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A Losing Battle	By : BlazeEBlake_TD Category: Dragon Ball Z > Het - Male/Female > Vegeta/Bulma Views: 2121 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Ball Z nor do I own any of the characters. I make no money whatsoever by writing this story.

Chapter List
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Vegeta rolled over, still half asleep, and was surprised to feel an emptiness beside him. He and the woman had spent another night together giving in to their baser urges, and had drifted to sleep after collapsing breathlessly upon his mattress. His eyes snapped open, examining the space before him. It was dark, still hours before dawn by his estimation, and yet for the first time since their encounters had begun he was the one who had awakened alone. He sat up and glanced about the bedroom, perplexed by her absence. They had fallen into an easy routine in the months following their disastrous outing. She had agreed to never again attempt such a ridiculous venture, instead opting to join him for the evening meals he took after completing his daily training. He didn’t quite understand her need to be present while he ate, particularly since she insisted upon attempting conversations that he had no way of participating in while his mouth was already more than occupied, but she seemed satisfied with this arrangement. For his part, he found her company tolerable enough, incessant prattling aside, and was pleased to find that their squabbles had returned to the frequency and superficiality he was used to. He often suspected she sometimes picked fights with him to fuel nights like the one they had so recently passed together. Tonight, an argument about attending some frivolous gathering of the Earth warriors had quickly escalated into yet another passionate entanglement and their debate was quickly forgotten. Or perhaps not. It could well be that she had awakened, recalled her earlier frustrations, and returned to her own bed in hopes of spiting him. But then again, it was anyone’s guess why the woman did any number of the inane tasks he had observed.
He stood up and went to his bathroom, choosing to take in an early meal and get started on the day’s training rather than waste time trying to figure out what had roused her. After quickly showering, he dressed and made his way to the kitchen, his mind now wholly focused on consuming whatever sustenance he could lay his hands on. He stepped into the room and was met with the sight of the missing woman groggily seated at the dining table, head resting in one hand and a steaming cup of tea before her. Vegeta grunted quietly in greeting and turned his attentions to the refrigerator, grabbing several armfuls of carefully packaged leftovers and dumping them beside her mug. He sat down roughly in the chair across from her, shaking the table and sending hot tea splashing out of her cup and down its sides. The woman glanced at the small mess disinterestedly, eyes barely open. The Saiyan surveyed her suspiciously, puzzled by her lack of reaction. She was paler than usual but her nose was a bright red, as if someone had struck her, and her eyes were dull and unfocused. Inhaling, he noted that her scent was off as well, somehow changed and stale. He didn’t like it.
“What’s wrong with you?” he asked pointedly.
“I dunno,” she said, her voice scratchy and rough, “I woke up feeling pretty awful. I guess it’s a cold or something.”
“Cold? That doesn’t make any sense. The temperature-”
“I’m not cold. I have a cold. It’s a name for.. For when you get sick. I’m sick. Can’t you tell?”
“Well, you do look unusually awful. And your scent is… Wrong”
“Thanks, Prince Charming. Look, that’s why I got up. I knew you wouldn’t understand or care, and I didn’t want to bother you with my silly Earth illness. So just inhale your breakfast and let me suffer in peace.” Vegeta opened up a container and pulled out a few large rice balls, still eyeing her carefully. He brought one to his mouth but stopped short of eating it.
“Your mother, she must have something,” he said quietly.
“Mom and Dad went to a conference out of town. Remember?”
“I don’t have time to keep track of all the cookie baking and newspaper reading your family takes part in, let alone the vacations.”
“It’s not a vacation, it’s a very important scientific symposium. We do have one of the most successful companies in the world, remember?”
“Science playdates or no, they are not my concern.”
“Obviously. Like I said, they aren’t here. I’ll handle it.”
“The boy?”
“What?”
“Who will tend to the boy? His training only takes up so much time and I have my own to worry about.” The woman sighed and ran a hand over her red rimmed eyes.
“I guess I’ll handle that too,” she said, an edge in her voice, “I just hope I don’t get him sick.”
“What do you mean?” he asked, setting his food down.
“People catch colds from each other. It happens.”
“He is a Saiyan. No human illness should affect him.”
“Half-Saiyan. So it might.”
“Well, I forbid you from-” He stopped abruptly as the woman’s face took on an odd expression, her nose wrinkling and lips parting into a strange snarl. Before he could question this tactic, she let out a loud cry and ejected a vile combination of snot and spittle before her and over his meal. Vegeta’s eyes widened in shock and disgust.
“Wha-Why?” he sputtered angrily, “You expect me to eat these tainted provisions now?”
“Sorry,” she mumbled, rubbing her nose lazily, “That one caught me off guard. I’ll get you some more food.”
“I should hope so! And keep those outbursts to yourself!”
“They’re not outbursts, they’re sneezes jerk! And I can’t help it! I have a cold!” With that, she stood up and turned toward the counter, only managing a few steps forward before wobbling unsteadily. She reached for the table behind her but miscalculated the distance, missing the much needed support entirely and falling sideways. Vegeta caught her effortlessly, examining her shrewdly as he stood her back on her own feet. Not much to speak of in the first place, the energy he could sense from her was lower than it had ever been. He felt an unfamiliar concern growing in him and found it almost as unnerving as her diminished state.
“I must have stood up too quickly,” she said, cheeks coloring slightly, “...Thanks.” She moved as if to go to the refrigerator, but he kept his hands firmly gripped around her shoulders.
“You are unwell,” he said sternly.
“Yes,” she replied impatiently, “I said that.”
“I… I can’t have you handling my food in the grips of this foul disease. You’d be better off sequestered in your quarters.”
“I thought Saiyans couldn’t be harmed by human illness.”
“Of course they can’t! But that doesn’t mean I want to ingest your disgusting germs.”
“Are… Are you sending me to my room?”
“Don’t think you will defy me, woman. Especially now that your weakness has grown tenfold.”
Before she could reply he pulled her into his arms and carried her out of the kitchen. As they climbed the stairs he felt her muscles relax, nearly going slack against him. He glanced down, checking to see if she had fallen unconscious, only to find her staring up at him placidly.
“What?” he asked with a frown.
“Nothing,” she mumbled, shaking her head and snuggling into his chest.
“Hmph. Don’t even think about getting used to this.”
“Of course not.” He entered her room and set her down gently. With a smile, she turned from him and went to her bathroom, returning after a few moments with a glass of water and two small white disks. Sitting down on the edge of her bed, she dropped the tablets into the water, causing it to fizz and hiss. She grimaced, held her nose and drank down the bubbling concoction.
“Will that fix it?” he asked skeptically.
“No, it’s just to help me sleep,” she explained, setting the glass down on the floor, “Rest is the most important thing.”
“How long?”
“A few days probably. Just go train or whatever. If Trunks wakes up, I’m sure I’ll hear it.” She crawled under the covers and nestled down into the overabundance of pillows splayed against her headboard. As she closed her eyes, he allowed his to linger on her, inexplicably reluctant to leave. He knew that she faced no mortal threat and yet he was loathe to abandon her in this condition, her energy levels waning to new lows. It struck him that somehow, he was worried for her and he found the idea equally troubling and abhorrent. To think he, the Prince of all Saiyans, was fretting over this Earth woman who could be so easily felled by a microscopic enemy was laughable. And yet here he was.
His reverie was broken by a soft thud. He glanced into the hallway and saw his son carefully creeping out of his room. Vegeta stepped into the doorway, barring the boy entry just as he reached it.
“Ma!” the half-Saiyan said, pointing to room beyond his father’s body.
“Not today,” he replied firmly, “She has her germs to keep her company. Today you will have to contend with me, and there will be no coddling.”
“Twain?”
“What else? Come on boy!” He moved from the doorway and began leading his son down the hallway, quietly grateful for something to occupy his time and mind other than his unbidden emotions.

* * * * * * *

Bulma awoke slowly, blinking up at the ceiling with drowsy, heavy lidded eyes. As usual, the cold medicine had filled her sleep with strange, troubling dreams. This array of nightmares had largely featured Vegeta or, in some cases, his complete disappearance. When he was present he was cold and frightening, his evil nature fully returned. But when he was missing it was almost worse; there was an odd sense of permanence to his absence that pierced her heart more painfully than the idea of him taking up his old ways.
She blew out a long sigh and sat up, breath catching when she found Vegeta seated at the desk beside her bed, piercing black eyes fixed on her intensely.
“Vegeta,” she said, not bothering to hide her surprise.
“You’re still quite weak,” he said assessed, “But your energy seems to have improved. Your scent-”
“Can we stop talking about how I smell?”
“Hhn.”
“Where’s Trunks?”
“Downstairs eating.”
“By himself?”
“Relax. I secured him in that prison of a chair you bought.” Bulma ignored him and stood up as quickly as she could manage, hurrying out of the room, through the hallway and down the stairs. When she came to the kitchen she discovered her son locked into his high chair, gnawing at a piece of meat bigger than his own head. Bulma’s shoulders slumped in relief and a short laugh escaped her lips.
“What are you doing you little goof?” she asked affectionately, resting a hand on his head. He looked up at her and grinned, the oversized portion still clenched between his tiny teeth. She shook her head and walked to the counter behind him, opening up one of its drawers and choosing a knife to dissect her child’s meal into more manageable bites. She returned to the high chair and gently removed the steak from her son’s mouth, shushing away his protestations.
“I told you he was fine,” Vegeta’s voice said from the entryway.
“He may have teeth but he still needs his food cut up,” Bulma returned with a sniff. She allowed her eyes to drift up to him briefly, taking note of his stiffened posture and averted gaze before refocusing on her task, Trunks greedily gobbling up the fruits of her labor faster than she could produce them.
“Thanks, by the way,” she said, “For letting me sleep I mean. And taking care of him too. I’ve got it from here.”
“You are still not well,” he objected.
“No, but the nap helped, and after spending all day with you and eating this big lunch, he’ll need one of his own. Cold or no cold, I think I can manage that much. You can get back to your training now, I’m sure you’ve been dying to.” She looked up once more, her tired features attempting a reassuring smile, but he had already gone.
After another few handfuls of meat, Trunks seemed satisfied with what his mother had given him and began shifting uncomfortably in his seat. Bulma stood up, took her son into her arms and headed for his nursery. Once she had cleaned the boy up and wrestled him into his afternoon nap, the energy she had regained in sleep was all but exhausted. She walked down the hall, through her bedroom and into the adjoining bathroom, deciding a bath would do her some good before her next medication-induced rest. She filled the tub and sank into it slowly, the hot water easing the tension in her aching muscles. As she leaned her head back and closed her eyes, her thoughts drifted to Vegeta and his surprising reactions to her illness. She had left his bed this morning in an attempt to keep his sleep and the rest of his day from being disrupted, certain that the last thing he could be bothered with was her little cold. But in the kitchen she had seen the concern in his eyes, and his decision to look after Trunks and allow her to sleep was completely unexpected. Just when she thought she had him figured out, he had thrown her another curveball.
Reluctantly, she climbed out of the water and let it drain, toweling off and returning to her bedroom. She went to her closet and, after rummaging around for something comfortable to wear, tugged on a worn t-shirt and a pair of soft cotton shorts. When she stepped out of the walk in, she once again found the Saiyan prince seated at her desk, waiting with his arms crossed.
“Vegeta,” she began, “What-”
“The whole day has practically been wasted thanks to this frigidity of yours,” he interrupted, eyes fixed to a spot in the floor.
“I told you it's called a cold.”
“Call it what you like, it has still disturbed any plans I had for training.”
“That doesn't really make sense. I mean, you could pretty much train any time.”
“I’m not going to debate you over the finer details of my complex training regiment. All you need to know is that I can't have my focus compromised by the distractions you and the boy have incited.”
“So… What are you doing here?”
“Only making sure you do everything necessary to be done with this nonsensical sickness so that things can go back to normal.” Bulma tilted her head at him ponderously until he ventured a glance of his own, their eyes locking briefly. A smile began to twitch at the corner of Bulma’s mouth.
“Well?” He said impatiently, “Are you going to stand there grinning like an idiot or are you going to get back into bed?”
“I need to get some medicine first,” she countered, “Otherwise I can’t sleep.” Vegeta rolled his eyes and pointed to the night table beside her, where two white tablets and a glass of water sat waiting. She opened her mouth to question him once more but he crossed the room quickly, took hold of her, and sat her down on the bed before she could utter another word.
Suppressing another smile Bulma dutifully prepared and drank down her medicine while the Saiyan watched her intently. When she was finished and had set the glass back down, Vegeta threw the covers over her and returned to his seat beside her.
“So,” Bulma said, “Are you just going to sit here and watch me sleep?”
“Of course not,” he objected, “That would be ridiculous. I’m just going to make certain your already pathetic energy doesn’t succumb to these Earth germs of yours and dwindle to nothing. And anyway here is as good a place as any to keep track of the boy.” Bulma blinked at him silently, unsure of how exactly his plan was at all different from keeping watching over her while she nodded off.
“What now?” he growled
“It’s just,” she replied with a sniffle, “My nose. It’s pretty stuffed up. There’s some cream in a blue tub in the bathroom, could you rub it on my chest?” The Saiyan scoffed and shook his head vehemently.
“You are in no condition for that kind of physical onslaught,” he scolded, “Besides, there’s no chance I would want to take part in any of your obscene fantasies while under threat of your mucous launching fits.”
“Sneezes. They’re just sneezes. And the cream is supposed to help me breathe. Please?” Vegeta sighed and walked to the bathroom, still shaking his head. After a few moments he returned with the ointment, holding it at arm’s length.
“How is this vile smelling poultice supposed to make anyone feel better?” he balked, unscrewing the lid cautiously.
“Trust me,” Bulma insisted, tugging down the collar of her shirt. Vegeta’s eyes lingered on her partially exposed bust for a moment before begrudgingly dipping his hand into the tub and smearing a generous amount of the balm across her chest. Satisfied, Bulma sagged back against the mattress and pulled the covers up to her chin while Vegeta went back to the bathroom to replace the pungent salve.
“You’re gonna want to wash your hands off,” She called out, “Saiyan or not, that stuff gets in your eyes and you’re done for.” She heard him grumble angrily before the sound of the faucet drowned him out completely. Scowling, he exited the bathroom and again took up his vigil at her desk.
“Anything else?” he asked, menacingly sarcastic.
“No,” she yawned, “That’s all… Although, you don’t have to sit so far away. I mean, seeing as colds can’t hurt Saiyans.” When he didn’t respond, Bulma shrugged and turned away, allowing her eyes to close. As sleep began to take her, though she couldn’t be certain, it felt as though the mattress beside her shifted and sank down, not unlike when Vegeta laid beside her.
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A Losing Battle