Chapter Ten: Teeny Weeny Outfits and Death Shoes

A/N: I bet you all thought I was dead. NOT! Here you go, after much, much time. Sorry, everyone!

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And the fun continued, for some time.

Two weeks went by and saw Vegeta hiding in the upstairs closet. He slowly rocked forward and back, mumbling as quietly as he could in his lingering stupor.

"Can't sleep, Bulma will get me… Can't sleep… Bulma will… get me…"

He knew deep in his heart that his attitude was shameful and unworthy of a Saiyan, but with the things he'd had to do, the things he'd seen… he didn't care. He'd been broken by a human, and that was bad enough, but now; a worse problem has presented itself. A problem demeaning, horrifying, and degrading. An issue to end all issues. It wasn't that he hadn't enjoyed the hours upon hours of mindless, droning sex. Hardly!

As Vegeta stared blankly into the inky darkness of the bedroom closet, he racked his brain in an attempt to figure out what to do. There were pills for this sort of problem, he knew, but he knew that pills were for weaklings. He arched a brow as he recalled another method, something about a pump… Shaking his head to clear that thought, Vegeta leaned forward slowly, trying to be as quiet as he could to peer through the tiny keyhole of the door. Just as he had leaned close enough to be able to see a decent view of the entire room, he heard a shuffling sound from the other side of the door.

His breath hitched in his throat, and suddenly, the smell of lavender wafted through the keyhole. His stomach churned and he nearly gagged, but did not move. To move now would give away his position, and that would be a waste of all his training. He knew he was no ninja, but he also knew that she was no bloodhound. She would never find him here; not in a million years.

Except suddenly, a wide blue eye appeared, just inches from his, on the other side of the door. Vegeta gulped and jumped backwards, knocking his head on the wall and nearly through it. From above him, dozens of shoes tumbled from a shelf, pelting him in a rain of leather and heels until he sat nearly buried.

He had been found, and now he was going to have to face the wrath of the sex-crazed Bulma.

The wrath, he knew, would be upon him when she found out what his little problem was.

The closet door swung open, and there stood Bulma, in an outfit so skimpy, tiny, and revealing that there are no actual words to describe it. Her stomach, however, thanks to pregnancy, pushed it out in front, making her look rather like a flat-chested teenage boy in a lacy bustier.

Vegeta's stomach rolled again, and he snatched at one of the pointier high-heeled shoes, making ready to throw it, and instead began waving it at her frantically in hopes that she wouldn't come closer. Her eyes narrowed, and in one swift swipe, she grabbed the shoe from his hand and tossed it over her shoulder.

"Nice try. You're too easy. Now, come out of there, we have… things… to do."

When Vegeta glared at her like a child who hasn't gotten his way, and made no move to come out, Bulma's lip curled into a smirk.

"You've got to come out of the closet sometime, Veggie. "

Vegeta arched a brow, knowing he'd heard that phrase somewhere. The source eluded him, though, and he shrugged it off. The only thing he could think of was to stick his tongue out at her, fold his arms, and lean back against the wall of the closet.

Bulma's smirk turned into a scowl, and she folded her own arms and tapped her feet impatiently. For a moment, Vegeta could have sworn her eyes turned red again. He'd noticed that lately her temper had become worse, almost frightening. Somewhere, deep down, common sense screamed at him not to anger her, but pride, being bigger and more puffy, yelled louder. Vegeta reached for the handle of the closet and pulled it closed, then harrumphed in the darkness.

Suddenly, it seemed to get colder.

Suddenly, he could hear a faint grinding noise. Vaguely, Vegeta realized that it was Bulma grinding her teeth and cracking her knuckles.

"Fine. Two can play at that game. "

After a moment, he heard her footsteps going away. He took a deep breath, and released it in a deep sigh of relief. He'd just barely managed to elude her wrath. She was angry, he knew, but he had two up on her: she still didn't know his secret problem, and she wasn't brave enough to try anything against him. A sly little grin pulled at his lips, and he puffed up just a little, satisfied with himself.

Suddenly, though, he heard a whistling noise, and a few inches from his head, the sharp stiletto came crashing through the closet door and slammed into the wall. Vegeta noted that he would have to change his pants when he did leave the closet, and, after a moment, leaned slowly to one side to peer out the new hole in the door. It didn't seem like she was there to throw any more death shoes at him, so he leaned back again, ready to continue looking for a solution. Why did that shoe provoke thought all of the sudden…?

Realization suddenly flooded his mind in a high, grating, lispy voice, and he flailed his arms and yowled through the hole, "I AM NOT GAY!"

Distantly, he heard, "Yeah, and that's why you're not too keen on the whole 'women' thing anymore, huh?!"

Vegeta, seething, balled his fists and clenched his teeth. He would show her. He would prove to her that he was far from 'gay'. So what if he had worn a pink shirt once?

She just had no idea.

Vegeta made up his mind.

He would go to the doctor, and ask him about these confounded pills.

Vegeta was going to ask about Viagra.

BWAHAHAHAHA. There ya go.