Falling Short
Chapter 6: When Fighting Is Not Enough
"I can't believe you!" Bulma thundered as she chased Yamcha through the rooms of the Capsule Corps building. "No only did you show up three hours late, but you were with another woman!"
"Hey, hey, who said anything about another woman?" Yamcha demanded, turning on her. "I'll have you know--"
"You smell like perfume. Your suit's messed up, and--" She held up the slip of paper she'd discovered in his pocket. "--this isn't my phone number."
Yamcha shrugged. "So, it's from a work buddy."
"There's lipstick on it!" Bulma threw the crumpled sheet at him--naturally, he snatched it out of its flight. "How dare you do this to me again, Yamcha. After everything--"
"'Krillin and Gohan and I went through to get the Dragon Balls…'" he mimicked. "Yeah, I know. And thanks a lot, really. It's just…." He scratched the back of his head. "I stopped at the bar on my way over, and there's this girl--she's seen me play--and--"
"Save it, you pig," she snapped. "I'm through with you--through, you hear me?" She put her hands on her hips, ready to let him have it with every male-bashing vulgar profanity she knew--a considerable amount. She was halted, however, by a beeping sound from the computer against the wall. Though her temper remained intact, her focus switched when she realized its source. "Aha! Finally!" She ran to the console.
Yamcha released a sigh, thanking every god he knew of for the diversion. Curiously, he approached. "What is it?"
"Vegeta." Bulma said the name as if it was one of the curses she'd been saving for her ex-boyfriend. Yamcha nearly leapt back at the mentioning of it. "I've been looking for him for a year--how dare he steal my father's ship!" Her fingers flew over the keyboard, tapping furiously. "Damn, he wasn't far away after all. He must have been hiding."
"What are you going to do?"
"Bring him back," she replied deftly.
"What!?" Yamcha leaned over her shoulder. "Are you crazy? We finally got rid of him and you want him back?"
Bulma cackled triumphantly, crossing her arms, as she sat back. "Got that spiky-haired bastard on navigation override. And to correct your earlier questions, no, I'm not crazy and no, I don't want him back--I wan the ship back."
Yamcha spun her chair around and stared her directly in the eye. "Bulma, it took Goku six days in that kind of ship to become a Super Saiyan. Do you have any idea what a guy like Vegeta can do in a year!?"
The blue-haired woman dismissed his concerns with a wave of her hand. "He may say he's gonna destroy the Earth, but it's really Goku he's after. He won't try anything." She grinned wickedly. "And in the meantime, I get revenge."
Yamcha didn't quite get it. It was clear by the look on his face that he didn't understand how a woman could go from being terrified of a man, to hating him, to inviting him back to her house. He scratched the top of his head. "Um…are you sure about this?"
"Of course! Come on--I'm gonna give him an earful." Bulma returned to her counsel and began to type again.
"The last thing you want to do is get him mad," he replied diffidently.
The computer monitor changed, and after a moment of static it revealed a view of the interior of the Capsule III. Bulma scanned the small portion visible to her, and frowned. "Hey, lazy-ass vegetable head, this is your reality check," she announced, ignoring Yamcha's rapid hand gestures. "On Earth we call borrowing a $4 million zeni spaceship 'theft'. Consider your ass to be mine."
She's…as fearless as Goku, Yamcha thought to himself, keeping his lips tightly pressed.
There was no reply. Bulma waited as long as her patience allowed--three seconds--and tried again. "I know you're listening Prince Vegeta. You can't change your course without blowing up the whole ship, and the escape pods have been disabled. You're gonna have to face me sooner or later, so you might as well fess up now."
Another lengthy silence followed. "I don't like this," Yamcha muttered. "He's up to something. Maybe we should--"
"Hold on." She cocked her head to the side and moved closer to the screen. "Can you hear that?" She adjusted a few of the controls, then motioned for him to be quiet. Through the speakers filtered a dull, rasping sound. "Is that feedback?"
"No. Sounds like…breathing. Shit, Bulma, I don't like this." He paused, pointing to the corner of the screen. It was the display for the gravity machine. "200. Is that…?"
"That stupid little…." Bulma rolled her eyes and returned to typing. "I think I can disable the gravity machine once he gets close. But by then we'll probably have to scrape him off the floor. He'll be here in less than an hour."
"Shouldn't we contact Krillin? And Tienshinhan, and Chao-zu, and at least Piccolo?" Yamcha grinned sheepishly--he wasn't looking forward to another meeting with the Saiyan.
"What for? I'm sure he's in no condition to get rowdy. When you live with a guy for a couple weeks, you kinda get to know their personality." She scowled. "Not that you'd know anything about that--or anything that vaguely resembles commitment."
He cringed, allowing the subject to drop before she decided to resume their earlier argument. "I'm going to wake my parents," she went on. "I'll meet you out front. And if you even think about standing me up this time, you'll wish I'm as forgiving as Vegeta," she added tersely.
"Yes Ma'am," was all he could say.
When Bulma laid eyes on Vegeta she wasn't quite sure what to think. He was lying on his back in the center of the training area, barely conscious, his armor cracked and left shoulder dislocated. She and her father examined him briefly before declaring him safe to be moved. Yamcha carried the prince to his old room where Mrs. Briefs had already prepared a bed. No one said much, taken in by the sight of the broken warrior.
Bulma's gaze was drawn continuously to his face. His expression was tight, not from physical agony but a deeper pain. He'd worn himself down in every sense, until there was nothing left to give. It was as if his own obsession had defeated him. It was almost pitiful. She felt as if she were viewing something infinitely personal and rare, like a man who had for the first time truly realized his own limitations.
"You shouldn't be seeing this." Bulma turned to Yamcha, who was also staring at the Saiyan with a bit of shock. She knew that he could never understand what he was seeing. "Let's leave him alone for a while. He'll probably sleep all night." She began to usher everyone outside. "He'll be hungry when he wakes up, though. I should probably go out and get some food."
"Wait a minute," Yamcha protested as he was pushed through the door. "What about our date?"
She snorted. "Didn't I tell you? We're through."
"Over a little thing like--"
"It's not a little thing!"
Mrs. Briefs closed the door to Vegeta's room behind them, and quickly intervened as her husband looked on. "Now now, Dear, let's all just take a breather, hmm?" She interposed herself between the combatants. "Now, you father and I will go do some quick shopping for Mr. Vegeta. And you two can settle this like the mature couple you are."
Bulma crossed her arms. "I doubt maturity has anything to do with it," she muttered.
"You two behave until we get back, okay? Have fun now." Mrs. Briefs grinned--her normal cheerful self--and led her husband away.
Yamcha sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Bulma, I can't believe this. You're really willing to take care of that monster?"
"He's not a monster," Bulma retorted without thinking. "I mean--didn't you listen to what Krillin and Gohan told us? About the life he's lived?"
"What, you mean about Freeza and all that?" He shrugged. "I didn't think you were the kind of person to sympathize with something like that."
She bristled. "What are you implying? That I'm insensitive?"
"No, I didn't--"
"You know what? Get out." Bulma pointed emphatically to the door. "For your information I happen to be a very caring person, and I'm sick you judging me--and him. Get out, now."
"But Bulma--"
"Now."
Yamcha regarded her critically, then only shook his head. "I hope you know what you're doing," he murmured, turning his back. He waved as he left. "See ya around, Bulma."
"Sure. Whatever." She crossed her arms and turned away, determined to not show any regret over her decisions. She was doing the right thing. What Goku would have done.
She didn't sleep easily that night.
Vegeta awoke slowly. His entire body ached, and his stomach felt twisted from days of not eating. He was puzzled momentarily by the sunlight stinging his eyes, and the feel of cloth sheets. Where…? He glanced about, confused to find himself in his old room in the Capsule Corps building. But how did I get here? When he tried to sit up, his stomach muscles complained sharply. He elected to stay put.
A few short minutes later there was a soft knocking on the door. He didn't reply--the door opened anyway. The source had been Bulma, carrying a wide tray of delicious-smelling food. "Oh, so you're awake." She stepped inside and nudged the door closed with her foot. "I knew you wouldn't stay down for long."
"How long have I been here?" he asked, attempting again to sit up. His arms trembled as they supported his weight.
"Just a day and a half," the woman replied. "Do you need some--"
"I don't need any help," the prince snapped. He leaned his back against the headboard for support, finally finding some balance. "How did I get here?"
Bulma sat the tray down on his lap, and though he hated accepting aid from anyone, his starvation demanded nourishment. He quickly began to devour the meal. "I got control of your ship through my computer," she explained as he ate. "And it's a good thing I did, or you would have been stuck out there."
Vegeta rolled his eyes. "Sure. And by the way, what exactly am I eating?"
"Eggs benedict. I figured you might as well get a hot meal, considering you almost killed yourself out there." She watched him. Though most of her fear of him had faded by now, she still appeared a bit tense. He noted that her hair had lengthened since he'd seen her last and she was dressed more pleasantly; a white blouse and a blue jean skirt. The top button of her shirt was undone, and the skirt didn't quiet reach her knees. He usually didn't think of these things--perhaps being out of human contact for so long had left him more susceptible. He shook his head to clear it, but instantly another image came to him. "Where's Koan?" he asked, trying to sound non-chalet.
"She left." Bulma sighed. "She said she didn't want to be here if you came back. She's--"
"What?" Vegeta stopped eating to glare at her--the woman drew back under his harsh stare. He quickly regained his composure. "Is that so?" He took a long drink of orange juice. "Where is she now?"
She hesitated, indicating that she did know, despite her reply of, "I don't know. But she's not far, because Cumber comes over sometimes to tell us how they're doing."
"Well, that's too bad." The prince finished his meal, not bothering to thank its bearer. "That wasn't…inedible."
Naturally, Bulma had come to accept this lack of gratitude. "I guess that's as much a compliment as I'll ever get from you," she muttered, taking the tray. "I'll bring lunch around noon. Whatever you do until then is your business." And then she left, tight skirt and all.
Vegeta sighed and rubbed his eyes wearily. It's not bad enough that I've been wondering about Koan for the last year. Now I have to figure out this one, too. He laid down on his back, hoping that a more relaxed position would allow his muscles to loosen. She knows very well that I won't be going anywhere at all today. I might as well recuperate. He closed his eyes. She knows where Koan is. When I've healed, I'll find out.
Bulma brought lunch at noon, as promised. She stayed as Vegeta ate, chatting casually. She could tell that he wasn't paying attention except to add a sarcastic comment, but she didn't care. It was almost nice having someone in the house besides her parents, now that Koan, Cumber, and the Nameks were gone.
When Bulma brought dinner, she was surprised to find the Saiyan prince bench-pressing his desk. After a brief--very loud--argument she convinced him that it was too soon to continue training. "Only when you're fully healed will you be able to determine your full strength," she reasoned. "You've got all the time in the world. Now eat the food I made you."
Still grumbling to himself, Vegeta ate the meal of steak and potatoes. His eyebrow raised a bit, the only clue that he might have actually enjoyed the taste. His approval genuinely pleased her, though she wasn't sure why. If he didn't care enough to thank her, then why should she care enough to bother with his opinion? She was doing a good service to the Saiyan--wasn't that good enough? At least he wouldn't blow up the planet if he thought he could get free food.
"Don't you have any annoying banter?" Vegeta asked between mouthfuls.
"If you can't compliment me," Bulma's temper responded, "the least you can do is not insult me. I'm not doing this for my health, you know."
Vegeta regarded her silently for a moment. "Fine. I like your shirt." He gulped down a mouthful of potatoes. "It shows your breasts rather nicely."
Bulma immediately crossed her arms and legs--then uncrossed her legs, as crossing them only succeeded in showing more of her thigh. "That's not what I had in mind," she snapped, lifting her chin. "Even if lots of people say that." She glanced at him only briefly before looking away. She could feel her cheeks growing hot.
"So, you're a slut."
She spun on him like a wolf. "I am nothing of the sort!" she exclaimed, inches from his face. Even the Saiyan prince was startled by her volume. "Just because I happen to be an extraordinarily beautiful woman doesn't mean I like to wait on you filthy, obnoxious, hormone-driven pigs who call yourselves men! You may be a prince, buddy, but you've got a lot to learn about how to treat a lady!"
"You'll have to point one out to me sometime," Vegeta retorted with a cool smirk.
Bulma fumed silently. She would have loved to hit him--a punch, even a slap would have done wonders--but she didn't dare. It was, after all, Vegeta, and his retaliation would be severe. "You…you little…" she hissed, unable to generate a worse enough insult. She trembled in rage and frustration. "How dare you," she said at last through clenched jaws.
"How original." His hand was touching her face--his fingers were rough and hot against her skin. She gulped, surprised by the touch. He was drawing closer. "But really, there is a reason you're taking care of me, isn't there?" he asked, his hot breath spilling over her face. "Maybe…you're hoping I'll treat you like a lady." His hand slid slowly down her neck, over her collarbone and chest, until his index finger curled around the top button of her silk shirt. "Or like a woman."
"I don't need anything from you," she retorted, though her voice sounded no louder than a whisper. Something inside her ached. She had thought about him this past year, remembering the ice in his eyes and intensity of his stare. The same man that terrified her also gave her goosebumps. And it had been so long since she'd been treated as anything--let alone a woman worthy of being teased this way.
She kissed him--perhaps for a thousand reasons, perhaps only a few. Not even Bulma herself was sure what had caused her sudden advance. Vegeta recoiled momentarily, as if he hadn't expected this reaction from her. His stupor didn't last; the dinner tray clattered to the floor as he dragged her to his lap, pulling her body against his with an almost violent force. Their lips refused to separate even to breathe. They were caught up in a terrible frenzy, as if locked in some kind of conflict, trying to best the other.
My God, what am I doing?
Bulma pushed on Vegeta's shoulders, trying unsuccessfully to ease them apart. He merely held her closer. She didn't find her chance for escape until he relaxed his embrace--even then it was to reach for her shirt buttons. She took advantage of this by halting his hands and pushing away. With one hand clasped to her chest she stood from the bed. Her heart was pounding. What…what's gotten into me? she wondered desperately, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She shuddered, still able to feel the imprints of Vegeta's hands against her back.
Come on, Bulma, pull yourself together! This is Vegeta, remember? He almost destroyed the entire Earth! He killed all your friends! She calmed herself, waiting for him to say something but hoping he wouldn't. "Well…" she began at last. "Um, I…that was odd."
"Very odd."
Bulma frowned--she couldn't distinguish what emotion was in his voice. She turned. Vegeta was watching her thoughtfully, a hint of what might have been a grin on the edges of his lips. She didn't know whether she should be excited or frightened. Slowly, so that he wouldn't see her trembling, she bent down to gather the spilled dishes. He was still watching her as she replaced them on the tray, and started to leave.
"I liked the taste."
She stiffened, nearly dropping her tray in surprise. "It's about time you appreciated my cooking," she said through tight lips.
"I wasn't talking about the food."
Bulma quickly exited the room.
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