A.N.: Just so you know, you can't hate me. This is my first DBZ fic, and I refuse to take any blame for the ways in which I might have screwed up. Blame someone else…the pink hippos, maybe.
Yes, any mess-ups should definitely be chalked up to the pink hippos. Trust me, they can take it.
And no, I'm not really crazy. Just sleep deprived.
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CHAPTER ONE
She was going to kill him.
Why hadn't she realized it before? It was all so simple, this solution to her problems.
So easy.
Complete this uncomplicated task, she told herself, and all her troubles would end. The pain, the anger…everything currently making her life miserable would be gone, vanished as though it had never been. She could move on, could pretend that such a one as he had never even existed to torment her.
She should have tried this months ago.
The irony was incredible. After everything she'd been through, everything she'd had to endure at his hands, the answer had been before her the entire time—in the shape of a carving knife the size of her arm.
Bulma Briefs grinned maniacally, lifting the knife with one hand. She hefted it into the air, testing its weight as her grin widened enough that she feared her cheeks would split.
This, she mused triumphantly, was going to be the best day of her life. Vegeta was finally going to get what had been coming to him for so long, and the revenge she had been dreaming of since he'd first come would be complete.
Bulma's grin did not lose any of its intensity as she quickly spun on her heel, slipping through the outer door of her spacious home. She continued to fiddle with her oversized knife as she made her way towards the training room where she knew her greatest enemy waited, unaware of her intentions.
Unadulterated excitement spread over her lovely features as she crossed the yard, blue eyes brightening with expectant joy. She was humming to herself, picturing the expression that her actions would put upon his face. She would, she reflected, finally be able to wipe that ever-present smirk from his features, erase the arrogance that so grated on her nerves.
For the first time since she'd met him, she would be defeating him.
She should have brought a camera. Though the expression on his face would always remain etched into her own memory, she owed it to the rest of her race to immortalize this moment.
Ah, well, she mused. She wasn't willing to waste any more time by returning to her home for that camera, and her fellow humans would simply have to be content with her descriptions. She needed to do this before her courage failed completely.
Her pace slowed as she neared the training room, stepping as lightly as possible to keep Vegeta from hearing her approach. She knew how acute his hearing really was, and she didn't wish to encounter him before she'd had a chance to implement her schemes. He'd probably try to kill her, after all, if he knew what she planned to do.
Scratch that, she thought suddenly. He would kill her. As strong as he was, there'd be little trying involved. He could probably snap her spine just by thinking about it.
She shuddered, imagining the many things he could do to her without even breaking a sweat. Why, she thought bitterly, had she been the one to end up with him? While she was perfectly willing to admit that her home had been the most logical place for him to live, she'd never have thought he could become such a thorn in her side. No one, she mused, should be that disagreeable.
She shook her head, enthusiasm momentarily dimming. Who'd have thought one Saiyan prince could be so great a burden? After all his grand words, Vegeta's only interests now seemed to revolve around eating and fighting.
And teasing Bulma…
And blowing things up…
And complaining incessantly.
Yes, she thought sourly, Vegeta was certainly a master at all of these. It was small wonder he'd made so many enemies. With his personality, he could have driven even the greatest of saints to madness.
And Bulma wasn't exactly a saint.
She sighed, unaware that her fingers had tightened around her weapon. What am I going to do with him? she wondered. Assuming I can actually do this and not get killed, I'll probably still be stuck with him. He'd stick around just to irritate me, and it's not like this is really going to change anything. Why should I even try?
She paused, forward momentum temporarily halting as her blue eyes widened. "I've gotta be crazy," she muttered. "I'll never get away with this. He'll catch me before I can even get close." She shook her head in dejection. "What was I thinking? He's gonna kill me for even considering it."
She closed her eyes, shoulders drooping. "It'd never work," she sighed. "He's too strong. I can't do this by myself."
She stared hard at the ground beneath her feet, wondering where her courage had fled to. She'd never considered herself to be a weakling, but even the smallest reminder of Vegeta's temper had drained her resolve almost instantly.
What was wrong with her? Why couldn't she do this? Was she truly so terrified of him—she who had never balked at anything in her entire life?
She groaned aloud, mouth tightening with self-directed anger as she turned once more and began the long trek back to the house. "Dende," she fumed under her breath, "I'm such a wimp."
She glanced at her knife. "Sorry, buddy," she told the weapon, sighing as she approached the cool darkness of her home. "I guess you won't be helping me destroy the gravity room, after all."
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"Don't you think you're overreacting just a little bit, dear?"
Bulma didn't even look up at her father as she continued to pace the length of the conservatory, hating the oblivious cheer in his voice. "No," she snapped. "I crossed that line a long time ago. This," she enunciated, "is something else entirely."
She sighed, grunting with frustration as she threw herself onto one of the many wooden benches lining the garden paths. "Come on, dad," she pleaded, finally turning her eyes to his. "You can't honestly tell me that you enjoy having Vegeta around, can you? He isn't exactly the easiest man to live with."
Her father continued to smile genially as he lifted one hand to scratch the chin of the tiny cat draped across his shoulders. "Well, no," he admitted softly. "I suppose not."
Her father shrugged, and Bulma gritted her teeth in annoyance as the cat began to purr contentedly. What right did it have to be so happy when she was so miserable? She would have thought the cat would be more considerate.
"However," her father continued softly as Bulma glared at the creature on his shoulder, "I don't think he's as bad as you say he is. Nobody can be without a few good qualities, after all. You just have to look a little harder to find his."
Bulma rolled her eyes, wishing her father wasn't so completely passive and trusting. "That's what you think," she snapped. "Why can't anyone else see through him? He's not the savior you think he is."
Bulma's father chuckled, and his expression was gentle. "I never thought he was a 'savior'," he replied. "No matter how strong he is, I know he's just a man." He glanced at her, and she missed the shrewd appraisal in his eyes. "Maybe you should give him a chance, Bulma," he offered. "He might start to grow on you."
Bulma's blue eyes widened with disbelief at her father's complacent acceptance. "Yeah, like a fungus," she retorted, clenching her fists and looking away. "How could I possibly start to like him? He's stubborn and irritable, impossibly self-centered." She grimaced. "I can't stand him."
She sighed, still not meeting her father's gaze. "You have no idea," she said, "how close I came to destroying the gravity room just to chase him away." She shivered. "I keep thinking that if I can just tick him off enough, he'll leave us alone."
She began to pick absently at a loose thread in the hem of her shirt, shivering slightly as her archenemy's face drifted through her mind. "Am I wrong?" she demanded quietly. "Am I the only one who hasn't forgotten how dangerous he is—what he tried to do?" She sighed again, lips twisting with frustration. "If Goku hadn't interfered," she said, "he would have killed us all. What makes you think we can suddenly trust him not to slaughter us the next time we turn our backs on him?"
Her father hadn't stopped smiling, though his eyes had become grave as he watched his daughter. "What makes you think we can't?" he questioned in reply. "Has he done anything that would make you think we can't trust him? That would make you continue to fear him?"
Bulma's graceful head snapped up, and her gem-like eyes flashed defiantly. "I've never been scared of him," she hissed. "I just don't think we can trust him, that's all."
She grunted, pushing herself to her feet. "I'm going inside," she snapped. "His Highness will be wanting his dinner soon, and I'd rather not get yelled at for making him wait again."
She flounced from the conservatory, unaware that her father was still watching her, a bemused smile on his lips.
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Bulma slammed the last china plate onto the table, ignoring her mother's wince as the porcelain clinked against the hard wood. "Be careful, Bulma," she chided. "Those were your great-grandmother's."
Bulma rolled her eyes, choosing not to respond to her mother's comment as she finished setting the table. Her stormy expression didn't lift as she slid into a chair, eyes riveted on the nearest door. "Any minute now," she muttered to herself. "Wait for it…"
A door slammed somewhere in the house, and a moment later a deep voice echoed through the hallways. "Dinner had better not be late again, woman!"
The owner of that voice quickly appeared, a stocky silhouette completely filling the doorway. Vegeta's black eyes met hers, and she couldn't suppress the wave of irritation that rose in her as she noticed the blatant mockery in his gaze.
Her blue eyes roved over his well-built frame as he entered the room, automatically cataloguing the faults in his appearance. She frowned, seeing that his blue training uniform was soaked with sweat, singed and torn by his efforts to improve his skills. Dirt and grease streaked his face, and his black hair was littered with strips of twisted metal.
She sighed, recognizing the metal as remnants of the equipment she'd recently installed in the gravity room. She wondered how many hours she'd need to repair whatever damage Vegeta had done this time, and she wished she'd gone through with her original plan to dismantle the training area herself.
Bulma rolled her eyes, leaning back in her chair as her unwanted guest stomped into the room, wordlessly sliding into the space opposite hers. He didn't so much as glance up as he began to load his plate with the food she had so carefully prepared, and Bulma's features twisted with irritation. "You could at least say 'thank you'," she snapped, annoyed by his rudeness.
He didn't even lift his head. "Thank you," he muttered, voice heavily laden with sarcasm as he continued to eat at a rate that would have made even a pig wince. Bulma turned away, unable to watch. "You're such a jerk, Vegeta," she growled.
She glanced once more at him when he didn't respond, and her lips curled with disgust at his contemptible way of eating. "Why don't you slow down?" she demanded suddenly. "You're going to choke if you keep shoveling everything down like that."
She sighed, but he still didn't raise his eyes. "Never mind," she muttered. "I take it back. Go ahead and choke." She looked away, her own appetite killed by his actions.
The phone rang as the tension in the room continued to build, and Bulma grinned with relief at the interruption. She leapt to her feet, darting nimbly past her gawking mother as she lunged for the receiver suspended on the wall. "Hello?" she demanded, breathing heavily from her unanticipated sprint.
Her quick greeting was answered by a deep chuckle. "Hey, baby," a masculine voice laughed from the other end of the line. "You sound like you're out of breath. You okay?"
Bulma's eyes lit with genuine pleasure, and her lips widened in a quick grin that she knew her boyfriend would never see. "Yamcha!" she exclaimed, overjoyed to hear his voice. "I'm fine—I just didn't expect to hear from you so soon. How's the seminar?"
He laughed again. "Wonderful," he replied. "I've been trouncing some of the greatest fighters on this planet—and getting paid a ridiculous amount of money to do it." She could almost sense the grin that must have been upon his lips, and her eyes glittered with affection. "I haven't had this much fun in years," he said.
"Is that so?" She laughed brightly, unaware that her voice had lightened flirtatiously. "More fun than when you're with me?"
"Never," Yamcha quickly declared, and her grin widened. "As great as this is, you know I'd rather be home with you."
She shook her head in fond exasperation at his patented gallantry, her lips still twisted in an easy smile. "Now I know you're lying, Yamcha," she teased. "You're having the time of your life, and we both know it. You've probably forgotten all about me."
She sighed, smile fading slightly as the truth of her words momentarily silenced her. No matter how much she and Yamcha cared for each other, she was perfectly aware that she wasn't the greatest focus in his life.
"Are you sure you're okay?" Her boyfriend's question broke the sudden silence growing between them, and the frown lingering in Bulma's eyes disappeared. After all the years they'd been together, Yamcha must have sensed the weariness in her voice.
The sudden concern in his own words chased a few of the shadows from her heart, and her expression brightened once more. For the moment, she vowed to forget her doubts and the problems between them. There'd be time enough, later, she thought, to confront her fears.
"I just miss you," she quickly replied, not wanting him to question her thoughts any more than he already had. "It's been an eternity since I saw you last." She turned, pressing her back against the wall as she calmed herself. "When are you coming home?"
She tried to keep the plaintive tone from her voice, though a quick glance at Vegeta's face told her she hadn't been entirely successful. He was watching her, food momentarily forgotten as he listened almost attentively to her side of the conversation. One dark eyebrow had arched in the mockery she so hated, and his lips had twisted with derision.
Bulma knew him well enough to realize that her words and expression must have reinforced his oft-stated opinion that she, as a human and a female, was far weaker than he.
She scowled at Vegeta, turning her back on him as she refocused her attention to Yamcha's words. "I've still got six weeks, baby," he was telling her. "Much as I want to, I can't leave yet. I'm under contract."
Bulma rubbed absently at her temple, feeling tired. "I know," she whispered, "and I'd never ask you to leave early." She caught her bottom lip with her teeth, trying to shrug off her uneasiness. "Like I said, I just miss you."
She forced a smile back onto her lips, knowing that both Vegeta and her mother were watching her closely. "Don't worry about me, Yamcha," she told him. "I can hold out until you come back to me." She grinned suddenly, eyes sparkling with mischief. "Just don't make me wait too long. Some other guy might come along and sweep me off my feet before you can get back."
Yamcha had quieted, and she wondered if he'd even heard her. Then, as the muscles in her neck tightened with the tension of this conversation, he quietly replied, "You got it, baby. Just don't forget that you love me."
Her smile became genuine. "Of course I love you, Yamcha," she murmured. "If I didn't, I'd have dumped you long ago." She grinned again, not giving him an opportunity to reply as she replaced the phone on its cradle.
The smile was still upon Bulma's face as she turned back around, only now realizing that her mother had left sometime during her conversation. Only Vegeta remained within the room, and his scowl, she saw, had deepened.
She stared at him, wondering at the fury she glimpsed in his eyes. "Something wrong, Vegeta?" she snapped, angered by the intensity of his glare.
He shrugged, and the mask of arrogance dropped back over his features. "Your affairs don't concern me, woman," he snapped. Then, without another word, he turned and left her alone.