Revelation to Vegeta

By: Vaniti

Disclaimer: Dragonball Z © Akira Toriyama


Two

Truffles


"Bulma, hi, sorry you've caught me off guard here. Is everything okay?" A bit flustered Chi-Chi made an effort to push rebellious ebony tendrils from her face.

"I'm fine. Fine. I just wanted to stop by to say hello, and uh," Bulma flicked her eyes uncomfortably to the left, "Apologize."

A few lines smoothly creased over the other woman's forehead. She hastily finished wiping her hands on the white apron wrapped around her frame.

"Apologize? Uh, where are my manners; come in. Something to drink? I'm sorry, the place is a complete mess. I was just marinating this chicken here…Not that you care, but what I mean is, just come on in."

Bulma chuckled. For one thing, the Son home looked essentially immaculate. But her laugh was more out of anxiety rather than Chi-Chi's evident uneasiness as well.

"Thanks, Chi-Chi. Sorry for dropping in unexpected. I know you're busy. But I didn't want to say this over the phone."

Chi-Chi fell silent not knowing how to properly respond. Sensing this, Bulma held up her hands. Her reasoning came in a jumbled rush.

"I wanted to apologize for the other night. When I called your home at such an inappropriate hour. I hope I didn't wake you or cause any trouble. I'm so sorry."

Releasing a breathy laugh the raven-haired woman swiped her right hand through the air.

"Bulma, is that all? You had me concerned for a second. I thought something was actually wrong."

Bulma blinked and allowed relief to spread through her pores.

"Well, I didn't want to let it hang. I want to be honest." She stalled for calming time, "I had been drinking after Yamcha and me officially called it quits. And needless to say, I don't remember calling, but I'm regretful that I did."

A peculiar expression molded Chi-Chi's features before she gesticulated towards the oak kitchen table.

"Sit down. I just brewed coffee minutes ago. I'll get the condiments and we'll talk."

Taken aback, Bulma did as she was told. As she slipped into the wooden seat she wondered what the other woman had to say to her. And if she was surprised before it increased when Chi-Chi reached to a cabinet and retrieved a bottle of Bailey's Irish Cream. With a thud she placed it on the table along with their respective coffee mugs.

"Help yourself. Now, first things first," Chi-Chi sought to make eye contact with Bulma, "I'm sure you have your opinions of me. I'm sure you all think me as Goku's nagging wife who doesn't know how to lighten up. I understand. But, here's what I want to say…that I'm not as frigid as you may think. I, well, I have to be tough or nothing would get done. Goku can run wild and that would be that. Which would be fine, except in the real adult world, we have responsibilities. Anyway, with that being said, I understand and your apology wasn't necessary. If…you need someone to talk to…Don't count me out. I'm glad to listen if you ever need someone."

If Bulma was dumfounded by this confession she almost figuratively fainted when, Chi-Chi, poured a healthy shot of Bailey's into her mug and took a satisfied gulp.

Realizing she had not responded, let alone moved, Chi-Chi raised her eyebrows in polite inquisition. This brought the turquoise-haired woman back with a start and she hastily wrapped her hands around her own mug.

"That's really, really good to hear that. Thank you." Bulma hesitated contemplating her next words. "I guess it goes without saying that it's about Yamcha."

Chi-Chi leaned forward to indicate she was listening.

"We're done. I know what you're thinking…"
"What am I thinking?" Chi-Chi requested in amusement.

"'Again? Well, they'll resolve things eventually…' " Bulma trailed off with an arched eyebrow.

"Maybe not in that exact wording but you got the gist down."

"Mmhm. But honestly…I don't have the drive, the motivation to do this anymore. We're not exactly teenagers any longer; to keep playing at this is just, well, pathetic. And embarrassing. Besides, while three years seems far away, it really isn't. He needs to focus on training and I…Well, I have to keep fixing gravity chambers because they keep getting blown up."

Chi-Chi changed what she was going to say. "Speaking of…How…are things with, uh, Vegeta being there?"

Bulma had planned to continue with her Yamcha tirade but froze, bewildered to hear a very different name being addressed.

"Vegeta?"

The raven-haired woman took another swill of Bailey-laced coffee and nodded her head a bit uncertainly.

"What about his Highness? He's exactly as you'd expect; haughty, pigheaded, obsessed with training. All he really does. Besides getting on my last nerve."

"You mean…you talk to him?"

Bulma raised an eyebrow. "Unfortunately. But it's more like me putting him in his place when he gets too unbearable."

"Please tell me you don't get too aggressive with him? I don't want anything to happen to you."

Bulma almost laughed.

"I'm not too concerned about him. As long as I provide a roof over his big head, food in his fat stomach, and training equipment to blow up…He'll keep me around."


"Woman, what in the hell is that? And why is the gravity chamber not up and running yet?"

He had not technically phrased it as a question but Bulma found herself glancing up in exasperation nonetheless.

Her return home had been delayed by some hours. She had not expected to stay so long at the Son house. Clearly, things had not gone as expected (in the best kind of way) and she had remained in the inviting kitchen chatting it up with Chi-Chi. Now she was faced with the conceited Saiya-jin man, who, a good portion of their conversation had revolved around.

"I'm sorry, I didn't realize I had to answer to you over every small detail of my life."

"I could care less about the modicum details of your life, woman."

"Then your point?"

"Your habits disgust me —"

"Then don't ask about them, genius."

Bulma tossed her head up superiorly and with a flip of her hand brushed her hair over her shoulder. It was that moment she realized her hands had not yet been cleaned from the grime and oil; parts of the glorious aftermath from fixing machines. Vegeta noticed it at the same instant as well and wiped the smirk as quickly as it came. With the sort of practice that came from a self-satisfied individual he lifted his head in appropriate disdain.

"Do not say a word. I can't tolerate your voice on top of everything else," Bulma threatened.

"Very well then; the feeling's mutual."

"Then you'd best be on your way." She initiated the universal "shoo" gesture.

He did not take the hint. At that point, they had engaged in an impromptu staring contest. Neither wanted to be the first to look away for that would indicate defeat. So she remained firmly planted where she was, in her oil covered jean shorts and v-neck shirt, and he in loose training pants. Seconds passed by in leisurely wait. And he did not disengage eye-contact, but he did move his ridiculously muscular arms to cover the planes of his chest.

"Where did you run to this morning?" He finally spoke.

She observed him warily. She had not expected him to say a single word, let alone slam her with a question. This man, or Saiya-jin, alien (whatever) he may be, was an individual she secretly walked on eggshells around. Not because she was afraid of him. Although in truth, when she thought about it, he could end her life so shockingly easily by a flick of his fingers. But she was tentative of him as to who he was and what he represented.

Bulma did not know what possessed her the day she invited him to stay at Capsule Corp. until the androids arrived. Her friends, the Z-warriors, had been downright speechless at her offer. But she had not been afraid of the Saiya-jin prince. She had stunned the group more so at the flippant way she addressed Vegeta. She had never felt frightened. As far as she was troubled, he was a man, was he not? Perhaps his obsession for becoming the greatest warrior, or to beat Goku, or even to become a Super Saiya-jin were his primary concerns. But she was still a striking, affluent woman who was allotting him permission to reside in her home. Not to mention any kind of training equipment available at his fingertips.

The ruthless Saiya-jin prince did not get under her skin in the least bit in the fear tactics; her sanity however, dealing with his attitude, was another story in and of itself.

"And you noticed me to be missing? I'm flattered you pay such close attention to my whereabouts." She skewered him with a direct stare.

His posture tensed and his spine went rigid as he straightened himself.

"You vain, stupid woman. I was asking for I need to know when the gravity room will be fixed and ready for use again."

"Hey, reality check. In life, tossing the devices of name-calling doesn't deliver blows like punches do in the battle field. And if there's anyone who's stupid, it's you. Next time, try not to get so slap-happy in there and have more respect for someone else's property. I should have it up and running in a few days, thanks to me saving a backup skeleton capsule."

Vegeta crossly opened his mouth but Bulma interjected. She thrust her index finger at a rectangular steel box, which was unhinged to display its internal splay of wiring; the same target Vegeta had previously criticized as he made his grand entrance.

"And this right here, what you so articulately inquired about, is a new control panel that I'll be installing in it. It's a sensor that detects abrupt changes in gravitational pulls before landing in a danger zone. Different gravitational energy will travel at the velocity of light, and when you train you tend to pull your own energy at periodic intervals. It creates an imbalance in comparison to the manipulated gravitational pull. While it may not be perfect – so far no technology has been able to accurately measure gravitational waves, after all – it will at least be able to record when there's an abnormality."

Bulma slanted her head when he did not say anything at first.

"And in the meantime?" Was all he said in reply.

"We still have training rooms in the basement with full equipment and weights. Now go knock yourself out; preferably, literally."

Bulma received immense, secret pleasure noting the left vein in temple beginning to throb.

Without another word or indication that he had heard her he rotated on his heel. And he made his grand exit, not even bothering to shut the door behind him. She smirked. Of course, what could he say? He had no knowledge about the topic and she naturally had been correct in every aspect. Without any trouble the ball had been on her side of the court. She also had another private triumph because realistically she could probably get the gravity machine, without the gravitational pull sensor, up and running today. But she felt like taking her time and completing other projects that she had piled up along the way.

Smugly, she decided it was just about time to treat herself to a little break. She had some gourmet Belgium truffles that had arrived this morning, courtesy of her mother's sweet tooth. This would be a perfect opportunity to try some before heading back to the lab to continue her work.

Stretching her arms taunt over her head, to soothe her knotted shoulder blades, she had just transcended into the kitchen when she halted mid-step.

Disbelief and agony washed over her so stridently she felt as though she had been elbowed in the gut. Sitting with severe posture at her kitchen table was Yamcha with her mother. And as if that had not been enough of a blow to her, the truffles were opened in-between them along with the ceramic pot of tea and other condiments.

"Mom. Yamcha. What are you doing here?" Her cerulean eyes blinked the angry burning that had barricaded up.

"Oh, Bulma, sweetie —Look who decided to drop by and see you! I was just about to go get you, but we didn't want to disturb your work."

"Bulma," Yamcha said remorsefully, immediately springing to his feet with his hands clasped in front of him.

His whole entire body language requested forgiveness.

She did not care. Her betrayed ire coursed through her so hotly that it overwhelmed any sadness remnants she had been experiencing. And normally, she would have allowed her temper to assume control and pitch quite the fit. Now, she did not want to even give him that kind of attention; he did not deserve that type of attention. So with shaking measured control she firmly rooted her feet into the ground and cast him an even stare.

"Leave."

The uncomfortable monster tiptoed around the room and her mother placed a surprised hand to her mouth. Yamcha blanched and swallowed thickly.

"Bulma, please, I came here to talk to you."

"I see that. But I don't want to talk to you. That leaves us at an impasse, does it not?"

"Please listen to me. You have every right to not want to talk to me, I'll grant you that. But could you gimme just one minute? One?" His coal stare uncomfortably flicked over to Mrs. Brief who did not quite know what to do with herself.

"One would be too much. I'm not going to repeat myself again."

"Bulma, I'll get down on my knees if I have to. At least let me talk to you for a second."

Her mouth moved into a thin line with the hints of a frown tugging at the corners. She looked into his eyes. Without the break of eye contact she pointed in the general direction of the kitchen door.

"One. Out there."

His scarred features molded to relax some. He nodded his head gratefully and did not waste any time to do as he was asked, surely not wanting to lose his opportunity. The silence was predominant and weighed as a constant reminder on their shoulders. He hastily reached for the knob and opened the door for her. She stepped out and spun on her heel to face him; all business.

Yamcha inhaled to gather his bearings. Absently using his fist to tap the front door shut, his eyes did not break away from the turquoise-haired woman.

"We've been fighting a lot recently."

Bulma felt like smacking him and screaming, "Well, duh, you think!" from the top of her lungs. Instead, she continued to fix him with her icy stare.

"And I'm not happy about that. Look, Bulma, I know I messed up. I did something really stupid, but somehow, I want to make it right. I mean, on top of everything else, it's not as though we can break off complete contact with each other, no matter how much you may like that right now. We have all mutual friends and are here for the same cause." He paused here allowing his words to hang in the air.

"Yamcha, I've heard this before."

Pain crept into his features and she interjected before he could spring a response on her.

"I've heard this all before. And you know what makes me angry? How stupid and trite we sound. Haven't we beaten this into the ground already? Hasn't it been enough? You're absolutely right; we will always have to see each other given our circumstances. But to be a couple?"

Bulma swallowed and did not dare to even take a peek at him. She did not want to change her mind by looking at his face.

"I think it's best if we just drew up a surrender flag on that."

Yamcha noticeably froze and a tremble flowed down his muscular body.

"I don't want to give up, though."

"That's kind of out of the question. This is a battle that's been lost. Indefinitely."

A warm gust of air rippled and Yamcha's ki flared. Without warning, gathering his center, he took off into the sky, leaving the dissipating whips of power behind him. All too soon he was gone as soon as he came. In her haze, it made Bulma wonder if he had been there at all.

When there had been no other change in environment, the fingers of reminiscence began to prod her. It was still a pleasantly lukewarm day. A careful breeze continued to tickle by and bend lush blades of grass. Capsule Corp. was still glinting in the sunlight, proud and imposing. And Bulma remained rooted in place and gingerly placed a hand over her mouth to muffle her sobs.

Her privacy was interrupted by an all-too familiar callous voice.

"I can't believe you'd even give that loser the time of day."

Indignation surged at being caught in such a private moment and by him nonetheless. Bulma hastily rubbed at her eyes and worked to fix him with what she hoped was a menacing stare.

"Don't you have anything else better to do than eavesdrop? This is personal, you Saiya-jin jackass! What are you even doing out here in the first place?"

Clearly, in sadistic form, enjoying her distress he propped his back against the side wall of Capsule Corporation, pleased.

"I sensed a chi and went to investigate. Unfortunately, it was that nobody." Vegeta paused thoughtfully. "Well, that nobody who you seem stupid enough to be caught up on."

"I'm not 'caught up' on anyone."

"That certainly didn't look like nothing."

"And, I owe you – of all people – no explanation for who's involved in my business!"

"Well, you are hosting me at your home."

"No kidding."

"So, I was making sure no one was messing with you." He abruptly turned to head back. "It would be inopportune if I didn't have somewhere to live until the androids arrive. I am, the only hope for their defeat, after all."

Bulma felt her temper surge and she childishly resisted the urge to stick her tongue out at him. Distasteful man!

She had never met anyone so bad-mannered or so in love with themselves.

'Except, perhaps, yourself.' A little voice whispered in her mind which she promptly dismissed.

Yeah, right.

She'd rather drink bleach, walk on hot coals, or even eat slugs before having anything in common with that boorish Vegeta.


A/N: Hello, we meet again after a bit of a break! My apologies, I'll feebly blame the overtime I've been working. So on to the story! Here we are with a bit of a backbone chapter more than anything. Not too much going on here besides the beginnings of, well, 'something'. ;] I had to cut this chapter in half because of length, so the next one will be posted relatively soon once edits are made and the last few pages written. I promise more action next chapter. I'm interested in hearing your thoughts thus far? Until next time, most sincerely yours —

~Vaniti