A/N: Thanks for the reviews- more is better!

Disclaimer: All things associated with Dragon Ball Z belong solely to Akira Toriyama.

Chapter 2: Stomach Aches

Bulma sat basking in the dappled sunlight beneath the large oak branches that stretched near the edge of the garden. Clad in tiny navy shorts and a pink, breezy long-sleeved blouse, she adjusted her position on the lounge chair as she turned the page of her new romance novel. Actually, she was having a difficult time paying attention. As fun as it was to indulge in sensual fantasies of over-endowed hero-figures, Bulma couldn't stop computing formulas and numbers in her head for the new GR upgrade. She sighed. Such was the fate of a genius.

The breeze wafted through the air, tousling her curly blue hair about her shoulders and towards a certain Saiyan striding her way. Upon seeing him, Bulma's eyes softened behind her large shades. Just for fun, she pretended to not notice his presence.

Slowing his pace gradually, Vegeta observed with dark, keen eyes the frail creature before him. Her ivory legs were cast out into the light, gleaming with their translucency and smoothness, while her shirt billowed open at the plunging neck, revealing parts of the matching pink pushup bra beneath. Vegeta's cheeks reddened slightly. The immodesty this female flaunted was a mystery to him, as well as her ability to make the scantiest outfit appear fashionable rather than uncouth. He had witnessed other females attempt a similar style poorly, looking like harlots instead of a queen.

Ignoring his own thoughts, he remarked snidely "Cover yourself before someone offers me a bargain for your hideous body. I'm sure I wouldn't refuse any price."

Setting the book down on her flat stomach, Bulma pulled the shades off her face into her hair and graced him with a condescending scowl. "Women pay good money to look like me, Vegeta," she said. "And I'm not a whore."

"That's not what your mate says," Vegeta replied with a feral grin.

"Yamcha respects women, unlike you. That's why he has me and you have a gravity room," she retorted, her hand gliding across her thigh for emphasis.

Vegeta's eye followed her sinful movements, feeling a pool of heat gather in his stomach. "Yes, the weakling does indeed respect women. Many women. Are you that unpleasing?"

Bulma narrowed her eyes at the handsome devil before her. "Yamcha's indiscretions are his flaws, not mine. I take my virginity seriously. Oh, and I'm quite sure you don't find me unappealing."

Snorting, Vegeta said, "Woman, you're about as appealing as an Arythian Snor'tac."

"Well then you obviously haven't seen me with my shirt off," Bulma purred seductively, batting her eyes at him.

Vegeta reared his head back in mortification, his cheeks burning, but before he could reply, Bulma stood up laughing, saying, "Oh I'm just kidding, Vegeta. Are you ready to garden?"

Barely gathering his bearings together, Vegeta growled, "Your demeanor is disgusting, female. How dare you address me in such a way?"

Still smiling broadly, Bulma leaned in towards him and gently placed her hands on one of his biceps. "Give me a break, Vegeta. You're just too fun to not mess with," she said as he shook her off. "Plus, you always start it. You can put your towel down on the chair, by the way."

Vegeta observed her for a moment, searching for her veracity; Bulma, however, ignored his hesitation and kneeled down in the grass next to the garden, pulling the basket of seeds and tools towards her. "Hey there, Princey. You can pick what to plant first!" she said happily as she looked up at him with a gleam in her eye.

Always, it seemed, Vegeta was taken aback by her abrupt changes in mood and demeanor. One moment she would be snarling and hissing, her hair standing up on end, and the next she would be touching him softly, whispering gentle susurrus in his ear, like when he had last destroyed the GR. Vegeta shuddered at the thought. She disgusted him constantly with her bizarre, irrational behavior, and yet… As he towered over her, he could see the valley of her breasts between the waving V of her blouse. And yet… always she awoke the beast if desire in his chest. Always he could feel the coil of heat burning in his loins and coursing through his veins.

Coughing slightly to clear his head, Vegeta threw his towel aside and knelt on one knee next to her. "What varieties do you have?" he asked gruffly.

Bulma flashed him a brilliant smile as she held up a handful of packets. "Well, we have lettuce, radishes, beans, peas, carrots, eggplants… pretty much anything you want." She stared into his black eyes for a moment, and it occurred to her that she'd never been this close to him before. Her throat suddenly felt very dry.

"The violet one," he rasped softly.

"What?"

He took the packet of eggplant from her hand gingerly. "The violet plant. You said all plants were either green or brown and boring," he muttered as embarrassment tinged his cheeks. "You should plant these near the flowers."

Her eyes widening in surprise, Bulma felt a bubble of happiness float up through her chest, and she had to use every ounce of restraint she had to refrain from pecking him on the cheek. "That's a great idea," she replied, trying to keep her voice even. "I'm really glad you came to help, Vegeta."

Vegeta refused to meet her eyes. "Of course you're grateful, Woman. What moron wouldn't want to be in the presence of the Prince of all Saiyans?" He could feel her happiness emanating from her. I need to ensure that this… female doesn't get too attached.

Smiling to herself, Bulma said, "Okay, here's what you do. You just dig a little hole with the tips of your fingers, like so… And then you drop three or so seeds in and cover it back up." Bulma looked back to him expectantly. "Ready?"

"I have to put my hands in the dirt?" he asked with a grimace. "You dig. I shall place the seeds."

"No way, Jose. I'm not doing it all. Since when were you afraid to get your hands dirty?"

Vegeta stared at her with an indecipherable look. "Since I stopped murdering children."

Bulma felt her throat restrict with a pain that she couldn't identify, and her gaze was caught in his pools of ebony. In horror, she felt wetness gather in her eyes. Jerking her head away from him towards the ground, she squeaked out, "Don't be a jerk, Vegeta. I'm still not letting you off the hook."

"Don't forget that, Woman. One day I will kill you as well," he said gutturally, ignoring her response.

Feeling his gaze boring into her, she brought her eyes back to his and snarled "Don't try to terrify me with your I'm-the-Lord-of-Death act. If you want to kill me so bad," she said softly, inclining her neck until her eyes were level with his, "Then here I am. Take me," she breathed against his lips.

Vegeta glanced at her cherry lips, his pulse soaring as his stomach whirled and his fists clenched. He couldn't possibly miss the double entendre her words presented. "Tempting," he murmured, lifting a finger to her chin, "But I want the pleasure of conquering your entire puny world before I conquer you."

Images of the two of them writhing beneath sheets, her fingers clawing at the muscles of his back and his hips grinding against hers, flashed before her eyes. She pulled back, her cheeks tingling, and said, "Well… until then, this garden isn't going to plant itself."

Vegeta smirked at her bothered state. Perhaps this 'gardening' will be entertaining after all.

***

Setting her steaming cup of tea on the counter, Bulma wrapped her snuggly cardigan tighter around her slim torso. She smiled absent-mindedly as she looked out the window at the gravity room. A dense cloud had settled down over the area, dampening the garden she and Vegeta had worked in earlier that morning. He was almost… sweet, she thought, stirring the pot on the stove. Vegeta, ever caustic and biting, had done nothing but follow her timid direction, seldom replying to her queries and comments with something other than a grunt. Grunts are good. Typically, that meant he was either too busy to care or else thinking deeply. Either way, she was happy.

She could still see him in her head as he bent over, his golden back gleaming in the sun and his muscles rippling at the smallest motion. With each plant he sowed, he carefully dug a hole to his own precise specifications, set three seeds in one-by-one, and carefully folded the soil back over. She had never seen him so intense, so gentle… It was simply endearing. He had concentrated so hard on the task, his slender nose wrinkled in thought. Though they had rarely talked, she had the sense that he was actually interested in her mild chatter, and she was beginning to feel that there was more to them than she thought. Recalling that tumultuous feeling in her stomach that she hadn't felt in years, Bulma wondered what it meant for her. Friends… Vegeta and I are actually friends.

"One little bitty step for Bulma, one giant leap for Saiyans," she said to herself.

"What are you talking about?" came a voice from behind her.

Nearly jumping out of her skin, Bulma whirled around. "Yamcha! Could you not be so creepy for once?"

Her boyfriend eyed her figure, noting her delicate sweater-and-dress combo underneath her frilly apron. So she was in a happy mood. "Since when am I creepy? Nothing compared to scary aliens, surely."

Bulma smiled as he tried to hug her before she stiff-armed him. "Careful. I think I got a bit of sauce on the apron. You may kiss my cheek," she said playfully.

He knew she was being funny, but nonetheless he felt something in his chest shift uncomfortably. Kissing her, he looked into the pot. "Whatcha got there? Kittens and mud?"

"Marinara sauce, and if you don't like it, then you don't have to come to dinner. I thought Vegeta might like to try a little Italian food. I don't think he's had it before…" she mused, looking off into the distance.

There it is again, he thought as his stomach lurched at the name of his murderer. "What does it matter?" he said crossly, folding his arms. "It's not like he's going to thank you or anything. Maybe he'll throw it on the floor like the monkey he is."

Blinking in surprise, Bulma rested her tiny hand on his arm. "Hey there, what's up with you?" she asked with a bit of bite to her voice. "Vegeta's been really good lately- and you know what? I think he said thank you the other day."

"Oh, so you'll throw him a freaking party if he says thank you, but you'll give me the silent treatment if I forget to send you flowers on your birthday."

Bulma narrowed her eyes. "Birthdays should never be forgotten, Yamcha. Do we need to talk about this?"

"Maybe we do," Yamcha humphed, looking away from her.

"Hey," she said forcefully, touching his face to turn him her way. "I hold you up to a different standard than Vegeta. I mean, things that would be horribly rude and mean for you to say are like compliments from him. You just have to see where he's coming from."

"I see where he's coming from," Yamcha muttered, his gaze dark, "Murdering babies and raping women."

Yamcha heard the smack before he felt it. Standing before him, her eyes wide in fear and guilt and her hand trembling before her, Bulma began to tear up, her bottom lip trembling. She could see the ire, shock, and betrayal flickering through his eyes. "I'm- I'm," she stammered, bringing her hands to cup her face, "I'm so sorry, Yamcha. I would never mean to hurt… I…" Hesitantly, she reached out to gently brush his cheeks. "You've just got to understand- he's my friend too."

Yamcha stood rigidly, staring down at the beautiful woman trembling before him. There was nothing he could ever deny her, nothing he wouldn't do to keep her… if she wanted to be kept. Cupping one of her hands with his against his face, he asked softly, "Aren't I your friend, Bulma?"

"Yes," she said as a huge wave of relief swept over her features. "Yes, always."

Opening his mouth to ask the one question plaguing his mind, he paused. Her face was too expectant, to innocent… His fear overwhelmed his mind, and he closed his mouth with a crumbling smile.

She knew the moment he gave in. "Oh thank you, Yamcha," she sighed, wrapping her arms around his neck and burying her face against his shoulder.

Stroking her shimmering hair with a hollow feeling in his chest, Yamcha glanced up as he heard a noise. There Vegeta stood like a trapped animal against the far wall, his anger and confusion rolling off of him in waves. How did I not sense him? Yamcha wondered wildly, but before he could gather himself the Saiyan disappeared into the confines of the house.

Bulma felt her boyfriend tense. Pulling away slightly, she looked into his eyes. "Are you… are we okay?" she asked hesitantly.

How much did he hear? "Of course we are, B," he murmured as he kissed her forehead. "I love you."

"You're the best, Yamcha," she said as she hugged him again.

Feeling the awful gnawing in his chest again, he wondered how long it had been since she said 'I love you' too. Add that to the list of questions…

Bulma pulled away with a playful smile. "Now you have to let me get back to cooking. I need to put the bread in the oven, and you know how I need to concentrate to cook well," she said as she moved back towards the stove.

Yamcha observed her for a moment as she began to gather her ingredients. There she was, her hair bouncing in its high ponytail, that tiny smile playing on her lips revealing her concentration, her delicate hands- used to welding metal and holding nuclear reactors- gently buttering the bread. She's too beautiful for him, he thought. "So when will dinner be ready?"

Bulma turned to him with a smile and a pinch of flour on her cheek. "Whenever Vegeta's done with training. In fact, would you go check on him? He's probably done already."

The pain in Yamcha's chest intensified and twisted.

A/N: Thanks for reading. How will dinner go? Hooray for awkward moments! Review please!