Make Peace
By: Toshiba

"In ten days a tournament will be held to decide the fate of the world, it will be known as the 'Cell Games'."

Every where around him he could hear their reactions, growls of anger, cries of denial, whimpers of hopelessness at those words, the sound of utter confidence in that voice, the voice he helped give birth to. Now that it was in its final form, the android wanted a challenge, a chance to test the true extent of its powers, to humiliate him again, just the thought of their last confrontation brought him to a snarl. If the situation had been different he might have appreciated Cell's actions; the mechanical nightmare was being true to the Saiyajin cells that were now dividing throughout its being, that mad rush for power and the need to fight. It was so much like himself, he wondered if the plan had been born from his own particular DNA sequence controlling the ego and intellectual part of that creature's brain. His mind, for the briefest of second, went back to that tiny demolished island after he hit the bastard with everything he had, the smoke clearing from his Final Flash to reveal that wretched body, devoid of a right arm and most of his shoulder and chest on that side. There he stood, laughing at his superior power and the blow he had struck, until he saw it, that look Freeza had given him so many time in those years of tormented servitude, of assured victory and a humiliating defeat that laid in store for him. He couldn't have been more right, as he became a punching bag for the 'perfect being', belly flopping into the solid rock and being knocked unconscious, only to come to and learn that he had been saved by his 'son' and that bald headed loud mouthed human.

Better if he were dead, just another failure in the list of warriors who had already faced Cell, all of them in desperate hope for their saviour to come and win the day. Kakarott, always the hero, coming in at the last moment to save the day and be their champion; that victory should have been his, he should have been the one to vanquish Cell; if he had not been played for a fool. Today was supposed to be his greatest triumph, at last he was the one with all the power, punching the imperfect form of the beast down like he was swatting a fly. It was almost like old times during all those purges, or against those mindless Saibamen, he was the greater power, taunting and playing with his opponent, like a deadly game of cat and mouse. Too much like old times, Cell played him for a fool, exploiting the one great weakness, and the last reminder of the being he was before Vegeta-sei's death, the monster challenged his pride and his honour. To hell with the consequences of his actions, he was not a hero, he was not doing this for praise, or the satisfaction of saving the Earth, this was all for bragging rights and with a flippancy born of royal blood, he pardoned his enemy. The game then turned, Cell against baldy, the cast iron giant and the blond machine; he against his own son in the service of his enemy. He still remembered smiling and yelling out to the boy as he delivered the most fatal Judas kiss, and slammed his disbelieving son into the ground, effectively handing the android over to Cell. Miserable whelp, he had his strength, that was for certain, but it was wasted on a tainted spawn like him, his mother's sentiments ran too strong for the boy to ever be a proper warrior. Or maybe the brains that she claimed to have could see what he had not. He was on the very edge of victory, and sacrificed it all for his pride. Beaten down by yet another seemingly unstoppable enemy, for all that he worked and slaved, bashed his head in to grow stronger, there was always someone stronger; Kakarott, Zarbon, Recoome, Freeza, that female tin can, and now Cell. He didn't even stand a chance, the android toying with them, their game of cat and mouse had switched once more, and once more he was the one that the fates deemed unworthy, unworthy to win, and even to die an honourable death. To learn that Trunks fought the android in his place, that the boy saved his life, and left him to live in his shame, it would have been better if he had died; beaten twice in the span of so many days, and to let victory slip through his grasp. He should have died, but he did not, he was given a second chance to redeem himself, and he would, the call of his blood once more beckoning him to fight and train, to grow stronger, and now there was only one place to do it. While all those idiots were worrying and standing around he would find a way, he would return for another year in the void.

"What are you going to do, Vegeta?" His downcast eyes flicked upwards at the sound of her voice, so full of fear and worry, just like everyone else, clutching the child at her breast. It still made him uneasy to this that the tiny bundle she held in her arms was his son, his flesh and blood; let alone the fact that he was also sitting with all the other earth warriors. He saw the boy's lavender head shift at the sound of his mother's voice as well, or maybe it was that she had said his name. They had not talked a great deal in the room, though it was obvious even to a blind man that the boy wanted to get close to him, to understand him, and how he and the boy's mother might have possibly ever come together. His own focus shifted again as the woman came to a stop by his side, waiting for an answer, any answer at all, and he gave her the only one he could give to save face and maintain his pride. Ripping off the worthless human shirt he had donned, he growled out that he was going to train.

~*~*~

The sun had long ago set become he crawled out of the gravity room; it wasn't uncommon for him to spend a whole night or longer cooped up in his mechanical fortress of solitude but now he could hardly stand it. Maybe it was the fact that he would soon be spending a year in complete isolation in that infinite white void, or that his ever present future son was trying unsuccessfully to enter the pod every half an hour. At last though, he had to get out, the lights were all out in the massive complex, every soul finally asleep, this was the time of night that he loved the most. There was something to be said for silence, time to be alone and to think, about what might have been, what could be, and the woman who had some how lured her way into his brain, Bulma. How had it happened, so slowly that it caught even him, the Prince of all Saiyajins off guard, the slow growing attachment, a mixture of regard, grudging respect, and overwhelming lust until finally the damn broke and they ended up together in bed. Never in his previous experience had he known such passion, none of the women that came before could touch what had occurred between them that night, still now, over a year later he was stunned by it all, that he gave into his weakness, that he enjoyed it so much. And still enjoyed it, how long had it been since they had last done it, a few days for her, over a year for him, and another year of solitude was in store for him again. Ahhh, what was he thinking, the woman's sentimentality is running so rampant, it was starting to affect him now; what of his original plan: death and conquest and immortality, revenging his people, rebuilding their empire. This planet was supposed to be a temporary stop on his road to glory, and it had become the site of his greatest defeats, not the least of which was to that weakling woman. He was never like this before, he never let anything stand in his way, why was he still here; was he waiting for a chance to fight Kakarott again, the thrill of beating the androids? Or maybe it was that he was lost, there was no where else for him to go, and in his time of searching for his goal, he had found it, albeit by accident. He warred once more within himself as he slowly padded up the stairs towards the showers and the bed he used only rarely, taking off the sweat soaked top of his suit as he went. He should not even be thinking such things, it would keep him from reaching his full potential, but better he get his speculations out now before he returned to the room. A man could go mad in there without a proper focus and centre, he would need his full wits about him if he were to make it out of there, but another year without contact, without her. Walking up to the bathroom door, he tried to ignore the inner turmoil that raged within him at the thought of her, knowing some where in a part of himself that it didn't matter, she was in too deep, better to let it out before he would be faced with nothing but himself in that room.

Damn it, when had he become such a weakling, pining so for physical release, and worst than that, for a woman, one woman, one as weak as a Saiyajin child, as his own infant son; how the gods of irony must be laughing about that one. It was never supposed to go that far, one time, that was all he needed, or thought he needed; the strain of his nightmares, of the constant days of failing to reach his birth right close to crushing him. Somehow in the rush of those days and nights she had implanted herself in his head, as a comforter, and a tempting distraction, but at the time, that was what he needed. Only one night, and then it became another and another, no, he was not supposed to show weakness towards anyone, emotional attachment was a sin committed only by the mindless. But it was too late, the damage had been done, and the physical relationship could no longer be hidden behind half murmured lies and simple denials. She became pregnant almost after the second month, he knew it, it was probably the only time that woman actually had a readable ki, and probably ever would have. And of all the names in the world, she had to call it 'Trunks', what name was that for a Saiyajin Prince; he had almost lost the gravity room over his reaction. Grabbing the Chikyuu potion called 'shampoo', he worked the crème through his distinct spikes, one of the last lingering images of his royal birth, the thought causing his shoulders to tighten infinitesimally. There they were, the signs from his final fall from grace, he was tied forever to a human woman, ruled over by her, her temper, her body, her various moods and her too quick and too sluggish brain, she had bore his child, a half breed. This was not supposed to be the life for him. He was supposed to know power and glory, under a real Saiyajin woman, his mate should have been of royal blood, his son, a strong, confident, BLACK haired warrior; not this, this semblance of a human life, like Kakarott. About to explode into another tirade, he stopped himself, a first for his own self restraint; there are times to dream about what was once in our grasp and what was lost, better not to think about it now. There were no Saiyajin women left, no planet to call his own, or race to claim rule over, he had only this time, this life, these mistak … circumstances; hmph, a Saiyajin Prince never makes mistakes, better to say that it was a error in judgement. His past had come and gone, as had his former oppressors, and in the end, he stood ultimately victorious by the sheer fact that he was alive, and they were not. Scowling at the stream of water that was slowly going cold, he walked out of the shower, not bothering with a drying cloth, grumbling at the memory that one brought up for him. Stupid pink shirt, from a stupid blue woman, if he could have he would have made her go blue that day, and various other shades before snapping her neck and enjoying the feel of her red blood. But instead, he was sleeping in her bed, making her pregnant with his children; should he go see her before the end, could he even, what was he even allowed after the air car incident? For all that his son had screamed at him and the other weaklings berated him, she said nothing, there was no show of emotion at all, a welcomed change. And in the TV room, looking at him with hopefulness and fear, knowing that the end was coming, she had shown the barest hint of faith in him, like a simple girl looking with fondness at her love, that the man she chose could do anything, just because he willed it so. That look had been in her eyes before, after the gravity room first exploded, and she had crawled on her hands and knees to him; old memories now, there was so little time, even less for him, ten days the hunk of junk had said. He might as well, what had that lummox told him after coming out of the room, something about enjoying the time they had, for him it would be another night, maybe a little longer before he had to return to the room. He had to do something, in the void, in his weaker moments he would picture her, stark but for her short cropped hair, thank the gods of sense, as much as he didn't think they came to this rock, that she cut her hair, what foolishness the last one was. She would be there before his eyes, teasing, taunting, looking too exquisite for words, just like on that first night, and too tempting for any man not to react to her. His shame and lust warred over her, could he dare touch that weakling, even what he knew it meant to his pride? But then again, the damage was done too long ago to matter now, and enjoying the time left sounded like an excellent idea now that those images started to make a home in his head again. At least one victory he would always have over that moronic Kakarott, his 'woman' was by far prettier than that frying pan wielding harpy.

Slipping silently through the darkened halls, he neared their specific wing, very satisfied that the many visitors from that day had either left, or taken up residence in another part of the building, leaving his wing in relative peace. Though peace was a loose term, having to live with the blue haired whining, brash, insolent women; the fights he had engaged with her close in experience to some of his finest physical brawls. There were worse hours too, mostly revolving around the ever annoying and far too present Yamcha; he was so tempted to scream through that wall that if they were going to get a room, at least make sure it was sound proof. It didn't matter in the end, the weakling left, she was lonely and eventually she became his; he let out a soft growl and tried to grimace his face, bad enough he was stuck with her, he didn't have to smirk at the thought. If she is yours then, Vegeta, why did you leave her to die; not that any of the others couldn't have saved the fool woman from the crash, but somehow he got off too easy with that one. She would have something to say, why did he do it, why did he not lift a finger to help; and why let the Android escape, which did happen, thanks to her.

There was a lot he had to answer for, there was always a lot he had to answer for with her, her simple human mind not grasping the complexity of a Saiyajin's thoughts; and it was not, as she said, all about fighting, food, and fucking, in that order. Stupid wench, saying that he was arrogant, that he needed to pay more attention to his son, there was nothing she could do to him, no punishment her puny body could dish out, and no, he would not sleep on the couch. You're too proud, Vegeta, he would hear over and over again, you care only for yourself, and your bragging rights, you train in that gravity room too hard, one day you'll destroy yourself, or us. He could still feel the strength of his son's body beneath his fist, the look of denial and shame glowing out of her eyes and framed by his face, the accusation spoken even without the words; damn you, woman, why did you have to be right?

He was also not so alone as he had assumed this night, one of the innumerable doors was left open as a low light illuminated the floor with a single faint ki level inside. An unknown feeling of nervousness overwhelmed him, dear Kami he must be going mad, fearing a low powered human woman but still, he hesitated to even pass the room, to hear her ask the questions, why had he not helped her, or the one on every one's lips now, why he let Cell absorb the android? He didn't have an answer, not one that she would understand, she couldn't understand what it is like to be the last, the last true Saiyajin, how strong the pull of the hunt was, how the need flows through his blood. She couldn't understand, she was human, with their sensibilities, familial attachments and no concept of what is like to live to fight, she couldn't know that need that flow like blood through his veins, even through Kakarott's for a good fight. Always he searched out for a stronger opponent, someone who might best him, in the hope, or desire that he would grow stronger. Then why Vegeta, his conscience asked him, are you hiding from her, you fear going into combat with her, you never feared it before. Sometimes he wished his conscience would shut up.

It was warring within him to just turn and go, to walk away from her and this place, from his son, his responsibility, that gnawing feeling that must be guilt, but instead he moved forward, his feet not listening to his head. The feeling was almost like that of their first night, pulled by a force he couldn't begin to understand, the cost of her accusations and anger worth the price of the comfort she might be able to offer him. There had been too many fights he had run from, he was still in so many ways like that small, headstrong boy that first became a part of Freeza's death squads; purging was such an easy task, no thought, no morals, just mindless, beautiful slaughter, not this … . No, he couldn't run any more, he would have to face this one demon, the responsibility that he had avoided for all those years. His final ruination coming with that first night, the babe that came of it, and the silent promise all but torn from him by those eyes, both pairs of them, two bottomless, blue eyes.

Plodding forward, he was drawn to go to the light, like a moth to a flame, or a parched man to an oasis, needing anything she could give him, fearing her and everything she represented. As he neared the open doorway, he expected screaming, cursing, objects to be tossed at his head, but the room, the hallway, all of Capsule Corp. was silent. Perfect, no one around to disturb or interrupt them, if he could get her to go to bed with him, give him what he needed on this last night before going back in the room, if she gave him anything beyond her contempt. Shaking his head, taking in the feeling of the spray of water from his hair, he could not be like this, afraid of this simple, bitchy woman! He would not show fear, or remorse or any emotion to her, he would just take what he wanted from her and, and incur her wrath and hatred forever, just like everyone else in his life. Maybe that was the easier way, to just get her out, a clean easy break for the both of them, better that she hated him than the way she was looking at him back in the TV room, saddened, frightened, hopeful that he might … .

If he still had his tail he would have lashed it about like one of the old man's contented cats, he still couldn't keep his last thought in his head or keep back a shudder at the sight of her. Illuminated by a dim table lamp and the far away glow of a nearby street light, the room was a play of shadow and light, only hints of it caressing her shoulders and hair. The air was filled with her scent mixed with that of steam and various lotions and concoctions she used in her recent showering. Even in the low light he could see evidence of it, the ends of hair from her turned head still damp and curled, the silk of her dressing robe clinging and slightly see through where the water touched it. As if he wasn't feeling it bad enough before; a year, one more year without contact with anyone, he knew he could handle it, but again that boy inside him fought against the fear of losing himself in that room. Holding himself back, he tried to square his shoulders against the sweeping desire to move either towards her or run from her. It wasn't his decision to make in the end, a slight turn of her head and she was staring at him, looking through him with those damn bottomless, sorrow filled eyes and he sighed out the breath he didn't even realise he was holding. Neither of them moved, the question of what liberties they were allowed still uncertain even after all of those nights. Against the voice of his pride, that was screaming in his head to stop mooning over her like a love struck boy, he stared at her, taking in the lifts and contours of her delicate face, the shine of her hair, the curves that were visible under the cover of the silk. Even in the low light he could see her as clearly as in the day, those blue eyes shining even more in the lamp's glow, the whole picture mesmerising, and suddenly, none of the fears and anxieties he had been fighting seemed to matter. There was such power in that face and figure, nearly as much as in the mind and spirit behind them, when she wasn't acting like a mad woman; thank goodness for small miracles, she had not yet opened her mouth, the precious tableau preserved. The woman herself seemed trapped in a way, her eyes taking in as much of him as they could, her eyes boring into his own, and the pheromonic signals her body was given off suggested that she was as affected by his presence as he was by hers. It was an old game they had played, the dance of man and woman, and tonight they would join again with one another, as he walked towards her … .

"And just what do you think you're doing?" Or not. That haunting, soft look was gone at his movement, replaced by one that was far more usual for her, her brow furrowed and her eyes snapping fire, the effect not totally unappealing. Had he been in a more combative mood, he might have played with her anger, got her screaming at him while he would calmly parry at his every thrust; but it wasn't in him tonight. Another year without contact, it would only be one in a long line of many, but again that boy in him wanted to reach out to something whole and real and unwavering and never let it go, and it, more than the arrogant man he had become was crying out tonight.

"What, has it been so long that you've forgotten, insatiable wench, it would be my pleasure to show you." Were it only for the lack of a tail and darker colouring, the growl she gave him positively feral; no matter how much he wanted to just give in he knew he couldn't, he couldn't accept that of himself, and she probably couldn't either. Forever at war they were, he didn't know any other way, and she didn't know any other way to deal with him, the only peace coming at night in each other's arms, like two children, with a child of there own. Impending death, he thought to himself, must make one reflective as he let his mind wander back to the last year in room, his eyes cast in blue, his features softened with her coloration, his strength tempted by her humanity, his stubbornness and hers cancelling out in a boy that became a man too fast. Maybe it was a blessing that he got to see his son like this, knowing what a strong warrior he would become, and that this son had known the same horror that he had in his life. He still remembered the silent plea on her face when he had left her and the brat to pursue the Super Saiyajin level in space, showing his disgust at her weakness, and his own for allowing the boy to even be born. That the dirty little brat he brought into the world was the same one in that room, the same saddened, complacent warrior; no, he didn't want to think about it now.

"Go away, Vegeta, I don't want you, and you have made it painfully clear that you don't want me." She turned her back again, dangerous move to make while battling the Saiyajin no Ouji. Like a true sparring match, he took advantage of the opportunity she had unknowingly given him and with hardly a movement of the air to show what he had done, he was behind her, close enough for him to see the individual hairs on the back of her neck. They were all standing on end, she was nervous now, he could smell it off her, but she hid it very well, her breathing and posture not changing at all, only those things that she had no control over revealing her inner thoughts. Leaning in, he trailed one finger down her back, barely touching her through her robe but letting her feel his presence, know that he was there and that he was ready, if need be, to engage in whatever combat she wished. He knew he was having the desired effect as her breathing shifted and hitched in her throat, her body twitching ever so lightly against his touch.

"You don't want me, huh? Then I must say, you're a better actress than I gave you credit for when we were 'having' each other before, and you're a very good one now, but you're not fooling me, woman. I can feel it through your skin, and I can smell it off you; you want me, just admit it, you've never held back before with what you've wanted, why are you doing it now?" Her scream of terror as she was wrenched from the sky at that android's trick, the look in Trunks' eyes as he was tossed mercilessly into the dirt suddenly came to mind to answer his question only to have him dismiss the thought. He couldn't think about that, he would not give into the guilt that was now raising up in him, he was a Prince, not a father or a husband, he was meant for a warrior's life, not a domestic one. Soon his roaming finger was replaced by his hand that was slowly winding its way around the top of her hip to encircle her waist, his head descending as well to take in the smell of her hair.

"So I'm good enough to sleep with, but not to save, ne? Good enough to be your whore and to bare a bastard son, but not good enough to have you acknowledge him, or me? I said take your hands off me, Vegeta, I have work to do. I have to help my father repair 16 before the Cell Game, we'll need all the loyal, usable warriors we can find." And in so saying, she ripped herself from his grasp, trembling from the weight of those words that had waited so long to surface. Ever since her pregnancy had been discovered and their affair revealed, he knew the whispered insults and words that had been spoken against her for having the child by him, now she must be getting a bit of her own back. And damn it, she was hitting low tonight, Vegeta taking in the very definite reference to loyal warriors that they would need for the upcoming tournament, telling him in no uncertain terms that she didn't think him worthy. She did not know what it was like, she didn't understand any of the sacrifice he had to make to his pride to even let their child live, to let her be his …, no, he couldn't say the word, he couldn't even think it.

"You were good enough to offer yourself to me, good enough to give me a place to stay, and I was good enough for you to want me in your bed, though whether you were really worthy is another matter. You lived, didn't you, and it was your own stupidity that put you in danger, had you not decided to go where you where you should not have. Had it not been for that, we might have stopped Dr. Gero in the gorge and not had to worry about the androids, or Cell, is that a 'good enough' explanation for you? Do not toy with me or try to lie your way out, woman, I know you don't have any work, the old man is asleep and that rust bucket has been shut down for the night. No where now to run, woman," he purred low in his throat, going in for another grab at her, this time one hand grabbing at her waist while the other slipped past the silk barrier. "Not that you act as if you wish to run; make excuses all you want, but your body wants me, and it wants me very badly." Kami, her skin felt like silk against his fingertips, smooth, soft and clean with a hint of goosebumps every time his hand passed over a section of her oversensitive stomach. She seemed like a deer caught in the headlights at his move, and he took his chance, pulling her back against his chest as the hand that held her hip started tugging at the drawstring that separated her skin from his. When the tension of the sting loosen he began then, sliding his hands up to her chest and down to her thighs, the smell of her becoming over powering to him, the beating of her heart increasing so much he could feel her blood rushing through her veins. Still she didn't fight him, or make any motion to either encourage or discourage him but just trembled lightly in his grip; that wouldn't do at all, he thought to himself, his head going lower to part the fall of her hair until he was met with the skin of her overly sensitive neck. Brushing his lips against it, he had to restrain himself from opening his mouth and biting down into her soft, sweet flesh, to feel her blood on his tongue, damn it, with every moment that passed he was getting more desperate, more in need of her. It was the lust, he chide himself, trying to ignore how right it felt for her to be in his arms, it had never felt like this with any other. It was because it had been so long, he needed physical release, he needed to lose himself and his pain in her embrace, he was not becoming dependent, he was not growing attached to her. Then why, Vegeta, did you feel like your insides were torn inside out when she looked at you, and why you are hiding behind your contempt when she accused you of abandoning her; what are you afraid of? No, he would not listen to this, she was nothing to him, and running on instinct he bit down hard on her shoulder, his animalistic side wanting to cause pain in the wake of his pain, needed to taste blood.

"Stop it, stop it, Vegeta, please, let me go." She cried against him her voice rising and cracking with the pain of his bite, the sound only bringing out more pain, pain that he chose to ignore. With that he held her even tighter, he would not bend to the will of a weakling, she was nothing, nothing but a distraction, just take her and leave, his pride kept telling him. And he did, clinging to his pride when everything else had failed, when he had nothing left, as his insides were being ripped out.

"I said let me GO!" She was fighting against him now, struggling futilely against him and he almost wanted to laugh.

"Stupid woman, you are nothing to me, go ahead, take your best shot." He hated when he was wrong, he even loosen the pressure around her body just enough for her to take one good swing. Stupid human, thinking her brain could match itself to his strength, didn't even prepare himself as she drew back her arm, and drove her knee into his crotch. One last shallow breath got into his lungs, and then he was down, fallen and shaking like a leaf, trembling, wide eyed and pale, from in charge to in shambles with one unmighty swing. Now it was his turn to have her hands all over him, but her touch was far from pleasing, well, not in her intention. As soon as he was on the floor she leapt on him, pounding on him with meagre fists, the blows probably hurting her more than they ever could him.

"You bastard," he heard through the din of the pain. "I gave you everything I had, my mind, my energy, every part of myself, and you took it all, and never gave me anything in return. I'm not your whore, Vegeta, I'm not anyone's, I won't let you hurt me again, you and your damn pride, oh Kami, Vegeta, I trusted you, I ... ." With ever swipe of her fist against his chest her body seemed to tremble all the more, words she had never thought to say to him before tumbling from her lips, giving voice to the pain that she had been made to bear because of him, all because of him. But her eyes told every thing that even her mouth refused to acknowledge, the soft blue turning even softer, simmering as the weight of it all became too much, and with the last few words, a flood gate opened and she couldn't hold it back. Screaming at him, two silver trails winding down her face, he paused as the pain finally started to dim and he could look at her with clearer eyes. In a way he almost wanted to smile at her, she had done what so many opponent had never hoped to, she got him to the floor, she had fought him and brought him to his knees, and damn it, it wasn't the first time she had ever performed such a feat. Looking up into those blue depths, he couldn't keep back the resemblance to his future whelp, even the boy had sent him into the tiles when he had made a comment about his mother. She is stronger than you could ever know, the boy had spat at him, she survived the androids, she's survived every other warrior, she's holding the world together, and has tried to save this one as well. She is a warrior, no matter how weak in body, there is a fighter's spirit in there; a fighter's spirit, ne; he would have taken nothing less in his mate. But still, she let too much show to him, she had revealed too much of herself, lifted that veil higher than she had ever wanted him to see and now she was definitely taking it out on his ears and chest. At the beginning she was an annoyance to him, then a distraction, then a comfort, a burden, a challenge, now, now it didn't matter, he needed her, he needed to make peace with her, before it was all gone. This little exhibition had gone on for far too long though, he growled, and with barely a tightening of his arms he had her pinned against him, a quick manoeuvre sending her on her back with him over her. Smirking down at his captive, he waited for her to calm down, for her strength to give out on her before he would start again, it was only fair, she had taken him down with violence, he would now have to calm her using her speciality.

"Are you quite done?" He couldn't even keep the amusement out of his eyes, the tears now dried away, replaced by a wicked feralness that all but radiated off her body, and now, he groaned to himself, her smell was even stronger, she had to make this more difficult.

"If you just expect me to simply lie here while you rape me, I promise you that I'll fight you with my last breath."

"I have no doubt that you would." He purred, lapping slowly at the blood that covered her shoulder, noting carefully how she flinched when he neared the wound he had given her, you were too harsh with her, she is not something to be used so. Lowering himself gently down upon her, he stared once more into those haunting, blue eyes, the once opened flood gate still plainly etched on her face, that look hiding nothing, making him almost shudder with the intensity of her emotions. Every night together, and night alone, every joy, sorrow, delight and misery that had been wrought by his hand, or forged by his will shone out at him and he knew he was lost, just another in a long line it seemed. What was this planet doing to him, he was almost becoming a lost cause, it was not enough that he had found his ruin, but that he welcomed it with open arms, if only for this one night.

"Mi beag saoi," his breath against her ear so soft, he was sure she would never make out the lilt of his native tongue. "So I guess you are worthy enough after all, you even spawned a son strong enough for the royal line, though how he can be a true Saiyajin with that hair. It is a wonder, little one, how could one so weak could defeat me?" That part though rang loud and clear, and it turned her gaze to shambles, the tension flowing from her body and her lips parting softly as her confusion found a voice.

"Nani?" She whispered back, almost in shock to what she was hearing; sorry woman, he thought, it was a one time offer, it was miracle enough that those words had passed his lips, but at least she was silent and calm, and still felt very willing and tempting. This time there was no rush or harshness in his touch, nothing more than the barest, teasing caress against her side, his tongue darting out only to lick up the last lingering traces of blood before he smoothed a kiss up her throat. Moulding his mouth to the curve of her jaw, he actually flashed a smirk as he heard a moan vibrate against his skin, her eyes slightly closed in a silent acceptance of the peace he was tentatively offering her. There was nothing now to keep him down, she had given her consent in the most telling manner possible, the fact driven home all the more as he felt one slender finger trace the ridge of his spine, the digit going lower and lower. Once more he gasped helplessly at her touch, first in pain but now, she was rubbing the spot of fur that was once the base of his proud tail, and he felt the strength leave his arms with the shock of electricity that shot through him.

"What happened to not touching?" He groaned out as she went for another pass across that too sensitive spot, his body reacting wildly to her touch. He couldn't let this continue, he would last as long as a boy if he didn't stop her. In a flash he had captured her arms and held them captive above her head, still growling low in his throat as he began to tease her body again, feeling her arch her breasts into his chest.

"Please, Vegeta, don't talk, you said everything I wanted to hear, oh Kami, I never thought I would ever hear such beautiful words from you." And with that she arched her head up again, hesitating long enough to start up into those eyes of hers, searching him for any hint of what he had confessed to just a moment ago. What the mouth cannot say, she had once told him, even what the brain cannot acknowledge will shine in the eyes; that lesson he had learned long ago in Freeza's military, when the small boy became a man his eyes went blank and lifeless as the existence he had grown into. But now, those eyes so wide and trusting, not a sign of any malice or ill will to him, were looking through him now, and for once, it was the boy and not the man that looked back, showing her what he could never say again. It was enough, he guessed, her eyes suddenly alive with a sense of hope, even as a cloud of fear hung over her, and with all the strength she could muster against his grip, she kissed him. It was soft at first, the contact almost an exchanged breath but soon she was moving over him, taking in everything she could of this strange time, with the impossible man that he was, to share in a small joy before the end. No, he couldn't think about that, he would get strong, he would defeat Cell, he would avenge himself; but he couldn't think of that now, his woman growing bolder in her ministrations and the sweet, honeyed taste of her mouth was on his lips. Pushing her tongue past the barrier of his mouth, he knew he had to retaliate, he wasn't going to let her get … the … better … of him; his breath quickening as his body came alive with her subtle stroking, rubbing and her predatory kiss. Freeing one of his hands from the task of holding back her wrist, he slid it down her arm, his rough palm brushing against her warm smooth skin until he reached her breast, first covering her mound then kneading the soft flesh in his hand. Score another round for him, Vegeta smirked as the woman under him moaned and arched against him, her loss of control making him once again the predator and she the prey as he slipped his tongue into her mouth, battling with her own.

"Please, Vegeta," she gasped, breaking the kiss in her need for air, her mouth still nipping at his, unable to take in a breath. "I don't want to die alone, I need you." How did she do it, those sultry but truthful words making the blood rush through him, to one very specific area and he couldn't hold back the groan as his penis brushed her thigh. Releasing his other hand, he couldn't keep it back as his hand touched her everywhere, this time the invasion welcomed, even encouraged with her soft moans and equally explorative hands. The woman was keeping herself busy, one hand traversing his back, the other running through his hair while she nuzzled his mane and anointed his forehead and temple with butterfly kisses. The competition now became one to out do the other, to be the first to give in, and she was living up to the title he had bestowed upon her, he would not give in, he would make her beg … .

"Ahhh!" He cried out as she attacked his tail spot, showing him the same amount of mercy that he would to any opponent, and he was quickly losing his tightly held control, his body gleaming with sweat from his arousal. Kami, if he didn't shut himself up, the whole compound would be up and racing towards them, no, he wouldn't let her win, his mouth latching firmly on her breast to stop his scream, and to pay her back as good as he had received. The simple move was all it took as her eyes glazed over with a look of pure contentment, both hands now buried themselves in his thick mane and her shapely legs, that to this point had remained mostly closed, opened for him.

"Say it, woman." He growled out, the voice that came from his mouth almost unrecognisable to him but it alone made her breathing even more erratic and unsteady groan to escape her throat.

"No." Madly her aqua blue hair flung about her face as she shook her head, she was holding him off, Vegeta smirking down at her and wondering at the unseen control that she must be using now to deny what her whole body was screaming for. Must make it scream harder, he thought to himself and he took the final step, his free hand slowly moving down her body to skim across her warm, wet sex. At that touch, the breath hitched in her throat and she bit down hard on her lip to keep herself from screaming out, she was so close, it would only be a matter of time, if he could survive much longer himself.

"Tell me what you want, woman, I can give you everything you wish, all you have to do is say the word." This time there were no verbal denials, she couldn't even loosen the bite from her lip, damn little wench, he couldn't take much more of this. The feeling of her juices on his fingers only served to remind him how she felt around him, so tight, so warm, so wet; no, he would not give in, his body trembling with the Herculean effort to keep himself from pouncing on her. Again his manhood brushed against her thigh and he too was biting his lip to keep from crying out, but he had to make her, he would not lose, and he went in again, this time the tip of his sex brushing against hers. At that no amount of effort could keep it down as she cried out almost in pain at the sensation, and worse, at what she was denying herself. Her tenuous control was slipping away now, all of it hanging by a strained thread slowly unravelling with every touch and word. Every word, how much stock she put into such phrases and movements of the mouth, 'you said everything I wanted to hear', not everything, there was still one word he knew that would break it all down.

"Say it, Bulma, I want to hear it from your mouth, tell me what you need." There was no hesitation then, her name from his mouth the final catalyst, he had to strain his ears to hear the words he had waited too long to hear, but at the slight nod he almost choked himself as he slipped inside her at last. Oh Kami, there were no words, he couldn't think, couldn't rationalise or compare, all he could do was feel, and even that was an overload to his taxed senses. He had to wait a few moments just to get used to the sensation of her around him again, squeezing him in that warm, welcoming embrace, his mind in a sweet pit of oblivion. Working on nothing but the pure gut instinct that had helped him so much in life, he began to move, slowly deliberately moving in and out of her tight sheath, the friction making every pure, fluid motion exquisite. It wasn't long before they were moving in sync with one another, grasping, clawing, biting, existing as one whole joined together, revelling in that which they had only found with each other. It wouldn't be long now, the point of no return sweeping closer and closer with every motion of one against the other. In the end, he could not defend against its coming, could not halt it or even stave it back, but he embrace her delicately in his arms and kissed her once more as their bodies strained against each other and in one sweet, all consuming wave it came, drowning them both. He didn't know how, or even if it were true but the whole room seemed to glow gold as they came, clutching and kissing each other, trying to give a sense of was happening and what it all meant. He finally collapsed like a wounded man, his energy drained, his breath coming in short erratic spurts, his body burned alive but he had never known such contentment, and looking into those blue, half lidded eyes, such hunger. Damn little minx beat him to the punch as she raised her head unsteady off the ground and let her lips meet his own; for the life of him he still didn't know how they made it to her bed.

~*~*~

The sunrise he used to welcome as the start of another training day was this one time an object of disgust, he didn't want to face this day, to have to face the looks of hatred from the entire contingent of Chikyuu's warriors. And, he added in, he was not yet ready to leave this bed, not yet, nor was he ready to leave its other occupant. Poor little human, he smirked, looking with pride at the exhausted woman curled up wistfully by his side; she had finally drifted off after a long, sweat soaked, wondrous night, even now he still wanted more of her. Never had he felt so alive, so real, every time he was inside her he felt invincible, unstoppable, the feeling only intensify as the experienced ended and he was left shaking like a leaf and as weak as a child, but completely satisfied. This time was no exception but it was more than that now, the safety barrier between them had been breached the night before, thing said and done that should never see the light of day, and yet there it was lighting the whole room with its glow. Sliding his arms around Bulma's exhausted body, he took the liberty of enjoying her naked state, just looking at her, touching the curves and soft skin that he had grown to know as well as his own body. Starting down into her peaceful face, his hand brushed away the aqua locks that had become plastered to the sweat sheen skin, he took this quiet moment that circumstances had given him, so few and far between they were for him. And this one too was quickly departing, as the woman at his side whimpered at his touch, slowly lifting off the veil of sleep that she had been so firmly under, this simple comfort fleeing with the coming of the dawn, their barriers once more up and well fortified. There would be polite strangers again, the connection of affection and family disappearing with the eyes of the world upon him; maybe one day they would find a lasting peace between them, but now he was content. He got one last look into those blinking, sleep filled eyes before his expression turned from smirk to his usual tight scowl and he slipped from the warmth of the bed to search out for his clothes.

"So you're going?" Damn it, he would have to school himself better than this, he chided himself, the gentle lilt of her voice startling him, but then again he had never stayed this long with her, to the point where he was holding her as she awoke.

"Isn't that obvious, I must go train, I will get stronger and defeat Cell." He replied, his voice strained with the hatred of his own failure and the determination that he would have to heavily rely on in the coming year. In this he could not falter, even in the few words he had said the night before was too much, he was not ready to be the man she wanted, he was not ready to handle that child she had bore him or the responsibility that came with those actions. Not yet, but one day, now he was only a warrior, and not ready to take up that fight.

"Vegeta, please, promise me you'll come back." He had heard that tone before, last night when she had begged of him in that low, soft voice, 'I don't want to die alone'; and this was her last final plea to him, the barriers still down and everything still raw. It was her way of telling him not to die, but more, she was asking him the unthinkable, to come back if and when this was all over, that she would be wanting for him, that his son, his son … .

"You presume too much, woman, we agreed when we began this that there would be no attachments, no promises." From his mouth to her eyes, his words making her go cold before him, her face a perfect mirror of his own unswayable countenance, all the wonder and fondness falling from her eyes like rain. Like a contraction in terms, she was, this slight, lovely female, her hair tousled, cheeks flushed, sitting up in that bed, a single sheet clutched around her naked body, the very picture of innocent, with eyes like an ice queen.

"Tell me then, promise we as one warrior to another," she commanded, the resemblance to a royal going beyond just the eyes. "Promise that you will bring my son back to me." Her son, hers, not ours or his; had he so sealed his fate with her, that nothing would come, or maybe she was preparing herself for the life that the future her had been living almost since the boy's birth, where he was not there. They were now before him, both shining out of her, two sets of blue eyes boring into him, accusing him of the evil that he did and life, and worse, the good paths that he upon which he failed to tread, he was supposed to have been there, for both of them. She was asking him to right that wrong, or all of those that he had done and would do to her; he had left her future self and died, would he do it again, would she still have her son? That warrior was her son, there was nothing of him in the boy but his DNA, much like the monster Cell, a creature that held his essence but would never know the person behind it all. There was no smug answer to this, no confirmation or denial; from one warrior to another, a debt of honour, for the life of another.

"We'll see." He whispered back, unable now to look at her again, he had no time for such simplistic, trivial matters, he needed to get strong, needed to train. The pull of the room was overpowering him now, and he didn't even look back as he leapt through the window and flew through the sky for the floating palace.