Disclaimer: I don't own Dragonball Z.

This is the very first time I've written Vegeta in an all-human setting. It's a drabble-fic that was written as part of the September mature BVDN hosted by Mallie on the We're Just Saiyan Community. The prompt 'headless' was interpreted as 'losing your head/mind/senses'.

This version has been edited to comply with this site's rules. If you would like to read the unedited version, you can find it on my AO3 profile (Piccolo_is_Green).

Cover image is Realistic Stylized Vegeta by longlovevegeta on Deviantart - go check out her profile!

Italics represent a flashback. Hope you enjoy.

- Pic

Pumpkin

Bulma ran down the steps, crystal heels clattering against marble as she rounded a corner. "Fuck," she hissed, kicking off both shoes – whoever thought glass was good material for footwear was a complete nutcase – and hiked up the masses of chiffon and silk at the front of her dress. She cursed the designer who'd put her in this marshmallow dress, her ribs straining against the bones of her corset as she gulped in another breath and hit the ground running.

Her bike was hidden amongst pumpkin vines that grew wild at the base of the castle wall. Her bare feet pounded against the worn cobblestones, splashing in muddy puddles where the path had been neglected. She'd chosen this entrance because it was barely used, and provided the best chance of escape.

"Hey!"

"Shit!" She swung around, silencer gun in hand, and shot into the darkness. She heard a muffled yelp, and the crash of a body falling from a height. She didn't bother waiting another moment, turning another corner and running for the home stretch. She could see the dark shape of her bike against the wall, and relief washed through her. She'd made it.

She tugged at the vines, hiking her skirt once more as she mounted the motorbike, and turned the ignition. The engine revved to life, the bike moving swiftly forward. In the moonlight she caught a glimpse of a body stepping out from the bushes, and she couldn't swerve in time. A hand snaked out and tugged her off the bike, and they fell to the ground in a violent tangle of silk and chiffon and angry limbs.

He had her pinned, her heart sinking as she recognised his face. She'd trained with Vegeta, years ago, before he defected. They had history, and she was screwed.

Bridge

Vegeta pinned her arms above her head, and couldn't help the chuckle that escaped his lips. "Bulma Briefs," he whispered, shifting his weight against her so that she couldn't knee him in the balls. "Who would have thought they'd send in the weakling?"

"It's just my fucking luck," she hissed, struggling against him. Her chest heaved under him, and for a moment he could have sworn they were back in his apartment, all those years ago, when her body moved under his for a very different reason.

She still smelled the same.

She must have seen something in his eyes, because she suddenly stopped struggling, her big blue eyes shining up at him in the moonlight. "Vegeta," she whispered. "What are you doing? Working for the Cold Corporation?"

"It's not up for discussion," he told her, tightening his grip on her wrists. "Now where's the disk?"

Her head swung forward, her forehead connecting with his nose in a sickening crunch. "It's not up for discussion!" she growled as she flipped them over, wrenching herself from his grasp while he remained momentarily blinded by pain.

"Fucking bitch!" he hissed, clambering off the ground and sprinting after her. Her ridiculous outfit slowed her down, and he caught her on the outer bridge, flinging her small frame into the stone wall. He heard the air wheeze out of her in a winded breath, and didn't waste the opportunity to show her how pissed off he was, picking her up and bending her limp body over the wall of the bridge, until her head dangled back over the edge, her blue hair coming loose from its bindings to fan out in the wind.

"I'll throw you into the fucking river, bitch," he hissed.

"Not if I throw you in first."

Pain burst through his skull, his vision blacking out. He clutched for something hard to hold onto, but all he felt was soft arms around him, clutching him with familiarity.

Dark Horse

He had been the dark horse of their squad; a man who had appeared out of nowhere and who rose to prominence within the organisation in a matter of weeks. She still didn't know anything about his background; he'd been so secretive even after their relationship had shifted from squad mates to bed mates.

Now Vegeta lay slumped in the back of her van, wrists bound behind him, mouth gagged and feet tied, his body rolling with every jerk of the steering wheel. She checked on him with her rear-view mirror – he would come around soon, though he'd be weak for a good few hours.

He'd really let his guard down around her, and that made her stomach flip. She didn't like that feeling.

She had a sneaking suspicion that he'd been an agent for the Cold Corporation all along. The idea made her blood boil; that she'd trusted him enough to take him to bed, had let him fuck her brains out for almost a year in between their various assignments, and then he'd disappeared into thin air, reappearing six months later as an agent for Cold.

The bastard.

She heard him moan from the backseat, and rounded a corner hard, purposely throwing him into the side of the van. He grunted in discomfort, and she turned to grin back at him. "Sorry honey" she said sweetly, "I'm still getting used to this old girl."

He glared at her, teeth bared around his gag. She smiled back at him, taking in the way his body strained against the bonds she'd tied, his biceps bulging with the strain of it.

"Don't hurt yourself," she told him, her tone serious as she turned back to the road.

She had to remind herself that he'd betrayed her. She couldn't let her guard down.

Horseman

Vegeta handed her the phone, and she gave him a glare in return. In the six months she'd known him, he'd managed to allocate her almost all of the admin tasks that came along with being a spy.

"I'm not your fucking secretary," she muttered as she held the phone to her ear.

"Codename?"

"Horsemen," she ground out, rolling her eyes as she jotted down details on the hotel paper.

Ten minutes later she was hanging up the phone, feeling both stressed and excited about the next assignment. Vegeta had been reading over her shoulder as she wrote, and listening in when he could, so she knew there wasn't much that needed discussing with him. Instead, she swivelled in her chair, pointing to the minibar in the corner of the hotel room.

"Pass me the whiskey. I need a drink."

He threw her the bottle without a word, and she caught it one-handed. She didn't bother with a glass, and lifted the bottle towards him. "Cheers," she said, taking a large gulp that left a pool of heat warming her belly.

She watched move about the room, readying their weapons for the next day. "Don't forget my knife," she ordered him, taking another swig of the whiskey. He gave her one of his looks, and turned his back on her.

She was bored. She put the bottle down, and got to her feet, crossing the carpet to where he stood. He stood silently as she rounded him and took hold of his tie.

He didn't resist as she undid the buttons on his shirt, her palms running over smooth muscle. He pulled her close, his erection hard against her thigh.

"You should be careful," he whispered against her neck. Her skin shivered.

She could get used to this new partner.

Headless

His hands skimmed under the hem of her dress and up her thigh, calloused fingers unclipping the gun holster she wore as a garter. It dropped to the ground as he dropped to his knees, his hands tugging at her panties. She lifted her dress over her head, throwing it to the side as he pushed her back against the bed. Their eyes met over the plane of her stomach, his dark gaze holding hers as he pushed her legs further apart.

"Vegeta," she groaned, burying her hands in his thick black hair. He climbed above her, and she clung on for dear life. Her arms raked down his back, feeling the corded muscle beneath her hands as he drove home, again and again.

Afterwards they spoke of meaningless things – favourite movies, the best places to eat. He shied away from any personal conversation, and it set her on edge. She lay awake long after he had fallen asleep, and in the end she got up and pulled a robe around her, stepping out onto the balcony to watch over the sleeping city below.

Cigarette in hand, she contemplated the predicament of really liking a guy who happened to be a) her work partner, and b) a real dick who was hiding something.

It was a problem.

Legendary

She dragged him out of the van feet-first, not bothering to be gentle. They were in an abandoned warehouse – a suitable place for questioning, she thought as he dragged him onto a wobbly chair.

He snarled as she tore the gag off his head – probably because it caught on his swollen nose. She grimaced, realising that she'd broken it in the fight. His face wasn't going to look quite so pretty as it usually did unless he got it set soon.

"You fu –"

"Don't swear at me," she told him, tone stern and unwavering. She pulled another chair up and sat down, adjusting her mass of skirts, now stained brown with mud, around her. One of the bones in her corset had snapped, and was stabbing her in the side.

He glared at her. "Untie me."

"No. Do you think I'm stupid? Untie you so you can kill me?"

She hadn't meant to say that last part, but she was glad that she did. She saw the doubt flicker in his eyes, the question – did it really have to come to this? – on both of their minds.

She didn't want to kill him.

"You had a legendary start to the Force. You could have continued with us – your legacy would have been…" she trailed off, shaking her head. "Why did you leave us? What was so great that had you jumping ship?"

Why did you leave me?

He remained silent, though his eyes said a thousand words. "You were always working for the Colds," she surmised. He shook his head.

"No."

"No? You really expect me to believe that?"

"No."

"Then what, Vegeta?"

He sighed, shifting in his chair. "I work for myself. For my own revenge. Against the Colds."

Silence stretched between them, and the weight of her gun in her pocket say heavy against her thigh. Her orders were to destroy any resistance to the mission.

"I can't trust you," she told him, her breath no more than a whisper. She stepped forward, bending to plant a chaste kiss against his lips. "But I can't kill you, either."

She stepped back, dropping a knife a few feet from his chair.

"Good luck, Vegeta," she told him, the shock in his eyes enough to draw a smile on her lips. "I hope I don't see you around – next time I won't be so nice."

She left him in the warehouse, still trussed up on that chair. Her superiors didn't need to know that she had seen him, after all.