Disclaimer: I don't own Dragonball Z.
A/N: When I began writing I thought I'd be entering this into the We're Just Saiyan community's Disney Challenge, which was due sometime back in May. Instead I kept adding to this thing, and it became a multi-chapter fic rather than a one-shot.
This is an AU or 'divergent' version of the whole 'three year' Bulma/Vegeta get together. Basically it begins at the same point as most other 3 year stories, but as for the end... well, you'll have to wait to find out :)
Most of the story is already written, but I'm adding bits and pieces to it, with the final chapters needing the most work. My current estimate is that it will sit at around 20,000 words when complete. 'Sleeping Beauty' is the prompt that got me started with this. However, this story is nothing like Disney, and is very much set in the DBZ world.
To make it clear to everyone, the number above each section of this story is the number of days before May 12th 767 – the date Mirai Trunks predicted the Androids would appear.
This story is rated M for sexual content and violence, though there isn't more than the odd curse word in this first chapter.
A THOUSAND SLEEPS
Part One
1000
Her finger slides across the foggy mirror, and in the lines that she traces her blue eyes stare back at her. Bulma stands there, naked, and cannot ignore the fear present on her face.
Part of her wishes the boy from the future had never come, though she knows his visit may have just changed the Earth's fate. But she's already counting down the days until the Androids appear, and it's driving her mad.
1000. The number in the glass is beginning to fade, the fog from her shower curling through the air to settle on the mirror. It doesn't make any difference; the number is still imprinted in her mind.
A thousand sleeps. It's August 15th, 764. There are exactly one thousand nights until the Androids arrive.
Her fingers swipe across the cool glass, blurring the number entirely. She glares back at her reflection, wondering if there is more she can do to change the future.
975
In the dead of night she wakes with a start, her heart racing in the aftermath of her dream. There's an all too familiar ache between her legs, and she pulls back the sheets, feeling sticky and unsatisfied. She lies there blinking into the darkness as her body cools down, listening to her pulse slow. The bed shifts under her as Yamcha rolls over in his sleep, pulling the blankets with him.
She looks at him, doing her best to make out his features in the dark. He's big and long and sleek and beautiful, and she loves him.
But –
She can't help but feel that there's something missing in this relationship. Yamcha's not thereckless bad boy she found living in the desert all those years ago, and she's not the carefree teenager she used to be, either.
How greedy she is. She has all the money in the world, and it isn't enough. She wants more; more fame, more fortune, more adventure. She wants love and sex and passion.
She wants to live beyond the three year deadline they've all been given.
Sleep is too far away to reach now. She climbs out of bed slowly, careful not to wake the man beside her, and slips a robe over her shoulders.
"Nng… babe?" She pauses at the door. In the dark it looks as if Yamcha's face is floating amongst blankets and pillows. "Where you going?" he asks, his voice groggy.
"Just getting a drink." It's a lie, and she slips out, heading through the darkened halls to her lab instead. She finds the radar where she last left it, locked away in one of her desk draws. She switches it on and a familiar yellow dot appears in the screen, displaying the location of the nearest dragonball, only a hundred miles from here. She pulls up the location on her computer – it's hidden somewhere within a rural area – and she screws her nose up at the idea of walking through paddocks filled with sheep and cows and their resulting dung.
Regardless of her distaste for the farming life, she blocks out next Thursday in her calendar, writing 'Meeting – Mr D. B.' just in case anyone asks.
She heads back to bed. Yamcha's skin is blazing under the sheets, and she cuddles close to him. Endless thoughts continue to race through her mind, and despite the comforting warmth beside her, she can't sleep.
969
She finds the four star ball in the midst of an abandoned orchard, and spends the afternoon laying about under a tree, gorging herself on wild plums and cherries. She's not usually the outdoorsy type, but this place is idyllic, and she enjoys the fresh air and birdsong around her. It is a relief after the tense atmosphere at home; there's been far too much posturing between Yamcha and Vegeta lately.
The dragonball sits in her lap, glowing softly. It's warm to the touch, and she caresses it fondly, reliving the memories of her childhood, back when her group of warrior friends actually included her in their plans. She can't help but be a little bit bitter about this; they all seem to talk about Namek as if she wasn't there. Hell; she's the one that got them there in the first place! And she managed to survive the whole time, unlike some.
It bothers her, the way the boys seem to leave her out, as if they've forgotten that it was all her doing that brought them together in the first place. It's this thought that spurs her on, that fuels her desire to do something active about the Android threat. Collecting the dragonballs is only the first step in her plan, and she won't let Son-kun or anyone else deter her.
Yes, she's determined to do it her way this time. Let those boys see how smart and brave and capable she is, and a hot beauty to boot! She grins, closing her eyes and leaning back against the tree trunk behind her. It's relaxing here, listening to the sounds of nature around her. It reminds her of her old adventures with Son-kun…
She wakes with a start, glancing around apprehensively until she recalls what she's doing in the middle of the back country. The sun has disappeared behind dark clouds, and the orchard she sits in no longer looks warm and welcoming. In fact the place seems downright creepy.
The dragonball feels cold in her hands, and a chill runs down her spine. It's foolish, but she's suddenly overwhelmed by the ominous feeling that something bad is lurking on the horizon. Not one to hang around waiting for trouble, she quickly scrambles to her feet.
She shoves the icy dragonball in her backpack and slings the bag over her shoulder as the heavens open above, and by the time she's pulled her plane capsule out of her pocket she's already drenched. She wastes no time in getting into her plane and taking off, her small aircraft buffeted by heavy winds and pounding rain. She feels as if someone's watching her, and looks over her shoulder, though there's nothing there but the back of the small plane. It's ridiculous, and yet she can't shake the strange feeling. It follows her, along with the storm, all the way back to Capsule Corporation.
She runs across the lawn, pelted by the heavy rain. Once inside she heads straight for the kitchen, but freezes in the doorway. Vegeta's there, shirtless as usual and coated in a fine sheen of sweat, rummaging through the refrigerator. Though his muscled back, littered with old scars, is not an unpleasant sight, she pauses for a moment, considering whether dealing with Vegeta is worth a double shot latte.
In the end the latte wins out, and she sighs, resolutely ignoring the alien as she enters the room and begins programming the coffee machine. She drops her backpack on the floor at her feet, and imagines what she would say if Vegeta saw what she had hidden inside. But he ignores her presence, and the only sound in the room is the gurgle of the coffee maker.
She sips her drink at the counter, watching raindrops slide down the window. At some point she becomes aware of eyes on her; irritated, she frowns and turns to face Vegeta's stare.
"What?!" she snaps.
His eyes are cold, curious, calculating. He snorts suddenly, one eye twitching slightly. "You look like shit."
She knows it's true – the rain has left her hair a bedraggled mess, and her damp shirt clings to her skin. Her mascara's probably running, too. Still, she sniffs with offense, and tucks her damp curls behind her ear.
"Look who's talking," she replies, giving him the stink-eye. She picks up her bag and walks past him without another word.
901
She knows Vegeta's injuries are bad when she finds him sitting on the couch, staring at the blank TV screen. She stands in the doorway to the lounge, watching him stare at nothing, until he turns his head and snaps "What!" so viciously that she actually jumps.
She frowns, crossing her arms over her chest to hide the fact that he startled her, and glares at him. "Jeez, you're such a grumpy butt!" she complains, moving angrily across the room. She settles on the couch opposite him and picks up the remote, throwing this purposefully at his head.
Unfortunately, his reflexes are too good, and he catches this with ease. "Turn it on," she tells him, nodding at the TV. When he gives her a blank stare, she adds "The green button."
The TV screen flashes to life, bringing up an old rom-com. She rolls her eyes; she is not in the mood for mushy romance stories, having just caught Yamcha checking out other women's asses while out with him. "Turn it to channel 61," she tells Vegeta. "It's a sports channel. Boxing is on tonight." She's not that into sport, but she's seen enough martial arts tournaments to be vaguely interested, and for some odd reason she finds herself considering programmes that might actually interest Vegeta.
The channel doesn't change, and she peels her eyes away from the screen to find the Saiyan staring at the remote, a disgusted look on his face. "Channel 61," she repeats over the background noise of cheesy romance humour.
She receives a bone-chilling glare in response. He rises from the couch, and she doesn't miss the stiffness in his movements as he walks away, nor the shape of bandages underneath his t-shirt. He's hurt his ribs, then.
His reaction surprises her. Shaking her head in confusion – she'll never understand the man – she moves to the spot that Vegeta vacated, and picks up the remote. The chair is comfortably warm, and she tucks her legs under herself, settling down for a night of channel-surfing.
She wakes hours later, with a cramped back and drool running down her chin. She wipes at this with disgust, and picks up the remote from the carpet, where it must have fallen while she slept. Glancing down at the numbers on the controller, it suddenly occurs to her that Vegeta is an alien, and would have never come across Earth's alphabet and numeral system before.
"Of course," she mutters to herself, feeling like an idiot for not realizing sooner. She rises to her feet, processing this newfound knowledge as she heads for the kitchen.
900
The woman's scent is fresh as he steps into the bedroom, and he snarls, angered that she'd dare to set foot in his space. His eyes fall upon the single sheet of paper placed on the foot of his bed, and he stalks across the room, snatching at the offending object.
He studies the sheet, brown drawn tight in a scowl as momentary confusion gives way to understanding. It's a key; a translation of numerals from Standard into what he assumes is the Earth equivalent. The Standard numerals – zero to one hundred – line the page in a single column, the Earthling translations written by hand beside them.
"Tch!" He crushes the paper in his hands and throws it into the small waste receptacle in the corner of his room. He has no desire to learn anything about this mud-ball planet, and he certainly doesn't want any help from the woman.
He stalks into the bathroom, fuming over the woman's damn perceptiveness.
.
He wakes in the early hours of dawn and stretches, feeling the familiar ache in his muscles. His eyes land on the waste receptacle, an open box made of metal mesh, and the ball of scrunched paper that sits inside.
It takes a miniscule amount of ki to lift the paper. It floats towards him, and he catches it with one hand, carefully unfolding this. He doesn't know how the woman managed to figure out Standard, but she obviously has. He spends the next hour memorizing the numerals before him, committing them all to memory.
882
Her heart jumps somewhere in her throat as she runs out the door and catches sight of the spaceship, upended in smoking ruins on the lawn.
Vegeta! No!
Her legs are moving before she has any more time to think, and she's racing across the lawn, adrenaline coursing through her as she sprints for the wreckage. All she can think of is the man trapped under it all – Kami, how can he still be alive?
She stops before the rubble, sinking to her knees, eyes dancing to and fro as she searches for any sign of him. Yamcha's behind her, babbling something, but she doesn't pay him any attention.
"Where is he? Vegeta?"
It dawns on her, with sudden clarity, that she couldn't bear it if he were dead.
862
From her bedroom balcony she surveys the new spaceship. It sits in the same place as the last one, the grass surrounding it only just beginning to grow back after the explosion. Her father had almost completed the second ship when the first blew up, and had been quick to finish it while Vegeta lay broken in the infirmary.
She rolls her eyes as she thinks of the alien man. He's a fool, as stubborn as a mule, hell-bent on getting stronger than Goku. She can appreciate his determination, but his arrogance pisses her off. He often makes her want to slap him in the face, but she knows all she'll get from that is a broken hand. She's learnt from years around Goku that Saiyans are built like concrete.
As the sun sets Vegeta emerges from the new ship. He's shirtless, and his bronze skin catches the remaining sunlight. She bites her bottom lip as she watches him cross the yard in that swift walk that reminds her of a cat on the prowl.
She becomes aware of a presence behind her, and turns with a start. Yamcha stares at her, his face set in an unhappy frown.
"How long have you been here?" she asks, her voice a little too hard.
"Long enough," he answers, and she doesn't miss the accusation in his voice, nor the hurt in his eyes.
She pushes away the guilt, stepping around him and back into her bedroom. "You should have said something," she says, grabbing for her purse. "I've been waiting for you for half an hour!" She slips on her heels and doesn't turn around until she's outside her bedroom door. "Well come on! We're going to be late for our reservation!" She storms down the hall, leaving Yamcha to trail behind her.
A/N: I've assumed that Bulma would have been able to deduce the meaning of Standard numerals from Raditz' scouter. In those first few DBZ episodes she somehow manages to translate everything the scouter says into a language she understands, and I would say that she would have put this all on file somewhere.
