Disclaimer: I don't own Dragonball Z.

A/N: There's new cover art for this fic (based on chapter 20), by the amazing Nelicquele79, so I'm dedicating this chapter to her! Please visit her DeviantArt page for more awesome pictures of Vegeta and Bulma!

Bulma

Year 755

The wind has picked up, bringing with it a cold chill. Despite the cloudless skies above, a gust whips at her hair and pulls it across her face as soon as she steps foot off the ship's ramp. It's a stark reminder that no matter how much this planet looks like Earth, this is not the home that she's been longing for.

She crosses the vast field before her, the smell of crushed grass rising from under her feet as she approaches Vegeta. In seeing her he stops his exercises and rises from the ground in one fluid motion, his dark eyes watching her with the intensity of a predator stalking his prey.

"You have the gravity belt?" he demands before she's even reached him.

"Right here." She throws it across the final distance, Vegeta catching it with ease. He examines it critically, turning the small black box she's passed him around in his hands.

His brows crease. "Where is the belt?"

She bites back a smile. "Here," she gestures, taking the device back, their fingers brushing. For once, he's not wearing gloves.

She pulls the retractable belt out from the underside of the device. "See? It clips here," she shows him, turning it around. She shakes her head as the wind blows hair in her face once more, and wishes that she'd tied it back. "I'll help you put it on, but first you need to take your shirt off."

The questioning look he shoots her leaves her scrambling to explain herself.

"I need to do preliminary tests on you. I have an echocardiogram machine here," she adds, pulling a capsule out from her coveralls, "I need to measure your vitals before, during, and after using the gravity belt to help improve its performance – I mean, this is our first test run. I need data. Plus, it's not like I haven't seen you shirtless before," she blurts, wishing immediately that she could swallow those words back up again.

Vegeta snorts, and she swears she sees him roll his eyes as he peels his shirt off over his head. Standing this close, it's hard not to get distracted by the way his muscles shift, his bronze skin littered with the scars of past battles. Her eyes shift over his body, and when she looks back at him she realises he's been watching her. She blushes and turns away, opening out the ECG capsule.

"Don't move," she orders brusquely, peeling the protective layer off the first echocardiogram electrode and slapping it firmly against Vegeta's chest before he has a chance to react. He grunts in surprise and she turns her head against the wind, fumbling with a second electrode. Despite the cold air, she feels too hot.

"Fuck," she hisses under her breath as her hair catches in her eyes once more. Given the fact that she's half-way through sticking electrodes to Vegeta's bare torso, it's less than ideal. "I left all my hair ties back on the ship. Can you hold my hair back, just for a sec?" she asks him through a mouthful of hair. She catches the look of surprise on his face before it settles back into his regular mask, and she bites back another smile.

His hands gently frame her face, smoothing back through her hair until she can see again. She stands between the walls of his arms, the world around her suddenly still.

"Thanks," she whispers, biting at her bottom lip as she drags her gaze away from his curious eyes. This close, she can see that the iris of his eyes is not black at all, but a dark charcoal, only a shade or two lighter than his pupils. He blinks, long dark lashes brushing against his cheeks, and she practically melts.

He is a beautiful specimen of a man; both rough and smooth, the harshness of his expression at odds with those full lips and deep eyes.

"How many more do you need to place?" His voice is low, and she feels the rumble of his words under her hand as she places another sticker over his heart.

"Just another two on your back." Stepping forward, she reaches around him, her hands smoothing over his shoulder blades as she attaches the last of the electrodes. "There. It's done." Standing this close, she can smell his skin, a sweet musk that has her resisting the urge to press her lips to his neck.

She feels as if all of her senses are heightened, and tendrils of desire curl in her core.

She steps back, shaking her head until his hands fall from her hair. "We're good to go," she tells him, picking up the belt from the ground and looping it quickly around his waist, her hands accidentally catching his tail in her haste. Her fingers brush against the edge of his pants as she secures the clasp, her heart beating so loud in her chest that she swears he must be able to hear it.

"Ready?" she asks, nervous excitement coursing through her.

He nods, and she grins in reply.

. . .

The experiment is a success. They spend all day in the field, and as the sun dips towards the horizon Vegeta lowers himself to the ground for the final time, performing his last set of what she can only describe as katas, though she knows he has a Saiyan word for these ancient exercises.

Her voice is hoarse from yelling instructions over the wind all day, and she's starving, but she's overwhelmingly happy. Her invention has worked, taking Vegeta through ten, fifteen, twenty times normal gravity. She's controlled it all through her tablet, all the while collecting data on how much strain his body has been under.

Best of all, Vegeta seems pleased. For the first time, she sees him smile, watches him laugh as he flips through the air with the added force of 20Gs attached to him. There's something about it that tugs at her heart.

It's enough to almost forget about Frieza.

She powers the belt down, and he stands still before her as she peels off each electrode and unclips the belt. He could do it himself, but she's not about to tell him that. They're both quiet as she works, the moment surprisingly intimate. He smells of salt and sweat and soil – not an unpleasant thing – and when the wind pulls at her hair once more he lifts a hand and catches it for her, his thumb brushing her earlobe.

The wanting in his eyes is all the invitation she needs. She steps forward until she is pressed against him, and his hands settle on her waist as if they belong there. She shivers as he pulls her closer still, his need clear in the hardness that grinds against her stomach, even as his lips brush lightly against hers in question.

Will she?

She leans into his kiss, lips parted, answering in kind.

Yes.