A/N: I am so, so very sorry this took so long to get out, guys. Thank you everyone who reviewed last chapter, especially those of you complaining about Yamcha being a waste of a storyline. Really, he's not; we see what we don't want to see, so once we finally get what we've been waiting for, it's that much better. So, on that note, enjoy the chapter.

Disclaimer: I don't own Dragon Ball/Z/GT.


Decay

Despite his unquenchable desire to continue leaving Capsule Corp, Nappa's warning haunted him, and Vegeta understood that he was confined to the compound if he wanted to survive a little longer. Truth be told, he wanted to face Frieza and his minions now, but he wasn't ready. With his left eye blind and his right not far behind, he was in no shape for a stand-off. He'd simply have to keep biding his time. He trained alone for hours, locking himself away and practicing with his bo and kata; sparring sessions had all but ceased for the time being. Goku asked if he'd done something to offend him and didn't think Vegeta was telling the truth when he answered, "I just want to be alone."

His interactions with the woman had more or less come to a dead halt. Every time he saw her, anger blossomed in his chest and shame settled on her features so completely that he barely recognized her. Once, as he left the kitchen table, he heard Mrs. Briefs asking her daughter if they'd had another spat. The answer was so soft he didn't catch what she said, choosing instead to vanish into his room.

It didn't escape his notice that the woman had begun to spend huge blocks of time in her lab. Sometimes she would skip dinner and only come stumbling back into the living area late into the night, rubbing her face and running her fingers tiredly through her hair. On occasion, Vegeta would hear her voice carrying down the hallway, and if he was bored and restless enough, he'd sneak closer to eavesdrop. It was almost always Yamcha, calling from some place or another to exchange a few words. Inevitably, their conversation would taper off and Bulma would say how tired she was and that she wanted to go to sleep, and Vegeta would creep back to his room.

He was beginning to feel very claustrophobic in the large compound, but when his anxiety began to overwhelm him, he would take a deep breath and think, just a little longer, just a little longer.


Chi-Chi was back in town and had "convinced" Bulma to give Goku the afternoon off to spend time with her. It hadn't taken much, Goku realized, because Bulma had been flustered and distracted by the mounds of books, papers, and gadgets scattered across her desk; she simply waved her off with a 'sure, whatever.' The bags under her eyes were starting to turn purple. But she'd said to leave her alone on more than one occasion, and Goku wasn't going to cross her. He had enough to deal with regarding Chi-Chi.

They were at a café of sorts, eating lunch. The portions weren't big enough for his liking, but Chi seemed to be enjoying herself, so he tried to keep his complaints to himself. She was talking about what she'd been doing with her father, something boring that he wasn't interested in at all. However, she was smiling, and he liked when she smiled, so he nodded and hummed at what he hoped was the appropriate places and tried not to get distracted by little things like the TVs in the corners.

"How were things while I was gone?" she asked suddenly, resting her chin on her knuckles and smiling at him. "Anything interesting happen?"

Goku shrugged. "Not much. Vegeta threw Yamcha, and Bulma almost kicked him out. That's about it."

Chi-Chi gaped at him. "That asshole! What the hell did he do that for?"

"In all fairness, Yamcha did try to sucker-punch him."

She scoffed. "I'm sure he deserved it."

He shrugged again. "Probably, but that doesn't give Yamcha the right to hit him." Chi-Chi looked at the table, reluctant to agree with him on the topic, but decided to drop it anyway because they were having a nice time and she didn't want to start arguing over Vegeta. "Oh," Goku added, "-and Gohan said he thinks he gave Vegeta a concussion."

"H-how? Gohan's so gentle."

Goku shrugged. "I dunno. He just said he kicked him in the head and he collapsed. Couldn't even walk straight. Maybe it has something to do with being shot."

Chi-Chi nodded distantly, still caught up in poor Gohan dealing with the guilt of injuring another person. Poor kid."Yamcha left a few weeks ago, right?" she asked, though she was still distracted.

"Yep. Bulma's been spending a lot of time in her lab since then. Hardly says a word to anyone. I think they stay in touch though."

Chi-Chi didn't respond. Goku waited another minute or two, chewing on the last of his sandwich, but when she still hadn't said anything, he looked up.

And wished he hadn't.

There, on one of the screens, was Yamcha, parading around with a pretty blonde on his arm and shoving one massive hand in the cameras. Chi-Chi looked defeated and angry at the same time. Goku just groaned.


Chi-Chi sighed, again. Of course, someone had to tell Bulma, and as the best friend, it had to be her. The mere thought of conveying the news had sent Goku into a pale-faced panic and Krillin running for the hills. Gohan had been lucky enough to be "out shopping" with Mrs. Briefs, if one could call that lucky. She had briefly considered asking that awful Vegeta to be the bearer of bad news, but with his reported attitude, she figured he would take a little too much pleasure in the action and would only add insult to injury. Thus, it was left to her.

Bulma took it about as well as they expected.

"He did what?!"

It had become a guessing game as to what the heiress would express next. She bounced from indignation to defeat to sadness to rage faster than a bullet ricocheting in a steel box. The coffee table in the living room was littered with tissues, chocolates, shredded pictures, a wine bottle, and a laptop with a screen paused on Yamcha and his pretty little blonde. Bulma was curled up in a corner of the couch, hugging a pillow to her chest and sniffling at her feet. Chi-Chi sat awkwardly beside her, one hand on her friend's knee. Something moved in her periphery, so she turned. Goku stood in front of the staircase, blocking somebody's way.

"I'll be right back," she said and Bulma nodded dumbly. The princess padded over to the commotion.

"Damnit, Kakarot, get out of my way," said a gruff voice and she barely held back a groan. Great.

"You can't come in here right now," Goku argued, not giving an inch. Chi-Chi came in and put her hands on one of his arms.

"Now isn't a good time, Vegeta," she said in what she hoped was a stern voice. The flame-haired man frowned at her.

"I don't care," he snapped. "Let me through before I knock both of you over."

"Bulma's really upset right now," Goku tried to reason. Vegeta scoffed.

"As if I care." He took a step forward, then back when he realized his rationing hadn't worked. "For God's sake, move."

"Vegeta, she's going through some drama with Yamcha, so now is really not a good time-"

A sob echoed through the room and caught their attention. While the two on the landing turned their heads to find the source, Vegeta braved a peek around the wall to see what the hell they were talking about. Bulma hid her face in her hostage pillow and her shoulders rose and fell erratically with her crying. Occasionally she made a sound akin to a bat. Stricken, he stood up straight and the others' gazes followed him. The men made eye contact for a moment, and then Vegeta nodded.

"Yes. Not the time. Later," he said, turning on his heel and hopping back up the stairs. Chi-Chi breathed a sigh of relief, the first in a while. One hurdle down.


He found her in the living room later, a pathetic sight indeed. She sat in that same corner of the couch with a maroon afghan thrown over her shoulders and tucked around her arms. Her hair was an untidy bun, which wobbled comically as she typed furiously on her computer. He raised an eyebrow, crossed his arms, and strolled casually into the room; Bulma didn't seem to notice and her friends had gone about an hour ago to let her suffer in peace.

"How close are you to completing the process for my eyes?" he demanded.

He thought he heard her growl. "Now is not the time, Vegeta."

His eyes narrowed into slits. "Not the time?"

Her eyes shot up, flaring with a rage so complete the man wondered what he could have done to piss her off so much. "No, it's not the time. I do not have the patience or the desire to put up with you right now."

"I don't give a damn about your patience or desire, woman," Vegeta said, his voice rising. "In case you don't remember, I have a limited amount of time before my eyes are beyond repair. I don't have time for your patience."

"Look, I've already had my share of assholes today, so go find somebody else to harass while I deal with this."

Vegeta stepped closer to her, as she'd returned to her rabid typing, and struggled to read what she was writing. Most of the words came out as gibberish, but he caught the words 'Yamcha,' 'dick,' and 'over.' He could have screamed. He did scream, "You're putting off your work because of that weakling?"

Bulma rolled her eyes and rounded on him, causing the afghan to fly off her shoulders. "Yes, I am, now will you stop being a nosy prick and go away?"

His glare hardened, and he did his best to keep his voice low, calm, and steady. "Since when have long-established trust issues taken priority over breakthrough research?"

The heiress blinked. He had a point. Bulma loved to immerse herself in her work, and she was letting that idiot Yamcha dominate her thoughts, which should be focused on math, physics, gravity simulators, capsules, and neuro-stimulators. Besides, focusing on Vegeta and his health would be the perfect response to Yamcha. Her laptop snapped shut, and she faced Vegeta with squared shoulders and a set jaw.

"You're right," she said. "I can't let that idiot distract me." She left, walking purposefully down to the labs, leaving him in stunned silence.


The air was cool that night, something Vegeta reveled in; he had grown tired of the humid West City nights. They seemed to drag on, like autumn would never offer a reprieve, but finally the balcony's marble balustrade was cool to the touch. Winter would be coming soon, but winter in West City was a joke, so he wasn't worried. He would enjoy the mild temperatures and the crystal cold nights like any other man; Frieza would not impede on that small joy.

A small sound to his left made him whirl. At night, he forgot his left eye was blind; the dark and the shadows hid everything from anyone, so it made little difference how little one eye could see. Except now, just beyond his field of vision, something moved. His body immediately coiled into a fighting stance, prepared to retaliate, but it was unnecessary. He felt his eyes widen.

The left table, hidden in shadow, was occupied by a slim figure whose small feet were propped on the surface. Several unidentifiable things littered the top, and curiosity led him closer to inspect; there were a few glass bottles, a shot glass, a cup, and a crushed cigarette pack. The occupant shook their hair, and Vegeta thought he could hear her smile.

"Hello, Vegeta," she said, a little too chipper. "Would you like to join me?" He raised an eyebrow at her, lifted one of the glass bottles, and upended it. Four red drops splattered on the white marble. He stared at it. "I've had a long evening," Bulma explained. He nodded as he sat in the chair on her left so he could see her.

"Didn't your mother buy this…earlier today?" She nodded; she seemed almost proud of herself. A glance at the bottle assortment revealed a half-empty bottle of tequila and another drained of wine. "Good god, Woman. That's impressive, even for you."

"Oh, shut the hell up," she snapped, suddenly hostile. "Don't act like you haven't done worse." He blinked at the table; the woman got weird when she was drunk. The bottle in his hand clinked as he returned it to its alcoholic squad.

"I'm sorry," she said after a moment of silence. "For earlier, I mean. You were right; I shouldn't let that dick get in the way of my work. It's more important than him." She took a swig from a bottle in her hand, and he felt his eyebrows rise again. Bulma saw him looking at her and asked, "Want one?" He nodded and she reached to the ground on her other side. It was beer, warm and damp, but Vegeta figured he needed a drink to handle this new phenomenon.

"You know why I'm drinking, 'Geta?" He shook his head as he twisted the cap off. "Because I'm upset. For a number of reasons. First is Yamcha. He's a prick, walking around with some skank-whore. Endorsement my ass!" She upended her beer and finished it off, before slamming it down so hard on the table Vegeta thought the glass top might break. Another was in her hand before she continued. "Second is you. You're an asshole, Vegeta, has anyone ever told you that?"

"Frequently."

"Well, obviously not enough. Maybe I should make a habit of it."

"And why, pray tell, are you insulting me now?"

"Because you can't help but stick your big fucking nose where it doesn't fucking belong!" He was amazed by the fire in her gaze; if looks could kill, Vegeta was sure his head would have exploded. "I was fine with Yamcha. I loved Yamcha. We've been together for eleven years. Eleven! I was going to marry him! And then you show up and start saying shit you have no business saying. I am the smartest, prettiest, wealthiest woman in the world. I can have whatever man I want: a prince, a millionaire, an entrepreneur… But I wanted Yamcha."

She went to take a drink of her warm beer and Vegeta took the opportunity to retaliate. She must have seen him opening his mouth in her peripheral vision, because one hand shot up and she hurried to swallow. "Nuh-uh, I'm not done! You just sit there and shut up." Irritated and only the slightest bit curious, he did as he was told. "Yamcha and I, we had our ups and downs, just like any relationship. We were like two planets orbiting the same star. I was going clockwise, and he was going counter-clockwise. We came together and fell apart. Together, apart. But I was never worried, because our orbits always brought us back together. And then you show up. And who the fuck are you? You're nobody. You're a corpse I brought in from the street. And you start talking like you know every goddamn thing in the universe. Mister Know-It-All. You have no right to talk down to me, no right to say anything against me or my decisions. My relationship with Yamcha has nothing to do with you. I was happy! I loved him! I loved him!"

There was a moment of total silence, eventually broken by:

"I'm the smartest, prettiest, wealthiest woman in the world." She stared vacantly at the city lights. Vegeta almost rolled his eyes in impatience, but a misplaced light made him stop. A single tear trickled down the cheek of Bulma Briefs. "I'm the smartest woman in the world, and it took a blind man with brain damage to point out the flaws of my relationship..." She took a shuddering breath. "To show me that my star was dying."

Vegeta stared at her in unveiled shock. He'd incited tears not with violence, threats, lies, or bloodletting, but a simple observation. He was baffled, mostly because he briefly found himself wishing he'd kept his mouth shut. He was nobody, with nothing to his name but the clothes on his back and the bullet in his head. But she'd needed the truth. She deserved better.

He shook his head quickly; nobody? Bullshit. He wasn't a nobody, and one of these days, he'd show this prissy bitch who he really was. But his anger faded before it really had the chance to set in; he was finding it hard to rage at a woman in tears that wasn't begging for her life.

This emotional rollercoaster had his head spinning and confused.

The woman got weird when she was drunk.

Bulma wiped half-heartedly at her face and he watched her features display a variety of emotions, first sorrow, then determination, then a calm acceptance. "Sorry for talking your ear off," she said as she offered him a smile. Her hands wiped at her face when she realized her tears were drying on her skin. "This is kind of why I drink alone."

He nodded, and noted the smirk on her face. "What?"

"That's it?" she asked. "No biting comment, no sarcasm, no demeaning remark?"

Vegeta shrugged. "Nothing you've said seems to deserve that kind of reaction, woman." The corner of his mouth quirked upwards. "But, if you really want me to-"

She cut him off by laughing and shaking her head. "No, no, this is fine."

When the conversation tapered back to silence, Vegeta busied himself with his warm beer. It had been sitting outside for so long that the bottle wasn't even sweating anymore. She must've been camping out on the balcony once she left her lab, he realized. He glanced in her direction, and she was stretching, hands over her head and shirt lifting to reveal her midriff.

"Well," she said through a yawn. "I think… I'm gonna go to bed. You should consider doing the same."

He shook his head as she stood. "I'm not tired."

Bulma looked at him the way you might at a puppy that just fell down the stairs. "Your insomnia's really bad, huh?"

He shrugged. She'd noticed?

She made a face, but remained silent, opting instead to gather her herd of glass bottles. She managed to tuck a few into her arms, but one false move almost sent the drained tequila bottle to shatter on the ground. Vegeta's hand shot out and caught it before it did, and Bulma sighed in relief. "Thanks." He nodded, restraining laughter, and silently helped her gather the rest of the trash.

"You know," she said quietly as he followed her into the kitchen. "You can be pretty nice when you want to be."

"Hn," was the only reply he offered. She dumped her bottles in the trash can and as he did the same, he heard her stumble to his left. His arm, luckily empty, reached out, wrapped around her, and pulled her tiny frame against him. Vegeta rolled his eyes. "Clumsy woman."

Bulma giggled. "Okay, Vegeta, this one's free, but the next one's gonna cost you."

"What?" He turned his head completely to face her; his eyes nearly bugged out of his head when he realized one hand was planted firmly on her rear end. He quickly stepped back and looked away. Bulma's laughing came a little louder.

"Are you blushing?" He tried to glare at her, but with her on his left, he wasn't really sure where to direct his gaze. "Oh my god, Mr. Badass is a prude, I don't believe it."

"Shut the hell up," Vegeta snapped, turning to leave. Her little hands grabbed his arm and held him back.

"Oh, I'm just messing with you." She smiled up at his disbelieving scowl. "Don't be so sensitive." They stared at each other a minute, he trying to get her to back down while she wavered on her feet. Inside was darker than the balcony had been, but his good eye could still see well enough to watch her sway. He shook his head.

"You're drunk," he stated. Bulma nodded.

"I've cried, ranted, almost broke stuff, almost fell, and you grabbed my butt." She erupted into giggles. "I'm drunk. I think sleep sounds like a good plan. Gravity won't hurt me when I'm on my bed."

"I don't think you should discount it," he said, a smirk toying with his face. "You're very accident prone."

She nodded and had to lean on his arm for support. "Oh god, I have to go upstairs." She took on a pleading look. "Vegeta, would you be a gentleman and help an intoxicated lady up to her room?"

He nodded slowly, reluctantly, and headed in the direction of the stairs while Bulma clung to him for balance. She made the first few steps but he could feel her faltering. Almost half-way, her foot slipped and she almost fell, laughing the whole time. He rolled his eyes, wrapped the arm she was holding onto around her waist, and with a little leverage, pulled her onto his shoulder. She squealed.

"Vegeta!" she cried as she flailed; her efforts were rewarded with a low chuckle she felt more than heard. "Put me down!"

"I will," he assured. "Once you're not going roll down the stairs."

But he kept walking even when they reached the landing. He passed his room, the spare room, the library. Her room was on the left. The door opened with a soft creak and whisper as it brushed and caught against something on the floor. A lamp was left on by her bed, luckily.

Then Vegeta made the mistake of looking down.

"Good lord, woman, don't you ever clean?"

"You should know that a messy room is a sign of genius."

He crossed to her bed in three strides and tossed her onto the mattress. "And leprosy." She looked like she was going to retaliate, but the insult struck her as hilarious and she instead fell back laughing. Vegeta shook his head.

Bulma gave him a Cheshire smile. "Thanks for delivering me safely to my room. And uh," she nibbled on her lip. "For putting up with me. You know. Rambling."

He nodded once and turned off the light on his way out.


There was a pounding headache waiting for her on her pillow the next morning, humility in her bathroom mirror, and shame as the memory of the night before set in. Bulma sat on her bed, head in her hands, trying to forget that she had spilled her guts to a man that seemed to hate her. On top of that, today was a test day, and Bulma had taken complete responsibility for the data collecting.

Already two hours behind schedule, Bulma trudged down to the industrial building. Vegeta would be in the gym they had made for him when he woke from his coma. He spent most of his days in there, she thought with dismay, and was only proved correct when she reached her destination. Through the plated observation glass, blue eyes followed his fluid movements as he pummeled the punching bag in the corner. He wasn't wearing a shirt and didn't seem to be paying attention to anything outside of that bag. The bag seemed to bend in half, to cough when it returned to its position, and to whine each time it was attacked again.

She sighed; he wouldn't be happy about being interrupted. The door slid open with a click and a hiss, and Vegeta briefly hesitated. After a few more assaults, he stopped and turned to face her. She expected to see distaste or irritation or condescension in his eyes.

He just looked bored.

"Good morning, Vegeta," she greeted, her voice croaking slightly.

"Hn," he returned, approaching. "Imbibe a little more than you thought?" Frowning, Bulma lifted her gaze, intent on snapping at him, but she didn't. The corner of his mouth was titled upward ever so slightly, so little that if she wasn't so accustomed to his usual scowl, he wouldn't look any different. He was messing with her.

Her head bobbed. "Yeah, guess I did. But I thought I followed that rule, you know? The rhyming one, but now I can't remember it, so I'm not so sure I did."

"Liquor before beer," Vegeta said, wiping a towel over his face.

"Next time, I'll be sure to follow that."

"Next time you feel like drinking yourself into oblivion," he started, and Bulma looked at him. "Invite me."

His face shifted from stern to smirking, and she let out a relieved laugh. "Sure thing, Vegeta."

As they left for one of the ground-floor labs to do the usual run through of his eyes and neural scan, Bulma felt lighter on her feet despite her hangover. They were back on conversational terms. He was back to harassing her, joking with her, rather than attacking every little thing she did. She felt like she'd just won an impossible chess game, like she'd just won a race against an Olympic runner, and no hangover could beat that.


Bulma was helping her mother fill the dishwasher. Goku was up on Fire Mountain with Chi-Chi and Gyu Mao, her father, Krillin was on a date with a young woman named Maron, and Gohan was…well, Bulma wasn't quite sure where he was, but he'd been quick to leave dinner, and only on the heels of Vegeta. Her father was in the living room, or the parlor as her mother called it, entertaining a few of Capsule Corps' board members.

"Darling," her mother said. "Why don't you run upstairs and put on the cute pink dress you bought the other week? You'd look so sweet at your Daddy's party in that little get-up."

Frowning, Bulma replied, "Mama, I don't know that I want to be there. The board members are just so old and so boring."

"Oh, baby, you need to get used to them." She smiled her squinty smile. "One of these days, you'll be the head of the business, and you'll be entertaining the guests, instead of Daddy."

"I know, but that's still several years off."

Her mother bobbed her head a few times, handing her daughter a plate and two glasses to place into the machine. "Well dear, it's your decision. What will you do instead?" She shrugged off the question and finished the job of helping her mother.

On her way up stairs, still debating with herself over joining her father downstairs, Bulma paused just outside of Vegeta's room, the second door to pass after the landing. Shaking her head, she kept walking, thought otherwise, and turned back. Twice she thought of disturbing him and twice she changed her mind, pacing back and forth from the stairs to her room and her room to the stairs. Eventually, she stopped, staring at the carpet and running her fingers through her hair. He didn't mean it, she told herself. He was just being a smartass. She didn't want to put herself in this situation.

"Well?" said a gruff voice, making her jump out of her reverie. Bulma stared wide-eyed at Vegeta, who leaned against his door frame with his arms crossed over his shirtless chest. "Are you going to knock or aren't you?"

Bulma stammered, "Uh, well, my dad's having a party downstairs and I, uh, mom suggested, and I…" She sighed when he raised one dark brow and smirked. When she looked up, she smiled in a defeated way and held up her hands. "I have a bottle of sake and I was wondering if you were interested."

He pulled a face and stared at the wall before disappearing wordlessly into his room. Bulma almost felt let down, until she noticed he'd left his door open. One step forward, two, and the warrior was emerging again, pulling a sleeveless grey t-shirt over his head. She almost pouted, but he held out his hand, motioning for her to lead the way, so she did.

He had a barking laugh that wasn't too unpleasant, and three small glasses of what he corrected her in calling 'nihonshu' later, Bulma was feeling the full onslaught of his amusement. Vegeta threw his head back when he laughed, his chest convulsed, and the scientist was grinning herself. It was a sound she could get used to.

"And then, and then," she continued, giggling behind her own cup of alcohol, "We're midway through West City, I'm driving, and I hear Krillin in the backseat, 'No, Goku, that's a guy.'"

Vegeta laughed harder, setting down his empty cup so he wouldn't drop and break it. He twisted his hand in a manner to say, 'go on.'

"And then Goku, Goku says, 'Wow, Krillin, you can tell just by looking?'"

His body flung backwards against the back of his chair as he howled. Bulma marveled that he actually seemed to go 'HA HA HA' as he laughed. He ran one calloused thumb beneath his eye, wiping away a stray tear. "Why, the Hell, did you bring him along?"

She shrugged, watching him calm down and pour more nihonshu into his cup. "Well, I couldn't just leave them up in the mountains. Gohan was so young, and Goku was so clueless. I would have been abandoning them, and Grandpa Gohan had wanted Gohan to study and the best place for that would have been here; I couldn't leave them there in good conscience."

He twitched his eyebrows upward as he sipped from his cup. "You are kinder than I am."

Bulma scowled. "You mean you would have left them, a twelve year old boy and his four year old little brother, up in the mountains?"

"I was seventeen then," he said quietly, lips close to the light blue porcelain. Those black eyes stared at something, but Bulma was sure she couldn't see what it was. "I was dealing with much worse things than orphanage then."

She blinked. "Wait. Seventeen?" His head bobbed, his hair shifting with the motion. "You're only two years older than me?"

He gave her an incredulous look, marred only by his playful grin. "Did you think I was in my forties?"

"W-Well, no, but…" Shrugging, she took a sip of her nihonshu to gather her thoughts. "Isn't thirty a little… I dunno, old to be in the fighting scene?"

The frown on his face simultaneously told her she'd said something wrong and that she was right. "Age has nothing to do with it," he snarled, though quietly. "Competence is based on skill and success."

"Alright, alright," she replied, hands up. "No offense meant. It was just a question."

They sat in silence for a while, she on her bed with her legs folded beneath her, he on a wooden chair she'd brought from the library. The window was open, but Vegeta had been quick to pull the curtains closed. Bulma had shoved the mess on her floor under her bed as he walked in and didn't miss the smirk he'd worn as a result. In the quiet now, he pulled the curtain aside and peeked into the night, his face void of expression. Bulma watched in interest.

"Hey Vegeta?"

"Hn."

"I was wondering…" When she trailed off, he looked up, waiting impatiently for her to go on. "Why did you say something? About Yamcha and me? What…what did it matter to you?"

He clenched his jaw and stared at his sake. Bulma was sure he wasn't going to answer, wasn't expecting an answer at all, really, but the alcohol had loosened her tongue and her curiosity was insatiable.

"You said it yourself," Vegeta said a few minutes later. "You're a beautiful, intelligent, wealthy woman, and a kind one at that, which you have proved by taking in an unconscious and dying man. But," he started to swirl the contents of his cup, and his unforgiving gaze met her own surprised one. "You are a pathetic creature indeed if it takes things such as diamonds and jewelry, rather than actions, to prove a man's worth to you, and I have quite the distaste for petty bakayaro like that."

She didn't know what a bakayaro was, but she had a pretty good idea, and dropped her gaze. He went back to sipping his alcohol and looking out of the curtains. Bulma wondered what he was watching so intently, or maybe what he was looking for.

Vegeta wasn't paying attention and actually jumped when a small white hand was placed on his arm. He stared at her a moment as his vision wavered, blinking a few times to try and steady himself, but it didn't work, so he settled for gruffly asking, "Nanda yo?" He shook his head. "No, wrong. What is it?" Bulma stifled a giggle.

"What was that?"

A patch of crimson crept over his cheeks. "Sake tends to make my tongue slip."

"I didn't think you'd had that much to drink."

A grin spread across his face and he tossed back the last of his drink in one swallow. "I'll have you know, I can hold my alcohol very well." He cleared his throat and placed his glass on the windowsill. "You haven't answered my question."

It was Bulma's turn to blush, and she shrugged. "I dunno," she slurred. "I guess you just looked lonely, all the way over here."

Attempting a glare, his eyes narrowed to slits, but it was obviously not the threatening look he was going for because the woman only smiled back. Her hair moved in a breeze that came through the window and shifted around her face, mesmerizing him. It looked impossibly light, especially with that color, and he briefly wondered if it would feel like woven air. A strange thought, he knew, but despite his claim the sake really had taken its toll. Without being fully aware of it, Vegeta reached out and ran his fingers through her hair. She didn't jump away. She didn't even flinch.

She's not afraid of me.

It was a strange feeling, new and not altogether disagreeable. He wanted to ask her why, but his mind said that conversation wouldn't end well, so he abandoned the thought.

But her eyes matched her hair perfectly and her ivory skin contrasted so completely against his olive-toned hand. She seemed to glow next to him.

He realized then he was lonely, very much so. Raditz was dead and Nappa was more or less off-limits and he didn't have any friends, family, or romantic interests, not even a damn job any more. He had been alienated so completely for so long, he hadn't even noticed it, and suddenly Vegeta understood why Frieza had been kind enough to leave him a bullet.

She was very close to him, when did she get that close? When did her cheeks get so flushed? It had been a very long time since he'd lain with a woman, he thought regretfully, far longer than he cared to admit. He didn't care, didn't care that he was drunk or that she had a man, didn't care that he would probably wake up with a pounding headache and a year's worth of regret. He was very alone, and maybe the Woman was, too.

Before he had time to think better of it, his lips came crashing down to hers; he could taste the nihonshu on her soft mouth as it pressed against his. Cold hands traced up his shoulders, around his neck, and elicited a shiver. She was too far away, he wanted her closer, and without thinking pulled her onto his lap to better hold on. The alcohol made his head dizzy, like he was about to fall out of his chair, but Bulma was a good anchor, soft and inviting and everywhere. He pawed at her blouse and accidentally popped a button; she pulled away to inspect the damage, but instead of yelling at him as he expected, she threw her arms around him and ravaged his mouth with fervor. Though surprised, he responded in kind.

Okay, so she wanted to play a little rough. He would oblige.

While one hand tugged at the last button (popping off that one, as well) the other slid underneath the fabric to cup her breast. She hummed her approval and he pulled away to bite playfully at her neck. Her hips were rocking against his, and her jeans were painful against his groin, but it wasn't so bad, only served to make him wild.

He was on his feet – the hell happened to the chair? oh well – there was that glowing skin below him, beckoning from the bedspread. What happened to her shirt? Or his? It didn't matter. Easily lifting her off the bed, one hand dove behind her to unclasp that loathsome bra and she tossed it away. One hand roved over her flat stomach, admiring how soft she felt, as he flicked his tongue across one pink nipple. She arched her back and he bit gently; she moaned and he did it again, harder. Her hands were fluttering at his hips, his thighs, doing something; he couldn't tell what, didn't care, he was too distracted by how her skin tasted and

Oh sweet god her hands really were everywhere and he couldn't help the moan of pleasure that escaped him. For a brief moment, he was incapacitated and could do nothing grip her bedspread tight and try to breathe. But his vision was clearing and – where the hell did her pants go? – there was nothing separating her from him and he was not a patient man, so he held onto her hip with one hand and nudged her thighs apart with his knee, and for a second he was so worried she would come to her senses and tell him no, this was wrong, stop, because he didn't think he could stop, not now. She entangled her legs with his and her hands were pulling his back down and her red lips were whispering something, and his mind quieted.

Never mind the bullet.

.

Bulma was moaning and mewling beneath him, big blue eyes staring up at him. Pleased with the sounds he could make her emit, he started to thrust faster. Her eyes got bigger, but something was wrong. Looking closer, he realized he was on his knees, still in her, but his hands were around her throat, squeezing. He tried to stop as the beauty started clawing at his face and arms, as her lips started to turn blue, but his body wouldn't. His voice said to her, 'you wanted it rough,' and her thrashing was amazing, but her eyes were wrong, and they were rolling back in her head and he was so close

His eyes shot open and he exhaled softly. Inhale, exhale. Breathe slow, Vegeta. It was just a dream. But the panic didn't fade, because his room didn't look right, the windows were in the wrong place. He concluded he wasn't in his room, but where the hell was he? His eye landed on a messy dresser, littered with things he didn't recognize; a thin strip of pale, grey light illuminated a liquor bottle and a blue porcelain cup beside.

Vegeta stilled and listened hard to the even breathing and constant warmth beside him. Slowly, he turned his head. Bulma lay facing him, curled slightly on her side, one hand close to his shoulder. Her vivid hair was splayed across the pillow and a bit of drool seemed to be attempting escape from her open mouth. He stared for what felt like a long time.

At last, a sigh escaped his lips. Dizzy and aching, he sat slowly up and rubbed his face with his hand – which smelled like her. In the gloom, he found and pulled on his shorts and tried to creep to the door.

He wanted to say he was leaving the night behind. He wanted to say it was a mistake. He wanted to say it had been the alcohol, nothing more.

In truth, he needed a shower. He needed to think.


A/N: Know what Vegeta's thinking about? Your reviews.

Also, before you say the smut was weird or stylized weird or there wasn't enough or there was too much, lemme tell you: thank you for your input, but I did that entire scene exactly how I wanted to. It's intended to have a million run-ons and whatnot. This is a very train-of-thought kind of scene. I wanted it to feel a little clumsy.

Anyways, thanks for reading!

EDIT: CRAP CRAP CRAP CAN'T BELIEVE I FORGOT THIS. Thanks to KimiruMai for her initial feedback and editing, I appreciate it.