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Author’s Notes: Since I received just so many reviews requesting me to continue Reminiscent of the Past, I decided to write a follow up that takes place when Bulma gets home. This one is aimed more towards the Bulma/Vegeta fan. I don’t consider myself a sell out, in fact I’m a big fan of both Yamucha/Bulma and Bulma/Vegeta fics. I just tend to lean more towards reading Yamucha/Bulma fics simply because I’m so overwhelmed by the sheer number of Bulma/Vegeta fics out there. That and I dislike fics in which Yamucha is portrayed as an abusive boyfriend. Jealous yes, cheating, okay, but abusive? Come on people! Anyway, the setting is a few hours after Reminiscent of the Past after Bulma had dealt with the painful realization that perhaps the decision you make doesn’t always mean everything will end cleanly, and that love is a feeling never forgotten. Although one might close out the feelings they once had for another so they can be with another, a part of that original love will always be with you. As Bulma contemplates this epiphany, Vegeta notices a change in his mate and becomes slightly worried. This story is from his point of view. Please tell me if you think I put him out of character in any way.
Warnings: For
once, I have nothing conflicting in this story, I am so proud of myself! No violence, no swearing, no nothing! Maybe
one slightly citrus reference…
Obligatory
Disclaimer: I do not own Bulma,
Vegeta, Yamucha, Trunks, or Bra. Please
understand that I am trying to make any profit off this story.
Cursed woman, she’s late again, and I’m hungry! The same goes for the brats. Trunks hasn’t stopped bothering me for food for the past two hours, and that loud-mouthed baby brat hasn’t shut up for even longer then that. Any fool can see that she’s definitely going to take after that stupid mother of hers. Not that Bulma’s food is much to brag about, but I am the Prince of Saiya-jins after all, and I will not dirty my hands with such a medial task such as cooking.
Then again, there are other reasons why I am worried; none that I’d ever admit aloud, but they still reside in the back of my mind. What if the woman ran into trouble, human trouble? That pathetic excuse for a warrior the woman used to call her lover lives in a rather shady part of town. It’s times like this I can’t help but wonder what that woman ever saw in that backstabbing, weakling piece of garbage, but then again Bulma is not your average woman.
I continue to gaze out the window, waiting for her, ignoring my son’s attempts to gain my attention. After a few minutes, the brat finally leaves to go do whatever demi-Saiya-jin children do in their spare time. Probably going to gnaw on one of those ridiculous toys the woman’s constantly buying his spoiled butt like any good, hungry Saiya-jin child would. No, wait, I take that back. A true Saiya-jin child would go out and find his own meal in the forest, not sit around waiting for his mommy to come home and feed him. Whatever…
Come on woman, you’re starting to worry me…Okay, I admit it, I’m starting to get somewhat apprehensive, but I’m not panicked. The Saiya-jin no Ouji is never panicked! Turning my attention away for only a minute to yell at the lavender haired brat to go calm his sister down, I immediately rotate back around as the sound of a coming air-car fills my sensitive Saiya-jin ears. My patience is rewarded with the sight of the blue-haired woman driving her favorite red convertible up the expansive Capsule Corp driveway. Finally!
Something’s wrong though, through our bond I can sense this almost as soon as she begins to walk towards the front door. Her walk is slow, contemplative, not the usual dominatingly hurried pace I’ve come to love. And what’s that she’s carrying in her hand? Cautiously, I move towards the hallway where the front entrance is located to meet her. As to not give away the fact that I was (well, am) upset about her state of mind, I greet her in normal fashion.
“Woman, where in Dende’s name have you been all day?
“Please, not now Vegeta. I’m too tired, but if you must know I was at Yamucha’s. It took longer and was more draining then I expected to clean his apartment out.”
I’m shocked, for once the woman does not answer with the same fire as she usually does. This only increases my worry about her, but being me, I choose to remain ignorant to her sensitive mood. Instead, I decide to ask her about the mysterious box in her hand.
“What’s that in your hand woman?”
“It’s nothing you’d be interested in Vegeta, so just lay off! I’ve had a hard day, and you haven’t done anything to help me yet! Why didn’t you at least make the kids dinner? Am I the only one around here who can throw fish sticks and French fries into the oven for twenty minutes, or can’t you even do that Vegeta?”
Uncertainly, I take a step back, genuinely surprised. What’s wrong with her? She has never been this spiteful with me before. For once I take her feelings into consideration, and I quietly ask her what’s wrong.
“Okay, Bulma, what’s wrong?”
She glances up at me, her attention captured; it’s not a common event for me to call her by name. It takes a few seconds for her to react, but for once I’ll be patient with her. Shaking her head she finally responds.
“I’m sorry Vegeta, just forget about it. It’s just… I guess digging up so many old memories isn’t good for a woman. Come on babe, go sit down and I’ll make dinner.”
Any other husband would simply comply and think nothing more of it, but this is Bulma, and I’m not your average husband. Now I know something was wrong. Although the majority of people simply figure that Bulma and I have a communication problem from the way we fight, the truth is that I actually do listen to her complaints on a regular basis, despite whether she’s aware of it or not. I do sit down, though. Trunks has just walked in carrying his baby sister; I’ll have to wait until later to ask.
After about half an hour, the woman finally finishes cooking. A group consisting of two demi-Saiya-jins and myself eagerly rush to the table. Well, the brats rush, but the Saiya-jin no Ouji is never hasty. As usual, the meal leaves much to be desired, including the loss of three taste buds. I open my mouth to present Bulma with one of my usual opinions of her cooking, only to close it before anything comes out after I catch a glimpse of her eyes. Those expansive eyes of oceanic blue are pain filled and dull, lacking their usual warmth.
Roughly, I tell the brats to go to bed, personally taking Bra up myself in one of my rare moments of generosity. When I do make it back downstairs several minutes later, I find the woman pushing the box she had brought with her into a hidden drawer in the desk. For a moment, she holds one particular object to the light, allowing the item to shimmer in all its beauty. It’s a ring, my sensitive Saiya-jin eyes can tell from even the distance which separates us. Why does the woman have a ring? Did somebody give it to her? My eyes widen at another thought. Did she get it from Yamucha?
No, I shake my head. How could she have gotten it from Yamucha, he’s dead for Dende’s sakes! What am I worried about? I give the woman a moment to put the object away, carefully noting where the drawer is, before I walk into the room beside. Suddenly the atmosphere seems uncomfortable, almost stifling, as if I shouldn’t have seen what she was doing.
“So, are you…coming to bed anytime soon?”
She smiles at me with those beautiful eyes, but the smile is marred by the sorrow in those eyes. By Dende, do I hate it when she’s miserable. Anger is an emotion I know well, and can deal with, but these tears, and that need she sometimes has for me to hold her are so new. Even after so many years of being together, I am still unacquainted with love and the pain it brings, even the love I feel in my own heart for her and the children. For so many years I shunned love and affection, feelings which I felt were ridiculous emotions that weakened you, leaving you simpering in the wake of the person you thought had loved you.
But when I first met Bulma, there was just something about her that drew me to her. Her touch, her smell, and her bravery… To this day I cannot think of one woman who matched her tenacity and beauty. And our first night together… I can still remember lying next to her, for the first time in a long time, my mind conflicting with what my heart said, my whole conscious a spinning world of denial and misunderstanding.
My mind is brought back to the present as her soft voice echoes throughout the walls of the large room.
“Yeah, I’m coming. Let’s go.”
Taking my hand, she leans against me as we walk to our bedroom, and for once I allow her to do so without complaining. The journey to dreamland is uneventful; Bulma wasn’t lying, she was tired. She falls asleep within the hour, while I remain awake, the contents of what is in those letters and the consequences of finding out what they are nagging at my conscious. I feel like Trunks often acts when it comes close to that ridiculous holiday they celebrate on Chikyuu known as Christmas; his eagerness to open those mysterious packages Bulma meticulously buys and wraps for him never fails to annoy me.
After so many hours pass by, I find myself plagued with my own curiosity. Curse that woman! Why couldn’t she have just told me what they were? Finally unable to take it any longer, I
remove myself from bed, being careful not to disturb my mate as I move towards
the door and to the stairway. Clad only
in my infamous “Badman” boxers, I begin to shiver as the effects of that air
conditioner the woman insists on keeping on during the night starts to get to
me. I ignore the urge to grab my robe
from our room, hesitant to take a chance that might end up waking her up.
Those few assassination missions I performed while under Frieza’s tutelage are finally beginning to somewhat payoff, despite the harsh price I had to pay for performing them, as I quietly tiptoe my way to wear her study is located. Finally reaching it, I allow myself to relax, but I keep my guard up, after all, I have Saiya-jin brats, one of which is an infant, who knows when one might wake up?
Removing the drawer key form its secret place underneath the rug, I then proceed to open the drawer. Carefully, as if I’m handling precious document (which for all I know they could be), I gently remove the box Bulma was looking at earlier. I lay it out on my lap, unsure of my next move.
Should I open it and take a peek? Could this box be like the fabled item Pandora had, and shall I regret opening it if I do so? For several intense moments I fight with myself over whether or not leaving it closed would be a decision worth considering. The sound of footsteps behind me drags me from my private debate. Hurriedly, I move to replace the objects, hoping to Dende it isn’t Bulma.
It is, and I’m not quick enough. She hasn’t said anything yet, only standing there staring me down with…what was that in her eyes anyway? Pity? I open my mouth to voice an excuse, but Bulma speaks before me, catching me off guard with her next question.
“What are you so afraid of, Vegeta?”
My eyes widen at the comment. Me, the Saiya-jin no Ouji, afraid? Preposterous! Why would a proclaimed warrior such as myself be afraid a simply box?
“Yamucha’s gone Vegeta, he’s not coming after me. And even if he was alive, do you really think I’d leave you for him?”
This only furthers my disbelief at her words, but at the same time, pushes forth into my mind the truth of her speech. She’s right, what am I afraid of. I push the box away, one hand still resting on it. Like an angel whose wings have only been temporarily removed, she glides over to where I sit, and then proceeds to sit with. Lost in the blue expanse of her wondrous gaze, I fail to react as she gently grasps my own hands with her own soft, delicate ones. After several moments of intense gazing, in which I feel almost as if she gazing right into the soul of my very being, I finally find my voice.
“I-I’m not afraid. Why should I be? Besides, who cares about some box anyway? Probably just some ridiculous memoir the pathetic man made after he lost you to myself!”
But my voice is shaking, and Bulma isn’t one to be fooled. A cool hand makes its way to the back of my head and pulls my face forward to press against her own. Her eyes now more mesmerizing then ever, I lose myself in them as she continues to speak.
“Yamucha is gone, Vegeta, you have nothing to worry about,” she clasps her hand against mind, palms pressed together, “You never did have anything to be afraid of. Be reassured that Yamucha and I were never to be, why do you think I’m with you now. I told you when I walked in earlier that I’d dug up a few old memories while I was there. That box contains those memories. That doesn’t mean I am lost in those memories, Vegeta. Know now that you, and our family, are my world. Thos memories are not my world, my eyes are facing towards the future. A future I would like to spend with you. Now, if you still feel the need to look into that box, then we’ll do it together, as is meant to be.”
Her words have a stunning affect on me, and their meaning is driven deep into my soul by the vulnerability of her own soul, then any sight could possibly have effected on me. Slowly, my eyes pull away from her own, and glancing over at the box, I reach over and then pick it up. Opening the hidden drawer, I gently push the box into its resting place. Yes, its resting place, now that I have been reassured, I can look back and honor the loss of Yamucha. Don’t get me wrong, I still don’t like him, but his passing is one that deserves to be recognized because, in a way, it shaped the relationship we have now. No more bitterness is needed to look back upon the memory of him.
As quietly as I had before, I turn back to Bulma, whose eyes are now shining once again with that beautiful inner brilliance. I smile, and walking over, I sweep her off those delicate feet and into my open arms. Carrying her upstairs, I lean over and whisper softly, “Aisheritu Bulma.”
She simply smiles gently and responds with a kiss. I can understand I am acting like one of those pathetic, sappy characters in one of those romance novels the woman is always reading, but for once I don’t mind. For the first time in awhile, I smile a genuine smile as her arms circle my neck, and as I make plans with what to do with tomorrow. First, a quick spar with Kakarotto, then a quick stop at Mr. Satan’s jewelers. I’ve heard they have an excellent variety of engagement rings available…
So how did you like it? Thumbs up, thumbs down? Thanks to all who read this, read and review! Until next time, enjoy what you read now. E-mail Chao-chan at ChaoticSerenity3@aol.com.