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A piecing wail abruptly ends my all-too-brief nap. I open my eyes and glare at the ceiling. The noise doubles in volume and I transfer my withering gaze to the offending bundle of rags. Arms and legs flailing, it has worked itself into a quite a frenzy. Exasperated, I get up and give it to its mother.

Pausing to stretch the kinks out of my back, I glance at her on my way out the door. Her eyes reveal her desire for me to stay, but she makes no move to detain me and says nothing as I leave. Relieved, I head for the gravity chamber, by way of the kitchen.

My head is still reeling a bit from the events of the past couple of days. I find myself suddenly confronted with both a child and the knowledge that she never went back to her human lover. What does this mean? I have no answer. I still don't feel like I can stay, but can't bring myself to leave, either. I'm not really sure what my intentions are, and I don't get the chance to find out.

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I hadn't heard from Bulma for a day or so and I knew her parents were out of town, so I stop by to check on her sometime in the mid-afternoon. The sun is shining brightly above, but a light breeze blows through the trees, tempering the heat. Maybe she will want to go for a walk. For the last few months the cumbersome burden of the child has curtailed her usual active lifestyle, and I know she is slowly going a bit insane from the prolonged inactivity.

I chuckle a bit. Her moods are also raging out of control, and with her restless energy she has been quite a challenge to deal with. Her father and I, being men, bear the brunt of her wrath, but I can never get mad at her. She is too cute when she's being ridiculous, and she's always sorry afterward.

I can't stop myself from feeling like there is still a chance for us. We are closer than ever before, even when we were lovers. We talk for hours, and I know her so much better now than I ever did back then. I'm so comfortable around her, and I hope that in time, my patience will pay off, and she will once again return my feelings. I know that right now she is still too hurt to open herself up like that again. So I continue to wait, and hope.

Armed with a pint of her latest favorite ice cream, I raise my hand to knock and nearly run headlong into a rock-solid figure as the door is abruptly thrown open. We stare at each other for an instant and then both speak at once.

"What the hell are you doing here?!"

I can't believe he has the nerve to show his face around here. After what he did to Bulma...

"You cold-hearted bastard." My fists clench and I fall back into my fighting stance, unconsciously. He crosses his arms and looks nonchalant, giving me that arrogant half-smile, but I can see the tension running through every muscle. He is coiled like a spring, waiting.

"Why hello, human. To what do I owe this pleasure?" The statement is a blatant challenge, daring me to attack. His eyes are feral.

I know I don't have a chance against him, but reason flies out the window when I think of all that Bulma has endured these past months, because of him. All of my offered comfort could only partially ease her distress. Each smile I coaxed out of her was a victory for me, but inevitably her thoughts turned to him and the shadow would return, dimming those blue eyes to a pale, sad, grey.

I hate him for being both the source of her pain, and the one thing that could have assuaged it.

I hate him for being here now, with her, and speaking like he owns the place. He's obviously been here a while; she must have welcomed him with open arms. A searing pain in my chest robs me of breath. My fury mounts, and I power up.

He raises an eyebrow. "Have you been training?" The patronizing tone of his voice makes me grind my teeth. "I think you might actually last five minutes against me now," he laughs.

I launch myself at him.

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Seeing him there instantly evokes a fierce, territorial, reaction. The very strength of it irritates me, that I would care so much. But the thought of him coming to pay court to her, bearing gifts, sparks fury in me like I have rarely experienced. I remember the kiss I witnessed, all those months ago, and my rage redoubles.

I toy with him, because I can. No human will ever be a match for me. My senses come fully awake, as the adrenaline rushes through my veins. Saiyajins live for battle; it makes us feel truly alive. I drink it in.

He comes at me, and I am pleased to note that this will be more of a decent fight than I'd first thought. He has gained some speed and power, and I underestimated the effect his feelings for the female would have on his abilities. He is positively enraged.

I welcome the challenge, but even now some part of me longs to fight Kakarot again, to face a real challenge. And win. I must become stronger than him. I am the Prince!

He takes advantage of my momentary distraction and a roundhouse kick to the jaw knocks me back a few feet. Slowly, I wipe the blood from my lip, and smile at him. This will be fun.

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He smiles death at me, and powers up. I hold my breath, fearing a glimpse of glowing golden hair, or blazing turquoise eyes. But my fears are unwarranted. I smile cruelly.

"So...I see you have not been training quite as hard. Still not a Super Saiyajin?" The smirk disappears, and I can't help laughing at his reaction. "Poor Vegeta. What a pity..."

With a scream of total fury he sends a volley of ki attacks in my direction and charges in behind them. I dodge most of the blasts, but not his fierce uppercut. I feel ribs shatter as I am launched into the air, but manage to flip around and hurl my own ki attack in his direction.

He doesn't bother to dodge, a display of derision concerning my weak power level. Indeed, it doesn't do much damage, but more than he lets show. He holds my gaze, and laughs in my face. Any other time, I might have admired his stoicism. Instead I fall back on a verbal assault, since it seems to cause the most injury. I want him to hurt, like I am hurting. Physical pain is nothing compared to this.

"You'll never be as strong as Goku, you know. He'll always be one step ahead of you, no matter how hard you train." I smile. He isn't laughing anymore.

"Shut up, you worthless human!"

"I bet it eats you alive, that he's the legendary Super Saiyajin."

He suddenly appears in the air next to me, and throws a furious series of punches, most of which penetrate my guard. I am not going to win this fight; I knew that before I started. But I will still enjoy tormenting him.

An evil smile appears on my bloodied face. "He beat Frieza, after you died crying like a little girl."

I manage to duck under his attack and slam a fist into his gut, but it feels like punching a brick wall. He laces his fingers together and sends me hurtling toward the ground with a double-handed blow. Something else cracks. My arm, I think. I force myself to stand, and assume a ready stance. The bloodlust emanating from him is almost palpable; my words have nettled him into a volatile ball of fury, an instant away from exploding into uncontrolled violence.

I laugh at him, "You're the third class warrior. And you know it."

A ki blast would finish me off easily, but I see in his eyes that nothing short of my blood on his hands will suffice. I can't stand any longer and drop to my knees. I look up and fire off my last arrow.

"A pathetic excuse for a Prince. Your King must be rolling in his grave."

Then I close my eyes and await the killing blow. I'm sorry, Bulma. I love you.

"Vegeta, NO!!!"

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I wanted to ask him to stay, but I knew that trying to bind him closer to me would only push him farther away. He is still trying to accept the situation we've found ourselves in, and doesn't know how he wants to react. I hold fast to the thought that he must care for me, at least a little. He came, when I needed him. That has to mean something.

I manage to feed and change the child without too much trouble, in spite of my inexperience. I have to smile, he is such a sweet baby; he is fast asleep again as soon as he is full. I drag myself downstairs to fix something to eat -- I'm starving and figure Vegeta must be as well. If I leave him to cook we might both end up with food poisoning.

I stop dead at the bottom of the stairs, though, with a horrible feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach. Vegeta?--

A scream of rage and a crash direct my attention outside. I run down the hall, still weak and not fully rested, and halt in shock at the sight that meets my eyes through the front door, flung open wide. Yamucha kneels on the ground, battered almost beyond recognition. Vegeta is hurtling toward him with death in his eyes.

I can't let him kill my best friend. A man who would give anything for me.

He can't be wished back!

"Vegeta, NO!!!"

I move faster than any of us thought possible. Wild desperation. I fling myself in front of Yamucha--

"STOP!"

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She appears out of nowhere, and I don't have enough time to react. I curb my attack at the last instant, and it is almost enough. But I can't completely miss her, and I feel the impact smash into her soft, unhardened flesh like a sword through my heart. Bones snap: a rib, her collarbone. She staggers back, but remains on her feet. Pain blossoms in her eyes, and the pale shoulder exposed by the slipping neckline of her sleeping gown is blistered from the heat of my ki.

I can't believe I struck her.

No one moves. She is so pale you could mistake her for a statue. The only sign of life is the slight stirring of her hair in the wind. The glistening strands catch the light as they dance across her face.

There are tears brimming in her eyes, but her jaw is clenched in fury. She faces me, and I am afraid. Not of physical harm, but of something else. An unnamed loss, the death of something that had scarcely begun...

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I had barely recognized him in his rage. I remember suddenly that it was not all that long ago that we were enemies, on Namek. He wouldn't have thought twice about killing me then.

I had gotten used to seeing a different Vegeta: still proud, stubborn and arrogant, but with more depth -- even emotions. Compassion. Desire. I fear now that perhaps I saw only what my lonely heart wanted to.

Near my feet is the melting remains of a container of ice cream. A flavor I'd found myself craving often of late, and which Yamucha, assuming the vacant role of expectant husband, had gone out to fetch many a time. I have to choke back tears.

Yamucha. Poor Yamucha. I have caused him so much harm.

Vegeta faces me, and his face is a total departure from his usual mask of uncaring pride. There are so many warring emotions flickering across it that I can only discern a few. Anger, shock, regret, and...fear?

I push away any lingering concern I have for him and lash out, unhinged by the pain and guilt assaulting me. Hurt betrayal, that he would have killed my closest friend, and guilt, that Yamucha had to suffer so much, because of me. Because of his love for me that I can not return.

"You bastard! How could you do something like this?" I move forward. He actually falls back a step.

"Woman--"

"You're still the same! How could I think that-- How could I ever fall in--" I draw a ragged breath, almost a sob. I poke a furious finger into his chest and continue.

"You haven't changed at all! You live for death!" His eyes widen.

I say what I know will wound him most.

"You're no better than Frieza! You despise him, but how many planets have you killed, Saiyajin no Ouji!"

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End Chapter 8