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[Home, sweet home.

The weight of the last week still continues to pull at the couple's shoulders as they return to their lonely apartment--which had somehow managed to come out of the flood unscathed--the pair immediately separating at the entryway. While Bulma made a beeline for a hot shower, Vegeta was already turning into the kitchen, throwing open the fridge door and giving into that ravenous Saiyan appetite of his.

The silence stretched on between them, the quietness providing a tense comfort through the shared living space.

Eventually, as the evening wore on, Bulma ended up on the couch, curled up with a mug of hot coffee, too tired to even consider moving again. It was at this point that Vegeta emerged from the kitchen, still as mute as he had been since their arrival home. He moved to sit beside his wife, keeping an inch or two distance between their bodies, purposely careful to keep from touching her.]

[It's been one hell of a week. Bulma idly scrolls through lines of code on her CereVice, although she can't concentrate enough to troubleshoot it. Her thoughts keep scampering off in a thousand different directions, the jerks.

She should probably give herself a day or two to process, but that means missing Trunks--both of them--more keenly than she's allowed herself to. It means coming to terms with the loss (again) and dredging up the strength to keep moving forward.

She'd rather keep herself busy. It's been working so far.

When Vegeta joins her on the couch she glances at him from the corner of her eye, almost immediately returning her gaze to the screen. Over the last few days Bulma's anger has run its course. Which isn't to say that she's not still hurting, or that she hasn't debated with herself whether or not to leave him twisting indefinitely every single day. But only an idiot wouldn't have picked up on the regret in his actions since the flood, and she prides herself on not being an idiot. There's a subtle shift in her posture, an unconscious and almost imperceptible angling towards him. Even if the silence between them isn't exactly comfortable, there's reassurance to be found in Vegeta's strong presence beside her. Her subconscious knows what her higher processes refuse to acknowledge; ultimately, she's going to forgive him, if for no other reason than denying CERES the satisfaction of dissolving years of hard work and compromise with one bad week.]

[One truly horrible week.

That quick glance is caught and returned, Vegeta looking away just as Bulma does, his gaze falling distantly on the coffee table, the half finished glass of water he'd set out before the storm still sitting there. A city in absolute turmoil, drowning and collapsing in on itself, and yet here in their apartment it was as if nothing had changed.

Even straining under the great weight he's been holding up the last week, Vegeta does not crumble. Since the earliest days of his association with Frieza, the Saiyan has been building up a wall around himself, using his pride in his royal blood as the solid foundation. Yes, with his death at that monster's hands, the wall had been blasted apart, leaving the prince more vulnerable than he had ever felt before. But since the day he'd been wished back to life, he'd slowly been repairing what had been shattered. It was a different sort of wall now, patched shoddily together with the help of his family and (as reluctant as he may be to call them) friends, yet it sometimes felt even more sturdy than what he'd had before.

But now there was a new crack, small but not easy to ignore, splintering out across the stone, an obvious hole in his defense that would take time to mend.

It troubled Vegeta to no end.

As Bulma's slim body angles just the slightest bit closer to him, the Saiyan shifts noiselessly, just to where it was easy for his head to lightly rest at the woman's shoulder. It's not a position he takes often, Vegeta is usually content to sit unyieldingly stiff at her side, but just this once he's allowing his wife to carry just the slightest bit of the weight that's cracking him.]

[It's unexpected, but Bulma doesn't flinch or shy from him. She lowers the CereVice, a hint of a concerned line appearing between her eyebrows and a frown tugging at her mouth.] Vegeta?

[Beyond the dark vee of that sharp widow's peak of his and his perpetually furrowed brow she can't make out much of his expression. She doesn't really need to. Actions speak far louder than any troubled scowl ever could.

She stops short of asking what's wrong. Honestly, the list of what isn't wrong would be shorter, and that's just from her perspective. Besides, as much as her curiosity has always driven her to poke and pry, she's learned that sometimes it's wiser to hold her tongue.

This is one of those times, she suspects. If Vegeta wants to get whatever's bothering him off his chest, he'll talk.

Decision made, she turns her attention back to the CereVice, although she does little more with it than absently open and close applications.]

[For once, she wouldn't need to ask.

Without any warning, there was a strong hand snaking around Bulma's waist, thick fingers digging into the flannel of her pajamas as the man gently tugged her closer to him. His head turned, just enough that he could bury his nose against her shoulder, taking in the woman's familiar scent and her warmth, silently reassuring himself of her existence.

He would not forget her again.

That initial lingering silence that followed after Bulma called his name shouldn't have come as a surprise to the woman, but after a moment or two left to breathe in her scent and take comfort in her presence, the Saiyan's head turned just enough so his voice wouldn't come out so muffled against her clothing.]

They overpowered me. [His pride stung to admit it, of course, but the simple fact was that Vegeta had not been strong enough to escape. Three whole days had passed by and not once had he managed to steal the upper-hand out from underneath his captors. He'd just been completely helpless. He'd been weak.]

[Okay, no, Bulma decides she has far too many things in her hands. She drops her CereVice onto the cushion beside her thigh, trying to recall the last time Vegeta was shaken enough to seek comfort like this and drawing a blank. Her heart lurches.

Her hand rests at the nape of his neck, fingers carding into his hair.

She wonders what to do with the half-full mug. Can't reach the coffee table without pushing him off. Drop it? Who cares?

She forgets all about the stupid mug when he finally breaks the silence. Her pulse jumps and she doesn't understand why. If feels like she's afraid, but that's stupid.

Isn't it?]

Who did?

[Quietly, laden with trepidation. Little more than a breath, but she knows Vegeta will hear her. It's the obvious question. No one that she'd watched challenge him before they'd been taken to that strange, half-coded space would've had a chance in hell.]

[The Saiyan fell back into a brief silence, his face unsurprisingly washed of any emotion, the thin line of his mouth set firmly.]

Those bastards in the tower.

[The identities of his tormenters continued to evade him--an annoyance that he kept fighting against--their faces blurred out over the heavy memories of what Vegeta had been made to endure under their watch. When he'd been set free to stumble out into the city again, it had been too hard to immediately tell what had been real and what had been a part of their experiment.

Now he had a much clearer mind, but the who was still just out of his grasp.

The hand at her side tugged Bulma closer on instinct, the unexpectedly light touch at his neck causing the man to flinch before he was easing under Bulma's fingers, eyes closing.]

They kept me there for three days. Under their watch. [Disgust, for them and for himself, drips like acid from his tone.] I was helpless.

[There's no need to ask which tower he means. CERES. They're responsible, because of course they are. Her mind races, a chill creeping up her spine. Three days. Only one possibility, and oh, doesn't that explain so much. The distant look, the silence. She feels sick. She should have known it was more than the loss of Trunks when she tried to pick a fight and Vegeta, for the first time in recent memory, failed to leap to the challenge.

What did they do to him?

How? It seems impossible that anyone could keep a Saiyan immobilized if they truly wanted to escape, let alone a Super Saiyan. Vegeta has punched a god in the face, and said god felt it. There's just no way...

Except, obviously, there is. There's no doubting the loathing in his voice.

Bulma takes a deep breath, forcing herself to move before her thoughts can spin out and away. First thing, get rid of the stupid mug. She balances it on the armrest. Stable? Hardly. She's doesn't care. Spilled coffee is inconsequential next to phase two of her plan: holding her husband, whether he likes it or not. Her fingers dig into his shoulder, pulling at the taut fabric of his battle suit.]

[Vegeta scoffs against her as Bulma closes the last bit of distance between them, the woman holding him in comfort, like an infant. The mere thought of the great prince of all Saiyans being coddled like this made his stomach turn, revulsion coiling within him like a snake waiting to strike--

Yet still, the man doesn't immediately push her away like he may have moved to in the past. He accepts Bulma's comfort without hesitation, bowing his head down further before he releases a shaky breath against her shoulder.

Vegeta certainly would have preferred his wife to lash out in anger or even shame for his weakness instead of this undeserving tenderness she was sharing with him, but there's no escaping it now. As she holds him close, the Saiyan's grip around her waist only drags her closer, tears prickling at his eyes.

The ever steadiness in his voice breaks, but only just barely, the hint of brokenness in his tone something most people would never be able to catch. But Bulma would.]

A true Super Saiyan would not have fallen--[His dignity is dead. Time to mourn for the unworthy prince.]--Or would have at least died honorably in battle instead.

[She huffs out a constricted laugh, not because it's funny, but because it's either laugh or break along with him. Honorable death? Been there, done that, it sucked, took the t-shirt home and burned it. She wants to yell at him, tell him in no uncertain terms how utterly stupid and selfish that line of thinking is, but instead she speaks softly, with care.

Beneath that softness is steel. Unyielding confidence. The expectation of more from her husband. She's never known him to shy from a challenge. No matter how many times he's beaten down, he always gets back up stronger than before, and she has faith that he'll overcome whatever CERES did to him in that tower in time. That's just the way things are.

It has to be. She needs him fighting strong at her side, if she's going to make it through this.]

Dumbass. You know better than anyone that a true Super Saiyan doesn't let a setback stop him, no matter what. So are you going to let them beat you, or are you going to be the legendary warrior I know you are and make them regret ever messing with you?

Edited (comma splices are a thing) 2015-09-21 23:03 (UTC)

[It's amazing how quickly the steel in Bulma's tone has Vegeta reacting, recoiling up and away from his wife with an insulted huff, shooting the woman an affronted look that would probably be quite comical if not for the tense atmosphere that currently surrounded them.

--Hell, maybe it is comical still, especially given the way his lips were twisted into a perfect princely pout, the kind of look Bulma was no doubt used to seeing from their twelve year old son.

There's still an unfamiliar wetness at Vegeta's dark eyes as his arm slips away from her, putting a few inches of physical distance between their bodies before muscular arms cross over his chest and his chin tilts upward.]

Tch, of course I will. [He spoke through gritted teeth, as if pained.] Don't nag me, woman.

[It was exactly the burst of hard truth that he needed, but that doesn't mean Vegeta was going to act at all grateful for it.]

[Bulma's hand lingers a moment on Vegeta's shoulder, squeezing before falling away. Then she reaches for her precariously perched coffee with a quiet snort, smiling softly into the rim. There's the haughty, insufferable Saiyan she married.]

Oh honey. Obviously I don't nag you enough if you think that's what it sounds like.

[Still, she watches him carefully from the corner of her eye. She hasn't missed a thing.

A moment of silence passes, tension in Bulma's shoulders and a small frown beginning to tug at the corners of her mouth. Her thoughts have turned to CERES; they'd taken her son from her, and they'd taken Vegeta, too, she just hadn't known it.

She folds her legs delicately, one foot bouncing with pent up energy as she speaks.]

You're going to tell me what happened?

[It isn't really a request. It's a statement, but an open-ended one. She wants--needs--to know, eventually. It doesn't have to be now, but god knows neither of them are very good at staying out of trouble and forewarned is forearmed.]

Nothing irreversible, [came the all too casual response for a man talking of his prolonged confinement, arms uncrossing to allow one of his hands to rest at Bulma's knee. Not out of comfort, of course, but to put a stop that maddening fidgeting she so often fell into.

Unfortunately, that was likely the most Vegeta would expand on the nightmares he'd been forced to endure during his stay with CERES. Bulma didn't need to know the rest of the unpleasant specifics, especially not the role that she and Trunks had played within them. He didn't need her concern. Or her pity.

--And he certainly didn't need her banging down the Research Tower's doors to scream death threats in their faces either.]

It's done. All of it. [Though it sounds more like a reassurance to himself than to her, the Saiyan's gaze going distant briefly before it swept right back to Bulma, catching her eyes within his intense gaze.]

I'm not asking for your forgiveness, Bulma--[Because that was utterly pointless to him. He didn't deserve her forgiveness, nor would he accept it.]--but know that I will not dishonor you like that again.

[Bulma's knee bounces once beneath his palm and then grows still. Her mouth twists unhappily, as if she might spit out a demand for more than the exactly zero Vegeta is willing to tell. With an effort she lets it go. It isn't a fight she wants to have. Not tonight, but later, maybe.

Her fingertips drum rapidly against the side of her mug--so much for stopping her fidgeting--and if she could have read his thoughts she might've laughed.

The only thing stopping her from marching on CERES Tower right now is the suspicion that the CEO and her little toady Mosley aren't at home. If there's ever a chance to burn the cursed place to the ground she'll gladly provide the lighter.

Her eyes are arrested by his, for a moment, lingering concern for him and simmering anger warring in their depths.]

I know. [She touches cheek, lightly. Her hand falls away as she turns to retrieve her CereVice from the table.] If you really want to make it up to me you can hold some choice CERES employees still. I owe one or two of them a slap.

[Or five.]

Edited (THIRD TIME'S THE CHARM) 2015-10-17 04:22 (UTC)

[It was done.

Vegeta can't help the mirthless smirk that twists across his face at the imagery, the Saiyan quickly stretching forward over his small wife to grip at the offending mug, gently wrestling it out of her hands.]

Accepted. [And once she is finished with her slapping, he will rip them to pieces. Sounds fair.] Trust me when I say that none of them would last against you for long.

[And for once she (probably) won't take issue with him indulging his homicidal side. It's a win-win.

Bulma lifts an eyebrow and shoots him a puzzled look, her freed hand taking to tapping on the underside of her CereVice. It's that or she starts pacing. Which is more irritating, Vegeta?

At least the tapping pauses for a moment when a short, surprised laugh pops from her mouth.]

Charmer. [The smile she shoots Vegeta's way isn't as sunny as it might've been, but it's a start.]

[Will this torture never end?

The hand against Bulma's leg suddenly rises, fingers subtly brushing against her thigh and bent knee before he traps her free hand within his own. The action could almost be considered playful and sweet, if it wasn't Vegeta initiating it.]

I say that only because the sound of your shrill shrieking will either have those men running for their lives in absolute terror or they will slaughter you where you stand.

[this is your husband]

[Annnnnnd there it is. She knows her husband far too well to expect him not to immediately turn anything remotely positive he has to say into a backhanded compliment.

... it's just one of his many qualities that she finds bizarrely endearing. No one ever said she was certifiably sane.]

Ugh, jerk! [How's that for shrill? Her free hand balls into a fist and slams into his shoulder with all the force she can muster.

It makes her feel better, even if it is ineffective.

She sticks her tongue out at him for good measure.] Geez. Remind me again why I put up with your rude ass.

[Well, at least she's not wasting energy worrying about him anymore.]

Edited (SHRUG) 2015-10-19 03:21 (UTC)

[Considering his hands are currently preoccupied, Bulma gets that free hit in with ease, Vegeta obviously unflinching in the face of her pitiful strength.

He grins meanly in return, that overconfident smirk curling his lip enough to reveal a flash of teeth beneath.

--At least that biting comment seemed to be enough to distract Bulma from her maddening fidgeting for now. There's at least some improvement.] I have my moments.

[The dainty hand trapped within his own is given a gentle squeeze before being released, Vegeta shifting to rise up onto his feet, the emotional conversation already so far into the past. He turns back towards the kitchen. His stomach is already rumbling and Kami knows he needs a shower just as badly as Bulma had after the last few days.]

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