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[The first thing Bulma does when she wakes up, before she's opened her eyes or processed exactly what dragged her back to consciousness, is flop her hand onto the coffee table. She feels along it clumsily, searching for the bottle she knows is there. When her questing fingers bump the glass she cracks open a bleary eye.

That is not a bottle of wine.

That is a glass of water, and those are the sounds of someone else in the apartment. Either the world's most thoughtful home invader is in the kitchen or Vegeta has finally come back from wherever he took off to. She isn't entirely certain which she'd prefer.

For a while Bulma sits and glares at the water as if it's solely responsible for the circles under her eyes. She could just lie back down and pretend she hadn't woken up, put off the unpleasant conversation she knows needs to happen for a few more hours. Maybe another day, if she's lucky. She picks up the glass and slams the whole thing back in one go. Yeah, sure, like putting it off would make it any easier.

That doesn't mean she won't drag her feet a little on her way to the kitchen.]

If you think bringing me a glass of water is going to get you back into my good graces, you've got another thing coming. [She leans in the doorway, one hand on her hip. She isn't shouting, but that's only because she's far beyond the point where yelling at him would make her feel any better about what happened.]

[Bulma is treated to the long, silent view of her husband's back, still wearing his torn battle suit and boots, hands looking strangely naked without his gloves. Vegeta takes his time knocking the rest of the cigarette ash into the garbage before he acknowledges the woman standing behind him, carefully setting the mug in the sink as he turns to face his (rightly) angry wife.

Most of the bruises and cuts he received from five days earlier have healed by now, and the few that haven't seem to be settling in to add to the collection of scars that already cover his body.

The man is silent, staring back at his wife, meeting Bulma's gaze proudly and with no show of reluctance. Despite everything that had happened, Vegeta is not a coward. He will face the consequences of his actions with as much dignity as he had faced certain death in battle.

But there was certainly something different in that hard gaze today. Nothing nearly as startling as to how he was acting as certain memories were beginning to fade just days earlier, but it's noticeable. If Bulma can even see beyond her anger to catch it.]

I would like to think I know you better than that.

[She waits, the protracted silence doing her mood no favors. When he turns her eyes flick over his wounds, checking for any visible signs of infection, knowing that she won't find any because if Saiyans are anything they're miraculously durable. She looks anyway; as much as it aggravates her to admit (right now), she cares.

When she's satisfied she meets his eyes again, delicately arching a brow. There's fury in her stare, cold and intractable.]

Yeah, well, so would I. After that stunt you pulled I'm not so sure anymore. [It's unfair. She knows it's unfair. She's a smart woman, more than capable of putting two and two together. She knows it had something to do with whatever had caused all of the strange complaints on the network, the timing was too perfect.

But knowing, logically, that it wasn't his choice--this time--doesn't mean the hurt and betrayal she'd endured just went away.]

[Vegeta doesn't move from the sink to close any of the distance between them, nor does he dare dispute what he had done to deserve this anger. Instead, he just leans against the counter, folding his arms across his chest, and plainly says:]

I can leave.

[He doesn't mean it as a threat, but as an offer. It's their apartment only by virtue of her wanting him there, after all. Vegeta has no allegiances to any one place in Cerealia, the same as he feels for Earth. One empty room is just the same as any other. The only reason he is here in this particular place is because of her.]

Edited (icon) 2015-08-11 06:01 (UTC)

[It's Bulma's turn for silence, which is far more worrying than any amount of shouting could ever be. Her brow pinches and her lips purse, and for a long moment she honestly considers it. She doesn't know when she'll stop seething at the sight of his face, or if she'll ever stop seeing the blood on his hands.

What she does know is that the last three days, beneath the righteous fury, the grief of Trunks' continued absence has been sapping her strength. She doesn't think she can take another loss, even if it's temporary. There are now only two people from her old life in Cerealia, and only one that she wants at her back when times are tough.

She sighs heavily, pressing her fingers into her tired eyes.]

If you'd come back a day earlier I might've taken you up on that. Where did you go, anyway?

[Silence is just the name of the game tonight.

It's hard to catch under kitchen's harsh, artificial brightness, but at her question, Vegeta visibly pales, mouth curving downwards as his gaze immediately swiveled towards the fridge, anywhere but her. Taking his deserved punishment directly from Bulma was one thing, but doling out the unpleasant details of his other punishment simply was not going to happen. Not tonight. Vocalizing that kind of experience in enough detail to satisfy this particular woman's curiosity seemed impossible while the dark imagery was still so fresh in his mind.

His jaw twitched.]

...Not far. [Finally Vegeta turned back to the sink, settling his attention on that dirty mug, scowling down at it like it was to blame for all of this.]

[Even if Bulma misses his sudden pallor, she'd have to be blind not to see his eyes dart away from hers. Obviously she isn't. She sees it. She just doesn't know what to make of it, and her brow pinches. Maybe it's just the weight of the last few days starting to get to her, but her heart aches. It isn't like Vegeta to fold so easily; this isn't at all how she'd expected the conversation to go. It should be a fight.

Hell, on some level she needed it to be a fight. All of her pent up bitterness and grief doesn't have anywhere to go.

Bulma chews on her lip, eyes boring into Vegeta's back. Fight or no, there are things that need to be said. If his strategy is to give her monosyllabic non-answers until she gives up, it's not going to work.

She vents some of her frustration in an explosive sigh, pushing away from the door frame.]

You look horrible. [She's still mad, her voice is dripping with it.] I'll get the first aid kit. You get out of that gross armor.

Edited 2015-08-13 04:32 (UTC)

[It's one of the very few times in their relationship where a fight is going to take some serious prodding to get started, especially with how easily Vegeta buries down his desire to bark back that he doesn't need medical attention, the man instead simply grunting in dour agreement.

One last burning glare down at the sink before he turns to stalk his way out of the kitchen, but as Vegeta moves to sweep past Bulma to their living room, he pauses by the door frame with a frown, twisting in place to examine her.

Even with the strange distance discernible in his expression, Vegeta's dark gaze is just as intense as always, unrelenting and severe. He purposely avoids meeting her eyes, but his stare flickers over every inch of Bulma's face, trailing across the delicate line of her jaw, the attractive curve of her lips, the barely noticeable dark circles under her eyes--which had no doubt been caused by the stress she'd been forced to endure over the last few days. But he took in every little detail to memory, as if a part of him was still afraid of forgetting her, as if this brief moment of studying the face he'd stared at daily for the last twelve years would keep him from slipping up again in the future.

His eyes finally rose to meet hers but he was already turning again, moving to the living room, where his armor was shredded and tossed casually on the coffee table. While she would fetch the kit, Vegeta would take her place on the couch, perched at the edge instead of leaning back into the cushions, his elbows on his knees as he waited for her.]

[She stands still, arms folded tightly and jaw set, armoring herself against the concern that threatens to temper her anger. This close to, he really does look horrible, and it has little to do with his cuts and bruises. It's that absent look on his face, like he's a thousand miles away. Still, she isn't surprised. He isn't a man that wears his heart on his sleeve; no doubt the events of the week are weighing on him just as heavily as they are on her.

If only she knew how much deeper it goes.

The brief meeting of eyes leaves her unsettled, but no less in the dark, and she shakes her head before heading down the hall with a bitter sigh. If this is how the morning is going to go, she'd almost rather just go back to bed. Not that she'd be able to sleep.

First aid kit in hand, she settles onto the couch beside Vegeta. Without so much as a glance at him, she opens the kit and starts sorting through the contents. Bulma uncaps a small bottle and presses a cotton ball--probably synthetic, certainly not cotton as Earth knows it--over the mouth.]

Geez, what happened to your shoulder? [She doesn't warn him that it might sting when she starts cleaning away what little dried blood remains--he can deal.] Those idiots. What part of 'don't be a hero' was so hard to understand?

[She doesn't expect an answer, and she doesn't wait for one.] So, you're over your little psychotic break, right?

[Or does she need to get to work synthesizing a bucketload of tranquilizer.]

[Vegeta sat stiffly beside his wife as she worked, his only movement the constant clenching and unclenching of his jaw, as if the man was losing some internal battle against himself, the slow sting at his shoulder the furthest thing from his mind.

Bulma's first question was easily brushed aside, the answer simple enough for the self-proclaimed genius to arrive to herself. The second, however, gave the Saiyan pause.

After the last few harrowing days, Vegeta was not completely sure he knew what real even meant anymore. There had been the loss of his most significant memories that had him regressing back to the man he'd been under Frieza's control, the discovery of their son's prone body tangled within Cerealia's strange lights, and the last three days spent under CERES thoughtful care.

So no, from where he sat now, Vegeta did not feel that this psychotic break was anywhere near over, even if his urge to blast Cerealia's citizens to bits had thankfully subsided. But since being reunited with his wife, even if he knew he'd never hear the end of this, the Saiyan couldn't deny that he felt at least a little more grounded than earlier that week. Bulma had always been the man's anchor when his confidence felt shaken, in those instances where his alienness just felt all too pronounced.

But that would take far too many words to explain, words that Vegeta did not currently have to share.

He stared ahead, blankly blinking at the wall across from where they sat.]

...Yes.

Edited 2015-08-17 04:29 (UTC)

[Her eyes lift briefly from her work at his shoulder, taking in his profile, the thousand yard stare leveled at the wall. It's obvious that he isn't in the mood to talk. That's fine. She doesn't need him to. She just needs him to hear her.]

Well, good, it better stay that way! I was worried sick, you idiot! [With that outburst she throws the bloodied cotton ball into the lid of the kit with enough vehemence to make it bounce. She sniffs and reaches for a sterile pad, ripping at the packaging.] Why didn't you say anything!? If I'd known I could've done something about it! [Just what, exactly, she doesn't know, but she would have thought of something. She's a genius, for crying out loud!

...and anything would've been better than watching, unable to talk Vegeta down, while the hero-types of Cerealia took their shots at him.]

It's not like I can just wish you back if something happens, you know!

[The silence stretches on.

Her husband's quiet likely isn't too big of a surprise for Bulma, not when he hasn't even dared to interrupt her tirade so far, the man simply allowing his wife to get whatever she has to say out into the open. To get this conversation over and done with.

Vegeta just wanted to wash his hands of the memories of the last few days completely.

Still, even with his unending silence, his eyes dart to the side to catch Bulma's gaze while she rants and raves, just to show that he does hear, even if he can't find the words to answer.]

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