(Hey, again! Many people say that Yamcha cheated and everything, but I decided just to give the reason of needing a more open relationship. I also noticed how most stories about these two it's only Vegeta who actually needs something to help him and gives him a reason to go to Bulma. Well, I decided Bulma needed someone who would treat her like she was the only one they saw.

This story isn't meant to bash Yamcha at all! He's a really good guy!

Hope you guys are enjoying so far! 3)

Chapter Two: Schemes

-
Dark Side- Kelly Clarkson

Everybody's got a dark side
Do you love me?
Can you love mine?
Nobody's a picture perfect
But we're worth it
You know that we're worth it
Will you love me?
Even with my dark side?

Like a diamond
From black dust
It's hard to know
It can become
If you give up
So don't give up on me
Please remind me who I really am...

-
(BULMA'S P.O.V.)

I sneezed into a tissue, crumpling it up and tossing it into the disposal bin next to my bed. I groaned. I hated being sick. My bad immune system was deciding to kick my ass again. I coughed.

This was all Vegeta's fault. He was the one outside. He was the one he made me get concerned for him. He was only wearing a muscle shirt and shorts! I mean, who does that? It was SNOWING!

I turned in my covers, a curl of my blue hair covering one eye. I sneezed into a tissue again, throwing it away. I sighed. I sat up, sipping on the hot cocoa Mom had made me.

Vegeta. The crazy bastard that decided he ran the place. The elusive king of the castle. The ghost that kept coming back. God, I hated him. All he did was complain and avoid everyone. He never spoke unless it was an insult or he was spoken to. He never smiled. He never complimented or gave approval. It was like he never said a nice word in his life. He had an outrageous temper like an atom bomb set to go off in ten seconds.

A jackass. A jackass was what he was.

My phone went off.

I picked it up and saw it was a text from Yamcha. It read: "im coming over".

I sighed. He was probably hurt.

But I was hurt too, wasn't I?

I blinked. I pushed the thought from my mind. Yamcha was a wonderful boyfriend-

Ex-boyfriend. Well...no. He was still my boyfriend.

I sighed. He was probably not taking it well.

I'm not taking it well either.

A groan came from my mouth. My thoughts were going by too fast in my head. I rolled over onto my stomach, shoving a pillow on top of my head.

Why was he coming over?

I'm sick.

He should be over at someone else's place. Then again...I was his girlfriend.

So is that other girl.

He loves me. More than that girl. Then again...she actually had a tan. No wonder he liked her better. But I'm a lot more prettier...all she had was a pretty face. What about my personality?

Must you always screech about what you're told?

Why was Vegeta in my head?

Because he's right.

No, he's not. I can be reasonable...

I'm always complaining. All I do is yell at him. No wonder he thinks that.

I was done with my thoughts. I got out of bed, untying the blue bandana I had, but then froze. Yamcha hasn't seen my hair yet. I retied it before heading out of the bedroom, going to the kitchen to get something to drink. I pulled out the orange juice and a cup. I looked to my left and saw Vegeta right next to me.

He had a knuckle to his temple, his face in concentration. He didn't even seem to know I was here. I blinked. How I didn't see him when I walked in, I didn't know. I was probably too focused on quenching my thirst to notice my surroundings.

He suddenly opened his eyes. He looked at me calmly as if nothing was wrong with him. "What are you doing?" he growled.

"I'm getting orange juice..." I say slowly. "What were you doing?"

"Nothing. It is none of your concern." With that, he left. I watched him go, taken aback by his words. I rolled my eyes. A frown pulled my lips as I poured the orange juice, placing it back in the fridge. I brought it to my lips, downing the whole glass in only a few mouthfuls. I rinsed the glass and placed it in the sink.

I wonder what he was thinking about. It was hard to read him most of the time. He was just so solitary. A cold killer would be egotistical, and that's just what he was. A jerk. An asshole. A bastard. A moron. A prick. You name it, he's most likely it. But he definitely wasn't a saint, even if my mom wanted and made him seem to be.

What was it Goku had said? He had cried on Namek? He also told me that Vegeta had forced to work for Frieza...something about how he would've been different if not for that emperor.

Part of me thinks that's bullshit.

Your fate is written out when you're born. If you're meant to be a saint, then you will be. Life will drive you down that path. If you're destined to be a dictator, the same goes.

If you somehow alter it, someone else will replace you.
It's a theory repeated many times. Many people say that all the people Adolf Hitler killed would've been spared if he hadn't been born or he simply liked the certain groups of people instead of disliked all of them. But, as the theory states, it wouldn't be so. Someone else would just replace him.

The universe has to keep balance. Or so I've heard it said in books.

If Vegeta hadn't gone under Frieza, someone else would've. Someone else would've been his soldier. Not a huge difference, other than the possibility of the lack of royalty. Vegeta would've never come to Earth, most likely without his bodyguard or whatever.

But someone would have.

I pushed my hair to the side, glancing to the front room when I heard a knock at the door. I coughed into the crook of my arm, opening the door. "Oh, Yamcha," I say. He was dressed in a clean long-sleeved blue shirt and dark pants. He looked tense, and then I remembered my yelling at him that morning.

He smiled, then it fell slightly when he saw that I looked sick. "Oh, wow...your mom was right. You do look terrible. You should be in bed." He didn't look as tense. His focus was now on my health.

"I was thirsty," I respond, letting him in. "I was just about to go back to bed." That, of course, was a lie.

"Oh. I'll help you into bed," he offered. I shook my head. He paused. "Wait, I didn't mean it that way-"

"No, but thank you, Yamcha." I gave a soft smile. "I'm okay." I coughed.

"At least let me get you some tea."

My smile widened. "There's no stopping you. Alright," I say with a playful sigh. I saw Yamcha blink.

"Oh, I just realized you changed your hair." He examined it for a few moments. "It's cute."

"Thank you," I say. "I made it myself." I gave a proud glance to him as I went inside, coughing on the way.

"How'd you end up sick?" He closed the door behind him.

"I went outside. You know, snow and all."

"Oh. Well, your dad should be inside, too."

"Is he outside?" I asked, turning to him.

He nodded. "Yeah. Working on the Gravity Room, it seems."

I gave a nod after hesitating slightly. I resumed walking forward. I went into the kitchen again after walking through the maze of a house. Yamcha looked back as if he were wondering what way we went, even though he's been here millions of times.

"Do you want tea now?" he asked gently. I nodded. He went to work making the tea, getting out a tea kettle from the cabinet under the sink, adding water and heating the stove. "Bulma?"

"Hm?"

"You were zoned out," he said with a chuckle. "I...said sorry about yesterday - I mean, uh..."

"Friday."

He nodded. "Yeah...the date. When I flirted with another girl." He gave a nervous glance at me. "I really am sorry. Please don't tell me you hate me."

"If I hated you, I would've kicked you out of the house as soon as I saw you," I pointed out, sitting down at the small table. I rested my head on my palm, watching him intently.

He turned with a sigh, leaning on the oven. He looked down at his shoes. "...I don't want you to think I'm a cheater. I really don't."

"I don't think you're a cheater." I coughed.

"...Do you think I'm unfaithful?"

"I think you want another girl." His head snapped up, his eyes showing his bewilderment.

"No, I don't! Bulma, I don't want another girl. I'm not looking to cheat with you-"

"That's not what I meant," I respond calmly.

He opened his mouth and closed it. He ran a hand through his hair. "...I'm sorry. What did you mean?"

I didn't respond immediately. I sat up, laying my arms over each other on the table. I looked at my nails, the light blue color looking back at me. I swallowed. I didn't know if I would offend him or not. I closed my eyes and took a breath. I looked back at him. "Are you looking for a more...elastic relationship? You know...where we can both see other people...but just not...exclusively?"

He blinked. "I...uh..." He had a thoughtful face, looking back down to the floor. He moved to cross his arms over his chest. He looked guilty and embarrassed, but he didn't immediately refuse what I had asked. "No," he said finally. He looked back up.

I looked at his eyes for a few more seconds before turning them to my nails. Light blue. The same color as my eyes and hair. Cerulean.

Sometimes I hated the color of my hair. It was too odd. Not many people had it, but I couldn't say I was the only one who had it. I couldn't tell if I was the only one with it being natural, however.

Thinking about hair was a lot easier than thinking about Yamcha. He didn't seem to mind I wasn't responding. I must've had a thoughtful look on my face. I chewed my lip, then let it go. I sighed.

Yamcha picked the kettle up off the oven, moving it to the counter. I watched him idly, my nails making small invisible circles on the table. It made no sound. Nothing in the kitchen did. It was starting to cause tension. Then I coughed. The tension grew.

My heart didn't beat with nervousness. It never quickened.

It felt like it stayed the same tempo.

Tempo. The speed of a beat. My heart felt like it had no tempo. It's erratic. Speed up, slow down. It could be a silly reason. Your favorite show turned on - speed up. It was interrupted by a commercial - slow down. I would never understand the heart.

I would never understand why it flutters when you're in love. When you're falling out of love, it slows down to where you don't feel it. Even when you vow to never love again, it goes and spites you. I hate it sometimes.

What if I marry and it flutters on first sight, but never flutters again? Maybe the wings were finally cut off. But I would want it to keep fluttering. Every time I see that person, I would want a soft little flitter in my chest. The flittering of my heart. But I never got it.

Maybe my heart never wanted me to be happy?

All it is is a muscle. What was I thinking? Yamcha was still waiting for my response. Yet here I was, thinking my heart had a mind of its own. And love...I already had love. Love was right there next to me. He was to my left...right?

My mind paused. It didn't continue even when Yamcha set a cup in front of me. I didn't know if he said something to me, as my mind was focused.

Yamcha.

The girl.

Did his heart flutter when he first saw me? Does it still flutter when he sees me? Maybe it doesn't. And his long hesitation. Maybe he was cheating. I had no clue. But I still loved him.

I might even be a fool.

Love makes everyone a fool.

No, love just blinds. Love lets the rest happen. Love lets you stumble into walls until you manage to fall into the wrong person's arms. Then it finally uncovers the blindness and there is your savior, looking at you with surprise as you just stupidly lie there in their arms.

Maybe I was like that?

Did I fall into his arms on my stupid quest to find the 'perfect boyfriend'?

And so what if I did? I wasn't even sure. Maybe he loved me just as much as I loved him.

What if I was wrong?

No, I needed to get facts. He loves me. That is a fact.

What if I was wrong?

He loves me. He shows me that everyday. In every sweet call he makes.

What if I was wrong?

He loves me.

What if I was wrong?

He only made small mistakes. He's only flirted, never real sex.

What if I was wrong?

He loves me. I love him.

He loved me.

No, that's not right. You can't just drop it.

He loved me.

I love him. He can't ignore that. Here he is, making me tea while I'm sitting here stupidly. Of course he loves me.

He loved me.

He puts up with me! He doesn't care when I yell. Even when he hears me yell, here he is taking care of me. Why do I make it seem like he doesn't love me?

He loved me.

Maybe I was wrong?

I closed my eyes. My thoughts always returned to those two statements. I opened my eyes again. Across from me Yamcha sat, looking at me expectantly. He hesitantly took my hand, running his thumb over the back.

My heart fluttered softly. I smiled softly. Then it fell. I picked up the cup and took a sip.

"I love you," he said tenderly.

"I know." For once, it sounded unsure.

"You okay?" It must have sounded like I had something in my throat instead of my being unsure.

I nodded. "Yes." I coughed. "Fine. I'm a little tired."

He nodded. "Okay. Do you want to go to bed?" I nodded. "Alright. I'll walk you up." I didn't object, taking my tea with me as he walked me up the stairs. He opened the door for me, leaving it open. I laid down, setting the cup on the end table next to me beside my phone.

The phone I yelled at him with.

He pulled the covers over me, gently kissing me on the forehead. "You definitely have a fever. Get some sleep. I'm going to head home. Call if you need anything." He gave a soft smile, his hand stroking my cheek in a sign of care.

I nod, a soft smile on my face. It was forced for once. My mind was too heavy for a real one.

I turned over, curling up under the covers. I heard him leave, closing the door behind me. I was still awake.

As much as I loved him, I had to make sure he loved me back. My mind wouldn't rest without proof, or at least some type of jealousy. And there was only one way to do it. There was only one...man to help me.

One way.

One man.

If this doesn't work, I'm definitely screwed. But I had no choice.

Two can play at the flirting game.

(VEGETA'S P.O.V.)

Cinnamon.

Red wine.

The harpy.

Each of these were weighing my mind. Cinnamon kept me thinking about my losses. I mean, I could have protected her. It didn't have to go down the road it did. He didn't have to do it. All she did was miss fifteen people. That's it.

Red wine. Red wine was the worst. I wasn't used to my freedom just yet. The thought left a sour taste in my mouth. I was finally out of his grasp. But he didn't leave completely. There was the occasional, vague dream about him. Merely moments after, I've already forgotten most. But each one would leave the sting of a burn on me somewhere.

Lastly, the harpy. Her. She was the most annoying woman I'd ever met. She didn't get that she needs to lower her voice. All she did was scream.

And complain.

And bicker.

And whine.

I was just about up to the bar with it. It was getting insanely tiring. So much so that I almost wished for the red wine to come back and leave with him willingly, if he were alive, that is. I sighed. Laying in bed and thinking about it wasn't helping me catch up to Kakarot.

The androids weren't concerning me. Trunks wasn't
that strong. Not as strong as me, anyway. Maybe he was just too weak to defeat them himself. Even if I had died in that timeline, no one said that I couldn't just make myself stronger when it comes to it. This will be easy.

I got up out of bed, opening the door and leaving to go train.

Heading to the kitchen, my mind thought back to every moment in my life, starting with the death of my mother. I wasn't sure why. But the memory was fuzzy and vague. I didn't remember exact words or anything. I only remember the most important parts. I couldn't remember why she was killed, other than something about fifteen. Fifteen survivors was my best guess.

I pressed a knuckle to my temple, pressing lightly. A headache had come up. Father. Something with Father had made me go under Frieza. Wait. The mission-

I'm not under him anymore.

The notion of a mission was so normal for me, I had forgotten that I didn't need to exterminate the species. My knuckle pressed harder, my teeth grinding against each other. A headache was starting.

Orange juice.

I opened my eyes, looking to my right. Bulma. She had a quizzical look on her face. She had the container of orange juice.

I said something. We exchanged words. My mind was still on my freedom. My speech was on autopilot.

I was walking away. The headache was still there. The conversation lasted five seconds - that was what it felt like.

I went upstairs. I hesitated.

Training.

Training was what I was down there for.

I went back down, avoiding the attention of the harpy. I paused at the bottom. Why was my mind on overdrive? I needed to calm down. Just train. I let out a breath, relaxing my muscles and with them my nerves. I continued walking, new resolve in my consciousness.

Yamcha's voice broke my concentration.

He must have entered the house.

My headache intensified.

Just think about the GR.

As if on cue, the harpy's father came in with a smile on his face. He saw me and picked up his pace.

"Vegeta!" He was speaking over a cigarette. His cat was laying on his shoulder, dusted in snow just like its owner. "I just fixed the GR - you already have the robots installed."

I smirked. "That's all I needed to hear." I walked past him, heading outside and into the GR.

I didn't much like the GR outside. There were too many setbacks. One being weather. Sometimes - specifically when storming - the power cut out and the emergency power had to be used. It made everything insanely sluggish.

I had to take it up with the sane one later.

I changed into my armor, tightening the gloves on my hands.

"Finally. A distraction."

I smirked. A distraction was just what I needed. Those lunatics were starting to wear tough against my sanity.

A distraction.

That would change everything here to my favor.