"Marry me, Vegeta! Marry me and all this could be yours!"

Bulma stood, weaving back and forth before the scowling Saiyan. Her hands waving up and down her body like a TV game show display model.

"You are so annoying when you're drunk," Vegeta grumbled.

Although he agreed to share his case of beer with the love-spurned woman, he regretted agreeing to share his evening. But he'd already settled himself on the couch in front of the television, and she wasn't going to drive him out with her intoxicated mannerisms. He lifted one leg and brushed her aside with his boot. She lost her balance and fell with an unceremonious thud on the floor.

Completely ignoring her drunken fit of laughter, he continued to watch the war movie she'd rented. The weapons were dismally weak, but the tactics were interesting. Especially when these soldiers were unable to fly or use ki powers. He had to admit the woman made a good choice of entertainment...if only she'd let him watch it in peace.

Bulma climbed onto the couch next to Vegeta and laid her head against his shoulder. "If we were married, we could have a lot of fun."

"You don't need a husband for that kind of fun," Vegeta said. With one gloved hand, he pushed on her forehead until she tipped over to lay beside him. With the other, he tipped up the can and finished off the rest of his beer. "But you should have one."

"I should?" she asked, extending her legs over Vegeta's lap. He ignored them as it was a waste of energy to keep pushing her off him when she was like this. Tossing the empty beer can into the waste basket across the room, he picked up another from the box on the coffee table.

"Yes. One that would beat some sense into you." Her feeble attempts to hit him made him smile. None of her weak blows even jarred the new can he opened.

"You are so mean, Vegeta," Bulma wailed. She slid onto the floor at his feet, then noticed the empty box. "Hey! You took the last beer!"

"You certainly don't need it," he replied. He took great pleasure in drinking the entire contents right before her eyes. He gave her a wicked grin as he lowered the empty can and crushed it into a ball with one hand. "You've had enough to drink."

Bulma attempted to stand, but fell back onto Vegeta's lap as if the room wouldn't stop spinning. He rolled his eyes and was about to dump her back onto the floor when her arms locked around his neck. She nestled her forehead against his neck.

"Why don't Saiyans ever get drunk?"

"We evolved passed being affected by such low levels of alcohol. It keeps our minds sharp for battle."

Bulma sighed. "Yeah, but don't you ever feel like letting loose or just drowning your sorrows?"

"Warriors are always in control of themselves. Because if we aren't, worlds are destroyed. Now get off," Vegeta warned, "before you try to do something to embarrass yourself any further."

Bulma pulled back and let out an insulted gasp. "If you had any taste in women, you'd be infatuated with me the second I walked into the room!"

"You please me more when you walk back out," Vegeta said, finally tearing his eyes away from the movie to smirk at the intoxicated woman on his lap.

But just as he turned, Bulma tightened her grip and planted a kiss directly on his mouth. Before she knew what happened, she found herself painfully dropped to the floor on her backside. Vegeta towered over her, fists clenched at his side in barely restrained anger.

"Don't ever do that again!" he shouted. "You are unworthy of me! I refuse to mate with such a weak race! My heirs will be the strongest in the universe, not some puny half-breed!"

"Puny?" Bulma snapped, struggling to her feet. "Just look at Gohan! He's half earthling! Goku said he's going to be even stronger than him someday soon!"

At the mention of Vegeta's sworn enemy, his patience abruptly ended. He wanted so badly to strike out at the woman before him, but didn't want to have to deal with the rest of her fighter friends seeking revenge against him. There was a better fight coming up with the arrival of the androids and he wanted to focus all his energy on getting stronger, not fending off the drunken advances of earth women.

"Stay the hell away from me!" Gathering a handfull of energy, he released his pent up anger at the television set. It exploded in a shower of firey bits that made Bulma drop to the floor, covering her head with her hands. Vegeta leaned over to take her arm, forcing her to look at him so he knew she was listening. "I mean it!"

Bulma started to speak, but suddenly clapped a hand over her mouth. Scrambling to her feet and using the couch and wall for support, she ran for the bathroom and slammed the door behind her.

With a sigh, Vegeta grabbed a pillow and afghan from the couch so Bulma could sleep off the rest of her bender next to the toilet.

"What is that awful smell!"

"It's an espresso machine I'm fixing," Bulma answered with a glance over her shoulder at the Saiyan pacing the kitchen. She'd ordered take-out for dinner, but Vegeta had a real problem with patience. With a roll of her eyes, she turned her attention back to the spitting, steaming machine in front of her.

"It doesn't smell like you fixed it," Vegeta said, his nose wrinkling at the stong, bitter aroma.

Bulma turned the spigot to stop the flow and held the cup up to her nose to inhale the steam rising from the black liquid. "Hmm. It still seems to be burning the beans somehow." She took a small sip. "Yup. Burnt beans. I'll have to recalibrate the thermometer."

Vegeta looking curiously down at the small cup of espresso. He mimicked her in smelling and tasting the hot contents. At first, his face twisted in disgust, but he took another sip, then another. By his third drink, he was actually licking his lips. He frowned down at the empty cup before thrusting it toward her.

"Show me how to run this infernal contraption," he ordered. "I want another taste."

Bulma explained how to add the beans and water, and which button to press to start the process. He looked like an impatient child as he waited for her to adjust the thermometer before allowing him to put the machine into operation. Watching avidly as the dark liquid poured into the cup, he grabbed it up before it even stopped dripping and downed it in two swallows. Immediately starting the machine again, he drank that cup in one gulp.

"Well, don't come crying to me when you can't get to sleep for three days," Bulma called over her shoulder as she went to answer the doorbell and collect their food. From the entryway, she heard the machine grinding another round of beans.

She left Vegeta to his meal...and several refills of espresso...and went to see if there was anything on television, flipping aimlessly through the channels. After a few minutes, Vegeta dropped himself down on the couch next to her, cradling the small cup in his hands.

"That's really annoying." The soft voice was unusual for him, and Bulma paused to take a closer look. A little smile played on his lips between drinks of his espresso and his eyes seemed unfocused. "Jusht pick a show," he said, taking another sip. "You alwaysh end up falling ashleep anyway."

"Vegeta!" Bulma exclaimed. "Are you drunk?"

"Of coursh not!" He tried to sound offended, but without being able to keep the grin from his face, it just didn't seem to come out right.

Bulma laughed. "Yes, you are! You are totally wasted! How many cups of espresso have you had?"

"Don't know...don't care," Vegeta said, letting his head drop back on the couch as if it was suddenly too heavy for his thick neck. It was the most relaxed Bulma had ever seen him.

He drained the last drop of liquid from the cup, holding it high over his open mouth to catch the last drop before pushing it into Bulma's chest. "Make me shom more." He rolled his head to look at her, his bottom lip protruding in an uncharacteristic pout. "Pleash?"

"Fine," she sighed. "One more. But after that I'm cutting you off before you go into cardiac arrest." He just smiled lazily after her as she walked back to the kitchen.

Before measuring out the beans, Bulma checked the nearly empty package for any hidden ingredients that would explain Vegeta's intoxication. As far as she could tell they were plain beans. Just as she poured them into the machine, two hands slammed down on the counter on either side of her.

"Don't do that!" she yelled, covering her pounding heart in an attempt to slow its racing.

Vegeta rested his chin on her shoulder. "I can hear your heartbeat. It's beating hard."

"Yeah, well, that tends to happen to people you sneak up behind." She tried shrugging his chin off, but he stubbornly kept replacing it.

"What if I didn't sneak?" he asked. "Would I still make your heart beat hard?"

Bulma's throat was suddenly dry as Vegeta snaked his hands around her waist. Sure, she'd done the same thing to him while intoxicated, but when he did it, it felt...dangerous.

"Whoa!" Bulma said, peeling his hands open enough to slip from his embrace. She took a few steps back to get at least a little distance between them. "What happened to 'You are not worthy of me'?" she mimicked.

"I changed my mind."

"What? You blast my television to bits when I come on to you, but if it's your idea everything's fine? You really are a male shauvenist bastard, aren't you?"

She turned in a huff to leave, but even in his inebriated state, Vegeta was able to instantly block her path. He advanced on her until he had her pinned back against the counter, his eyes intent and savage.

"Vegeta..." Bulma began, summoning up more courage than she'd needed in a very long time. She swallowed hard and tried again. "You don't want to do this. What happened to always being in control of yourself?"

"Would you rather I destroy a world?" he asked, his voice deadly serious.

Tears started to run down Bulma's cheeks, yet she showed no fear. Instead, a deep disappointment tore at her heart. Yes, she flirted with him, dreamed about him, but this wasn't how it was supposed to happen. She wanted him to care for her, not use the very definite threat of taking innocent lives if she twarted his drunken advances.

"Are you afraid of me?" he asked.

"No." It was a lie, but a convincing one. Inwardly, she was shaking like a leaf.

"Then why are you crying?" he demanded. "You should be honored I chose you."

"Just because I happen to be the only one here while you're drunk off your ass does not make me chosen...or honored!" Her voice broke and she began to tremble uncontrollably.

"You are scared." Vegeta dropped his hands and backed up until he was leaning against the wall as if unable to keep the room from tilting. "You're scared...and you were going to let me..." His knees buckled, and he slid, unceremoniously, to the floor.

"What was I supposed to do when you give me a choice between myself and an entire world? You really are an out of control drunk, Vegeta!" She reached behind her and grabbed the espresso machine, hurling it with all her might at his head.

Vegeta let it hit him as he sat looking miserable and sad. Despite her anger, Bulma's heart went out to him. She'd regretted her behavior when she was intoxicated...at least the behavior she could remember. She wondered if Vegeta would remember this.

Bulma sighed and went over to grab one of his arms. "Come on, Vegeta. Let's get you off the floor. If you can't make it all the way upstairs, you can at least sleep on the couch."

"You're being nice to me," Vegeta grumbled as he staggered to his feet. "Don't be nice to me. It's safer that way." Suddenly, he clapped a hand over his mouth and ran for the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

"Safer for who?" Bulma sighed as she grabbed a pillow and afghan from the couch so Vegeta could sleep off the rest of his bender next to the toilet.