Vegeta: *glaring at odd person who has just appeared in room* Who the hell
are you?!? Bulma: *whacks Vegeta in head with purse* VEGETA! Don't be rude!
*turns to person, who happens to be the one and only Elflord* Excuse him.
Now . . . who the hell are you?!? Elflord: *rolls her eyes* I'm the
authoress! For Pete's sake!!! Vegeta: See? I told ya! Bulma: You did not!
Vegeta: I did so! Bulma: You did not! Vegeta: I did so! . . .
While they continue this charming little conversation, I think I ought to mention that I do not own DBZ. Never owned DBZ. Don't own DBZ. Never will own DBZ. Have I made it perfectly clear that I do not own DBZ??? Good.
A/N: I do not follow the plot with ultimate zeal. Most of the plot I keep as I see it pertinent to my story, but I am also not afraid to rewrite some places somewhat according to my own interpretations. Please don't flame on plot reasons.
Rainin'
Chapter One
"God dammit, Woman, I starving here!" the voice exploded down the hall. "How hard is it to make some food, god dammit!?!"
In from training, and already he wanted to be fed. Some prince. He acted exactly like royalty . . . spoiled and bad-tempered. The rain fell against the window, rattling her psyche. Without even blinking, she pulled the blankets closer around her, edged in the corner of her bed against the walls. She didn't want to talk to him. In fact, she decided, she hoped she never saw any man ever again! Not even her dad. They were all so . . . all so . . . dishonest. Immediately, the logical part of her mind scolded her. Such a sweeping statement, and it wasn't even true. But it didn't matter right now. She would not let herself get hurt again. Not ever.
Photos . . . so many photos spread on the comforter, the glass on the frames smashed. So many memories spanning these last few years. Happy memories, sad memories . . . three years almost seemed like a hundred. Now those years were at an end forever. Even in her childhood, there was always something there, but it didn't take bloom until they were adults. But no more happy days in sight now. Only lonely ones.
Letters, diary pages, little poems she'd written when thinking of him . . . piles of them, around her in a semicircle of what once brought her heart to a fluttery beat . . . so alien. Yesterday, she would have read with relish. She'd forgiven him the first time. He'd promised it was over. That was a façade; a veil to hold up in front of the truth to lull her to complacency.
She didn't hate him. Perhaps she never would be able to hate him. But how could he do this? The water flowed from her blue eyes like so much rain.
Endless turrets of tears streamed from her eyes, the litter of used, wadded tissues resting where they would. Her cheeks were red and raw from the salt, but she didn't bother washing them; there would only be more tears.
"Dammit, Woman, where are you?"
Bulma didn't pay attention. Of all people in the world she wanted to talk to right now, Vegeta might be one of the very last.
With one hand, she still held the battered, graying panda plush. The one he'd won at the carnival for her on their first date so long ago. Sitting here in her pajamas, her hair unkempt and eyes raw with salt, clutching to an old toy and surrounded by smashed images of broken heart . . . she was behaving like a teenager, a girl, but for once in her life, maturity was one of the last things on her mind.
"Well, well, well . . . what a surprise." With a sudden pang of fear, she looked up. Framed in the doorway, back in the shadows, she could just make out the outline of a rather short, very muscular form, his eyes always so intense with anger, a large bush of wild black hair swaying over his head like some kind of unearthly halo. A little smug smile danced over his face. "Such a shame . . . crying . . ."
Bulma opened her mouth to protest, but no words came out. He ignored her. Cocky as a Cheshire cat, he sauntered up to the bed and sat down, leaning against the wall, smirking.
"Well, of all things, I can't say I didn't warn you, you know," he muttered off-handedly, pretending to examine his fingernails. "But then again, you always were a rather bullheaded one. It could have been expected you'd put yourself in harm's way."
"Oh, so is that what it's about?!?" she couldn't help bursting out. "Just come to make me feel stupid, huh?!?"
"You've done that well enough by yourself, Woman. You don't need my help," he answered, his eyes suddenly rocketed to one of the pages surrounding her, this one one of her sappy love poems. "What's this now? 'A candle for you'? Sounds interesting." He darted easily out of her way and began reading aloud. "'Oh, my love, Before you, I was a lost soul, Left alone without the light to guide me. Your heart is a candle, Burning brightly in the sky, My North Star, My-'"
"STOP IT!" she made yet another desperate attempt to wrestle the paper away from him. "That's mine! You bastard, give it back!"
"What, and miss a perfect opportunity to enjoy great literature?" he mocked her, dodging her again. "If I'm not mistaken, guiding lights don't usually flounce around with floozies, or am I wrong?"
"Shut up!!" she finally caught up to him, catching hold of a corner of the paper. "You have absolutely nothing to say about Yam-"
RRRRRRIP!
"NOW look what you did!!!" she cried, collapsing back on the bed, sobbing, clutching to the one half of the poem she still held.
It was like if a huge dam within her had suddenly burst wide open and now all the emotion that had been hanging in her chest fell out. She couldn't believe the terrible noise she was making, but she couldn't stop it, either.
"Suck it up, Woman!"
Incredible fury ran up into her chest where that stony feeling had once been. How dare he? This son-of-a-bitch, how dare he? Here he was, living in their house, eating their food and training in their gym, and he had the gall to speak to her that way!
"How dare you, you son-of-a-bitch!?!" for the first time in the whole conversation, she spoke exactly what she was thinking. She had daggers in her eyes that could make even Goku tremble. But here he still stood, unphased and defiant.
"You heard me, Woman!" he sneered. "Stop your sniveling and suck it up!"
"Listen, you mother-fucking bastard, I don't have to take this!" Bulma was now standing up again. "It's my house and god dammit, if I wanna cry, I'll cry as much as I damn well please, thanks very much, Mr. I'm-such-a-high- and-mighty-royal-pain-in-the-ass-son-of-a-bitch-mother-fucker-jerk-bas-"
"Yadda yadda yah," he interrupted her, laughing. Bulma felt the inside of her head almost exploding with anger. "Y'know, you can talk 'til you're blue in the face, but I say it's a heap of bullshit, whatcha think about that?"
"What in hell are you TALKING about?" her temper was long gone, and rage was quick on the horizon. She had had just about enough of this guy always crabbing at her, calling her 'woman', always ordering her around like she was some kind of Vegetan palace servant.
"C'mon!" he motioned for her to come at him. "Go on, I'm wide open. Take your best shot!"
'Sounds fine to me,' she thought to herself, drawing her arm back and throwing all her weight into the blow, which hit him squarely in the chest.
But he didn't move. Didn't even gasp, didn't miss a beat.
"Hah!" he belted out. "You call that a punch? My great-granny is tougher than you!"
Another punch, which she let loose with an all-mighty yell.
"Oh, I'm so scared."
Another. She was really, really, REALLY angry now.
"Wimp of a human!"
A burst of flame rushed over her face, her whole body. Her hands were shaking with rage. If she didn't do something soon, she was going to explode. With a great whoop, she raised an open hand and let it fall full force in his face. She could feel the hard contact of bone on bone. Almost in slow motion, she saw his face contort in pain and surprise, watched him stumble backwards into the wall.
Bulma stared, still in shock at what she'd done. After a second, Vegeta opened one eye and chuckled.
"He'd've never done it twice if you'd hit him like that."
A thought suddenly dawned on her. This whole argument, this entire thing, was trying to show her how to stop moping and crying and get . . . get . . . well, pissed. And all the time, when she'd been fighting and arguing and carrying on this whole row with this arrogant prince, she'd really been fighting with Yamcha. For the first time in days, she'd gotten to say everything she'd really wanted to say when he'd caught him at it but was just too shocked, and later, too broken up to tell him.
And it had also showed her something she hadn't seen in a very long while: her strength.
Bulma turned back to the pile of stuff she'd a few minutes ago crowded around herself like a shrine.
"You know," she smiled unexpectedly, "I think there's a box in the attic that this stuff would look absolutely perfect in. Care to help?"
Vegeta gave a little grin of agreement and helped her bundle it into a neat pile and carry it all upstairs.
Ten minutes later, the said possessions locked tight up in the chest, padlock and all, Vegeta made yet another unexpected move.
"Don't bother about the dinner," he picked up the phone. "I'll buy us some pizza, why don't I?"
It was still raining out, so they found a good movie on T.V. and spent the rest of the night munching pizza in Bulma's room, talking about any random thing that came to their mind. Nothing really deep, but it was a fair enough conversation. Her parents were away for the weekend, so they had a chance to stay up and talk in peace. Though he did continue to refer to her as 'woman', he seemed to get a little bit out of his shell. However, it seemed as though he avoided the topic of home. It wasn't as though she couldn't understand that. When your entire planet is destroyed by a madman and you don't even find out about it 'til almost twenty years later while of which the whole time you've idolized him, you probably don't really want it mentioned.
Around about midnight, Bulma started getting drowsy. The movie had just ended. One of those stupid endings that just left for a sequel. They were about twenty minutes into the second one when she found herself very tired. She found, to her surprise, when she reclined on the bed, that Vegeta was also there, fast asleep. For a moment, she thought of waking him. But then she started watching him, started listening to his calm, easy breathing, saw the utter carelessness in his wild mane of hair. She couldn't wake him up now; he was far too beautiful sleeping like that. With a movement that was very natural, she snuggled in next to his chest, the warmth comfortable against her.
She was so sleepy . . . yawning, she nuzzled against him and slowly let the warm, quiet abyss slowly overtake her.
While they continue this charming little conversation, I think I ought to mention that I do not own DBZ. Never owned DBZ. Don't own DBZ. Never will own DBZ. Have I made it perfectly clear that I do not own DBZ??? Good.
A/N: I do not follow the plot with ultimate zeal. Most of the plot I keep as I see it pertinent to my story, but I am also not afraid to rewrite some places somewhat according to my own interpretations. Please don't flame on plot reasons.
Rainin'
Chapter One
"God dammit, Woman, I starving here!" the voice exploded down the hall. "How hard is it to make some food, god dammit!?!"
In from training, and already he wanted to be fed. Some prince. He acted exactly like royalty . . . spoiled and bad-tempered. The rain fell against the window, rattling her psyche. Without even blinking, she pulled the blankets closer around her, edged in the corner of her bed against the walls. She didn't want to talk to him. In fact, she decided, she hoped she never saw any man ever again! Not even her dad. They were all so . . . all so . . . dishonest. Immediately, the logical part of her mind scolded her. Such a sweeping statement, and it wasn't even true. But it didn't matter right now. She would not let herself get hurt again. Not ever.
Photos . . . so many photos spread on the comforter, the glass on the frames smashed. So many memories spanning these last few years. Happy memories, sad memories . . . three years almost seemed like a hundred. Now those years were at an end forever. Even in her childhood, there was always something there, but it didn't take bloom until they were adults. But no more happy days in sight now. Only lonely ones.
Letters, diary pages, little poems she'd written when thinking of him . . . piles of them, around her in a semicircle of what once brought her heart to a fluttery beat . . . so alien. Yesterday, she would have read with relish. She'd forgiven him the first time. He'd promised it was over. That was a façade; a veil to hold up in front of the truth to lull her to complacency.
She didn't hate him. Perhaps she never would be able to hate him. But how could he do this? The water flowed from her blue eyes like so much rain.
Endless turrets of tears streamed from her eyes, the litter of used, wadded tissues resting where they would. Her cheeks were red and raw from the salt, but she didn't bother washing them; there would only be more tears.
"Dammit, Woman, where are you?"
Bulma didn't pay attention. Of all people in the world she wanted to talk to right now, Vegeta might be one of the very last.
With one hand, she still held the battered, graying panda plush. The one he'd won at the carnival for her on their first date so long ago. Sitting here in her pajamas, her hair unkempt and eyes raw with salt, clutching to an old toy and surrounded by smashed images of broken heart . . . she was behaving like a teenager, a girl, but for once in her life, maturity was one of the last things on her mind.
"Well, well, well . . . what a surprise." With a sudden pang of fear, she looked up. Framed in the doorway, back in the shadows, she could just make out the outline of a rather short, very muscular form, his eyes always so intense with anger, a large bush of wild black hair swaying over his head like some kind of unearthly halo. A little smug smile danced over his face. "Such a shame . . . crying . . ."
Bulma opened her mouth to protest, but no words came out. He ignored her. Cocky as a Cheshire cat, he sauntered up to the bed and sat down, leaning against the wall, smirking.
"Well, of all things, I can't say I didn't warn you, you know," he muttered off-handedly, pretending to examine his fingernails. "But then again, you always were a rather bullheaded one. It could have been expected you'd put yourself in harm's way."
"Oh, so is that what it's about?!?" she couldn't help bursting out. "Just come to make me feel stupid, huh?!?"
"You've done that well enough by yourself, Woman. You don't need my help," he answered, his eyes suddenly rocketed to one of the pages surrounding her, this one one of her sappy love poems. "What's this now? 'A candle for you'? Sounds interesting." He darted easily out of her way and began reading aloud. "'Oh, my love, Before you, I was a lost soul, Left alone without the light to guide me. Your heart is a candle, Burning brightly in the sky, My North Star, My-'"
"STOP IT!" she made yet another desperate attempt to wrestle the paper away from him. "That's mine! You bastard, give it back!"
"What, and miss a perfect opportunity to enjoy great literature?" he mocked her, dodging her again. "If I'm not mistaken, guiding lights don't usually flounce around with floozies, or am I wrong?"
"Shut up!!" she finally caught up to him, catching hold of a corner of the paper. "You have absolutely nothing to say about Yam-"
RRRRRRIP!
"NOW look what you did!!!" she cried, collapsing back on the bed, sobbing, clutching to the one half of the poem she still held.
It was like if a huge dam within her had suddenly burst wide open and now all the emotion that had been hanging in her chest fell out. She couldn't believe the terrible noise she was making, but she couldn't stop it, either.
"Suck it up, Woman!"
Incredible fury ran up into her chest where that stony feeling had once been. How dare he? This son-of-a-bitch, how dare he? Here he was, living in their house, eating their food and training in their gym, and he had the gall to speak to her that way!
"How dare you, you son-of-a-bitch!?!" for the first time in the whole conversation, she spoke exactly what she was thinking. She had daggers in her eyes that could make even Goku tremble. But here he still stood, unphased and defiant.
"You heard me, Woman!" he sneered. "Stop your sniveling and suck it up!"
"Listen, you mother-fucking bastard, I don't have to take this!" Bulma was now standing up again. "It's my house and god dammit, if I wanna cry, I'll cry as much as I damn well please, thanks very much, Mr. I'm-such-a-high- and-mighty-royal-pain-in-the-ass-son-of-a-bitch-mother-fucker-jerk-bas-"
"Yadda yadda yah," he interrupted her, laughing. Bulma felt the inside of her head almost exploding with anger. "Y'know, you can talk 'til you're blue in the face, but I say it's a heap of bullshit, whatcha think about that?"
"What in hell are you TALKING about?" her temper was long gone, and rage was quick on the horizon. She had had just about enough of this guy always crabbing at her, calling her 'woman', always ordering her around like she was some kind of Vegetan palace servant.
"C'mon!" he motioned for her to come at him. "Go on, I'm wide open. Take your best shot!"
'Sounds fine to me,' she thought to herself, drawing her arm back and throwing all her weight into the blow, which hit him squarely in the chest.
But he didn't move. Didn't even gasp, didn't miss a beat.
"Hah!" he belted out. "You call that a punch? My great-granny is tougher than you!"
Another punch, which she let loose with an all-mighty yell.
"Oh, I'm so scared."
Another. She was really, really, REALLY angry now.
"Wimp of a human!"
A burst of flame rushed over her face, her whole body. Her hands were shaking with rage. If she didn't do something soon, she was going to explode. With a great whoop, she raised an open hand and let it fall full force in his face. She could feel the hard contact of bone on bone. Almost in slow motion, she saw his face contort in pain and surprise, watched him stumble backwards into the wall.
Bulma stared, still in shock at what she'd done. After a second, Vegeta opened one eye and chuckled.
"He'd've never done it twice if you'd hit him like that."
A thought suddenly dawned on her. This whole argument, this entire thing, was trying to show her how to stop moping and crying and get . . . get . . . well, pissed. And all the time, when she'd been fighting and arguing and carrying on this whole row with this arrogant prince, she'd really been fighting with Yamcha. For the first time in days, she'd gotten to say everything she'd really wanted to say when he'd caught him at it but was just too shocked, and later, too broken up to tell him.
And it had also showed her something she hadn't seen in a very long while: her strength.
Bulma turned back to the pile of stuff she'd a few minutes ago crowded around herself like a shrine.
"You know," she smiled unexpectedly, "I think there's a box in the attic that this stuff would look absolutely perfect in. Care to help?"
Vegeta gave a little grin of agreement and helped her bundle it into a neat pile and carry it all upstairs.
Ten minutes later, the said possessions locked tight up in the chest, padlock and all, Vegeta made yet another unexpected move.
"Don't bother about the dinner," he picked up the phone. "I'll buy us some pizza, why don't I?"
It was still raining out, so they found a good movie on T.V. and spent the rest of the night munching pizza in Bulma's room, talking about any random thing that came to their mind. Nothing really deep, but it was a fair enough conversation. Her parents were away for the weekend, so they had a chance to stay up and talk in peace. Though he did continue to refer to her as 'woman', he seemed to get a little bit out of his shell. However, it seemed as though he avoided the topic of home. It wasn't as though she couldn't understand that. When your entire planet is destroyed by a madman and you don't even find out about it 'til almost twenty years later while of which the whole time you've idolized him, you probably don't really want it mentioned.
Around about midnight, Bulma started getting drowsy. The movie had just ended. One of those stupid endings that just left for a sequel. They were about twenty minutes into the second one when she found herself very tired. She found, to her surprise, when she reclined on the bed, that Vegeta was also there, fast asleep. For a moment, she thought of waking him. But then she started watching him, started listening to his calm, easy breathing, saw the utter carelessness in his wild mane of hair. She couldn't wake him up now; he was far too beautiful sleeping like that. With a movement that was very natural, she snuggled in next to his chest, the warmth comfortable against her.
She was so sleepy . . . yawning, she nuzzled against him and slowly let the warm, quiet abyss slowly overtake her.