Chapter: Loneliness

Sooo .... as I said, I was working on a translation .... and I'm still doing that ..... unfortunately I'm not finished yet ... but here you have the original text .... By the way, that's my favorite fanfiction ^^ I didn't write this FF ..... unfortunately -. -.... I hope you like it .... I try to translate it into German as best I can .... unfortunately I'm a bit biased .... I usually only write English FFs .... that's why I think I have found this original text better than my translation ..... but now I've talked enough! Have fun with this FF! Hopefully the translation will follow soon!

Bulma stood in front of her mirror, humming softly to herself as she brushed her hair for bed. She shook it out around
her shoulders, remembering all the times Yamcha had run his hands through it, letting it fall over his chest in
lavender waves as they made love. Tears came to her eyes as she remembered last night, telling him finally that it wasover. Though she knew it was the right decision, her heart still ached with loneliness.

She shook her head, needing to remind herself of her resolve. She'd loved him for a long time, but they just weren't
right for each other. She needed someone as strong as she, someone who would match her in every way. Her thoughts
drifted like the brush through her hair. "Seventy-eight, seventy-nine. Someone like ..."

Suddenly, she gasped and turned, hearing something out on the front lawn. She frowned. Something? Or someone? She
walked to the window and looked out.

Bulma lowered her brush in confusion as she saw Vegeta silhouetted in the compound lights. His head was lowered, arms
clenched tightly at his side. She thought she saw his shoulders shaking, but she couldn't be certain in the dim light.

She stood watching him, watching the misery roll off of him in almost palpable waves. She couldn't remember ever
seeing him like this. She'd seen him angry. She'd seen him in physical pain. Once, just once, she'd even seen himlaugh, a real laugh, not his usual arrogant, sarcastic laugh. But she'd never seen anything like this. Before she
realized it, she had dropped the brush and was running outside. To him.

She opened the door and stepped out into the cool night air. Her bare feet hit the damp grass, and she lifted her foot
once, shaking it like a cat. Then she determinedly moved over the lawn to the motionless Saiyan.

He didn't acknowledge her approach, didn't even seem to notice her presence. As she came closer, she realized she must
have been mistaken about his shoulders. Now he was completely still. She could see the veins in his neck standing out,
and his hands were clenched so tightly she was almost surprised that his fingernails weren't protruding through his
palms.

"Vegeta?" she asked softly.

He said nothing, but his posture shifted slightly, and she knew he was aware of her.

"What's wrong?"

Silence.

Bulma stepped closer, near enough to feel the heat welling from his body. It felt good in the chill air, and shestopped shivering, only then realizing how cold she was. Tentatively, she reached out a hand and touched one shoulder.
She accelerated at the tension pulsing under her hand. He didn't move. She squeezed gently and smiled when she felt the
muscles relax infinitesimally. Any moment, she expected him to burst into his usual harsh tirade, but he remained
silent.

Suddenly, he raised his head, staring off into the night.

"What do you see?"

She didn't really expect an answer, so she was surprised when he spoke. One word, harsh, as if forced through a throat
too tight to let anything else out.

"Nothing."

Bulma frowned, hearing more in his tone than just a dismissal. Said that way, "nothing" became a burden too horrible
to bear. She shuddered and gripped his shoulder more tightly.

Suddenly, he dropped to the ground, his legs crossed and his head in his hands. Without realizing it, she found
herself on the ground beside him, her hand never leaving his shoulder. She gasped slightly at the dampness soakingthrough her thin robe. Again, she became aware of the heat rising from his body. She took a deep, shuddering breath,
Inhaling his scent, heavy with an exertion. He must have just come from training in the gravity room.

Now she could feel his shoulders shaking under her hand, and she moved behind him, sitting with her slight legs
enveloping his heavy, muscular thighs. The hardness of him sent a thrill through her. She pushed it away, not ready to
deal with her own feelings when she was so close to such pain.

Bulma nodded her head slightly. She didn't know what was wrong, but she recognized pain too intense to handle. She
thought she'd felt such pain last night, with Yamcha. Now she knew that what she had felt was in another universe
compared with what she sat with tonight.

Greatly daring, she gripped his shoulder with her other hand and began to gently massage the tension away. She felt
the shaking stop and the muscles relax a bit. She continued, her mind empty of any thought but easing his pain. Herown loneliness and despair were forgotten at the moment. She couldn't believe he was letting her touch him so
intimately. Any other time she had as much as accidentally brushed against him, he had pulled away, violently and
usually with a sharp comment. But tonight he was letting her massage his shoulders. His body still thrummed with
tension under her hands, but somehow she knew he was deriving some comfort from her presence.

After a few moments, she stopped the massage, and just sat beside him, drinking in his warmth, hands on his shoulders,
trying with her presence to offer whatever reassurance she could. She didn't know how much it was helping, but she
couldn't have left him at that moment for any reason.

She never knew how long they sat there. He never really relaxed, but his shoulders slowly quieted under her hands,
until the tension merely hummed instead of thrummed. She felt as if she could sit there forever, hearing the gentle
sound of the crickets, the distant low hoot of a hunting owl and the gentle rustle of the wind through the trees.Never had she felt so calm, so close to another person.

Suddenly he stood up, knocking her backwards into the cold grass. Without a word, he walked to the house.

Bulma picked herself up off the lawn and watched him open the door and step inside. He paused, one foot on the
doorjamb, silhouetted in the dim light streaming from the kitchen. Her senses had been so finely-tuned during her
recent almost-meditation that she heard his intake of breath, even across the yard. She expected him to say something,
but he didn't. He merely shook his head and continued into the house. Through the front window, she watched him slowly
climb the stairs to the bedroom.

She took a deep breath, not realizing she'd been holding it, stood up and followed him.

The next morning Bulma yawned her way to the kitchen for breakfast. Her mother was already there, fixing pancakes.
From the amount on the serving platter, Bulma knew her mother was planning to feed Vegeta as well. Suddenly, she felt
odd about seeing the Saiyan.After last night, she wasn't certain of his reaction. She decided to grab a bowel of
cereal and eat it in her room.

She went to the cupboard to grab a bowl, but her mother stopped her. "Bulma, wouldn't you rather have some warm
Pancakes?"

"Um, well ..."

At that moment, Vegeta entered the kitchen. Bulma quickly looked at the counter, only watching him from the corner of
his eye. He said nothing, merely grabbing a huge stack of pancakes and sitting down. She watched him pour most of a
bottle of syrup over his breakfast. Her mother handed her a plate, and Bulma sighed to herself. No graceful way out
now.

Resigned, she sat at the table. Her mother put a fresh bottle of syrup in front of her. She poured considerably less
on her pancakes and began to eat, still watching Vegeta from under lowered eyelids. He glanced up briefly from his
food and noticed her attention. He scowled, and she hastily looked down, concentrating only on her food.

He ate quickly and neatly, as always. Mrs. Briefs tried to engage him in small talk, but he answered only with gruntsor one-word answers. After a few minutes, Bulma couldn't help but raise an eyebrow. He had gone at least five minutes
without saying anything insulting. Something really must be wrong.

As soon as he finished his breakfast, he left the kitchen. Mrs. Briefs watched him go with a small frown of
puzzlement. "Bulma, honey. Is something wrong with Vegeta?"

Bulma looked up quickly from her plate. "Hmm? Why do you ask?"

"Well, he was so quiet. And he didn't get seconds like he always does." She glanced at the sink. "And he put his
dishes in the sink. He never does that. "

Bulma realized that her mother was right. The self-styled prince always left his dishes on the table, having announced
once before that cleaning up was below him. Not that it seemed to matter to Mrs. Briefs. Bulma wasn't sure why, but
her mother seemed to genuinely enjoy doing things for Vegeta.

She realized her mother was still looking at her expectantly. "Um. Well, actually, I think there is something wrong.
But I don't know what. ""Something to do with last night?"

Bulma's eyes widened. "What about last night?"

"Well, I saw you out on the lawn with him. You were just in your robe."

Bulma blushed furiously. "Umm ... mom ... nothing happened. We were just sitting there."

"Oh."

Bulma thought that her mother sounded almost disappointed. Her mother wanted something to happen between her and
Vegeta? Not likely! Sure she'd felt sorry for him last night, but that didn't mean that she wanted him. Unbidden, she
flashed to the memory of his heat between her legs. She shook her head, banishing that thought to the farthest reaches
of her memory, exactly where it belonged.

"So, what did happen?"