This is a story about Bulma and Vegeta. It's not intended to be a story about how they got together because it takes place approximately three years after the Cell Games. Instead, it's a what if story looking at the continuing development and evolution of their relationship. I hope you enjoy it and let me know through some reviews! Also, this chapter begins with Bulma's point of view and then shifts to Vegeta's.

Chapter 1

Early morning


My gut clenches as I hunch over the toilet in my bathroom, spewing the contents of my stomach out with as much force as my body can muster. Leaning back slightly on my thighs, I wipe away the trail of spittle and vomit that somehow has managed to trail down my chin and neck as it makes a southwards trek towards my abundant bosom.

If there's one thing I truly detest, it's being sick, and vomiting has always been and always will be the crème de la crème of the things that disgust me the most. Just looking into the swirling waters inside the toilet bowl tinged an unsightly pinkish green from the bile I just regurgitated is enough to make me feel another bout of nausea coming on. Forcing my eyes close, it's almost close to impossible to will the next surge from happening, but somehow I manage to curtail it. Standing up on shaky legs, I lean over and flush the toilet, praying to Dende that this will be the only time I'll end up having to go through this ordeal today. However, knowing the cause of my condition is doing nothing to reassure me in that regard. The last time I found myself with a weak stomach, attacks could happen at almost anytime. However, I've been lucky so far so I thank the fates as I slowly make my way over to the sink to wash my hands and splash out the sour taste in my mouth.

Looking at my reflection as I quickly clean my hands, I smile wryly at the person glancing back at me. In the last few years, I have gone through a lot of changes. Some bad and some good, but overall, my face looks like it always does. Cheerful blue eyes, milky white skin, and my hair. Oh, how I love my hair. I'm forever doing things to it, never satisfied with one particular style. It has a tendency to mirror the emotional fazes I'm going through just as everyone does as they try to find the elusive answer to who they are meant to become. At the moment, it's going through a transition, just as my life has been for the last couple of years. Making adjustments is never easy, especially when life has the uncanny ability to throw curve balls at you that you never would have imagined happening. And that's how it is for me and why I've found myself in the bathroom yet again for the second week in a row.

Carefully drying my hands, I find myself pausing slightly, holding back another round of uncontrolled puking. I have to be strong and I've made a promise to myself that this time around, things are going to be much different than they were the first time. But isn't that what most people say? Yet the reality is, we find ourselves more often than not on the path of least resistance, the path that gives us the easy way out. Well, there is no easy way out of my situation, but even now, I find myself worrying about the what ifs. Especially about the what ifs.

Making my way out of the bathroom finally, I close the door quietly behind me and pad silently across the thick carpet as I make my way to the bed at the far side of the room. I don't even make it halfway across the expanse of the room when the covers on the bed shift, revealing the shape of my other half.

"What's wrong with you again Woman? It's not even time for me to get up and you've already spent god knows how long in there making revolting noises!"

And here, it starts. You'd think he'd be onto it by now, but either he's completely idiotic or he's purposefully avoiding the truth of what's really wrong with me. And right now, I'm not sure which I prefer. You see that's the whole quandary I've been dealing with for the last few weeks. I'm not stupid, not in the least. And since I've gone through something similar to this in the past, I'm smart enough to discern the pattern, to understand the underlying truth.

I know the symptoms and I know the cause. And having the power of reasoning, it didn't take me that long to figure it all out. But just how long will it take for it to sink into his hard head? He has the same ability to make accurate conjectures, yet often, he's either to proud or stubborn to admit to something that might make him uncomfortable. Certainly, the little truth I harbor inside my body would probably be enough to make him both uncomfortable and perhaps just a tinge uncertain. And again, that's where my problem lies.

Continuing on with the journey to my bed, I find myself smiling slightly when he shows me some small amount of courtesy by pulling the covers back slightly so that I can crawl in unhindered. Most of the time, he's a total ass, but I've become complacent with his surliness and his lack of civility because it's easier to deal with then constantly bickering about the things that will never change about him. And so when he does show some amount of kindness, I treasure those moments all the more because I know that deep down inside, he's trying to become a better person. At least, I'd like to think he is.

I'm so deep in these thoughts that I don't realize he's still waiting for an answer to his earlier question until I feel a tap on my shoulder. Turning over slightly onto my side, I glance up and see his torso looming over me. His deep, endless black eyes staring at me with a look of irritation and perhaps a small amount of concern. Again I think back to how he is changing, how he is becoming perhaps what he would have been like had he not been molded into the evil being he had become at an early age. But that doesn't belie the fact that I still haven't answered his question and the fact that he's growing irritated every second I delay giving him one. I especially know this is true when he repeats the question a second time.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Such a nice use of profanity, yet that's just his way of trying to spice up the conversation while making sure I know that if I don't answer him, he'll probably resort to trying to shake it out of me.

Snuggling up next to his warm, hard body, I try to push the worry out of my system as I push him back down onto his pillow. Watching as he stiffly complies and then proceeds to cross his arms, I let out a small sigh before I give out my standard little white lie.

"Nothing's wrong with me Vegeta. Unless you consider the fact that maybe the fish I ate last night didn't agree with my stomach."

No response. Not that I really thought he would give me one. Once again, he's backed off into himself, giving off his usual cold exterior. All of this only adds fuel to the fire that's burning within me: he more than likely has already guessed the truth but is uncertain how to proceed, or better yet, react. Truthfully, I should be thankful that if he does know the truth, he hasn't exploded in anger yet. All things with Vegeta take small, precise steps, and this is most likely an extension of that. Certainly, it took until a year and half ago for him to finally move into the same bedroom as me. And even though such a thing looks like something superficial, for Vegeta to make a concession to share anything with anyone is certainly a big move. And it was only possible by taking small steps to prod him in the right direction. So that's what I plan on doing for this. I'll tell him, when I think the time is right.

Relaxing into my pillows, I glance up at his shadow covered face, his upswept hair blending into the darkness behind him. His eyes are closed and his crossed arm stance has relaxed enough for his arm opposite of me to drop off to his side of the bed. He's so peaceful looking when he's resting, not at all like the turmoil that still boils and seethes just beneath the surface of his skin. I sometimes wish he could be this relaxed all the time, but I suppose when someone has endured abuse and mistreatment most of their life, it takes a long time for their guards to be completely disabled. At one point, I'd thought I would be the one to do that for Vegeta. But I've long since given into the realization that if Vegeta ever fully recovers from the horrors of his past, it has to be because he's willing to part with blackness within, not something I can force him to do.

Letting my mind wander some more, I once again find myself thinking about the dilema I'm in. I honestly hope he's figured out the truth because that will make it much easier for me. But there's always the possibility that he hasn't, and that's what makes my innards clench with fear. We've come a long way since that first night over five years ago when we let our passions get the better of us. Yet there still is so much further for us to go, and I don't want the progress we've made with one another revert back to the way things were…the way things were before both Goku and my son from the future died.

Huffing out a breath of air, I pull myself away from Vegeta's warm body and close my eyes. Why is this so difficult for me, and am I worrying about nothing? Listening to his even breathing, I relax a small amount, letting my previous conviction take hold again. I'll tell him when the time is right, when I think he's ready. How difficult can it be to tell the man you love that you're expecting for a second time? Well, for me, it will probably be one of the hardest things I've ever done; not counting the first time I told him and he left me. But things are different. I have to believe that. I have to.


Cracking my eyes open slightly and swallowing to allow some of the dryness in my throat and mouth to dissipate, I come to the realization that I've fallen back asleep. Letting out a grunt of irritation over my lack of self-control, I roll over slightly so that I can get a good look at the alarm clock the Woman insists on having in our stupid bedroom. For one thing, it's completely pointless because she never wakes up when it goes off and secondly, I've never understood the point of having something around that's useless. Well, I suppose it's not useless because obviously, I'm making use of it at the moment, checking to see how late it actually is. 6:22am. It's been over an hour since she woke me up with her infernal racket in the bathroom.

Sitting up slowly so as not to disturb my currently sleeping and slobbering mate, I lean up against the headboard of the bed I've become accustomed to sharing with her on a nightly basis, not just the nights when we have sex. Running my hands through my flattened hair, I swallow slightly, thinking about how much things have changed for me and how it is that I've allowed for such things to happen in the first place.

For one thing, the lateness of the hour is completely unacceptable in my book. Yet in the years since Kakarrot kissed his life good-bye, I've become lazy and complacent and both of those things do not sit well with me. Oh, the Woman certainly points out to me that I've made amazing progress considering the fact that after that idiot baka got himself killed, I had no desire to do anything. And I have to admit, in that regard, she's right. There was a point in my life, right after his death, that I'd seriously thought about never fighting or even really living again. What was the point? What did life have to offer me, a husk of a once vibrant, proud Saiya-jin prince?

Well, I still haven't figured out the answer to what life has to offer me and I certainly haven't found life on this mud ball to be all that it's cracked up to be. But for some reason, I got out of that slump. Whether that's a good thing or a bad thing, I can't say. However, the one thing that I find knawing at me is my continued lack of motivation. I should have been out of bed hours ago, training, and yet here I am, still in bed, and sharing a bed with a lowly human wench at that! It's these things that I find bothersome and they worry me to no end. I must be getting soft and it's all because my rival, the one I was supposed to kill is gone and most of my pride was destroyed the day a mere twelve year old demi-Saiya-jin did what I could not: ascended fully beyond a Super Saiya-jin.

"Well, that's what you get for being stupid enough to mate with a human and allow yourself to get tied down onto this stupid planet." I mutter to myself before I finally kick my way out of the covers my legs have somehow become entangled with.

Making my way over to the bathroom, I make sure there isn't any vomit or drool on or surrounding the toilet before I relieve myself. I know my mate hates being sick just because of the inconvenience and the discomfort it inflicts upon her frail body. I can stand pain but one thing I abhor above all things is filth and bodily excrement other than blood. I've seen enough blood in my lifetime that if I would still have disgust for it, there would have to be something seriously wrong with me. Blood is a Saiya-jin's calling. It's what makes us long for the fight. Any self-respecting Saiya-jin would tell you that. It's too bad that my brat and myself are the only two on Earth that could be put into that category. Kakarrot's progeny have unfortunately inherited his softness.

Washing up, I frown at the toilet. Counting back mentally in my head, I realize it's been almost two weeks of waking up to Bulma's retching. I try to tell myself that it's none of my concern, but just like the corruption of weakness that I've allowed into my system, I can't stop thinking about it and why she has made no move to cure herself of her affliction. Or why she's made no move to tell me the truth about what's really causing her illness.

Throwing the wet and dirty towel into the clothesbasket I made the Woman install in her bathroom as a condition for moving in with her, my mind wanders back to her sickness. Making my way back into the room we share, I slowly walk past the bed as I make my way to the closet to get out a pair of clean shorts, a T-shirt and a pair of running shoes. Dressing slowly, I find myself drifting back over to the bed. Crossing my arms, I watch her as she sleeps for a few minutes before I finally turn around and leave the room.

Making my way downstairs into the chaos of the loony household that has somehow become my own, I pause outside of the family room when I hear the TV on playing shows that are obviously meant for stupid Earthling children. Unfortunately, my brat has an almost disgusting obsession with them, which only heightens my discomfort of what living on this planet will do to him if I'm not careful. Unfortunately for me, Bulma does not have the same idea of what it is to raise a Saiya-jin prince, which is what my son is. But that doesn't mean I cannot try to get my point across. She's so obsessed about 'love' and 'kindness' but such things do not a Saiya-jin prince make.

Stepping into the room quietly, I see his purple haired head bobbing to the disgusting sounds the colorful things on the TV screen are making. It's enough to make me want to blast the TV to smithereens right then and there. But then I'd have to deal with a temper tantrum throwing brat and my remedy for that would not go over well with Bulma. Why I should even care about what she thinks about how I treat our son is beyond me. However, it's there and I can't deny the fact that sharing a bed with her has something to do with it.

Clearing my throat, I am successful at getting his attention.

"Brat, what the hell is that shit you're watching?" I know that the Woman disapproves of my foul language, but it's one of the things that I can thumb in her face, especially when she's not around to hear it.

"Um, nothin' Papa! Just some cartoons. Can I please watch some more?"

Papa! What kind of fucking name is that to call your sire? Yet, for some reason, that's what the brat calls me and I've let it slide like a million other things. Like the fact that even though I don't like him watching that shit on the television, I'm not going to make him stop watching it. Complacency and laziness. My two best friends.

"Aren't you supposed to be in school or some other idiotic human torture session?" I growl out at him as he starts nervously jiggling his legs back and forth against the couch he's sitting on.

"Aw Papa, it's Saturday. Besides, I'm not old enough to be in school yet."

Well, I supposed that much is true and trying to converse with a four year old, let alone anyone, is enough to tax my nerves to the hilt. Shaking my head in disgust, I turn around to leave. I don't get very far before I realize that something is stuck to my leg. Looking down, I bear my canines at the four year old who has inconveniently attached himself to my leg.

"What?" I ask, proud that my voice is controlled enough so that I'm not bellowing, even though that's what I'd really like to be doing at the moment. The audacity of my son to touch me like that without my permission astonishes me, but I suppose with all the hugging and disgusting behavior my mate has instilled in him since an early age, it's no wonder he tries to touch me whenever he can. And once again, I find myself almost reluctant to correct the behavior.

Gently disengaging his grasping hands from my gym shorts, I push him away slightly and look down into his hopeful looking face that looks so much like my own. If he didn't have that god-awful limp purple hair and those blue eyes so reminiscent of Bulma's, he could probably pass off as a carbon copy of me at that age. Only at that age, I was already a killer and I had been conditioned not to show weakness or emotion, two things that my son lacks. He's an open book, but he does have a streak of Saiya-jin pride and a great deal of potential, two things that redeem him somewhat in front of my eyes even with his numerous faults. Things that my Woman wouldn't consider to be faults at all. Things that she's still trying to get me to open up to and experiment with, no matter that by doing so, I felt like I'm changing who I'm meant to become. She just doesn't know when to let up.

Snapping out of my reverie, I glance down at the boy who is my son.

"Well, are you going to answer me or are you to look at me like some sort of imbecile? Get on with it already!"

"Can I train with you Papa?"

There it is. That almost fawning, idolizing behavior. The old me would have smirked and appreciated such unconditional trust and worship but the ever since that fateful day when most of my illusions were stripped away, the day both my son from the future and Kakarrot died, I can't find such blind devotion a desirable thing. I'd fucked up big time, through my pride and arrogance, and so who was I to deserve such abject adoration, especially from a four year old who doesn't know any better? It is maddening how self-depreciating I have become. To think I've been reduced to this over the death of my rival. It sickens me and yet I feel that there is no way to get over it. Because if I did, that would require a change on my part that I still am uncomfortable about making, though the lord knows, I've made enough changes as it is. If Nappa could see me now, the old churl would think it the biggest disgrace for his prince to be reduced to such a pathetic state.

Shaking my head slightly to clear it of the stupid thoughts that are invading it at the moment, I look down at my son and give him an answer.

"No. Perhaps later, if I have time. Now go back to watching that trash and leave me alone."

Watching him slowly walk back to the couch, I know he's disappointed but I'm not going to let that bother me. I'm much stronger than that and besides, dealing with rejection is something that he's going to have to learn eventually. Better to get it over with now while he's still young instead of filling his head with idiotic dreams that will only get crushed in the end. I don't want him to end up like me.

Making my way out of the house, I do a few stretches before I start my early morning routine. I've picked up human training habit: that of running.

I know it's ridiculous for an Elite Saiya-jin like myself to run. For one thing, my conditioning is so superb that it isn't even necessary. For another, I can fly. However, for some reason, I decided to give it a try and I was hooked on it from day one. Though god forbid if anyone should ever find out about my little weakness besides Bulma and her dumbass family. I don't think I could deal with the humiliation.

So why the hell am I doing this to begin with? It gives me solitude that I crave and a chance to survey my new domain without standing out, something I've grown to like. Also, it gives me a chance to think without worrying about accidentally crushing myself under intense gravity. And that's what I'm in desperate need of at the moment. Some time to just think. About Bulma and what the hell is making her puke.

The truth is, I already now the answer, but I don't like it. One brat is bad enough. I certainly had no intention of fathering another, but there it is. It's just one more nail to hammer into the coffin that's turned into my life on Earth. One more mistake to add to the never-ending list. I don't want to live the rest of my days out on Earth, yet here I am and instead of making plans to get away, I cement myself even further by creating another life. With the woman who is my mate.

Turning around a corner, I sweep past a city street and run into the entrance of the park that Trunks likes to go to. It's a peaceful place, one that I find some small amount of pleasure in, though why someone as damaged as me can find pleasure in something as stupid as a park is beyond my comprehension. Running along, I realize that I'm disappointed with the fact that my mate feels she can't confide in me but happy at the same time as well. Happy because that way, I can pretend for a little while longer that I have a chance to get away someday. A chance to break away from the ties that bind me even though if I'm honest with myself, that chance has been gone for a long time.

I'm changing and I know it, though internally, I'm still fighting it as well. Yes, I have come to accept the fact that I do have feelings for others, that I do care for others besides myself and perhaps that's what disturbs me the most. That after all this time, I still have a difficult time acknowledging such a thing. Bulma has told me a human phrase, one that says that things are supposed to get easier with time. I have a hard time buying into such sentimental crap because my life, while it has changed a great deal since the time I was born as the destined leader of my people, it's never gotten any easier at all. And this new development, this new life I've helped to create, is only going to blow apart the fragile truce I've made with myself and the new life I'm trying to make for myself on this stinking dung heap of a planet. Deciding the best course of action is to just ignore it, I continue on with my run, letting the rising sun and the shaded trees distract me from the discomfort that such a choice will make for me in the near future.

Well, what do you think so far? Please review!