Last time:
I count in my head to keep from screaming or crying.
And then he says it, and I wait for the world to explode.
"Bulma," he says, his face stiff and devoid of emotion. If it was at all possible, he looked colder and harder since I last saw him. There were heavy bags under his eyes, and he hadn't shaved in a few days, at least. His clothes were clean, but wrinkled. Wherever he'd come from, he'd come in a hurry.
"Yes?" I whisper, so low that I can hardly hear my own voice.
"I love you."
I wince, but then, after the words have time to sink in, I gasp. My eyes well up and tears stream onto my face as if they were one step, instead of two. I can't feel my legs, and I nearly collapse, if not for his strong arms that catch me and pull me to my feet. I don't smile, I don't move, for fear that I'd heard wrong, heard only what I wanted to hear, rather than what was actually said.
"I…What?"
"I love you, Bulma," he says in my ear. My knees buckle, but he was expecting it this time, and my body never has a chance to fall.
"I thought…I thought…"
"You don't know everything, you know," he says coyly, that old smirk returning to his face. This is the Vegeta I know, the Vegeta I've been wanting to see, to touch, to love all this time. I'm not even thinking about the lies or the deceit anymore. It doesn't matter.
"Could you ever forgive me?" It's selfish, but I have to know.
"No," he says quickly.
"I figured—"
"I was never mad."
"But—"
"I just spent almost a year looking all over this country for you. What did you think I was going to do when I found you?"
I could never, in all my life, describe the feeling of complete elation I'm feeling right now. I'm standing in my old room at my parents' house, where they've had my old crib set up since I sent them my letter. We're not talking, simply admiring our son, the beautiful two-month-old baby boy we created together nearly a year before. He's asleep in Vegeta's strong, protective arms, his fluffy tuft of lavender hair peeking out from under his little green hat Izumo had given me when he was born.
A pang of guilt shoots through my heart at the thought of leaving them, after lying to them for so long. But, now that all my secrets are out, there is no reason I cannot keep in contact with them, my family away from home. Once I'm properly settled here, I'll give them each a call and invite them to Capsule Corp. for a big get-together.
"Vegeta?"
He looks up, his expression serene and very tired. He must be exhausted.
"What would you have done had you not found me?" The time for modesty was over. No more secrets. No more sneaking around. Nothing but the truth.
"That wasn't a possibility," he answers, his lips slightly pursed. Translation: "I would have never stopped looking." And I feel that all too familiar tingling sensation in my knees.
Gently he sets Trunks in the crib, pausing for a moment, his hand loosely gripping the edge. This is the first time we've been alone since I returned, and it's like I'm a virgin, with my heart pounding and my hands sweating. How is it that I'm this nervous with him? And he's not even near me yet!
"I always knew you'd do something drastic when you found out," he sighs. "That was another reason I fought so hard to tell you…They didn't believe me. They thought you'd accept it and be happy to know the truth…"
"Don't blame them for what I did," I say quickly. "I did that for too long. We've all paid for this, Vegeta. And it's over now."
There's a fire in his eyes suddenly, and his hand tightens on the decorative wooden bar. He's angry, but…but it's different. It takes me almost a full minute before I realize what's so strange.
"Don't fight it, Vegeta. Whatever it is, tell me."
"There's nothing to tell," he lies, curling in his bottom lip.
I come forward, touching the back of his hand with one finger. When he doesn't resist, I crush myself against him, my hands going around his thick, muscular neck.
"You can lie to me if you'd like," I whisper. "I deserve it."
"Don't pull that shit with me," he sighs. "And you're wrong, it's not over."
"I'm back. I know the truth. We're together. How is it not over?"
"How does that mean it's over?" He steps back suddenly, and I have to grip the side of the cradle to steady myself. "We were apart for almost ten years. A decade, Bulma! I cannot forget that as easily as you can. You didn't have to live it. You suffered for a year with the truth."
"Vegeta, please," I whisper, motioning for the door for him to follow me. We've been lucky so far that Trunks hasn't woken. He waits until we're in the guest room across the hall to continue.
"I'm never going to forget this, Bulma." It seems all of his form passion has evaporated with our move across the hall. It takes me a moment to remember how tired he is. This has got to be the longest day of his life, and here I am making it longer. "You're just going to have to live with that."
"Ok," I say with a small smile, hoping this won't upset him. I have no idea what his triggers are anymore.
"Ok?"
"Ok." I step forward and take his hands in mine, marveling at how strong and big they are. It's been so long since I've been this close, this intimate, with a man. "I can't even begin to image what you've been through all these years. I don't want to make this any harder than it has to be, because it is going to be difficult. We both have rocky pasts full of problems that are bound to get in the way, but none of that matters to me because I know I love you and you love me and—" I gesture towards the closed door. "—we have that beautiful child in there. Whatever happens we'll always have him Vegeta, whether you choose to stay with me or not."
"Whether I choose?"
"Well, I—"
"Bulma, there is nothing that could keep me from you now. If I haven't been unfaithful in these ten years, what makes you think I wouldn't want to spend the rest of my life with you?"
"All I know of you is years of pain and a few weeks of passion."
"I know," he sighs, his brows knitting in frustration. "It was that damn car! If you hadn't—"
"Forget it, please. Just for tonight. I'm here, I'm yours, forever."
He wraps his arms around me, his face buried in my mass of gristly black hair. He's still for so long that I wonder if he's fallen asleep from exhaustion. And then, startling me into a near-fit, he begins to tremble and sink, pulling me gently to the floor with him. I cannot hear his sobs, but, after a short while, I can feel his tears on my face. I don't move—I can't move—and he makes no attempt to speak, his years of compounded sorrow flushing out of him with such silent force you'd think he'd never cried a day in his life.
"Vegeta?" I chance, holding his head securely against my shoulder. "How did your parents die?"
He lifts his head, with some effort, and for the first time I see Vegeta as something I never thought I would: a normal, emotional-bound human being. He wasn't the super human drone of a co-worker I've known since I was a child. He was broken open, the way everyone is at some point in their life, and his soul was fully exposed.
"One guess," he scoffs bitterly, and wipes his nose on his sleeve. Before I answer, I pat his eyes dry, kissing the hot moist flesh of his cheeks. He is the most beautiful man I've ever seen.
"Car accident."
"Give the lady a prize."
"I love everything about you, Vegeta." I kiss his lips, the taste of his tears giving me a shiver. I just witnessed Vegeta Ouji have a breakdown. And we're both still in one piece. "Every. Little. Thing."
"I would say the same for you," he laughs, that old wit and charm flooding back into him as if it'd never left, "but that hair color is horrendous."
"What!" I gasp in mock horror. I tackle him onto his back, kissing wildly at his face and lips. "I thought you would like the dark and mysterious type."
"No. I much prefer the bitchy and annoying, with hair I can spot a mile away."
"You, Mr. Ouji, are wearing on my nerves."
"Wouldn't it be terrible if you could never say that again?"
"Oh shut up and kiss me. We've talked enough to last a lifetime."
"Agreed." And when he kisses me, he takes my hand and slips my long-lost ring on my finger.
I am complete now.
"Mom!"
I fumble with the curtains I was hanging, before dropping them with a clunk to the floor. I spin sharply on my heels, a stern glare set for my little hellion of a son.
"What is it now?" I sigh, my hands going instinctively to my hips. When did I turn into the stereotypical mother? "I've been trying to hang these curtains for two hours now."
"I asked dad and he said yes."
"He did, did he?"
"Uh-huh. He said it was my birthday and I could do whatever I wanted."
"Vegeta?" He pokes his head into the room, smirking deviously, before he steps in, a look of pure innocence having miraculously formed on his face. "Did you tell Trunks that he and Gohan could go with Maron's parents to their cabin on his birthday when you know very well that I invited people over that same weekend?"
"What would you have rather done at eight-years-old?" he reasons, patting Trunks' play-messed lavender hair. "Gone camping with your friends or sat around at home with your mother's out-of-town friends?"
"Fine," I sigh. Trunks squeals with joy and runs into my arms, kissing me roughly on the cheek before he takes off out the door to continue getting himself dirty outside. "Why do you have to spoil my fun? You know I would never make him do anything he doesn't want to."
"Because," he says, coming towards me at the window, "it's more fun for me. Besides, I think he really thought you were serious this time. He pulled out the puppy dog eyes and the pouty lip."
"Both? Wow, he really wants to go."
"You're a vicious woman, you know that woman?"
"Guilty," I laugh, and reach for the curtain rod. He stops me at the last second, however, and before I know it I'm pinned to the wall, the rod forgotten on the floor. "I'm never going to finish this room, am I?"
"Nope." He nuzzles his face in the crook of my neck, one hand on the small of my back and the other holding one of mine securely. He swags slowly to the beat of an unheard tune, slowly descending until he's on his knees, his cheek pressed to my belly. "She's just going to have to deal with the fact that I can't keep my hands off her mother."
"Well," I sigh, raking my fingers through his hair, "I think she's proof enough of that."
He kisses my swollen belly, his hands on either side of his head. I smile down at him, internally giddy that he can be here with me this time.
He stiffens suddenly and I gasp before I realize what's happened and can stop myself. A wide grin stretches across his features and, if it's at all possible, he presses himself closer, feeling our daughter kick out within me.
"I—" he begins, but the words are lost in his awe.
"I know," I whisper, lifting his chin to look at me. "Every day I regret that you weren't there for Trunks in the beginning. I wish—"
"Wishing is for people with genies and leprechauns," he says sternly, and stands, looking me dead in the eye. "You told me once to put it behind me. You need to do the same. Like you said, I'm here now and that's all that matters. I've watched you grow with our daughter inside you from day one, and I'll be here through it all and for her birth and beyond."
"Vegeta, I'm shocked. When did you become so sentimental?"
"Can it woman," he warns, his tone nothing but playful. "Don't you have curtains to hang?"
"Me?" I wrap my arms around his neck, euphoric with the feeling of our child between us. "No. I don't think so." And when I kiss him it's like kissing him for the first time, the way it always feels. And if I loved him anymore I don't think I could function properly.
He is my husband, my life, my soul.
"Come on," I say, taking his hand and pull him out the door.
"Where are we going?"
"The roof. We haven't been up there in ages and soon I'll be too big to move."
"Woman."
"Yeah?"
"Why do I love you?"
And all I can do is smile.
Flashback: (third person)
Bulma spun around on one foot and tumbled backwards onto her bed. She bounced once, then settled, and was immediately pulled into the arms of the other person on the bed. It had only been a few hours, a few short and blissful hours, but the moments seemed like an eternity to the couple, who were only just beginning their lives together.
"This all seems like a dream," she said, kissing his freshly-shaven face. "I don't know or care how this happened. But I love you, and that's all I want to think about right now." What she did not want to think about was the one person that came out bruised from her happiness: Yamcha.
"Trust me, woman," Vegeta laughed, brushing a few strands of her aqua hair from her face so he could kiss her cheek. "This is no dream."
"It just feels like I'm going to wake up any moment and you'll be gone."
"I'm not going anywhere anytime soon. You're stuck with me."
"Likewise, wise guy. And if this is a dream, then at least I can have you this one night, in my head. Tomorrow it'll be like it never happened, but at least I can remember your kisses."
"You better remember them, damn it," he scolded playfully, his fingers attacking her unwitting belly. "And a hell of a lot more. I'm not wasting my valuable time for you to just forget me."
"Forget you?" she laughed, and took his face in her hands. She kissed his lips softly, marveling in the fact that she could perform such a simple gesture without thought or consequence. He was hers now and forever. "Vegeta, I will never forget you."
End Flashback:
THE END! Woo! That was a wild and stressful ride, heehee:P I took a lot of crazy twists and turns that I never planed on, but I think, after all is said and done, that I did a fairly decent job on this fic. It was a little different from what I usually do, and I know I took a long time to finish it, but I've been so busy and I just didn't know exactly how to end it. I think the flashback in third person was a good way to do it though, because, if you didn't already guess, that shows that it's a memory Bulma didn't dream or remember, and that she never does get her memory back.
Anyway, I hope everyone liked it. And I look forward to the feedback :)