Chapter 2: Karma
Bulma slapped her alarm clock, silencing the annoying buzzer. Next to her, Yamcha stirred. "B, it's not even seven o'clock," he managed to say through a massive yawn.
"Time to feed the zoo animal," she replied. She had already resigned herself to her new early morning routine. "I'm making omelets," she added in a sing-song voice, hoping to tempt her boyfriend into joining her.
"Fine," he muttered sleepily, reluctantly sliding from underneath the covers.
Bulma headed downstairs to start breakfast while Yamcha showered. That left her to face the hungry Saiyan alone. His jet black eyes followed her as she entered the kitchen and poured her morning coffee. She tried to shrug off his unsettling glare, finding it easier than she had yesterday.
"Morning Vegeta," she heard herself say.
He grunted, by way of response.
"What would you like in your omelet?" she asked.
He assumed it was food, for no other explanation made sense."Everything," came his one-word answer. He had no idea what that entailed, but as always, he was ravenous.
Bulma felt the corners of her mouth twitch upward. That had been a silly question. Despite his trim figure, Vegeta could, without doubt, win an eating contest and still be hungry. She had yet to discover a food he wouldn't eat. The blue-haired woman pulled two dozen eggs from the fridge. With a few flicks of the wrist, she deftly whipped them with some cream. Soon, two small pans and one large griddle were bubbling with the egg base. Bulma added a medley of vegetables and meats to each. Examining the contents of her refrigerator door, she found a few food items she had been looking to get rid of. She dumped a whole can of black olives, some broccoli stalks, diced kimchi, six jalapenos (seeds and all), and a scoop of week-old fried rice to the Saiyan prince's breakfast.
A scrape let Bulma know that Yamcha had finally made it to the kitchen. Though the human and his killer exchanged cold glares, both seemed to accept the temporary truce that the meal demanded. They ate in relative silence, that is until Yamcha got an onion. He hated onions nearly as much as he hated the man sharing the table with him, and a little theatrically perhaps, gagged on the one in his last bite. Bulma rolled her eyes. She managed to leave most of the onion out of his portion, but he insisted on drawing attention to what was obviously a mistake. Her annoyance was replaced with concern when the gagging became choking. She felt her body move on its own. A few swift thrusts of the Heimlich maneuver and the offending vegetable was coughed up.
"What a fearsome warrior you are," Vegeta scoffed, voice dripping with disdain and sarcasm. "Breakfast is truly a challenge."
"Shut up, you glutton," Yamcha spat back.
"At least I'm capable of eating," the saiyan quipped.
"I'll make you eat those words," the former bandit shouted as he stood, brandishing a fork.
Bulma pinched the bridge of her nose. She supposed he felt witty, but that was undoubtedly the worst retort she had ever heard. "Yamcha," she sighed. "Please leave my cutlery out of this." He ignored her.
"A real man doesn't need weapons to fight," the prince scoffed.
"I'll show you who's a real man."
"You?" Vegeta snorted indignantly. "Certainly not."
"Do you want to take this outside, shortie?"
Bulma cradled her head in her hands out of sheer frustration. Now both of them were trying to provoke the other to violence. Yamcha knew better than to mock Vegeta's height, and Vegeta knew better than to attack Yamcha's pride. They simply wanted to fight. So of course, Vegeta rose to his opponent's challenge.
"Please. You wouldn't last one minute against a warrior... of... my..." His sentence tapered off as he noticed his enemy being dragged away. Bulma had Yamcha by the collar and was pulling him out of the room, though he protested.
"Ha! Bested by a woman as well! You are truly pathetic," Vegeta called after his retreating foe.
Bulma sat Yamcha on the bed, where he pouted like a child being put in time-out.
"Stop provoking Vegeta, you moron," she reprimanded, adding further wounds to his injured pride.
"But Bulma!" he protested. "He started it!" If he thought that excused his actions in her eyes, he was wrong.
"You are capable of acting in a mature fashion. He is not. If his goading fails, he'll leave you alone. Maybe then, he'll just go away."
Yamcha punched a pillow in frustration. As if the Saiyan would 'just go away'. They both knew it was a ridiculous hope. "You're going to let him get away with running his mouth." He said it as a statement of fact, not a question.
"Will attempting to beat him up achieve anything?"
Yamcha knew it probably wouldn't, but the short little bastard deserved it anyway. On the other hand, he knew that Bulma was as stubborn as a mule. "Fine, Bulma. You win," he conceded. "I'll lay off."
She seemed appeased. "I'll go serve seconds... and probably thirds. Stay here and cool off."
In the next room, Vegeta regretted his keen hearing. One of the major disadvantages of being an alien on this human world was that he kept hearing things that weren't meant for him. Perhaps because the other saiyan on this planet was so dense, the foolish humans forgot about his abilities. Not 'capable of acting in a mature fashion'. He frowned. Of course he was. He simply didn't like the weakling. Vegeta supposed he could be a bit kinder to the scarred one, but where was the fun in that?
Yamcha shook out his arms, his stretching finished. He didn't have a game or practice today, but he planned on doing some weight training instead. He opened the door to his weight room. Bulma had it built when he first made the Taitans baseball team, and it had been well used ever since. He started on the shoulder press machine and completed an entire set of repetitions at the heaviest weight he could manage. As he started his second set of reps, however, there was a knock on the door.
Bulma stuck her head in. "I'll be outside building the gravity room. Vegeta is going to train in here today, okay?" She left without waiting for an answer. Clearly she was giving him a warning, not asking his permission.
Yamcha was about to protest, but the door opened the rest of the way to reveal the saiyan prince. He entered the room soundlessly, not even glancing at Yamcha. The scarred human tried to focus again. He stared at the wall straight in front of him, and continued with his shoulder presses. After a moment of consideration, Vegeta elected to start with leg presses. After a minute or so, Yamcha's focus started to fade. He glanced over at the Saiyan. I can take just as much as he can, Yamcha thought. He decided that he would stop when Vegeta did. What he neglected to notice, however, was the smirk on the competitive alien's face. Vegeta increased his pace. Yamcha followed suit, though his deltoids screamed in protest. A normal set for him would be around twenty repetitions. He lost count somewhere around sixty. At last his arms could take no more. Yamcha rose and moved to the other side of the room. He decided to give his arms a break and work on his legs. Vegeta meanwhile, had barely broken a sweat. He counted his reps softly but audibly. Yamcha gritted his teeth. The murderer was mocking him! He began doing leg extensions at a furious pace.
Chuckling softly to himself, Vegeta moved to the now vacant shoulder press machine. Wonder how long it will take to make the weakling cry, he thought. He began to count his reps out loud again.
Yamcha scowled. He closed his eyes and attempted to refocus, adopting a stoic expression as he started a second set of leg extensions. Vegeta wasn't through mocking his enemy. He added another ten pounds to shoulder press machine and resumed his workout. Yamcha couldn't let that slide. He added another ten to his machine too. The human blinked sweat out of his eyes as finished another thirty reps. He smirked, pushing himself to do another ten. He was so sure the Saiyan would be struggling just as much as he was. A glance proved him wrong; his rival was unfazed. Yamcha swore internally. This guy is a monster, he thought. He could do ten more reps. It was a struggle to finish the last one, though he did. He stretched his quads and took a quick breather, then it was right back to the machine.
Vegeta snorted. The poor thing needed a break. He added another ten pounds to the machine and kept going. Yamcha finished a third set of reps and lay down for bench presses. Vegeta took the opportunity to move to the leg extension machine and further humiliate the his new housemate. Before even sitting down, he added twenty pounds to the machine. Yamcha snorted. He didn't think the alien could handle the added weight, but as usual, he was wrong. Not only could Vegeta handle it, he could handle it while doing faster reps than his human competitor. Squats, dead lifts, chest flies, pulldowns. No matter the exercise, and no matter how hard Yamcha pushed himself, he could not beat Vegeta.
Yamcha held the bench press record for his baseball team. He could beat Krillin. He could even beat Master Roshi. It was his event, and he was looking forward to beating the smug saiyan. He set 215 pounds on the bar, lifting it easily. Vegeta stifled a laugh as he continued his exercise. "I'd like to see you do better," Yamcha muttered under his breath.
"You're on," the arrogant prince replied. The scar-faced bandit was giddy, though a little surprised the other man even heard him. Vegeta pushed him out of the way, laid down, and lifted the same weight one-handed. Yamcha added another seventy-five pounds. "Try that," he scoffed. It was no challenge for alien. The human and the Saiyan switched places. Yamcha lifted it easily as well. Vegeta added another fifty pounds. Yamcha shrugged and lifted it again. It was a bigger challenge, but he still succeeded. Vegeta did as well. They added another fifty pounds. Vegeta seemed unfazed by the added weight. Yamcha took his time, sweat beading his brow. He was able to lift it, but just barely. Vegeta saw that the human was at his limit. He added another hundred pounds, and lifted it. Yamcha turned a funny shade of purple, yet his pride compelled him to lift it. He managed to get the weight off the support bars, but that was where his success stopped. Slowly but surely, the weight sank toward the vulnerable fighter's neck. His entire upper body cried out in pain, and the barbell collapsed on his throat. His esophagus was blocked; he couldn't breathe. Yamcha tried in vain to lift the full 500 pounds of the weight off his neck. No dice. He was trapped. Vegeta gave a condescending laugh and easily lifted the weight off the trapped human's neck, giving it a little twirl just to rub it in.
Yamcha was by no means out of shape. Heck, he was a professional athlete. The difference between their two species was just too great. He knew his body, and he knew when he had pushed himself too far. He had a game tomorrow night and couldn't risk injuring himself, never mind strangling himself with a barbell. The baseball player stood, glaring daggers at Vegeta, and strode from the room. He would train later. Alone.
The young scientist headed down to her lab to escape the incessant bickering. She had managed to find her plans for the gravity device that she installed on Goku's former ship. It wouldn't take much work to isolate them from the ship's systems, right? Wrong! Three hours later, Bulma realized all of her work to that point was useless because she had been forgetting about the heat that her device generated. She needed some kind of cooling system...
By the time the sky grew dark, Bulma found herself staring at her calculations and making no progress. It was a clear sign that it was time to stop for the night. She laid down on the couch, a little hungry but too tired to scrounge up something in the kitchen. She planned to watch television for a few minutes then go to bed, but minutes turned to hours as she closed her eyes and sunk peacefully into sleep.
Yamcha woke her up well after midnight by placing a take-out carton on her chest. Her stomach roared to life. She hadn't realized how hungry she was. "Chinese," Yamcha said. "I got some take out on my way home from the game, but you look like you could use it more than me."
"Thanks," she replied, smiling. Yamcha kissed her softly on the cheek, then stole the remote. He flipped through the sports channels, trying to see the results of the other teams in his league. He was so excited about each great catch and throw, the skillfully placed hits, the powerful home runs. Bulma loved how passionate he was about it. It was one of the many things she liked about him. Unfortunately these days, those things were easy to forget. She remembered back to the last time she used the Dragon Balls.
The giant dragon, Porunga, was difficult to forget. She had asked him to bring her beloved boyfriend back to life. He had granted her wish, willing Yamcha back into existence right before her very eyes. She had expected him to run over and hug her, or kiss her, or at least thank her. Instead, he walked up to Vegeta and spat in his face.
The Prince of all Saiyans was not a big fan of humans, never mind human saliva. He wiped his face clean, bitterly, with the palm of his hand. The look of disgust on his face said it all; Yamcha was in trouble.
Bulma had intervened. "Vegeta, you may be the strongest warrior present, but you are incredibly outnumbered."
The saiyan let out a visceral growl, but saw the logic in the woman's statement. He did not punch the scarred one, though he dearly wanted to.
Bulma then turned to Yamcha. "Vegeta helped us gather the Dragon Balls. Without him, you wouldn't be alive."
"Without out him, I wouldn't have died," Yamcha snapped back.
It was true, of course.
That moment summed up their relationship in these past four months. Yamcha was incessantly training, both for baseball and in vain hope that he might land a punch against Vegeta. And like that day, their conversations had mostly been arguments.
Bulma missed the old days: their first journey to gather the Dragon Balls. Yamcha could barely look at her without blushing. Anything more than that and his nose produced an unstoppable river of blood. It was cute. Endearing, even. He saved her life more than once. He constantly admired her, and she admired him back. Though he didn't like his scars, she thought they made him look dashing. It was impossible to ignore his strength and his bravery. He was easily one of the most skilled warriors on the planet. Still...
Her train of thought was interrupted by a head-splitting yawn. She had one of the decorative couch pillows under her head. A blanket covered her, presumably Yamcha's work. Yamcha himself was gone, and the sun shone brightly on her face. Apparently she had slept all night on the couch, where she had no alarm clock. Panicking, she searched for her cell phone. Bulma found it wedged between the couch cushions. The display read 10:00 AM. Oh no! She was late for work.
She pulled her hair into a sloppy ponytail as she hastily dressed in a business suit. To her pleasant surprise, she broke her speed make-up application record, finishing the job in two minutes flat. Bulma hopped down her driveway, still putting her high heels on, and ran next door to her parents' home.
Her father sat on his doorstep, petting his ever faithful black cat, Scratch. "Bulma, honey! There you are," the good doctor sighed in relief. "Your mother and I were wondering if you'd flown off into space again."
Bulma gave her father a big hug. "Sorry, Daddy. I slept through my alarm. Weren't we supposed to be at an investors' meeting an hour ago?"
"Yes, we were," he explained. "I talked them into postponing it until this afternoon. The investors were eager to do some sightseeing anyway."
The blue-haired scientist let out a sigh of relief. Investors' meetings were terrifying enough when the investors were in a good mood, never mind when they had been waiting for nearly an hour and a half.
"The meeting tonight will be at 6:00. Don't be late, dear," he laughed. Bulma was so punctual, that it was unimaginable that she would be late twice in one day. "I'll see you this evening, Dad!" she called, already running back toward her house.
She found a note on her kitchen table, and read it under her breath:
Dear Bulma,
I was trying to tell you last night before you fell asleep, but I'll be playing a series of baseball games with my team over in East City and another in Parsley City, so I won't see you for a few days. You just looked so beautiful when you were sleeping that I couldn't bear to wake you up when I left. I'll see you on Wednesday!
Love,
Yamcha
Vegeta sniggered and Bulma spun around so fast that she almost fell over. Please tell me he didn't hear that, she prayed. The young genius loved it when her boyfriend acted romantically, or as Vegeta called it, sappy. That didn't mean that she wanted anyone else to hear it, much less the prince of all jerks. Speaking of, another thought occurred to her. She was here - alone - with him for six days. Six days in service to that royal pain-in-the-ass, with no one to intervene on her behalf. Perhaps she should invite Goku over for a visit. No! That would only make things worse. She could go stay with Chi-chi, but then who knows what state her home would be in on her return. Surprise Yamcha on his trip? No. She was no stalker. Plus she really didn't want to know what he did on his 'business trips'. What then? The only remaining option was to ride it out, to suffer six days alone with the saiyan.
His sharp hearing had indeed heard every word. "Pathetic," he scoffed. "No wonder the weakling frustrates you."
"He does not!" she replied reflexively, and moved to exit the kitchen. Instead, she found a wall of muscle blocking the way.
"Get out of my way, Vegeta." She tried to push him. He didn't budge. "Come on. I have things to do!" she implored.
"So my gravity room is finished then?"
Bulma sighed. She was going to do a final check of her designs before her investors' meeting later. She assumed that her plans were about to change. "I have other things I need to do," she explained, making another attempt to get past the battle-seasoned prince.
"So do I, and I can't do them without a gravity room," he growled.
Her current designs would just have to do. "Alright, alright. I'll work on your darn gravity room."
That was all he needed to hear, apparently. He stormed out of the room, leaving Bulma in relative peace.
