Chapter 11

It took Bulma considerably longer to get outside, even leaning on her cane. By the time she burst out onto the lawn, Goku was standing in between Vegeta and Yamcha. Her ex-boyfriend was sprawled on the floor, bleeding from a split eyebrow and a swollen lip, his energy a pale flicker around him. The way he was clutching his stomach suggested that Vegeta had managed to get a few licks in there too before he was interrupted.

Now Vegeta glared at his nemesis, his energy swirling chaotically around him, matching the seething rage in his eyes. Goku's face was for once serious, his eyes meeting Vegeta's levelly. Although Bulma couldn't sense energy the way they could, she knew from Goku's posture that he was poised on the edge of action, ready to react in a split second.

As she took a deep breath, she imagined she could almost smell the testosterone in the air. Allowing her cane to drop to the floor, she braced her feet apart and slapped her hands down on her hips. Her pulse was thundering, adrenaline making her lightheaded. She was sure she'd be stumbling out into carnage.

"Hold it!" she barked. "You will all calm down right now, and I mean now, or I swear I'll find a way to make you regret it, Saiyan or not!"

Yamcha, familiar with that tone of voice, gulped and instantly powered down. Goku and Vegeta ignored her.

She was sure steam nearly erupted from her ears.

"I said," she bellowed, "right now!"

Surprisingly, Vegeta was the first to react. He turned to her with a sneer, hands balled into fists.

"Woman, do not interrupt your betters. I warned this weakling once before to steer clear of my territory, now it's time he faced the consequences of disobeying me."

"Territory?!" Yamcha spluttered, his own temper obviously rising again, "Bulma is not you territory, monkey boy!"

Goku and Bulma blinked at one another. The scientist recovered first, her voice rising to a shriek.

"What?! I'm not anybody's territory, thank you very much. Not yours, Vegeta, and definitely not yours, Yamcha. Got it?"

The bandit scowled at her. "I have more right to you than he does. You were my girl for years, Bulma."

Her eyes narrowed and she stalked towards him, her voice a menacing hiss. "The key word there is 'were', buster. As for rights to me, you lost those when you slept with the last vapid fangirl." The venom suddenly boiled up from the dark, hurt place inside her where it had been festering for so many years, a miasma of insecurity and bitterness she had no idea she had been harboring. Her pulse thundered in her ears, her nails biting into the palms of the hands as she clenched her fists. "Nobody has rights to me unless I give them, and I'm pretty damn sure I haven't done that recently!"

As she panted, her rage so great that it was like a vice around her chest, a voice from behind her purred, "Oh, but you have."

Startled, she spun around. Vegeta stood just behind her. His sharp canines flashed as his lips curled back and all of a sudden she recalled the feeling of his mouth closing around her finger, his tongue probing delicately at her injury. She was horrified to feel a familiar clenching starting up in her stomach.

I am not attracted to Vegeta, she thought frantically, it's just not possible. Her breath rasped in her lungs, her rage so overwhelming she was panting with it.

The man in question shot Yamcha a smile that was nowhere near pleasant. "Woman, we made a deal that placed you under my protection until you were fully healed from your injury. You are not back to full strength yet, if you can call it that. You still hobble around leaning on that twig when you begin to tire. That means the deal still stands, which means I do in fact have certain," he paused to relish the moment, "rights to you."

Bulma squared up to Vegeta, utterly incensed.

"It does no such thing and you know it! You're twisting the terms because you want an excuse to beat up Yamcha."

He scoffed. "I don't need an excuse other than that his weakness offends me."

"You could pretty much say that about anybody!"

"You're right," he sneered, "anybody on this miserable mud ball. You are all so far beneath me that you are like ants to my boot, you pathetic human."

Bulma suddenly laughed.

"What?" he snapped, scowling.

"If I'm that pathetic, that lowly, that far beneath you, what does that imply about you? After all, you're the one who has been catering to my whims for the last three months. You even carried me into the house when my legs were tired after the ball."

She ignored the way his face had suddenly gone blank, her fury building. "You're so high and mighty but what do you have to show for it? There's nobody left who would grieve for you if you were to die fighting those androids. Prince Vegeta, ruler of space dust!"

His control snapped. With a wordless roar he lunged for her, closing his hand around her throat and effortlessly wrenching her into the air. Bulma choked, fingernails scrabbling uselessly at his hands, her legs kicking frantically. He jerked her face down to his, snarling incoherently. Just as the pressure at her neck became unbearable and she was sure she was going to lose consciousness, it was suddenly released.

She fell heavily to her hands and knees, head hanging, desperately sucking in air. She could see Goku's legs where he stood between her and Vegeta, his aura now golden and crackling dangerously.

"That's enough, Vegeta."

Beyond rational thought, Vegeta shot forwards. They clashed in midair, grappling with one another, hands locked.

Her rage spent, clarity returned in a nauseating rush. Oh Kami, Bulma thought in horror, how could I say such awful things?

She lurched to her feet, ready to plunge into the middle of the wrestling match despite knowing that it would almost certainly kill her when Vegeta abruptly released Goku, making the younger man lurch forwards.

Without a word to either of them, he stalked away and into the GR, the slam of the door behind him ringing like a death knell.

For the first time in their long friendship, Goku shot Bulma a look of mingled disappointment and disgust. He launched himself into the sky and rapidly disappeared, leaving a severely shaken Bulma to rush into the house, abandoning Yamcha on the lawn.

For weeks, Bulma and Vegeta hardly saw one another. She went out of her way to avoid him, so ashamed of herself that she couldn't even stomach being in the same room as her. It seemed that he felt the same way, though for a different reason. She realised how deeply her barbs had struck the day she went into the kitchen and Vegeta, in the middle of a meal, abruptly dropped his spoon and left the room. Bulma was shocked; if you'd asked her, she would have said that nothing would get between a Saiyan and his food.

The bruises around her neck took a long time to fade. As soon as he'd seen them, her father had demanded that Goku return and eject Vegeta at once.

Bulma had calmed him down by simply saying, "I forgive him, Dad. When I think about what I did, what he did… I'm not saying it's excusable, but I can understand."

Yet somehow Bulma couldn't find the right words to express to Vegeta how sorry she was, that she hadn't meant it. Her fear of him had returned and Bunny, seeing the way her daughter was beginning to jump at shadows again, finally lost her patience.

"Bulma," she said tartly, "you're being ridiculous."

Shocked, the heiress put down the ceramic shoulder plate she was fiddling with. "Excuse me?"

Her mother stared at her with solemn eyes. "I think you need to remember who and what you're dealing with when it comes to Vegeta, dear. You once told me he could kill you in less than a second, even with his bare hands. Is that still true?"

"Well of course it is," Bulma snapped.

Bunny raised her eyebrows. "And yet here you are. How strange." And, humming quietly to herself, she wandered away.

For several days, the genius mulled over her mother's words. Slowly, her fear began to ebb, replaced by confusion. Mom was right. In that amount of time, Vegeta could have killed me easily. He was so angry he wouldn't have cared about Goku being there. So why am I still alive?

It took nearly another week for Bulma to muster her courage and decide to apologise to Vegeta. Her project was finally completed to her satisfaction. With a loving hand she stroked the cool, smooth material one final time. Then she lifted it carefully into its box and, carrying it against one hip, went to find her quarry.

She could hear the growl of the GR as she stepped out onto the lawn. It took a few seconds for her scientist's brain to tune in to the difference in frequency; the machine's usual quiet hum had acquired a high pitched whine. Even as began to run, a huge burst of light shot out from inside. Her scream was lost as the GR exploded with an angry roar.

The concussion wave knocked her off her feet, her elbows slamming painfully into the earth, her precious cargo forgotten. The acrid reek of burnt plastic reached her nose as the rubble shifted a final time, groaning. She stared at the wreckage in mute horror.

Oh Kami. I'm too late. Nobody could have survived that. The last words we spoke were angry ones. Oh Vegeta, I'm so sorry.

Another heavy piece of metal fell from the top of the pile. The thud woke her from her stupor.

"Vegeta!" Her scream caught the attention of the employees already gathering to see what had caused the explosion.

Like a madwoman she flung herself at the debris, tearing the flesh from her hands as she scrabbled to shift some of the rubble. A low, keening cry sounded continuously from her throat, her eyes weeping with both grief and pain as the smoke billowed around her.

"Bulma," her dad said softly from behind her. "Come away. There's nothing you can do here."

"No," she moaned, ignoring him, "no no no no no."

Although he dreaded what they might find, Dr. Briefs directed some of the workers to help move the larger remnants of the machine. They worked in efficient silence, shocked by both the explosion and Bulma's hysteria. While they toiled in pairs and groups, she dug with manic determination on her own, her whole being fixed on her goal. Yet as the minutes wore on, her frantic pace slowed then came to a halt. Numb, she rocked back onto her heels and stared at the ruins.

"I'm so sorry, Vegeta. Oh Kami, I'm just so sorry." Her voice cracked as she buried her face in her bloody, blistered hands.

A noise made her head lift sharply. Her heart almost stopped when a hand shot out from the ashes, clawing at chunks of masonry. She scrambled to help and within seconds Vegeta burst up into the fresh air, chest heaving. He swayed for a moment before collapsing onto one knee, bracing his knuckles against the rubble to help him balance.

Weak with relief, all else forgotten, Bulma slumped to her knees at his side, already running her eyes over his numerous injuries.

"Vegeta," she breathed, "you're alive. Oh Kami, you need to get to the infirmary right now."

The Saiyan growled, his voice rasping with strain, "Get away from me, woman. I don't need help."

Bulma reached out to brace him but he slapped her hands away. She ignored the sting and climbed to her feet as he pushed himself up onto his with a grunt. "I said I don't need-"

His eyes rolled up into his head, his body losing the fight with gravity as he fell backwards into darkness. The last thing he heard was Bulma's scream.

"Vegeta!"