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He wasn’t certain that forgiveness was even a remote option at this point. How he had found himself in this sordid situation was beyond him, no, he knew exactly the choices he made that had left behind this hurt woman and a broken family.
He sees the pain in her eyes at the breakfast table, as she cheerily remarks on Capsule Corps’ technological progressions in space travel research. He hears her ragged sobs on tough days, from her bedroom, a place he might once have called theirs. He smells the oils, solder, and coffee of her late night work, a distraction to keep her from reflecting on that which she wants to avoid. He knows all too well, for in his training, he mirrors her escape.
On the surface they remain civil, amicable even. Outsiders may see no difference or attribute any awkwardness to Vegeta’s foreign origins. But they both sense it, they feel the cracks in the glass that neither are willing to attempt to repair, for fear that any small slip would cause the whole thing to shatter irreparably.
He does not know what to do.
He knows that she is waiting for him, after all, it was his actions that lead them to this uncertain tension. But what can he say? He feels an apology would be meaningless, a shallow representation with all that was wrong. He does not believe he deserves forgiveness to begin with, so what would be the point of an empty verbal gesture, besides to beg for that which he shouldn’t even receive?
He does not know what he wants.
Blood, combat, death. These were the simple straightforward goals of life that had driven him for so long, long before he found himself in the arms of a woman who made him question all that he knew and desired. He now had none of this. Forsaken was his saiyan pride, and lost was his fuel for rivalry. All he has is the woman and the boy, but even this, he feels reserved in allowing himself to want.
When he agreed to fuse with Kakarot, his family was dead. He had no ties left, only one seething emotion, a fury for revenge. He had been content to know that despite the fact he wouldn’t ever return to himself in the process of fusion, his family would receive their due justice. And even when the negated fusion returned him to his dead form, he remained steadfast in his acceptance to return to the great emptiness that had been his hell.
But now, he had miraculously been returned to the world by forces that acted beyond his will. He had been forced back into the lives of those he couldn’t help but think would be better off without him hindering them from moving on to better things, better people.
He feels lost.
Sometimes amidst his violent and chaotic dreams, he finds her. He cannot hold back his instinct to reach out, and sometimes she reaches back. But more often than not, she turns away.
The days go by and they continue their friendly charade. She asks him how training is going, he responds generically. With each interaction he feels a pressure growing within him, he is unsure for how long he will be able to suppress it. His hands grasp at emptiness and his heart clenches. He’s never experienced this sensation before. He notices himself watching her come and go, he feels himself twitch in discomfort as her presence fades with distance. He knows now, he doesn’t want her.
He needs her.
His turbulent thoughts continue to compress agonizingly in his head. He, for the first time ever, wants to heal something. He wants to heal himself. He doesn’t want to forgive himself, he wants to grow beyond that which he was. He had lost his primary drive for strength, but perhaps here he has found a will to improve in a different way.
He wants to heal her.
It was he who had cracked the glass, glass that should have been shattered, and it was a damn miracle it had been preserved at all. And though he still does not know what to do, what proper course of action to take, he had been, proudly and unreservedly, a man of action. He fortifies his will and reaches deep in himself to find the remnants of that drive and holds onto it tightly now.
He speaks to her.
“Bulma, we need to talk.”
She looks up in surprise while sitting at the kitchen counter and raises her eyebrow, her eyes full of uncertain understanding. She remains silent.
“I… I want to talk... To you.”