulma whispered gently. "In a good way, too. I know that the man that I fell in love with was different from the man who first came here…I know that you have changed, even if you can't see it. I love you, Vegeta, I love you so much."

What could he possibly do in this situation? Her eyes were shining with her love and concern for him as she openly declared it to the world, unashamed…it was hard to hate himself, to think that he could possibly harm those he cared about... especially when she looked at him like that, with the love and trust shining within her eyes. He let out a slight sigh, shaking his head.

"But what if I somehow lose control, somehow harm you and and the brat? I can't…" Vegeta trailed off, unsure of how to word exactly what he was feeling in that moment. The thought of doing anything to harm either his wife or his child was almost impossible for him to comprehend, and the feelings that washed through him were foreign and unnameable.

"But you won't," Bulma murmured softly. "You won't. I trust you."

There were a few moments of silence, before the smallest of smirks graced Vegeta's features. "That's probably the most idiotic thing you've done so far in your life, woman."

Bulma almost sighed in relief—this was the Vegeta that she knew, the arrogant, cocky, stubborn, haughty prince of all assholes. The same one who purposely never called her by her name just so that he could piss her off, for his amusement.

"Well, I don't think so," Bulma retorted. "I probably think that the stupidest thing that I've ever done was let you into my house all those years ago, don't forget that little thing, and then the next most idiotic thing I've done was actually agreeing to marry you. I can't believe I actually did that."

Vegeta betrayed a chuckle as he shook his head. "It's because you're obviously insane," he taunted, while she huffed indignantly.

"I am not insane, I'm just way too nice and awesome and amazing and considerate for my own good," she shot back.

"If you inflate your ego any more, woman, it won't be able to fit back into the house."

"Oh, as if your ego isn't as big, or even bigger?"

He couldn't resist another chuckle. "Touché," he replied, an Earthling saying that he had gradually picked up on.

Bulma, too, laughed, smiling at him for a few moments, before she suddenly leaned in and gently kissed him on the lips. He returned the kiss with eagerness, their mouths opening instantly for each other, granting each other access as their tongues entwined. He brought his other arm around her waist, so that both of his arms were now holding her small waist and drawing her close to him, while one of her hands wrapped back around his neck and the other fisted itself in his thick black mane, fingers getting tangled up in the dark strands. Neither of them could resist the other, passionately kissing each other; in a kiss that spoke volumes, probably more than words could ever say between them.

It was the only possible way that Vegeta was able to reply to when his wife told him those three words: "I love you." It was his way of showing her that he, too, felt the same way.

When they pulled away, Bulma looked him over. He looked considerably better—the odd glint within his eyes, of slight self-loathing, was just about gone now, and his damnable attitude and smirk were right back.

"You know…even though you just woke up not too long ago, you still look very, very sexy," she told him in a sultry tone, her voice having dropped as she appreciatively looked at his body, at the perfectly chiseled muscles and tanned skin of his chest and arms, unable to resist running her hands over the perfect muscles of his abdominal wall and up to his pectorals.

He smirked—he recognized that tone in her voice. He looked her over as well—she was simply clad in a pair of shorts and a tank top which dipped low, exposing just enough cleavage to tantalize the imagination. Most of her body, however, was covered in a sheer robe, which only seemed to keep her warm—it did nothing at all to hide her perfectly voluptuous figure.

Vegeta's smirk turned sinister and taunting. "Glad that I can't say the same thing for you, you hideous wench."

Bulma's features became indignant at that comment, because she knew that she looked absolutely-freaking-gorgeous. "Jerk," she muttered in annoyance, turning away from him with a huff.

The prince chuckled once again at the fiery attitude of his wife. "You wouldn't have me any other way, female," he said knowingly.

"Arrogant bastard—my name is Bulma. Not 'woman' or 'female'. Bulma. And I know that you just call me other things to piss me off, which you're doing a very fine job of now," Bulma muttered in irritation.

Suddenly, his lips were on hers again. Still slightly annoyed with him, she tried to shove him away from her, but she might as well have tried moving a damn brick wall—he was immovable, and it wasn't exactly as if she wanted to end the kiss as his arms wrapped around her once more, fisting into her blue hair. She gave in completely when she felt his tongue trace her lower lip, as if asking permission, and she moaned as she granted him entrance into her mouth. That small moan suddenly awakened a desire between the two, and Vegeta quickly picked up his woman and brought them over to their bedroom as fast as possible.

...

After their session in their bedroom, the two lovers lay together in the bed, with Bulma easily falling right back to sleep when they were done. Her short blue hair was splayed lightly across Vegeta's chest as she rested her head on it, one hand resting on his pectoral muscles, and his arm around her pale shoulders and holding her close to him.

Her gentle breaths, in and out, seemed to lull him, to calm him even more than their lovemaking that night. He was utterly relaxed—it was hard to believe that he had originally woken up extremely tense. The reason that he was so relaxed was right in his arms and down the hall, as he instinctively checked on the powerful ki which was constant and obviously at rest.

Damn, he had gone soft over the past years, actually caring about the wellbeing of others, when earlier, he would have cared about no one but himself. A small part of him had longed to reawaken that same person, the person with no emotional attachments—it was why he'd allowed Babidi to possess him, so that he could unlock his true potential and also to bring back the dark person that he used to be.

He'd nearly killed Bulma, and because of his foolishness, Buu had been freed. Yet again, another terror had plagued the Earth, and it was his damned fault again.

Now, he reflected on that. It was true, he had gotten soft, but in return, he had found an odd sense of peace, had found a woman who had just as much will and determination as he did, who was completely unafraid of him even though he was able to break her fragile body in half with his pinky-finger if he wished. One who loved him completely and told ever so often, even despite their arguments; he had even had a son! He'd somehow managed to bring a completely innocent life into the world, something that he had originally believed was beyond impossible for one as tainted as himself to do. The boy was the reason that he came back in the first place—and he realized that he would stay when, even though he constantly denied it, he realized that he truly cared for the woman along with their child.

Any time that he believed that he was going soft, he would remember his life before Earth, his 'old' self, as the woman would say. How he was absolutely ruthless, a known murderer, no doubt one of the best in Frieza's personal army. How he had no personal attachments to anyone; how he had laughed when he had seen the pathetic attempts of family to protect their loved ones. He'd been hated, he'd been feared and respected out of that fear. There were times every now and then where he would wish to return to that original version of himself just for one day, to relive the feeling…

And then, he would remember how lonely he was, how he couldn't trust anyone. The beatings he'd endured, unable to trust anyone completely; not even his own fellow Saiyan comrades. And he decided that he would never want to go back to that life ever again. His life now was actually filled with peace, with…happiness, dare he say it. He had companionship, people he could trust, people who cared for him and whom he cared for in return, and had finally seemed to have found peace in his hell of a life. Sure, the nightmares came and went, but the beautiful woman in his arms always seemed to manage to calm him down once more, to make him just about forget the terrible nightmares that he had.

No matter what Frieza had said, Vegeta was not like him, never was like him, and never would be like that tyrant.

With that thought and a light smirk on his face, Vegeta, lulled by Bulma's gentle breathing, drifted into a restful slumber completely absent of nightmares for the rest of the night.

Hope you enjoyed it.