Count Down From Ten

Just A Day

Chapter Ten

(Bulma's POV)

The slightly parted window allowed a breeze so gentle I could barely feel its movement through my bright hair. Instead of filtering through the window, my cigarette smoke only lingered in the air like fog, but I didn't mind the smell. His powerful footsteps reverberated across the floor, and I turned as he approached me, the cigarette perched between my lips. His silence maintained until he was only a few feet away from me, and I tilted my head up to face him, blowing my smoke to the side. "Woman," he began, his voice tired and gruff, "I need you to assist me."

Without requiring further explanation, I snuffed the half-finished cig in a glass ashtray and followed him through the doorway. He took me to the bathroom, and I cautiously followed him inside as he hesitated in front of the tub. He seemed to be weighing his words and shot me a glance that nearly begged for me to speak for him – to spare him the shame.

"Vegeta," I started, looking him up and down; his solid body seemed not withered, but rather worn – like a high-quality leather belt around the hips of a soldier, like a path created by the footsteps of those who dare to wander. He raised an eyebrow, watching my gaze drift his frame up and down as my eyes swallowed the liquor-taste of his body. "On with it," he demanded, growing impatient with my feminine faults. I quickly urged, "You deserve a nice, relaxing bath after all your hard work," my hands rose to his shoulders, and I smoothed his tattered clothes. Not once inferring that he was tired, I suggested, "Maybe I'll give you one?"

He averted my gaze, and his expression softened as he nodded. That seemed to be why he led me in here like a cat politely taking its owner to the food dish. I hid my smirk, and he let me undress him after I started the bathwater. He tested it and commanded that it be hotter. After several failed attempts to heat the water, and draining it a few times to start over, my pregnant ass finally resorted to making several trips to and from the kitchen with pots of boiling water – yet I kept smiling, pleased to see him enjoying his time.

Vegeta finally relaxed, sinking a bit lower into the tub. He emitted a heavy sigh, allowing his eyes to flutter closed. I gave a light kiss to his forehead before grabbing a pitcher I'd brought from the kitchen, dipping it into the water to pour it over his shoulders. "That's very... Nice." He admitted, and I kept from teasing him, only smiling fondly. I couldn't tell if he meant that the water felt nice, or that what I was doing for him was nice... I continued to douse him with water for a while, but before I went for the soap, he looked up at me abruptly. As we locked eyes, I froze. He looked at me with such an expression I could only fantasize about... His eyes pleaded with me to fully enter his soul... To keep reaching beyond his barriers, to obliterate the walls surrounding the darkest and brightest parts of him – even if brick by intimate brick... I will tear down my prince's defenses.

A king needs his queen, and this queen reads books.

"Bulma..." His voice still retained its usual gruffness, but his face showed me different reflections in the kaleidoscope of my complex prince's protected emotions (or what I assume must be emotions, but may perhaps be beyond my human comprehension) ...

"You are the mother of my baby, but that's not why I love you," his voice hit me tenderly like a bruise.

I only stared at him, blinking.

I could have wept until my heart stopped beating to realize that this was not reality – it could not be.

This isn't our bathroom.

This isn't even real . . .

Why was I pouring boiling water over Vegeta?!

I fucking hate these crazy pregnancy dreams.