Captive AU
capsulecorporate:
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There were a thousand scents in that tiny capsule house. Aromas of bath suds microwaved meals mixed unpleasantly with the grit of sweat and jungle earth. Vegeta held fast to his decision to fix the mess he’d made between them. The dreadful ticking of the cooking food was picking away at his nerves, but leaving him with enough time to wonder if he could take back the act and save his pride for another day. One glance over towards the sofa, at the back of her blue head staring mindlessly at the television, and he knew he his stubborn soul would never allow her to go hungry. So, as his primal brain had dictated, he’d handed over the peace offering - the tray of under-whelmingly nutritious food, and awaited her reaction with a frump on his grumpy face, of course.
She accepted. No, Bulma didn’t just accept, she scarfed the whole scene down like a Saiyan herself! Vegeta’s brows unintentionally rose higher upon his thick forehead before quickly snapping back to attention and scrunching up his nose. He couldn’t have her catching him looking so hopelessly pleased to see his apology no go by the way side. Oh, kami sake, that’d be more than the prince could bare for one day. A sudden sting in his arm was a welcome distraction. Ah, physical pain, it was a comfort to his warped mind these days. Something he could rely on and understand. His good hand brushed past the bandages. His body would heal within a day or so, or at leas he liked to think.
He didn’t bother to sit beside her but rather took a turn around the control panel that’d been left on the living-room floor. How she’d managed to bring it back he’d never understand, yet he couldn’t imagine anything less of her either. A quick flick of his gaze towards her revealed his thoughts about her but despite noticing the empty spot beside her, it just didn’t feel right to intrude. The control panel it was, then. He knelt down, doing his damnest to not place any weight on his bad let without it being too obvious he was paying any attention to the pain at all. The back and forth drama of internal suffering caused a visible wobble on his way down. The wiring was still in place, more or less. A little burnt from impact and a little scruffy, but the damn ship had always been one for crash landings. If they could get this running, if they could piece enough together to call it a ship they may actually catch up to Nappa and rip the traitor’s head from his body sooner than they both may think.
“The crash sight,” the one she’d ventured out to without his useless self to. “If I bring back enough of this shit to piece back together a hull, do you think you can get us off of this damned rock?” It was the first time those deep set eyes of his dared to make contact with her, looking up at her as she sat above him.
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