Disclaimer: DB/Z/GT do not belong to me. If by some miracle they did, I would give Namekusejins a much more prominent role! (Whoa! Go green! -Dende) Not that that had anything to do with this particular story, but ... *shrug*

A/N: This is basically another disclaimer, this time about the story content itself. I wrote the first draft of this (yes, I write multiple drafts...) back when I was new to Dragonball Z fandom. I did not publish it at the time because, being a perfectionist, I wanted to make sure it was done to the best of my abilities, and it took until now for me to be satisfied. Hence the wait.

At the time of its first writing, I did not know what a cliché genre Bulma/Vegeta get-togethers are considered, by many, to be. All I knew was that I had written three Kuririn/#18 stories, I wanted to try a Bulma/Vegeta, and I had a scene thought up, and the idea for this story went from there. (I must be the only K/18 and B/V fan out there) I had no idea how many Bulma/Vegeta get-togethers there are on the Internet, or perhaps I would have balked at the idea of writing one myself.

At any rate, this was another reason why I continued to edit and re-edit -- I didn't want to be accused of falling victim to a cliché (not that I don't like Bulma and Vegeta stories -- I do), so I hesitated in posting this. It wasn't until my sister (an ardent Vegeta fan) began to threaten me that I actually decided to do it. So. I just thought I'd post this message, in case anyone thought of giving me bad reviews because of the subject matter of this story. I found this story entertaining, pretty realistic (ie., not sappy or mushy), and, in some parts, mildly amusing. Let me know if any of the characters seem out of role -- I try very hard not to do that, but sometimes it's difficult. Feedback is always appreciated.


Meant To Be?  No Way!!

Chapter One: Beginning

It was morning; the sun's bottom rim had just left the horizon, and the pink and orange light that tinted everything had just begun to turn yellow.  Birds sang, flowers swayed in the gentle breeze . . . one could almost imagine soft music playing in the background.  It was completely peaceful.

Unfortunately, it was a peace about to be shattered.

"VEGEEEEETAAAA!!!"

The angry voice pierced the silence, and several startled birds took flight from the domed Capsule Corp. building, under which the voice had come.

Inside the building, Briefs Bulma pressed a hand to her forehead, wishing that, just for a second, she could have the power to blast a certain arrogant prince to pieces.  When no answer to her summons came, Bulma took in a lungful of air and prepared to shout again.  "VE —"

"I'm here, woman.  Stop howling."

Bulma whirled around to face Vegeta, black-haired and muscular, smirking as usual.   He was always smirking, no matter what she said to him.  Good morning, Vegeta.  *Smirk*  How is your training going?  *Smirk*  Why don't you ever talk to me??!  *Smirk*  The only thing that got anything else out of him was, Are you hungry?  Even that elicited a sarcastic response — the same thing every time; merely variations on, I'm always hungry, woman, since the vile glop you mistakenly call "food" isn't fit to feed even a pig like Kakarotto.

Today was probably no exception.  Bulma sighed.  "Vegeta, why is there no food in my house?"

Vegeta was holding a huge bowl of rice in one hand and chopsticks in the other.  "That was a stupid question," he snorted, "I ate it all."

Well, at least it wasn't just a smirk . . . nonetheless, Bulma struggled to hold her temper in check.  "Let me rephrase that . . . why did you eat everything?  I just went shopping yesterday, as you may recall."

"I know.  I was hungry," Vegeta's eyes glittered with malicious amusement.  "You told me to make my own breakfast, remember?"

"I didn't mean —" Bulma broke off, knowing this was getting her nowhere.  Vegeta was just trying to get her riled up, and darned if she was going to let him get to her this time . . .  "You used an entire turkey for your sandwich!"

"Doesn't everyone?" Vegeta watched in amusement as a red flush spread from the woman's neck, all the way up to her hairline.  The soda can she held in one clenched hand was beginning to crinkle and bend beneath her fingers.  Vegeta grinned evilly.  He finished off his rice, then reached out and snatched the soda can from Bulma's hand.  Draining the can's contents, Vegeta crushed it in his fist, placed it in the empty bowl with the chopsticks, and handed everything to a stunned Bulma.  Then he shot a self-satisfied sneer at her and walked away.

Bulma stared after him, mouth hanging agape.  By the time her brain caught up to the situation, Vegeta had gone, and Bulma had to content herself with glaring after him.  "That moron . . ." Bulma grumbled.  "That was the biggest mistake I ever made, when I let him stay here!" she growled to herself as she began washing the pile of dishes her "houseguest" had left her.

Suddenly something inside her snapped, and she slammed the dishes back into the sink.  "Let him do them!" Bulma grinned to herself as a mental picture of Vegeta, elbow deep in soapsuds, came to mind.


The telephone rang.  Bulma had come to hate that stupid device — it only rang when she was in a bad mood.  She picked it up.  "Hello?!" she barked.

"Whoa, babe . . . is this a bad time?"

Bulma winced.  "Sorry, Yamucha.  Vegeta's just being his typical, idiotic self again."

"Yeah, I can sympathize," her boyfriend sounded disgusted and understanding at once — an interesting combination.  "You wanna' come meet me for lunch at our café later?"

"I wish," Bulma grimaced, "But I have to get groceries, and who knows how long that will take.  How about supper?"

"Sure, whatever's good for you.  I'll come pick you up at six?"

"Yeah.  That would be great.  I can't wait to get away from Prince Pain-In-The-Rear."

Yamucha laughed.  "I bet.  Talk to ya' later, babe."

Bulma hung up the phone, smiling.  Yamucha and his stupid jokes would help her forget that the World's Largest Ego was living under the same roof as she.  "Well, at least I'll get a few hours' reprieve while I'm shopping," she muttered.

Bulma found her keys, credit cards, and other necessities and put them in her purse, then walked outside.  She reached for the capsule which held her jet —

"O no!!!" Bulma smacked her forehead.  The previous day, during a particularly heated argument over the use of the shower, Vegeta had snatched Bulma's capsules from her purse and blasted them to ashes.  Bulma hadn't gotten around to making new ones yet.

"Vegeta, you idiot, you are going to pay for this . . ." Bulma gritted through clenched teeth, though she wasn't sure exactly how she was going to do it.  Maybe if she yelled loudly enough, she could damage his hearing . . .

She decided to postpone the punishments — for now, groceries were the first thing on her mind.  Stalking out to the gravitational trainer, where Vegeta was in the process of beating himself up in an attempt to surpass Son Goku, Bulma hit the manual override button next to the door and was gratified to hear the machine shut down.

Within seconds the door slid open, and Vegeta stormed outside.  "What do you want?" he demanded furiously.  Dressed only in his infamous black shorts and his body covered in sweat, Vegeta crossed his arms.  "Well?"

Bulma responded by plugging her nose and stepping back a pace.  "Phew, Vegeta, you stink!" she gagged.  "How can you stand yourself?"

"If you interrupted my training merely to tell me you can't stand a little sweat . . ." Vegeta growled menacingly.

"Knock it off," Bulma glared at him.  "That's not why I'm here.  I need to go grocery shopping."

"And I care because . . . ?"

"You wrecked my capsule jet yesterday."

"So?"

"So," Bulma repeated, struggling to be civil.  "You have to fly me to the mall."


She'd been expecting an explosive response, but all Vegeta did was lift an eyebrow.  "O, really?  I don't think so.  Now go away; I have to get back to my training."

"Hah!" Bulma retorted.  "If you don't take me, I don't get groceries.  If I don't get groceries, there's no food.  No food means you don't eat, and if you don't eat you die."

Vegeta stared at her for a second, semi-amused by Bulma's worst-case scenario thinking, but mainly annoyed.  Well, two can play at that game, he thought.  "And if I die, those androids will destroy the entire world, because no one else is strong enough to fight them," Vegeta snorted.  He snatched a towel from a hook inside the trainer and dried himself off, then pulled on a shirt.  "All right, let's go."

Bulma started to grin triumphantly, but stopped in confusion.  Had she won, or not?  She settled for sending him a scowl.  "Good."

Without warning, Vegeta caught her around the waist and took off into the air, flying at a tremendous speed.  Bulma shrieked and flung her arms around Vegeta's neck, holding on for dear life.  "Quit screaming," Vegeta grunted.  "I'm not going to drop you."

Bulma just buried her face in Vegeta's chest and tried not to cry out.  "Sorry," she squeaked.

Vegeta looked down and grinned to himself.  The woman was actually almost bearable when she wasn't yelling at him or making stupid threats.  Though there was something about her when she argued . . . a fighting spirit that was . . . almost . . . Saiyajin-like.  No other female Vegeta had known had ever been able to stand up to him.

Suddenly Vegeta realized the direction his thoughts were taking, and he shook his head violently.  He would not — would not — let his mind go that way.  Especially not now, when all his attentions must be focused on becoming more powerful than Kakarotto.  He couldn't afford any distractions.

Bulma glanced up at him.  Her eyes were beginning to lose their panicked expression, to be replaced with a kind of awe as she watched the scenery whipping by.  A sudden realization struck her, and a wide grin spread across Bulma's face.  She was actually having fun!  Really, flying like this was no different than driving in an air car — Bulma always was a reckless driver, and flying with Vegeta was probably safer than when she took the vehicle.  I trust him, Bulma thought, amazed as this occurred to her, I actually trust him.  The man who tried to kill us all, and nearly succeeded, and I'm willing to place my life in his hands.  When did this happen?

Vegeta caught the grin on Bulma's face, and he felt a small flash of . . . of . . . something.  Pride, maybe.  He'd half-expected her to keep screaming and demanding to be put down — or fall into a dead faint — but instead, she seemed to enjoying herself.  Against his will, Vegeta knew his opinion of this loud-mouthed human woman had upped a notch.

"Do you always fly this fast, or are you just trying to scare me?" Bulma interrupted his thoughts, speaking in a teasing voice. 

Vegeta let out a short laugh.  "Both," he admitted. 

"Well, I hate to disappoint you, but my jet can fly faster than this."

"What?" Vegeta expostulated, insulted, not realizing that she was merely trying to get him riled up.  "Those stupid, metal slugs?  You must be kidding!  Bah!" a wicked gleam lit up his black eyes, and he snickered.  "Hang tight, woman!"

Bulma let out a short "eep!" of anticipation and she clung tighter to Vegeta's neck.  Sure enough, the Saiyajin doubled his speed, causing the wind to rush past Bulma with such intensity that it almost burned her — but the sensation was exhilarating all the same.  Trusting (again? I'm getting soft or something!) Vegeta not to let go, Bulma released his neck and twisted around in his grip, spreading out her arms like the wings of a jet and letting out a loud whoop of excitement.


Vegeta could feel Bulma's euphoria, and a small smile crept over his face.  Making sure his arms were firmly encircling her slim waist, he flew even faster, chuckling softly as Bulma laughed wildly.  It wasn't until a few minutes later that it dawned on Vegeta that he and Bulma were actually managing to get along . . . to cover his surprise, Vegeta spoke up in his usual snappish tone, slowing his pace slightly.  "Now where is this confounded shopping mall of yours?"

Bulma pointed out a city that was rapidly growing on the horizon.  "It's in the middle of that city there.  When we get closer, I'll show you," she rested her head back against his chest.  "This is better than taking my jet."

"Don't get used to it," Vegeta warned her.  "I'm not your chauffeur."

"I wouldn't want you to be," she shot back.  "If the Prince of Saiyajins was my chauffeur, what would poor old 'third class' Son-kun be?"

Vegeta stared at her until he realized Bulma had made a joke, then he couldn't help but smile.  He began to see that Bulma shared his warped sense of humor . . .

When they reached the shopping center, Vegeta followed Bulma and her myriad shopping carts, glowering at the salespeople and grinning to himself as they scurried away.  Bulma herself was enjoying watching the cashier sweat as she brought all her merchandise to the checkout counter.  Is this how Vegeta feels when he takes over a planet?  Bulma wondered.  If so, I can see why he does it . . .

"I don't have a jet with me," Bulma smiled sweetly.  "So I expect this to be delivered to Capsule Corp."

"B-but . . . Ms. Briefs . . ."

Bulma dropped the sugar-sweet act and leaned forward over the counter.  "Listen, I didn't ask you, I'm telling you.  Otherwise, I'll just inform Daddy that we'll take our business elsewhere."

The cashier wilted.  Ever since Vegeta had come to stay at the Briefs' home, Bulma was the shopping center's largest customer.  "Yes, ma'am."

All smiles once, Bulma swiped her credit card to pay for the purchases, then waltzed out of the store.  "Are you finished?" Vegeta growled.  "This is ridiculous.  I am wasting my time."

Bulma shrugged.  "It wouldn't take so long if you didn't eat as much," she reminded him.

"Listen —"

"I'm not going to argue with you right now; it's too hot out," Bulma glanced at her watch and raised her eyebrows.  "O, wow, it's lunchtime!  I'm starving . . . are you hungry?"

"I'm always hungry."

Bulma rolled her eyes.  "Of course.  You want to have lunch?  I'm buying."

Vegeta eyed her warily, then decided she wasn't trying to trick him into doing her a favor or something.  "Of course you're buying!  I don't have any of your stupid money."

"A simple 'thank you' would suffice," Bulma muttered, but didn't pursue the matter any further.  She led Vegeta to a large restaurant a few blocks away from the shopping plaza, and they were shown to a table almost immediately.  "Try not to eat everything in the restaurant, please?" Bulma pleaded.

Vegeta snorted.  "Don't know why you'd care . . . less cooking for you to do later," Bulma glared at him, so Vegeta scowled, "Fine.  I won't.  You order first."


Surprised by this apparent courtesy, Bulma glanced at the menu and smiled at the waiter.  "I'll just have a garden salad and a glass of water, please," she winked at Vegeta.  "Gotta' keep my figure, you know."

Vegeta looked her up and down, an expression on his face that Bulma wasn't at all sure she liked.  "I don't know why," he told her bluntly.  "With an ugly body like that, you should try to lose that figure."

Bulma's face reddened in anger, but she controlled herself.  "Just order," she gritted through clenched teeth.

"Give me everything," Vegeta told the server, who blanched.

"Vegeta!" Bulma screeched, after the distraught waiter ran back to the kitchen.  "You said you wouldn't eat everything!"

Vegeta cocked an eyebrow.  "I'm not.  You're having a salad, remember?"

Even though Bulma knew she should be furious, the funny side of it hit her and all she could do was laugh.  "You're impossible," she wiped her eyes, which were tearing up in amusement.  "You really are."

Vegeta leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, but there was a small smile on his face.

Half an hour later, the Saiyajin had finished all the food and was starting in on the dessert.  Bulma watched, half in amazement, half in horror, as Vegeta tackled a humongous banana-cream pie.  Bulma reached out and snatched a muffin; Vegeta glared at her but didn't say anything.

All of a sudden, Bulma saw Yamucha walk into the restaurant.  She was about to wave when she remembered her reason for turning down Yamucha's lunch invitation.  "O, no . . ." she muttered, "This is going to look really bad . . ."

Vegeta stopped shoveling in a chocolate cake and lifted an inquisitive eyebrow.  "What's eating you, woman?" he looked up and saw Yamucha.  "O, wonderful.  Your idiotic mate is here.  Is that why you're so nervous?"

Bulma nodded.  "He invited me to go out for lunch with him, and I said no because I had to go shopping!"

"You did go shopping."

"How can I prove it?" Bulma asked.  "I don't have any bags with me, since it's all being delivered.  For all Yamucha knows, I could've turned him down to go out with you!"

"But you didn't," Vegeta scowled.  "Either you're not giving bandit-boy enough credit, or he doesn't trust you farther than he can roll you . . ."

"Did you just call me fat?" Bulma screeched, "Stop being an idiot!"

"You are fat.  And I'm not an idiot — that title is reserved for your 'boyfriend'."

Bulma wasn't listening, scrambling frantically as she was to get her purse in order.  "We have to go," she announced.

"What if I don't want to?"

"Vegeta!" she hissed.

But it was too late; Yamucha had spotted them.  When he saw Vegeta, his eyes narrowed and he walked over to them.  "Hello, Bulma," Yamucha's voice was level, but Bulma could hear the pain underneath it.


"Hi," Bulma flashed him a smile, which she knew was completely unconvincing.  At the same time, she was trying to figure out why she felt so guilty; Vegeta was right — she hadn't done anything wrong.  Why did she feel like she had committed a mortal sin?  "Turns out the shopping didn't take as long as I thought it would —" and she recounted the events of the morning.

Yamucha just looked from her to Vegeta, and the hurt in his eyes was so great that Bulma wanted to cry.  "I really wish I could believe you," Yamucha shook his head.  "I'm sorry . . . but . . ." he broke off.

"I'm telling the truth!  We're still on for tonight, right?"  Bulma cried.

"I . . . don't think so," Yamucha said quietly.  "I just need some time to myself for a while," shaking his head, the dark-haired human left.

Bulma dropped her head into her arms and began to cry.  Vegeta watched her shoulders shake, and a sudden anger filled him.  For some reason he wanted to fly after Yamucha and throttle him — how dare that low-class human insinuate that he, Prince of Saiyajins, would have anything to do with a loudmouthed Chikyuujin female?! 

"That was insulting," Vegeta spoke up.  "The cretin actually thought I could stand being in a relationship with you!"

Bulma's head snapped up, and though tears streaked her face, her eyes were blazing.  "You could have said something!" she retorted.  "You just sat there!"

Vegeta jumped in surprise.  "Your pathetic excuse for a love life isn't my problem!  Even so, what would I say?  You stupid humans are so blasted suspicious it wouldn't matter what I told him."

Bulma smashed her hand down on the table and stood up so quickly that her chair tipped over.  "You're not making this any easier, you know!" she yelled.  "Go back to your stupid trainer and chase your stupid dreams," Bulma threw down some money and stormed away from the table.  "Enjoy your dessert, while you're at it."

Vegeta got up, as well.  "You're not walking the whole way," it was a statement, not a question.

"Why shouldn't I?" Bulma demanded angrily.  "You've caused me enough trouble already — I could lose my boyfriend because of you!" she turned her back on him and began walking.

Vegeta stared after her, and for some reason a small twinge of something — sympathy?  compassion?  No!  It couldn't be! — flickered through him.  He watched as Bulma stalked off, head high and shoulders back, trying to appear in control of herself . . . though he knew, somehow, that she was trying not to cry.  Vegeta blew out his breath in a long sigh and followed.

"Leave me alone," she snarled.

"You're not walking," Vegeta replied simply.  He picked her up and flew into the air.

Bulma began beating his chest with her fists.  "Put me down, you stupid monkey!" she screamed at him.  "I don't want anything to do with you!"

"If I let you walk, I'd hear about it for days afterward," Vegeta pointed out, knowing it was only half true.  In this emotional state she'd probably cry in her room for days.

Eventually Bulma got tired of hitting him, and she collapsed in his arms.  Vegeta became acutely aware of her presence; he couldn't quite place it, but something made it hard to ignore her.  Finally Vegeta figured it out; against his chest he could feel Bulma's heart beating.  It was a strange sensation; oddly . . . personal.  For some reason it made Vegeta feel connected to her.

Perhaps feeling his eyes on her, Bulma looked up.  Her expression was haggard.  "I'm sorry," she sighed.  "I didn't mean to yell at you . . . it wasn't your fault."


Much to his surprise, Vegeta said the words he'd never uttered in his life — and had never intended to say to her;  "Well, it wasn't yours,"  Why did you say that?!  he wondered instantly, but it was too late now.

Bulma glanced at him sharply, probably expecting him to make a sarcastic remark, but when he didn't, Bulma smiled softly and rested her head on his chest.  Vegeta tensed for a second, but said nothing.

When they got back to Capsule Corp., Vegeta dropped Bulma and went back to the gravitational trainer.  Bulma returned to the house to put away the groceries.

Inside the GT, Vegeta proceeded to destroy a number of training drones.  He couldn't understand why, but seeing the woman's tears did something to him — he couldn't decide whether he wanted to blow up a planet in anger, or (perish the thought!) conquer one and give it to her.  She was making him soft, that much was clear; he should have blasted her long ago for her temerity . . . but he hadn't.  It just didn't make sense!

What else didn't make sense was why the woman let him live at her house.  O, sure, there was the argument that Vegeta was a Saiyajin Prince and every inhabitant of this pathetic planet should be falling over themselves to give him room and board, but that had nothing to do with Bulma.  She had made it perfectly clear from day one that she didn't give a Namekusejin's behind about Vegeta's social standing . . .

Vegeta knew the real reason was that Bulma felt sorry for him.  A low, primal growl began in his throat, for he despised any form of charity with every fibre of his being, but even a Prince of Saiyajins knew when to leave pride alone sometimes.  He couldn't train properly without the GT, and certainly not if he had to worry about surviving on his own.

 It was odd — why should Bulma feel sorry for him?  He was a powerful warrior, second only to a . . . third-class, amnesiac of a Chikyuu-bred Saiyajin . . . cut off from his people . . . betrayed by his superiors . . . torn from his family . . . alone . . .

Vegeta snarled.  "I do not need pity!" he shouted at no one in particular, but the anger didn't last long.  It was instead replaced by confusion, which it always was.  He insulted the woman, he ate her food and made her do his laundry, he forced her to upgrade the GT and cater to his every whim . . . and she did it.  She would fight and make a fuss, but in the end she gave Vegeta everything he needed.  And not once — not once — did she ever ask for anything in return.  It was strange.  Very strange.

"I don't need to give her anything back," Vegeta found himself saying, "I am a Prince.  She is a weakling.  It is her duty to make sure I have whatever I want!"

 But still, that annoying, nagging voice in the back of his mind pointed out, It's not right.  Why should she continue to do so much for you, when you don't even say so much as a simple 'thank you'?

So distracted were his thoughts that Vegeta didn't notice the gigantic ki blast that rebounded off one of the robots until it smashed into him between the shoulder blades.  Crashing into the ground, Vegeta winced in pain and reached up to shut off the gravity.  "That's enough for today," he gritted.  "Maybe I'll go see if that woman has made any food."

Climbing painfully to his feet, Vegeta limped out of the trainer and to the house, surprised to see night had fallen.  Come on, Vegeta, he thought angrily, You'll never surpass Kakarotto if you can't stand a little pain . . .  Nevertheless, Vegeta reminded himself, there was no harm in taking a break . . .

Once inside the house, Vegeta was disappointed to discover that the groceries had not yet been put away — they were sitting in the kitchen, filling almost every inch of available floor and counter space.  Vegeta frowned in disgust; why the woman was so upset over her stupid mate was something he would never know.  He wasn't worth her tears.

Scowling, Vegeta stalked into the living room and flipped on the television.  It was set on one of the woman's mushy shows; soap operas, or something.  Why anyone would name a television show after a type of cleansing agent was beyond him.


With a snort, Vegeta quickly changed the channel.  He had no desire to watch humans alternate between yelling at each other and slobbering over one another's faces.  He had been curious about the affairs of Chikyuujin lovers at first, since with his warrior's heritage he had never really had time — or the desire — to form relationships, but after a while it got tiring.  Besides, he got enough romance-derived drama with Bulma and Yamucha around.

Vegeta continued flipping through channels until he found a war movie, to which he gave a grunt of satisfaction.  It was amusing to see pitiful human attempts at dramatizing violence, especially to someone who had annihilated hundreds of planets in his lifetime.

Throwing the remote control on the table, Vegeta flopped down on the couch — and just as quickly jumped to his feet, yelling in surprise.

Bulma sat up, rubbing her back and giving him the evil eye, despite the fact that her face was red and puffy.  "Watch where you're sitting, stupid," she snapped, curling into one corner of the couch and drawing her slender legs up to her chest.

Vegeta just dropped down on the other end of the sofa and fixed his eyes on the screen.  "You were crying again," he observed.

"So?"

Vegeta glanced at her, noting how miserable she looked.  "You shouldn't cry.  I don't like it when you do."

Bulma's eyes widened at Vegeta's sudden show of concern.  "What . . . why?"

"Because it makes you look ugly, and then your face makes me lose my appetite," Vegeta replied matter-of-factly.  He grinned.  "Why, what did you think I was going to say?"

There was a stunned silence for a few seconds, then a cushion came flying through the air to hit him on the head and bounce harmlessly to the floor.  Bulma sat in shock, shaking with rage, her face pale.  "What is your problem?!" she screamed at him.  "Are you blind?  Why can't you see I don't need this right now?!"

Vegeta leered at her, though he thought to himself that the woman wasn't half bad-looking when she was angry.  What are you doing?  Snap out of it!  "Listen, woman, your blubbering gives me a headache, and I can't train properly.  Why don't you get over yourself and move on?"

"I can't believe you're so heartless!"  Bulma shouted.  "I happen to love Yamucha, and I don't want to lose him!" she shook her head.  "But then, look who I'm talking to . . . you probably don't even know what the word 'love' means.  Want me to get you a dictionary?"

"I know what it means!" he growled.  "But I don't understand why you would point your affections at that weak human.  He obviously doesn't trust you, if he thought you would be involved with me just because we were eating lunch!"

Bulma shook her head, and she got to her feet.  "You don't understand," she shot at him,  "How could you understand?"

She began to walk away, but Vegeta reached out and grabbed her wrist.  "Don't walk out on me!" he snarled.  "Don't you —"

"I know, I know," Bulma glared daggers at him.  "Don't walk out on the Prince of Saiyajins.  Listen to everything he says.  Obey his every whim, lah-dee-dah," she sighed.  "What a horrible way to live."

Vegeta dropped her wrist.  "Fine.  Go," he frowned.

Bulma looked at him for a second, then sat beside him.  "Can I ask you something?"


"No.  I'm watching the movie."

She snatched the remote and turned off the T.V.  "Come on, Vegeta, I just want to talk to you."

He turned to glower, but just rolled his eyes instead.  "Whatever.  If you'll stop whining."

Bulma smiled appreciatively.  "Have you ever had a girlfriend?"

Great skies . . . when this woman said she wanted to ask a question, she really meant it . . . "No."

She gave him a sidelong glance.  "How come?"

He considered telling her to mind her own business, but it didn't really matter.  It wasn't like there was a deeply personal answer to it.  Vegeta settled back against the couch cushions, wincing as the burns across his back made themselves felt.  "I never had time.  I was too busy destroying planets to worry about forming attachments."

"I see," Bulma was obviously disturbed by this, but didn't comment.  "I think you missed out.  Your father was King of Vegetasei, and he —"

"Don't talk about my father!" Vegeta barked, making her jump.  "You know nothing about him!"

Bulma looked at him funnily.  "You cared about your father, didn't you?"

"Yes," he replied shortly.  Vegeta's eyebrows knit together in frustration — this was getting far too personal.

The woman must have sensed this, because she backed off.  "I'm glad," she picked up the remote and flicked the television back on.  "There, you can watch your movie now."

Vegeta turned back to the T.V., but he wasn't really paying attention.  He was thinking back to his childhood; how Furiza had threatened to kill his father if Vegeta didn't do everything Furiza ordered . . . then killed him anyway.

Suddenly, Bulma stretched and yawned noisily.  "Sorry," she apologized sheepishly when Vegeta glared at her.  "I guess I'll go to bed now."

Instead of getting up, however, Bulma rested her head on the back of the couch.  A few seconds later, her eyes closed and she fell asleep.  Vegeta shook his head.  "Stupid woman," he muttered, "Can't even . . . even . . ." he yawned.  "O, no . . ."

Bulma mumbled something in her sleep, and she turned to lean on Vegeta's arm.  "Hey!  Get off!" he cried, but the woman was exhausted, and Vegeta knew there was no way he could wake her up.  He'd come across her slumped over her lab table many a time, and Vegeta had once shot a ki blast right next to Bulma's ear with no effect.  Vegeta knew all he had to do was shove her away — he was obviously strong enough  — but for some strange, inexplicable reason, he didn't want to.  O, well.  It wasn't like anyone was going to see them.

"Idiotic weakling," Vegeta sighed, and he moved his arm from underneath Bulma before his limb fell asleep.  Not knowing what to do now, Vegeta rolled his eyes up to the ceiling and rested his arm on Bulma's shoulders, since there was no room to put it anywhere else.  "Please don't let her wake up," he muttered.

A few minutes later, the Saiyajin's head fell back and he began to snore . . .

******

Oops . . . looks like Vegeta and Bulma could be caught in a rather compromising position, if anyone walks in on them. How would they get out of that one? Let's just hope that Yamucha doesn't decide to drop by . . .

(P.S.... this is not a Yamucha-bashing story, though I don't go out-of-character in order to make him a saint, either. Sorry if that offends anyone, but I try to keep it as realistic as I can.)