Bulma sat on the floor, among the shattered dishes and broken chairs, with tears were
streaming down her porcelain face. She and Yamcha had been together since the beginning,
basically since Goku came into the picture.
They had been through so much together, but she knew that it was better this way.
Yamcha would go on with his training, and his various other women. And Bulma? She would go
on running Capsule Corp., and, and what? She couldn't determine what her future was going to
be like. She always had Yamcha to fall back on, and now he was gone. Her thoughts flitted to
Vegeta, but she quickly dismissed the idea. She almost laughed at the image in her mind of
Vegeta settling down, becoming a family man. No, that would never happen. If anything ever did
happen between them, he would probably soon get bored with her and move on.
Bulma shook her head. The only man she had ever been with was Yamcha, and she didn't
know if she could give herself to anyone so completely again. Especially a certain Saiyan prince
who would tire of her so quickly. Bulma tried to shake the thoughts from her head, but she just
couldn't. Grabbing a pint of chocolate ice cream from the freezer, she searched the drawers for a
spoon. Finding one she left the demolished kitchen behind and walked out the front door. She
could see lightening in the distance, and smell the approaching rain. Absently spooning through
the soft chocolate, Bulma walked to her main garage, and using the voice verification system,
unlocked the door. Stepping inside, she was surrounded by a comforting darkness. Leaving the
lights off, she made her way to the back of the large garage, her boots echoing on the cold cement
floor. Her nostrils were invaded by the familiar smell of oil and grease, and she breathed in
deeply. The smell comforted her more than anything else could. She felt so at home here,
amongst the antique cars, trucks, and motorcycles that she collected. Setting the pint of ice cream
on a work bench, Bulma grabbed a wrench and walked up to her favorite piece of antiquity, a
1977 Suzuki GS550E. The bike was a little heavy for her, so she replaced the frame with a lighter
metal alloy, and all she really had to do was tighten the chain for it to be finished. The soft
moonlight glinted off of the jet black gas tank and the beautiful chrome pipes. Bulma smiled,
whenever she was having problems at work, or with the two men who seemed to take up most of
her time, she would come out and work on this bike. Making sure the gauges were all working
right and that all the fluids were topped off, Bulma pushed the electric start on the handle bar, and
the engine roared to life. She smiled, the modifications she made on the muffler system made the
meek 550 cc Suzuki engine sound like a purring 1100 cc Harley Davidson.
Grabbing a full face helmet from a hook on the wall, Bulma shrugged into her soft leather
jacket and slipped on her leather riding pants. Pushing the button that controls the garage door,
Bulma walked slowly back to the purring motorcycle, eager to rush out into the wind. Straddling
the seat, she opened up the throttle slightly, with the clutch in, just to hear the roar of the motor.
When the door had opened completely, she let the clutch out, leaving a smoky trail of rubber on
the smooth cement floor. With a whoop of glee, Bulma pulled out of her driveway and opened up
the throttle, leaning into the wind. She almost let the engine redline before shifting each time,
taking her frustration out on the open road. Finally reaching sixth gear, she let up a little, the road
was winding, and a light rain was beginning to fall. Slowing quite a bit, Bulma let the rain soak
her completely, and she could hear lightening and thunder crash above her. Knowing that she
should head back, but not really caring, she stayed her course. The headlight on the bike cut
through the rain soaked night, and Bulma rode on, letting the road take her where it wanted to.
Her instincts began to kick in as she felt that she was being watched, but she knew that there were
no other vehicles on the road. Was it Yamcha? Was he coming back to fight with her again, now
that Vegeta wasn't at her side? She let the bike gain speed, and she began to take turns
recklessly, swinging into the oncoming lane so she could turn without slowing. Her heart was
beating hard in her chest. If it was Yamcha, she didn't want to be left alone with him. She really
didn't know what he would do, and without Vegeta there to back her, what could she do?
Gritting her teeth, she finally came to a stop, her rear tire skidding from behind. The bike
swung around, and Bulma kept it running, not knowing whether to try to make it back to Capsule
Corp., or to face Yamcha right here, right now. Pulling off her helmet, she remained on the bike,
feeling slightly safer on the powerful machine. Sure enough, Yamcha landed in front of her, his
hair plastered to his forehead by the rain. His eyes were puffy and red, and even through the rain,
Bulma could smell the alcohol on him. Her eyes narrowed as he walked toward her.
"Stay right there, Yamcha. When I said that it was over, I meant it. It's over, no if, ands,
or buts." Bulma said, the falling rain was blurring her vision. In a flash, Yamcha was beside her.
He grabbed her shoulders and pulled her off of the bike. He held her still in front of him, tears
running down his face. The rancid smell of the alcohol on his breath made Bulma want to gag.
Yamcha leaned into Bulma's face, attempting to kiss her. Bulma whipped her head back and
forth, making it difficult. Yamcha roughly grabbed her face and held her still.
"Yamcha, don't." Bulma said sternly. She had never seen him so drunk, and she was
frightened of what he may do.
"Don't tell me no. I still love you." He whispered as his mouth crushed hers. She tried to
struggle, but he wouldn't release her. His hands began to roam, and he grunted when the
protective leather jacket wouldn't allow him free range of her body. Tears began to well up in
Bulma's eyes, was he really going to do this? She wanted to scream, but her mouth was still
covered by Yamcha's. She knew that he wasn't powered up and that there was no ki shield
surrounding him, so she did the only thing that she could. Finding his lip in his groping kiss,
Bulma bit down hard, and was relieved when Yamcha released her suddenly. She spat out the
blood that had flowed from his lip into her mouth.
"What did you do that for?" Yamcha stumbled back, slurring his words. He wiped the
blood from his lip and glared at her.
"Why? Because your slobbering drunk, and you were about to rape me, you goddamn
asshole!" Bulma screamed at him through the pouring rain. Her hair was sticking to her face, and
her blue eyes flashed in the headlights of the Suzuki. Yamcha's jaw dropped at what she had just
said.
"Rape you? No... I...I love you, Bulma." Yamcha said, taking a step toward her. She
shrunk back, putting the bike between herself and the drunken man.
"And I love you, Yamcha, but you and I both know that we have totally different lives to
live, and you are not what I need." Bulma explained, still ready to run if she had to. Yamcha's
shoulders sagged, obviously defeated.
"Bulma...you...you have to believe me, I would never have..." Yamcha stopped as he
looked at her face. Her eyes told him that it would be a long time before she ever truly trusted
him again. With a sad nod, he looked at her, and then flew into the air, in a second he was gone.
Relieved, Bulma slipped the helmet over her dripping wet hair and climbed back onto her bike.
Riding home slowly, the water began to soak through her leather clothing, and she became
chilled. Driving up to her front door, she turned off the bike and left the helmet hanging on the
handle bar. She'd worry about the bike later. Walking into the house, she slipped out of the
jacket and shook the water out of it. Hanging it on the back of a chair in the kitchen, she noticed
that the cleaner bots the she had programmed to keep the house tidy also did a great job on
repairing the kitchen. Wearing her leather pants and a tight white tank top, Bulma felt soaked to
the bone.
Putting on the kettle to make some hot tea, Bulma wrapped her arms around herself,
rubbing her chilled skin. She kept the lights off, she didn't want to disturb Vegeta if he was
already asleep. She stood by the stove, shivering, and her skin was icy to the touch. Grabbing a
tea towel she rubbed the water out of her hair and grabbed the kettle off of the stove. Pouring the
hot water into the pot, Bulma let the tea brew for a minute or two before finally pouring it into
her own cup. The hot liquid warmed her slightly, and she wrapped her hands around the cup to
warm them. Examining the bandaging on her hand that Vegeta had applied earlier that week, she
smiled. At that moment she heard a slight scuffling noise and looked up. She could see Vegeta's
muscular form in the doorway, and she half smiled at him. She really didn't know if he could see
it or not. Looking back down at her cup, she heard him speak softly.
"Your teeth must be razor sharp." Vegeta remarked. Confused, Bulma stared at him
through the darkness, and her eyes widened as she realized what he was talking about.
"You...you were there the whole time?" Bulma managed to stammer out. Silence was her
answer. "So...why didn't you step in right at the start?" Her voice gained in volume. What was
he going to do, just watch as Yamcha raped her!?!
"I knew that you were able to handle the maggot." was his reply. Bulma was shocked,
did the Prince of all Saiyans just give her a compliment? And why did he follow her? Was he
actually concerned about her? A smile crossed her face as she realized that out of all of the men
in her life, from her father, to Yamcha, to Goku, Vegeta was the only one who treated her like an
independent person. A person who could take care of herself. Still shivering, she stood up,
pushing her chair back. Nervously she walked toward him, not knowing what his reaction
would be. When she finally reached the handsome Saiyan, all she could do was wrap her arms around him. She
was relieved when he finally returned the embrace. She could smell the rain on him, and she knew
it was true. He went out into the storm for her. She leaned back in his embrace and looked into
his eyes. She knew that there was a chance that this arrogant man may bore of her sometime, but
right now, she was willing to take that risk. Pressing her shivering body against his, she kissed
him deeply, and was rewarded when the same passionate kiss was returned. He pushed her away
from him, and she whimpered slightly, not wanting the kiss to end. He only smirked at her, his
black eyes dancing mischievously. Looking her up and down he finally scoop her up in his arms
and began walking to the stairs.
"You are soaked. I am taking you out of these wet clothes." Vegeta stated gruffly.
Bulma could only smile as he began his steady climb up the stairs.
****Okay people, this is the end, I hoped you liked my little rendition of the start of
the most passionate relationship in all the DBZdom. Please review, if enuff of you want,
I'll try another romance, but for now, it's back to the other fic. Thanx for reading****