A/N: So, here is the latest installment. Enjoy! And if you like/cannot stand this fic, please let me know by taking six or seven seconds out of your schedules to abuse the 'review' button. ;)
Disclaimer: Oh, I am so over disclaimers.
[Last time on Dragonball Z...]
She was deceptive, crafty, a paragon for the conniving earthlings he had grown to distrust! He had let his defenses down with her before, had even stooped so low as to let her touch him. What his father would think of him now, a Saiyan prince being taken by a pathetic Earth woman!
"Damn you!" he shouted into the chamber.
He would not let her take him for a fool.
What did he think, that she was trying to take him for a fool?
She slammed a crate full of nuts and bolts on the cement floor. "Prick," she muttered, adjusting her goggles so that they rested on top of her head.
Bulma had been in her lab all day, working on an intense project with her father, who had slipped out to get "a bit of fresh air". That of course, implied that he was taking a smoke break. Those had become a bit more frequent as of late, when her mother had forbid him to do so. Bulma hadn't smoked a cigarette in several years, but she could have gone for one just about then.
The project had taken a few weeks to complete. Generally any project she worked on took months to complete, but things had been unusually quiet at the Brief's compound lately. Vegeta had been avoiding her ever since the accident, and after his anguished outburst three weeks ago, even Bulma knew to leave well enough alone. Besides, without Vegeta breathing down her neck or yelling at her to fix the GR, it was really quite nice to be able to work like this.
So why was she so worried about their lack of contact?
"I should try and enjoy this," Bulma said, sitting on the ground next to the crate and sticking her hand inside. "No Vegeta for twenty-one whole days."
"They say talking to yourself is the first sign of madness!" exclaimed her father as the lab doors swished open and he walked inside.
He smelled like pipe tobacco and Bulma felt a tingling sensation in her hands and an insatiable craving to smoke just one cigarette.
"Are you ready to test it, dear?" asked Dr. Brief, rustling her hair as he walked past her. He grabbed a pair of goggles and placed them over his glasses.
Brushing her knees off, Bulma stood up and slid her goggles over her eyes. She then walked towards a large container that held a large piece of machinery. She picked it up in her arms.
"Turn her on dad!"
Dr. Brief pressed a small black button on a remote. The bot purred to life in Bulma's hands.
"Alright! It works!"
The young scientist had been working on the damned thing for weeks. What she held in her hands now reflected that; a highly sensitive training droid for Vegeta- who else?- that was designed to withstand an entire 500 gravity pull.
"Fantastic!" her father said excitedly, pushing another button and turning the bot off. "And it should only take a few more weeks to make more!"
Bulma looked at the tiny robot critically. Thinking about it being locked in the GR with Vegeta made her pity it. "I just hope he doesn't break it." She cradled the droid in her arms like it was an infant.
"I'd like to see him try," her father said with a smile. "Now to see if it works! Would you like to take it to him dear or should I?"
Bulma, still weary of Vegeta, thought for a moment. "I guess I should take it to him, dad. He's not used to you barging in on him."
Dr. Brief smiled. "Of course. I'll just leave this here while I go get some more fresh air."
He winked.
After her father left, Bulma made no move to take the bot to Vegeta. She was so tired. And why had she quit smoking anyway?
"Yamcha," Bulma said with a growl, remembering how much her boyfriend hated it whenever she had placed one of the long, slender cigarettes to her lips. Sometimes when they had argued, she had taken long draws and blown tiny smoke rings in his face.
Obnoxious on her part, yes, but more something she attributed to being young and immature.
A loud vibration from her lab coat pocket startled Bulma out of her thoughts. Fumbling around for a moment, she finally managed to fish her cell phone out of her pocket. The blue screen indicated that Yamcha was calling her.
"Speak of the devil," she said, pressing the phone to her ear. "Yamcha?"
There was a pause and then he cleared his throat.
"We need to talk."
Bulma heard the screech of tires from the kitchen where she had been enjoying a very hot cup of coffee. She set the mug down on the island counter and took a few deep, calming breaths. She arrived in the front hall just as there was a knock at the door.
Somewhat nervously, she placed a hand on the brass knob. Yamcha had sounded so serious on the phone. What was eating him? Why did they need to talk?
"Hey stranger!" Bulma greeted him as he entered, chilled by the cool air outside. She hurriedly closed the door and stood on tiptoe to kiss his scarred cheek.
Yamcha moved his head to the side and the kiss missed him. He walked past her and into the living room where she followed him, confused by his refusal of her affection.
"What's the big idea, Yamcha?" asked Bulma, folding her arms across her chest. "I haven't seen you in weeks!"
He turned to face her, his lips and eyes thin. "That's why I'm here."
He carefully removed his coat and threw it over the couch. He seemed angry.
Bulma raised an eyebrow. "I'm not a mind reader. Are you going to tell me what's wrong or are we just going to stand here? Huh?"
Yamcha gave a long, deep sigh and ran a hand through his hair. He no longer seemed angry, only tired.
"What's been going on with you lately, B?"
She straightened at the sound of his nickname for her. She could not remember the last time he had called her that. When she didn't answer, Yamcha continued.
"Over the last month I must have called you at least fifty times. You never call me back," he said. "And if you do pick up, it's only to tell me that you're too busy to talk. To be honest, I was surprised you answered the phone today."
"I'm sorry Yamcha, it's just…."
"I don't want you to be sorry Bulma," Yamcha interrupted, walking towards a window and looking out of it. "I want you to be as committed to this relationship as I am."
Bulma froze. What was going on here?
"I am committed to this relationship, Yamcha! But that doesn't mean that I have to be on-call every time you need to talk!"
"We used to talk every day." Yamcha glared fixedly at her. "Until he moved in."
Shaking her head in disbelief, Bulma stated firmly, "That has absolutely nothing to do with anything and you know it. There are Androids coming in two and a half years!"
"And what if something goes wrong? I can't spend the next two and a half years of my life wondering where our relationship is going!" Yamcha tilted his head back. "You can use the Androids as an excuse, but we both know that's not the reason we're having this conversation."
Bulma tilted her head to the side, daring him to continue arguing with her. "Then what is it, Yamcha?"
His dark eyes pierced hers. "It's because of Vegeta and you know it."
Bulma shook her head. "I've been busy and that's all there is to it, Yamcha. Vegeta and I haven't spoken in three weeks," she added.
Yamcha looked startled at the admission, but it did nothing to cool his temper. In fact, he looked more perturbed.
"Neither have we."
She had not realized that. Yamcha, who was also not a mind reader, seemed to understand this.
"Figures," he muttered.
Yamcha walked over to the couch and sat down. He put his legs out. "Why are you so busy anyway?"
Bulma walked over to the window where he had been standing and looked out of it as well. It was bright and sunny, a deceiving appearance for a cool day in December.
"The usual. Working in the lab."
"Doing what?"
His relentless questioning was really starting to irk her. Bulma turned on him, hands on hips.
"If you must know, I've been making training droids for Vegeta."
"So the guy ignores you and you become his personal servant?" her boyfriend asked edgily. "Maybe I should ignore you too, then you might actually pay attention to me."
"Yamcha!"
He stood up angrily. "Just forget it! I don't even know why I bothered to come over."
Bulma blocked the front door so that he couldn't leave. "You are not leaving until we finish talking so go back into the living room and SIT DOWN!"
Yamcha backed up at her loud voice, looking terrified. But he did as he was told and sat.
"Good," Bulma said to him, standing in the middle of the room. "Now let's get one thing straight. I am not Vegeta's personal servant."
Yamcha gave her a look that said he believed otherwise.
"Secondly, it's not fair of you to expect me to be available all the time. I have a life Yamcha and it does not revolve around you or Vegeta!"
She stuffed her hands in her pockets. "I'm sorry that I haven't been around lately, but whether you like it or not, I have to help Vegeta. He's just as important to this fight as you and Goku, understand?"
Yamcha dropped his shoulders and did not reply.
"I know that you don't like him, but he's alone here. And he needs someone to be nice to him every once in awhile."
"Be nice to him?" exclaimed Yamcha, his eyes widened. "The guy… the guy killed me Bulma! And he's killed before! He's killed women and children and me!"
"People change. You changed!" Bulma charged, pointing a finger in his direction.
"I never killed anyone before!" the young man argued. "And I need just as much help as Vegeta and you don't make me training droids!"
And even though she hated to admit it, he was right. In fact, before that moment it had never even crossed her mind.
"Well… well why should I?" she faltered. "You have a sparring partner and you don't use a Gravity Room! Vegeta trains by himself!"
"Only because he's too arrogant and full of himself to train with anyone else!" Yamcha explained loudly. "You're basically rewarding him for being an uptight jackass!"
When Bulma couldn't think of a clever comeback, Yamcha stood up from the sofa with a triumphant look in his eyes. It was the first fight he had ever won against her.
"You know that I'm right B."
He grabbed his coat and began to button it up. "And until you realize that, you're going to be seeing a lot less of me around here."
They stared at one another for a moment and then Yamcha walked towards the front door. With no uncertainty present in his demeanor, Yamcha forcefully pulled the door open and slammed it shut behind him.
Bulma listened as the motor of his car rumbled, waited for the screech of tires as Yamcha briskly pulled out of the driveway, away from Capsule Corp.
And away from her.