Bulma had dressed herself in her favorite nightgown, a silver-blue slip of the finest satin, and she joined Yamcha in her bed. She snuggled up to him, tracing an index finger across his bare chest. "Hey, handsome," she purred flirtatiously, hoping to instigate a romp under the covers.

Yamcha turned away from his girlfriend. "Not now, I'm exhausted."

"Yamcha," she exhaled sharply.

Oh no. She's going to give me the bitching of a lifetime now... Yamcha shuddered, bracing himself for what he had long ago decided was a horror worse than hell.

The tone of her voice was no longer husky; it was confrontational and assertive. "When was the last time we had sex, let alone slept in the same bed together?"

"Uh, I dunno," he meekly replied.

But he was aware of how long it had been—several months at the least. But he didn't want to face-up to his dwindling desire for her. He did generally care for Bulma, but things just weren't the same anymore.

"Any time I try to initiate something, you push me away," Bulma began to raise her voice. "I know I'm irresistible and gorgeous, so you can't blame my appearance for your inability to put-out!"

Yamcha's voice was barely above a whisper, "Bulma... You'll wake your parents-"

"Who cares if they hear me? I basically run this house! And I think I deserve some gratitude for all I've done for you. Whose roof are you sleeping under?"

"It's... not that I'm not grateful, I'm just-"

"Yeah, I know, 'not in the mood', right?" She shook her head and sighed. "Now I really am starting to believe that you're seeing other people."

Yamcha swallowed, trying to dislodge the lump he felt crawling up his throat. He was starting to prefer the company of other girls over Bulma. It was not something he actively pursued, but it was an impulsive habit that he just couldn't shake.

He'd decided to just ride it out and see what would happen. If that meant losing Bulma... well, he couldn't say he didn't see that coming. All they did now was fight and break up for a few days, then get back together. It was the same routine, and it wasn't fun anymore. He was certain she was just as tired of it as he was.

"Maybe we should take a break," Bulma said quietly, mostly to herself.

Yamcha's only response was to turn away from her and ignore her.

She tossed the blanket off and rose from her bed, throwing a robe over her shoulders and reaching for a pack of cigarettes in her drawer. "I'm gonna grab something to eat," she grumbled.

There was no response from the estranged boyfriend occupying her bed. With haste and a foul temperament Bulma marched out of her room.


It was pitch black in the compound, except for the dim light that was always left on in the kitchen in the event that someone would wander in for a midnight snack. It was nearly 11:30 as Bulma opened the refrigerator; the bright light from within made her wince. She stood there overlooking the contents of the fridge, unable to decide on anything. Her thoughts were elsewhere.

Another disappointing night with him... Her eyes wandered to a bottle of whiskey. She was tempted to take it, but she remembered she already had her cigarettes to help her contend with her dissatisfaction for the night. They'd help take her mind off things for a while—it always did.

With a disconcerted sigh she closed the fridge door, unable to find anything appealing to eat.

She opened a window and stood in front of it, lighting a cigarette and taking a long drag. Soon enough she felt relaxed and at ease. She allowed her thoughts to wander, while her free hand traveled to her collarbone, then her neck. Beneath her fingertips she felt her pulse begin to calm, and she was reminded of her mortality. This was such a vital part of the human body—just under the layers of flesh and muscle was the pounding of her heartbeat resonating through her jugular, which could so easily be punctured.

Would three years be enough to start over? Did she have enough time to move on before the androids brought terror and death? Not having answers was distressing to her.

"Woman!"

She shrieked and dropped her cigarette, its smoldering ashes falling to the ground. One hot ember landed on her foot, burning her delicate skin. She cursed at the pain searing through her flesh and stooped down to the floor.

Vegeta was brooding in a dark corner, arms folded across his broad chest. He almost laughed when he had startled the girl, but her irritatingly loud cry of pain infringed on his amusement.

Seething with anger, Bulma shot a piercing look at the Saiyan. "What do you want now? Can't you see what time it is? Certainly too late for your sustenance!"

"I only came in here to order you to put that revolting smoking device out, but it looks like you have already," he smirked, "And in such an amusing way."

"Why you-!" she wanted to throw some insults at him, but her foot sweltered with the distracting pain, and she could think of nothing clever to say.

Vegeta's smirk faded as he approached. It took him a few strides until he was standing just several feet from her.

He glowered down at her. "Being the unrefined and clumsy Earth-creature you are, I am not at all surprised that you have managed to burn yourself in the most idiotic, yet entertaining manner possible."

"Who are you calling clumsy? As I can recall, you're the one dancing around like a jester under 400G's, blowing up the gravity capsule and landing your lousy ass in the medical ward!"

Vegeta bared his teeth, stepping closer to her threateningly. "Do not speak derisively of my training, woman. You have no place to make a mockery of what you cannot even begin to comprehend."

"I will mock whomever I like, neanderthal," she glared back at him, her chest rising and falling under her quick, exasperated breaths. Neither broke eye contact for what seemed like hours, until Bulma, defeated from the pain in her foot, tended to her burn.

"This is your fault, you know," she shot at him.

"I wasn't the one smoking from that poisonous thing."

"Well, I wouldn't have dropped it if you hadn't startled me with your gruff cave-man voice!"

"And I would never have bothered coming in here if I didn't smell that abhorrent stench pouring from your mouth."

"Gee, thanks a lot," she muttered. She wasn't in the mood to fight at this moment with the pain shooting through her nerves.

Vegeta watched as she tended to her injury. He did not know why he was still standing there, observing the woman. He had only meant to yell at her about the smoke stench that his keen nose had picked up all the way from in his room. But his attention had been caught to her as he saw her standing by the window in deep thought, her moon pale hand caressing her neck. He had been completely distracted. How could such a harsh, shrewd woman exhibit such a gentle and delicate display? Those soft, ivory fingers gliding over her translucent skin… It was extremely distracting.

As he continued to watch her, he could see that her body was flushed with heat. And underneath the stench of the cigarette smoke he detected the faintest aroma, the odor of an Earthling woman at the height of estrus. Despite being of a different species, her pheromones elicited a response from him.

Carnal thoughts instinctively pervaded his mind. His hand twitched; an automatic reflex as he felt the sweat building up on his palms, his body suddenly driven with desire. Irritated, he tried to push his lecherous thoughts from his mind. The thought of giving in to primeval desires utterly sickened him, so much so that when the urges inevitably sprung up every once in a while (and they'd been more frequent since his stay at Capsule Corp) he was accustomed to suppressing them quickly.

Then he detected something else, a different smell coming from her skin. No, it was not the burned flesh of her foot, but-

It was the unmistakable stench of the scar-faced weakling. That's right—Vegeta suddenly remembered—she was bound to that weakling, they were 'in a relationship', as these Earthlings put it. A feeling of disgust made its way into the pit of Vegeta's stomach.

How was it that Goku had allowed that screeching banshee of a woman, Chi-Chi, to become his wife? The answer eluded Vegeta. The woman was an annoying thing at best. But then again, Goku had spent his entire life on Earth, he hadn't even known that he was in truth an extraterrestrial. He thought he was one of them, so it would only seem natural for him to choose an Earthling woman to be his companion.

"Don't you need to get some sleep, bud?" Bulma tapped Vegeta's shoulder with her lighter, breaking him out of his daze.

He frowned, and then glared at the female. His nose wrinkled with discomfort. She was in his face once again, and the smell of her pheromones engulfed and surrounded him entirely, overtaking his sense of smell. Swiftly his hand shot up to his face and he pinched his nostrils shut between his thumb and index finger.

Feeling insulted at his gesture, Bulma stepped even closer, "What? Do you think I smell bad or something?"

"Yes, absolutely," he muttered darkly. It was a lie; her scent was not bad at all... it was simply too alluring. The smell of such a fertile woman sent blood rushing through his veins, and he felt himself teetering over the edge of control. But the Earthling was uncharted territory that he would not allow himself to explore. Lowering himself to their level… Kakarot's level… he could not!

"Obviously you're not used to the smell of a woman," Bulma retorted. "Well, you'd better shove-off and go to your room, then." She turned and walked away from him, "Wouldn't want to push any part of your Saiyan body over the limit, including that pointy little nose, now would you?"

"Pointy?" he growled, his upper lip twitching just slightly in his annoyance. But she was gone.


Having retreated to his private quarters, Vegeta washed his face in the sink of his bathroom, and then looked up at the mirror above the faucet; he observed his features in his reflection, holding his jaw steady in his hand. How dare that wench mock me! he angrily thought as his fingers tightened around his chin. Then he glanced down and noticed that his other hand had involuntarily balled into a fist.

Grumbling, he forced himself to relax, and he scowled back at his reflection. Rarely did anyone comment on his appearance, especially when they were about to be blasted into another dimension.

However... the Earth woman was the first person in years, maybe decades, to point out that he was "kind of cute," as she had put it, likening him to something she thought of as endearing. As soon as he felt a shamed blush creep up on his cheeks at the memory, he struggled to push those thoughts from his mind; a battle he continually fought, it seemed.

He was always fighting something. A physical battle, a verbal spar with his enemies to warm up for said battle... or an internal war with his conflicting thoughts of the screaming harpy, and his ponderings of how she might look when disrobed.

Get out of my head, vermin! he cursed immediately as he realized he was fantasizing about her. That wench, always invading his mind with some sort of witchcraft, he concluded. How dare she make his body react in such a strange way, making him blush, and stirring a bizarre sensation in his gut and elsewhere, god forbid. She should not be occupying his thoughts!

Then he wondered if the woman ever spared a moment to think about him in such a way... It wouldn't surprise him, she was so foul and perverted.

Vegeta turned the bathroom light off, permanently, with a ki blast and headed for his bed.


The overcast weather accompanying late October in West City sent clouds that blocked the sun entirely. A cool breeze had picked up, and it seemed it was about to rain any minute.

Vegeta was on his 3,000th one-fingered push up under 475 times Earth's gravity. He wasn't counting, though. He was pushing himself to continue until his body could not take it anymore, until he would collapse. And this was intended to be just a warm-up for the day's training.

Outside, Yamcha was packing a few bags filled with his personal belongings into his car. He had some spare clothes, food, grooming materials to keep up his appearance for the ladies...

"Need some help?" Bulma walked across the lawn toward Yamcha, her blue curls bouncing with every footstep. She wore a gray long-sleeved shirt that hugged her form and was tucked into her jeans.

Yamcha hadn't expected her to come outside just this moment. He was caught off guard.

"What's in there?" Bulma eyed the duffel bag in his arms.

"Oh, this? Just some stuff to help me out with my training." Yamcha tossed the bag onto the back seat of his car.

Bulma groaned. "Oh I swear, you men are fighting junkies! I don't see why you have to go on some training journey. Dad could just make a capsule formatted with a gravity simulator for you."

"That's uh... okay, but I don't want one. Besides, I don't want to train the same way Vegeta does," Yamcha eyed the capsule on the other side of the lawn.

"I guess I don't blame you," Bulma laughed. "You know, the other night Vegeta approached me and he told me I smell bad. Can you believe it? The nerve of that thick-headed ape!"

"You don't smell bad," Yamcha chuckled. "Well, except whenever you smoke. I don't see how you could enjoy that."

"Oh? And what about you? Mister 'I-don't-drink-except-on-the-holidays'," she retorted.

Cue the awkward moment of silence.

Yamcha shifted his weight from one leg to the other. Bulma looked up at his suspiciously. "What's up? Got something to fess up to?" she cocked a blue eyebrow.

As a matter of fact, he did, but he felt now was not the appropriate time for it. He could see the anger escalating in Bulma's eyes, and experience had taught him well that it was best to back down and stay quiet when she was pissed.

Bulma sighed, relaxing her tense shoulders, and she slid her arms up and around Yamcha's neck. "You're hopeless, but I'm going to miss you."

"Yeah... I'm going to miss you too…" Yamcha muttered, his eyes scanning the horizon.

"What's wrong? Is something on your mind?" Bulma asked.

He could tell her how he felt—about his uncertainty concerning their botched relationship. But he chose to avoid the topic.

"Uh... I was just worried that maybe Vegeta will try to hit on you while I'm gone," Yamcha joked. "Y'know, 'cause he's afraid to try anything while I'm around. He knows I'd beat him up!" He scratched the back of his head and laughed.

"Don't be ridiculous!" Bulma fumed, "That prude is totally in love with himself. He probably doesn't even know what a naked woman looks like!"

"He'd probably kill any girl who tried hitting on him," he eyed her warily.

Bulma's face was marked with agitation.

"Just promise me you'll be careful around him," Yamcha gave her a half-hearted hug. "I forgave him for what he's done in the past, but that doesn't mean you should let your guard down around him. He's still unpredictable."

Bulma rolled her eyes. "Oh don't worry about him. That midget knows his place. He'll cower down like a scared puppy if he even tries to incite my wrath."

Yamcha wasn't sure if he should laugh as he envisioned Vegeta on all fours like a dog. The thought was more disturbing than anything else. "Thanks a lot for that mental image…"

They both laughed, and Yamcha walked over to the driver's side of the car and got in. Just in time, Puar floated over to them from the Capsule Corp mansion. "Bulma!" she chirped, "Your father is asking for you!"

Puar crash-landed in the back seat of Yamcha's car, right on top of his duffel bag, and its contents went flying everywhere in the back of the car.

Yamcha groaned, "Puar, don't get too excited already."

His voice was cut off when he caught Bulma's suddenly dark eyes scanning the back seat. She strode over to the car and snatched something out of the bag.

She held up what was unmistakably a box of condoms, her other hand placed sharply on her hip.

"And just what is this atrocious thing doing in your bag?" she struggled to level the rage building in her voice.

Yamcha didn't answer; his jaw was unhinged and immobile.

"Answer me!"

"Oh, um, I was just bringing these with me, since we won't be using them anymore…"

Though truthful, that answer only seemed to add salt to Bulma's wounds, so Yamcha quickly recanted with a joke in poor taste, "Or, y'know, in case Puar meets some young man she likes and wants to transfigure into a woman to-"

"Yamcha!" Puar squealed, horrified by her master's betrayal.

"Don't blame this on your cat!" Bulma screamed.

Yamcha turned the ignition on and floored it, speeding out of the driveway.

Bulma shrieked a series of profanities after him, but in vain; he'd made his escape.

Yamcha wiped sweat off his forehead as his car rounded a corner, finally a safe distance from the frightening woman. "Whew... That was a close one!" he almost laughed in his relief.

"Yamcha, you're terrible!" Puar nearly hissed.

"Look, just forget about it, Puar," Yamcha explained. "She and I just need some time apart."

Puar shook her head from side to side. She had a feeling this would not end well for her master.


"I am not surprised... I am NOT!" Bulma ground her teeth furiously, attempting to calm herself. "This was bound to happen. I should have known!"

She stormed back into the Capsule Corp building to see what her father could possibly want with her. Her patience was wearing thin, and she was hoping her father would not ask her to repair any bots or come up with some blueprints. She was far from being in a good enough mood to mull over some mechanical work and formulas.

"Hey, kiddo," Dr. Briefs looked up from his mug of coffee and waved to his approaching daughter. As he squinted through his glasses, he could see that she was stalking across the room like an angry lioness that had cornered her prey.

"Can it!" Bulma roared, "What do you need?"

He was taken aback at his daughter's abrasive attitude. "Er... well... I've been monitoring the gravity simulation in Capsule 3 for a while now, and the generator seems to be outputting quite a bit of power for-"

"And I should care, why?"

"Right. Well, you see, I saw the weather forecast for today. We seem to be expecting heavy showers with a good possibility of a thunderstorm-"

Just then, the sound of a clap of thunder was heard in the distance. Bulma's eyes widened with horror as the sudden realization hit her.

"You don't suppose Vegeta is aware of the danger of running the gravity simulator during a thunderstorm?" the doctor prompted.

She was already sprinting out the front door, in her head cursing, That idiot! I've warned him a million times!

She stepped outside and stopped in her tracks as her face was pelted with rain. The sky was appropriately ominous and foreboding.

Not wanting to get her delicate curls wet, she retreated back inside and grabbed an umbrella from the nearest closet, and she pawed through coats and jackets, searching for her raincoat.

Another clap of thunder sounded, and an explosive boom shook the house. The indoor lights dimmed and flickered for a few seconds, then everything went black as the sound of the house's main power generator shutting off was distinctly heard. The only light source now was from the faint blue-gray hue outside. Bulma felt as if her heart had stopped. She had fallen to the floor and only now shakily regained her composure, forcing herself to rise on wobbly knees.

"Oh my, oh my, oh my!" Bulma's mother came stumbling through the room nervously, her arms flailing as if she were wading in the pool.

Another reverberating boom rang through Bulma's ears. For a second the house was lit by the single bolt of lightning from outside. There was a horrible crackling sound. Something had been hit. Bulma's face was draped in terror.

She once again lunged for the door, forgetting the umbrella and raincoat entirely.