A/N - The 'therapy' in this chapter is completely made up. I just mashed up a load of the stuff I remembered from high school psychology lessons. There will be loads of flaws in it, but just remember, it's based on DBZ ... people can fly ... a lot of crazy shit can happen. Try and go with it, heh. Oh, and, the Dr Isha. I looked up 'Doctor' in Japanese and it's Isha, so, yeah, he's called DR Doctor. Lolololol. Enjoy :3
Igniting the Fire
Chapter 11
This practice will significantly reduce the patient's level of anxiety, tension and stress. Likewise, assisting in insomnia, subconscious terror, eating disorders, etc. finding the root cause of the behaviour and disrupting its pattern completely. Some of the side effects are listed below:
Dr Haro Isha snapped the book shut, evading Bulma's over-the-shoulder reading. Not that Bulma minded. She'd researched the method long before he arrived, page after page, cover to cover, highlighting all the key aspects, the necessary equipment needed to perform efficiently. Oh, it had all been dealt prior to the doctors prying. She pulled out her glasses case, opening it while keeping a trained eye on Isha. He always seemed to have a fixed look of bemusement, as if she'd just stolen his ice cream cone on a hot day, but he meant well enough. Secretly, she knew he had a problem with being given orders, meticulously collected orders, by a woman. Bulma guessed he had a wife at home, maybe a couple of kids who were obviously training to be in the same working field as he, while he strode in late every night to eat his dinner, then go to his office, where everything was made from leather (because that was his secret fetish for a number of other reasons. Not because 'he liked the smell'.), and he'd sit in there writing until he eventually fell asleep.
Oh yes. She'd seen guys like this before.
Placing her glasses on, keeping a lingering hand on the frame, she coughed to get Dr Isha's attention. Immediately, he turned around, clasping the offending book to his right hip, away from her reach, all the while taking a brief glance at her standing.
"Your views, Dr?" she said, crossing her arms over her white lab jacket.
The lab was bustling with scientists, fixing equipment, running around with clipboards, stopping at Bulma to ask if their calculations were on par with what she expected. Mercedes, Bulma's new lab partner and the main co-ordinate of this project, who had been working with her for just over a month now, reached Bulma's side, attentively waiting for the Dr's response.
"My views. Right." He fumbled in his pockets, looking quite shaken by the scrutiny of two leading scientists.
Bulma and Mercedes shared a look of confusion. Wasn't this supposed to be one of the most famous mental therapists in the world, and yet, he needed a book to gather what was involved?
He produced a pen and note pad, and began to scrawl. "You see, there are a number of levels in the unconscious and subconscious mind. Only a few of the levels we can work with, or access."
Bulma nodded, watching as he drew a small chart. Other scientists slowed down as they passed by, to get a quick glimpse.
"Say there are two levels. We can only work with one. Unfortunately, the human mind is far more intricate than that. It's sectioned off into chambers. Like sleep chambers, as you will." He smiled.
After that, Bulma lost focus. Not because of the dumbed down analysis, but because of the one flaw in the project – it worked on the human brain. Last time she checked, Vegeta wasn't human. There was a major risk that it could make the outcome redundant, or worse, it could cause a fatality. She seriously doubted the latter though.
"So, what you're saying is, if we focus on the 'wrong' level of the subconscious, what, it could cause a disturbance permanently?" Mercedes said, and Isha nodded gravely.
Bulma's ears picked up again. "Has this ever happened?"
He glanced over. "Not from me. But, I have, a long time ago, witnessed the effects." He shifted uncomfortably, closing the note pad.
"Which were?" Mercedes urged.
"It created a state of utter madness. The patient couldn't differentiate their subconscious from reality. After a few days, closely monitored, we saw changes in the patient, changes in their personality, the way they looked, eating habits. It became much worse—"
"The odds to that must be a million to one, right? Who's to say that patient wasn't mentally stable to begin with?" Bulma said, her palms out imploringly.
Isha nodded, and pushed back a greasy slick of jet black hair behind his ear. "Yes. The patient had a history of unbalanced behaviour, a tendency to lash out on occasion …"
Bulma took a deep breath. Her confidence was wavering slightly, but it was the only thing that sounded like it could work for Vegeta. She hadn't even asked him yet. He might say no. In fact, that was the likeliest outcome (she was more than qualified to achieve this). But she'd studied solidly for over a month, as well as creating a new gravity chamber for Vegeta to work in, this time set in the lower section of the grounds, where she could easily keep an eye on him.
"You believe that it will work?" Mercedes said.
"It all depends on the patient. Minds are like snowflakes. Every single one is unique," he said, leaning back on a table.
Mercedes nodded slowly and looked to Bulma for her opinion.
Bulma blinked out of a stare and shrugged, before sticking her hand out to Dr Isha. "I'm happy to go ahead with the procedure. With your blessing, of course."
He smiled broadly and shook her hand. "As soon as you're ready."
She smiled and let go of his grasp, placing her hands firmly in her pockets, ignoring Mercedes' open mouth stare. She took a quick glance at all the scientists wondering around her lab.
Bulma wasn't the one who needed to be ready. She just hoped Vegeta would be willing to participate.
It wracked her brain, like a caged animal trying to get out. Why, if the treatment was so commonly used and so successful, was she still unsure? Oh, yeah, that's right, because it was Vegeta she was dealing with. Mind you, he had been acting normal lately. Well, not normal, but normal enough, considering the way he acted a month ago. She shuddered as she flicked through her notes, hunched over her desk with the side lamp on. It was in his best interest. He had to know that.
She'd gone to bed with him that night—a month ago. And had been going to bed with him ever since. It wasn't right, though.
She refused to speak to him. The way he spoke to her that night was disgusting and she promised that she wouldn't let it slip from her mind, despite how troubled he was. For the sake of her family, she slept in his bed. Her dad was furious for the first couple of weeks, but after a while, he grew to understand. Not accept, but understand. On a few occasions, while Vegeta was sleeping, she wanted to punch him to wake him up again, or just keep punching him. She couldn't inflict any pain on a Saiyan, though, so she saved herself the energy.
She'd been there before with Vegeta. There was nothing normal about their 'set-up'. Sure, she did technically want to be in bed with Vegeta, but not just to sleep without an exchanged glance, let alone a word! It felt hollow, like they were two ghosts, unable to touch or feel, and Bulma had to admit that every time she got into that bed, alone at first, her heart ached. It was bursting with sorrow, for herself and Vegeta. She hated feeling sorry for herself. It wasn't who she was—a pitiful girl.
She groaned and stashed all her notes in the drawer, uncaring for how crumpled they got, and checked her watch. Her stomach twitched when she realised that Vegeta, like clockwork, would be finishing up his training by now. If she caught him just as he was leaving the gravity room, she could have a word with him quickly, rather than wait in bed for him, only for him to be seriously pissed off from lack of sleep, and not want to answer any questions. It was worth a shot anyway.
She stripped her lab coat off and paced out the office and down the empty corridor, the same corridor that was buzzing with staff only a few hours ago. Bulma felt the pressure in her face from sleep deprivation. She'd worked so hard lately that she had little time for sleep. Maybe a quick hour or two. She'd spend all of her free time with Trunks, who was getting grumpier by the day.
At least her migraines had gone.
When she galloped down the stairs and the ground floor corridor, she came to a standstill, rehearsing how to phrase what she was going to say to him, in such a way to get him on board. She couldn't live the way she was living anymore. Even despite her presence, Vegeta was still having the nightmares, waking her up, thrashing in his sleep, drenching the bed covers. Granted, they weren't as bad as before, but still very present.
Just as she reached the gravity chamber doors, they swiped open, with Vegeta standing in the entrance, a towel draped across his shoulder, his hair moist with droplets of sweat, the gentle dampness glimmering on his bare chest.
It drove Bulma crazy. Now even more so that she was sleeping in his bed every night, without being able to touch him. She just wanted to reach out and run her hands down his chest, to the waistband of his shorts …
Her face flushed red as she came down to Earth again. Not again, Bulma. This guy doesn't deserve that kind of attention!
Vegeta grinned, her interest too obvious.
She crossed her arms and nodded back down the corridor. "Vegeta. A word, please."
The smugness was dripping off him as he paced behind her and reached her side. They both walked down the corridor.
"Well, go on. Get on with it," he said, looking at her attentively.
The feel of him watching her so closely was distracting. She would ignore his attitude for now.
"There's something I need to try with you … something I've been training to do. I think it's really going to stop your nightmares—well, I hope." She had to add the last bit, for her and for him.
Vegeta stopped walking, making Bulma follow his actions. He was staring at her, clearly interested by her proposition. Slowly, he took the towel from his shoulder and used it to dab the sweat on his forehead. Bulma took the opportunity to really look at his perfect physique. She had to bite her lip to stop from voicing her appreciation.
"What is it?" he said as he threw the damp towel back on his shoulder.
"It's a form of therapy. I've researched it, and it works."
"Forget it," he said, shaking his head as he turned to walk away.
"Vegeta." Bulma caught his wrist: a brave move that she learned to use carefully with him. He glared at the offending hand, secretly pleased with the contact.
Her skin felt freezing against his. It was pleasant.
Being in a bed with that woman had been the hardest challenge yet. His control and restraint had been impressive so far, but how long it would last was another feat completely.
"Let me try this one thing, then I swear, I'll leave you alone," she said.
He settled under her touch, but didn't want to make it clear to her. "I'm not your lab monkey."
"I know you're not." Her eyes shone with nothing but honesty.
He didn't know whether her liked that, though. It wasn't so bad having her around after all. To give her the slightest hint would show weakness, and that was all he needed after the past few months he'd had. He was a warrior. That's what he needed to show her. Maybe he'd agree with the damn thing anyway. What was the worst that could happen? "When do you plan to do this?"
Bulma physically relaxed, letting go of his wrist. He agreed. He agreed. She wanted to do a celebratory dance, but she'd save that for the shower, or something.
"Bulma?"
The sound of her name on his lips almost made her shiver. She snapped back to life again to see Vegeta glowering at her. He must have been itching to get away from her.
"Hm … I have the equipment all ready. I just need to gather the right staff to help me do it."
"No deal," Vegeta said, folding his arms.
"What? Why?"
"You said you'd do it, so do it. I'm not having a bunch of humans doing whatever it is you plan to do me. No chance. You either do it on your own, or you can forget it." Vegeta turned around and paced down the hallway.
Bulma frowned. She'd worked so hard, but still needed the help from her fellow scientists. She needed at least three people in there with her. She couldn't do it alone … could she? Without thinking, she ran a few meters, closer to Vegeta.
"I can do it now, then," she said, almost clamping her mouth shut after. What? She didn't mean to say that. It just kind of, slipped out.
She watched the muscles in his back tighten as he came to a stop. It was a bad idea. She didn't know whether she was trying to prove how capable she was to Vegeta or to herself. She was Bulma Briefs and she could do anything if she put her mind to it. It wasn't like she wasn't qualified.
It seemed like they had stood there for an hour before either spoke.
"I'm showering first," Vegeta said without turning to face her and headed upstairs.
Bulma smoothed back her hair, which resembled something of a wild creature, spun round and ran back to the lab. Now Bulma Briefs had to brief a Saiyan prince on what she planned to do with him. It was going to be a long night.
The bed, similar to an operating table, was set out neatly, with all the wires from the cardiac machine ready to be placed on Vegeta. She stopped straightening the bed, like an obsessive cleaner, and went to the small metal cabinet with different labels on each drawer. She opened the top drawer, took out a tiny plastic sandwich bag and carefully, with a gloved hand and tweezers, pulled out the tiny data chip, the size of an ant, and placed it in her palm.
"This better work," she mumbled.
The doors opened and Vegeta walked in, clad in a white tank top and white shorts. Bulma nodded and gestured for him to sit on the bed. He shook his head.
"I want to know what you're going to do to me first."
"I'd prefer it if you'd at least sit down. Please," she said acting nonchalance, putting her glasses on.
"I didn't know you were visually impaired." Vegeta remained stood, narrowing his eyes at this woman, who now apparently couldn't see properly. Was this a joke?
"I'm not. It's just for reading, you know, to prevent any strain, which could then give me a head ache."
"Sounds the same to me."
"Ok, so, what I plan to do tonight is a bit of hypno/aversion/cognitive behavioural therapy. It's a combination therapy, basically." She held out her palm with the tiny data chip in it. "What this is here, is a data chip I've created." Vegeta stepped closer and studied the tiny piece of plastic. "It's small, I know, but it does a lot."
Bet Scarface used that line on her a few times, Vegeta thought, amused by his own mind.
Bulma picked up a tool similar to a small gun and held it up so he could get a good look. "The chip will be inserted into the back of your head. It will only penetrate a few layers of skin, 'cause what it aims to do is release images while you sleep. Positive images. It reacts with your body temperature."
Vegeta frowned. He wasn't getting how any of this was meant to help. She was wasting her time. No way was she injecting him with anything.
"Basically, every time a severely negative image, or thought, occurs in your dream, causing the emotional response of fear, the chip will react, implanting a different image to try and chase the negative ones out of your head."
Bulma smiled, hopeful and wishful, as Vegeta stared at her, mouth open.
He laughed. "As if I would allow you to do that to me. I'm not some kind of android you can tinker with any time you want. I am a Saiyan. I don't need modifying."
Her eyes dropped to the floor. "It's not like that," she muttered.
"What is it like, then?" He turned his head mockingly, so he could hear her clearly.
"I'm trying to help you, Vegeta. I can't sleep in your bed, just because you have these dreams if I don't. It's not right. You know, you brag about being a Saiyan, but you have to have me sleep in your bed because you get nightmares. I dunno, Vegeta … " She turned round, threw the gun in a drawer and slammed it shut. When she turned again, Vegeta was only inches away from her, his face contorted into a deep scowl.
Bulma scowled back, unwilling to move or be defeated.
"Are you implying that I'm scared?" He said, not allowing her to speak. "Do it, then." He sat down on the bed and waited.
Bulma nodded. She was going to do it. She planned on doing it, and she was going to carry it out. "You have to trust me."
He did. He always had.
He took off his top and lay back.
Once she'd set up the equipment, injected the chip into his skin, placed the wires accordingly onto his head and torso, she touched his shoulder.
"I'm going to induce a regular sleeping pattern now, by putting you under general anesthesia. It'll be similar to when you were in the rejuvenation tank."
"Great," he said, bemused.
Vegeta opened his eyes for a moment. Bulma was tapping a large needle. He watched the dark liquid floating aimlessly in the tiny cylinder, then looked at Bulma. She looked so intense at the moment, like nothing else mattered to her. That's why he let her do it. He knew she could do whatever she wanted. She was an impressive woman. Very impressive. His eyes fell down to the surprisingly low cut top she had on. She caught his stare and took his hand in hers. He looked at the ceiling while she worked, feeling the strange substance enter his arm and creep through his body.
"Ok, and this one," she said producing another needle, "is going to make you feel really heavy now." She stood up, checked the cardiac monitor, and then Vegeta, who was still staring at the ceiling. "Since you're a Saiyan, I've had to up the dose by a touch. You can count to ten if you want."
He reached nine before he fell, his mind clouding over into utter darkness, just the way he liked it.
As soon as he was under, Bulma left the room and sat behind a two way mirror, monitoring his slow, peaceful breathing, keeping a constant check on his heart rate. She did this for half an hour, starting to feel like it had all been a waste of time, until Vegeta's heart rate began to quicken, only a flicker. At first she didn't move, staring at his lifeless looking form. He started to twitch. First his fingers, then his legs, before his head started twisting from side to side. Suddenly, his body heaved forward, enough as it could under the restraints Bulma had put him under, but even they were coming loose.
It was like he was possessed.
Bulma stood up, biting her nails, waiting for him to calm, wishing for him to calm. By now the chip should have worked. Why wasn't it working?
The oxygen mask flew off his face and cracked on the floor, as he threw his arms in the air. Bulma ran into the lab, expecting him to awaken, but he continued to be tortured in his subconscious.
Maybe the image wasn't strong enough. Oh God. Bulma rummaged through the draws for something to wake him up, a boost or shot of some kind, but when Vegeta started to scream, she couldn't do anything but watch in horror. What had she done?
She sank to the floor, powerless, shouting his name but to no avail. Who was she kidding? She couldn't manipulate someone's subconscious. She didn't have that kind of power.
She closed her eyes, only wishing for him to eventually stop, when she heard the lab doors slide open, and footsteps running towards her. She looked up, peeling her hands away from her face.
It was Bunny, holding a hysterical Trunks.
"Bulma, I think he wants his mommy. He's been like this for half an hour or so, and I can't get him to settle. Honey, you take him."
Bulma shot up. "Mom! You shouldn't be in here." She looked at Trunks who was yelping. Her stomach tied into thousands of knots.
"Sorry, dear," Bunny shouted over all the screaming.
"Da-daaaaa," Trunks wailed repeatedly, pointing at Vegeta, as Bunny handed him over to Bulma.
"It's not safe in here—"
"Da-daaaaaa," Trunks sniffled and calmed, and to Bulma's amazement, so did Vegeta.
Bulma watched in awe as Trunks continued to say 'da-da' over and over, but now quietly, and as he did so, Vegeta sank into a more peaceful state.
"Oh my." Bunny gasped.
"Mom, you saw that, right?" Bulma spun around to her mother. "I'm not imagining what just happened?"
Bunny beamed.
Holding Trunks out at arms-length, Bulma couldn't stop smiling. "My little man just solved a big puzzle for mommy and daddy."
Trunks clapped.
A week had passed since the therapy with Vegeta, and Bulma knew exactly what to do. It was Trunks' calling to his father, that made Vegeta calm down, perhaps pulled him away from whatever dark dream he was having. She just needed to implant different information into Vegeta's head. Some images of Trunks. She smiled as she placed the newly completed chip into a sealed container.
Vegeta allowed her to remove the old chip instantly. He hated it and was trying to scratch it out himself; if she'd left him any longer, he probably would have succeeded.
"All done?" Mercedes said, standing immediately behind Bulma.
Bulma flinched. That girl didn't know a thing about personal space. "Yeah."
"Good. Do you mind if I viewed the next session? I mean, I did coordinate the entire idea." She cocked an eyebrow.
Mercedes was right, obviously, but how could she explain to her that Vegeta wouldn't allow it. It wasn't that simple. She couldn't just say, 'No, because he'll kill you,' which he would. Bulma was grasping at straws.
"Of course. The first one was just a test to see if Vegeta was compatible."
"Still. I should've been there."
"I know, and you will be," Bulma said, looking off to the side.
She needed a break. Thankfully, she'd planned to take Trunks to the park today, so at least she'd have some time to get out and get some fresh air in her lungs, instead of recycled air conditioned stuff.
As Bulma walked through West City park, pushing Trunks in his pushchair, she remembered what future Trunks has told her. Apparently during the Cell games, Vegeta had flipped out after seeing Trunks knocked unconscious. It still made her smile. Vegeta may come across as cold-hearted but he was far from it. He definitely held affection for his son, whether he showed it or not didn't matter, because she knew.
The late summer wind blew softly through Bulma's hair as she walked across a gravelled path towards a big pond. There were ducks and huge carp in the water and Trunks loved to gaze as them. The park was busy, but not bustling, so it was quite relaxing to just watch the world go by for once. She sighed happily.
"Bulma Briefs? Shit. I told you it was her."
"She looks hotter in real life"
"I definitely would. I don't care if she has a kid."
Red-faced from a mixture of anger and embarrassment, Bulma turned to get a look at the loud-mouthed morons standing behind her. It was a group of three men, well, teenagers, all around the age of seventeen, snickering and pointing at her, as if she wasn't even there. One came over. The taller of the three and actually quite attractive. He had spikey black hair, dark brown eyes, tanned skin … It was a warm day, so boys liked to walk around shirtless, regardless of it being completely unnecessary. He looked all too similar, but dissimilar.
"Miss Briefs," he said, rather formally as he sauntered over.
She narrowed her eyes. Trunks was talking in tongue in his pram, but he seemed content enough.
"Can I help you?"
"Nah, I was just wondering why you were out here on your own. You need a man by you side," he flashed a perfect white grin.
Bulma snorted. "Well, when you find one, come and get me, OK?" It was jokey, but still carried a sharp undertone.
"So you're not with the dad of your kid?" He said, bluntly.
Bulma cocked her head. Was this kid seriously asking her that? "That's none of your business," she said in a dismayed, and decided to take herself away from the situation.
"Where you going?"
"I've come to spend some time with my son, so can you go away?" She pushed Trunks' away from the three guys.
"Pshh. I didn't know she was such a bitch."
"She's not even with the father."
"She probably doesn't even know who he is …"
Bulma stood stock still, fury overwhelming her at a rapid rate. What? Is that what people thought of her. She gripped tight hold of the pushchair handles and stared at her whitening knuckles, until they started to hurt. She needed to hit something, or someone. You know what? That was exactly what she was going to do.
"Trunks, whatever you witness now, this is not your mommy. This is someone else, OK?" she said as she spun the chair round and charged towards the three guys.
"Hey. What did you say?" she said to the tallest one, who turned round with a vacant expression. "For your information, buddy, I do know who my child's father is, but what the hell is that to you?" Spittle flew out of her mouth, she was so furious.
The boy retreated a few steps, his friends not cajoling him anymore, rather their eyes widened in horror.
"I'm sick of men like you, walking around with your shirt off thinking your God's gift to women. Well, here's a message from every woman out there—YOU'RE NOT. You obviously have a dick like a shrivelled walnut," she said and smirked. One image flashed through her mind the entire time. She wanted to be screaming this at someone else, but this boy was getting it instead.
The boy's face went from vague humour to complete outrage in a split second. "I bet you'd love to find out, though."
People started to gather around, but Bulma couldn't care less. She'd had enough of this prick and his cronies. Something inside Bulma's head snapped. Physical violence was the only solution.
"Oh, you know what? Fuck you," she said and threw a right hook, smacking the guy right in mouth.
He looked stunned for a moment, and slowly felt his mouth as it throbbed and split. Bulma shook her hand from connecting with his face. Shit, it felt so good, though. She wanted to hit him again. A few people in the crowd cheered, as well as Trunks whose eyes were nearly popping out of his skull.
It suddenly dawned on her. She'd just punched a teenager in the face, while a bunch of people watched. That's assault, right?
"Hit him again," a woman with a child in a pram shouted.
The guy's eyes shifted from everyone who was watching and over to Bulma. He'd never felt so ashamed in his life.
His friends pulled him back, but his eyes looked crazed. He pointed at Bulma. "Lady, you are crazy …"
They walked away, while the small gathering of people cheered and booed, sticking their thumbs down to the group of boys. It had all happened so fast, it left Bulma in a daze.
She felt slightly empowered, like an enormous weight had been toppled from her shoulders. She hoped Trunks didn't take any mental notes from her outburst.
Coyly, she muttered that 'they deserved it' and 'she only hit him lightly, he barely had a scratch' as she passed by the people, wanting nothing more than to run home and seriously think about what she'd done. It worried her, because everything she said to that boy was all the things she wanted to say to Vegeta, and Vegeta definitely deserved a punch to the face. Multiple punches to the face, in fact.
Homebound, she took herself and Trunks far away from the park. Her relaxing trip was never meant to go like that, at all.
Somehow, she'd expected a phone call from the police, asking her to go down to the station for suspected assault, but it was ten pm and she'd heard nothing. The guy probably lied, made a pact with his buddies to deny what had happened. He'd say to his friends that he got mauled by a land roaming shark, and wrestled the beast to death. God forbid he ever admits that he got his ass handed to him by a woman. Bulma felt a tad disappointed. She wanted some recognition, for every woman out there … She envisioned herself standing on top of a mountain wielding a giant flag with a picture of male genitals with a big, fat cross over them.
She spooned the last quarter of pancakes into her mouth and chewed thoughtfully, allowing the sweet maple syrup to soak into her taste buds. Yeah, she would be an awesome feminist warrior. She wondered what the female Saiyans were like, and whether she would share some of their qualities. She sighed as she chewed, sitting alone in the dark of the kitchen. Her parents were watching TV in their room (she hoped) and Trunks was fast to sleep, which was expected from the day he'd had. She couldn't sleep, though. Too much on her mind for sleep.
Maybe Gohan could teach her to fly someday …
Footsteps pounded down the hallway and she didn't have to think twice about whom they belonged to. She watched the doorway until he appeared, his eyes widening just a touch when he saw her.
"Good evening, Vegeta. Have fun training?" She spun her fork round in the air.
"I never have fun training." He walked over to the fridge and took out a bottle of whiskey.
Bulma dropped her fork. Where the hell was he getting that stuff from? Was he seriously going out to buy it himself? She bet it was her mom. Bunny would do anything for Vegeta, despite him scaring the shit out of her lately. Her mother was such an enigma.
"You're loving that whiskey lately," she said, as Vegeta grabbed a tumbler out of the cupboard.
Sheesh, you'd think he owned the place.
He poured the glass half full, and gulped it down in one.
Bulma pushed her plate aside. "You not gonna share?" She hadn't had a drink in ages. Besdies, it was her house, her free time and she could spend it how she wanted. Gosh, punching that guy had sure made her think clearly about certain things.
He looked at the bottle, then shrugged, and slid it across the breakfast bar to her.
See, she thought. You ask, you get.
"And a glass?" she said expectantly.
"Ch." He chucked her a glass, which she caught. Thank God.
As she poured, she was curious to find why Vegeta was still standing there, watching. "I need you to come back for another try of therapy." She screwed the lid back on the bottle.
"I'm not doing that again," he came over and sat on the opposite side of the bar.
"I've found a way that will work."
"I don't care. I don't want the blasted therapy," he grabbed the bottle and poured another round.
"Don't be such a baby. It'll take an hour out of your precious day. What's so bad about that?"
He stared at her over the rim of the glass as he drank, letting it burn down his throat. Was she crazy? His nightmare may have subsided the last time, but it was still a fucking horrendous experience. He wasn't going through that again.
Bulma finished her round. "I'll convince you, somehow." She eyed him for a second. She could see he was sporting the lack of top tonight as well. Not that she was complaining, but it brought back the images of that guy from the park. She didn't even know his name, despite her knuckles being imprinted on his face. She grinned. "I can be persuasive, you know."
Vegeta took another slug, ignoring the comment.
She brought her knees up to her chest and rocked back on the chair. Vegeta caught a glimpse of her purple panties from beneath her night gown and his face suddenly felt a bit warmer. Damn alcohol. He pushed the nearly empty bottle away from him, and sat there listening to the fridge humming.
"I punched a guy in the face today," she said, coming forward into the table.
This caught Vegeta's attention.
Bulma frowned. "It was his own fault. Harassing women."
Vegeta grunted indignantly. "So you just punched him?" He never thought he'd ever have to ask a reason for punching someone. There was always a good reason. Always.
"Yeah. The guy was a jerk. Thought he was like Kami, or something … dick."
"Ha. Humans …" Vegeta mused quietly to himself. "Did you leave a mark?" His attraction to Bulma was nearly hitting the roof as it was. This was just topping it completely. Her eyes lit up when she told him.
"Oh, yeah. Got him right in the kisser. It was a little embarrassing." She looked at her hands stretched out on the table.
"What? I would have booted him up to Namek, traveled there to find him, and boot him right back down to Earth again …" he said and frowned after he realised how Bulma might have taken that.
She smiled. "Pass me another drink." And nodded towards the bottle.
He poured them both another, wanting to find out more about this fight.
"That's all that happened. I just saw red. It's all the anger that's been built up over the last year!" She laughed and then stopped, coughing before taking a mouthful.
She gulped.
"Are you sure I can't persuade you into therapy again?"
"No," he said, placing the empty glass on the table. His head began to feel a bit fuzzy, but it was OK.
Bulma clucked her tongue. She better come out with it, plus, the alcohol was starting to get her buzzed, hence giving her more confidence. Vegeta knew how she felt, so she didn't need to dive into that pool again, but the whole bed situation, it wasn't going to fly anymore. It wasn't going to carry on.
"I can't keep sleeping in your bed, Vegeta. It's not fair. It's not fair on both of us. I know it's helping you, but it's not helping me at all. It sounds selfish, I know, but I won't do it anymore. I'm sorry."
He looked dumbfounded, so she continued. She leaned across the table, eager to share her plan.
"This therapy will give you want you want. You'll be able to sleep properly, in peace and quiet, on your own." She looked at him from beneath her eyelashes, thinking that she needed another round.
He pushed his fingers through his thick hair. He had a very important decision to make, but nothing had pushed him towards it so much as Bulma did lately. He was confident that this was what he would do. It might not have been the right thing to do, but it was what he wanted. He wasn't one for apologising, but he felt like he owed it to Bulma. He would never settle for saying sorry, though. He didn't believe in such a word that could get thrown around so easily, with very little meaning. It was hollow.
He stood up. "I'll do it, then."
Bulma waited for him to do the usual disappearing act. But he didn't. He walked over to her side of the table, and looked down at her. She felt her entire body tense as his gaze penetrated her own unrelenting stare.
"I want you in my bed … regardless of this treatment."
Bulma forgot how to breathe for a moment, and when he gently brought his hand up to her face and stroked it so tenderly, she almost died.
She came to her senses and pulled his hand away slowly, before things got complicated again. "I'm not playing this game anymore, Vegeta. You want me now, while it suits you, but tomorrow you won't think twice about me." She wasn't falling for that trick again.
Vegeta looked wounded. "Bulma, I want you in my bed every night." His face softened. The crease in his brow faded and he looked at Bulma with nothing but compassion.
Despite having this person in front of her now, she couldn't see past the way he had treated her, the things he'd said, the way he'd disregarded her. She wasn't a love sick puppy. She was a grown woman. A powerful, beautiful, clever woman, who had everything she could ever want. Until Vegeta came swaggering into her life, she would have considered it perfect. Sure, the Yamcha situation wasn't ideal, but creases can be ironed out. No matter how much she steamed the creases with Vegeta, they just wouldn't budge.
Bulma felt overwhelmed with a range of emotions, as Vegeta gazed at her. All she could think of was the boy from the park earlier. The way he talked to her, for a mere few seconds, and how angry she became, yet Vegeta had spoken to her like that a dozen times and left without a scratch.
A panic surged through her suddenly, and before she could stop herself, her hand was tingling with pain from connecting with Vegeta's face. She shot up from the bar stool, guarded with more ammunition, and eyeballed Vegeta.
His reaction was sluggish at first, his hand reaching up to feel his cheek, his face void of any expression other than indifference.
She couldn't have hurt him. He was a Saiyan. She was human.
She slapped him again, hard. She could've hit him all night, but It wouldn't stop the feeling of disappointment-in herself and him, for getting into their situation. Trunks was an absolute blessing, but the rest of it was a mess.
Bulma's eyes were wide like a wild tigress, while Vegeta's mouth opened slightly. Maybe he was about to talk, but Bulma just didn't have the time for it. She wasn't going to let him simply say two words to her, then she'd melt into his arms. Was he forgetting who he was dealing with?
"You say you want me, huh?" She crossed her arms.
He really did now. The fury was emanating off her. He'd never seen a female so hot in his entire life. This was the woman he gave into the first time. He had to fight the fact that she'd just smacked him. Anyone else, and they would be dead right now.
"Prove it," she said, and stormed out, her head swirling too much. She had to lie down. Alone.
Vegeta's steadiness faltered at touch and he held onto the breakfast bar for support. It was a mixture of the alcohol and what had just happened. He was not going to play games with this woman, but if she was willing to put up a fight, then he was more than happy to challenge.
A/N - Bulma has set Vegeta a challenge. He's willing to accept, but what will he do to get her on his side? Do you think he deserves another chance? I'm going to set this story into two parts. Part two is going to be a lot more easy-going and fun (and naughty), but still have a level of emotion in it, of course