Disclaimer: I do not own DB/Z/GT. All I own is my imagination, and even that tends to run away on me sometimes.
A/N: I decided to post all the chapters in
one sitting this time, as opposed to waiting a day or two between, because I
don't know when I'd be able update next if I didn't do it now. So, enjoy.
Chapter Two: Trust
Yamucha took a deep breath as he prepared to knock on Bulma's door. He felt completely terrible for accusing Bulma of cheating . . . he'd known Bulma long enough to realize she wouldn't do anything like that to him. The question now was whether or not Bulma would be forgiving.
When no response came to his knock, Yamucha shrugged and walked into the house. "Bulma?" he called, glancing around the kitchen. Groceries were everywhere. She was telling the truth, Yamucha thought guiltily. Good thing I came back to apologize.
The sound of snoring came from the living room — Yamucha grimaced. "What is Vegeta doing inside so early?" he wondered aloud, then made a face. "O well, maybe he knows where Bulma is," Yamucha made his way to the living room, which was dark except for the light of the television. It was the end credits of some war movie, which meant that Vegeta had had control of the T.V. last.
Yamucha flicked on the light switch. "Hey, Vegeta, do you —" he broke off with a strangled gurgle.
Vegeta and Bulma sat together on the couch, Bulma's head on Vegeta's chest and both Vegeta's arms wrapped around her shoulders, holding her to him. Both were sleeping soundly. "I don't believe it . . . !" Yamucha gasped.
The sound of his voice startled Vegeta, who jumped and sat up straight. The Saiyajin's black eyes flickered to Bulma, noting with discomfort that their proximity was considerably closer than it had been before — if that were possible. He figured Bulma must have snuggled up in her sleep and he had unconsciously responded — that, or he had put his arms around her first. Neither prospect was particularly encouraging to his pride, especially with the enraged Yamucha fuming a few feet away.
Despite his momentary embarrassment, Vegeta's mischievous nature won out. A sneer crossed his face, and he jabbed Bulma in the neck with his finger. "Wake up, woman. You have company."
Bulma blinked a few times, and when she saw the position they were in she let out a shriek. "Good heavens, Vegeta, why didn't you tell me I fell asleep?"
Vegeta grinned inwardly — Bulma obviously hadn't noticed Yamucha's presence. He could have some fun with this, seeing how far he could get the woman to incriminate herself. "Well, what did you want me to do?"
"You could have carried me to my bed, at least!" she huffed. "It's not very gentlemanly to leave me on the couch!"
"Your bed, eh, Bulma?"
Bulma's eyes widened as she heard Yamucha's voice, low and angry. "Yamucha! I didn't know you were here!"
"Obviously," the dark-haired human crossed his arms. "I came here to apologize for jumping to conclusions, but now I can see I needn't have bothered. You obviously don't care about me, or you would have chosen someplace more private!"
Bulma flushed angrily and shrugged off Vegeta's arms like they were a pair of venomous snakes. "What is your problem? You're taking this too far."
"O, now I'm out of line?" Yamucha demanded. "I come in to see my girlfriend cuddling on the couch with that" — he pointed to Vegeta — "and all of a sudden I'm the bad guy?!"
"Don't give me that, Yamucha," Bulma snapped angrily, "Even if something had happened, which nothing did, would it really matter? I know you've seen other girls behind my back before, so wouldn't we count as even now?"
Yamucha jerked back, looking wounded. "That was five years ago, Bulma. I made a mistake and I'm sorry — and I thought you knew that. Don't bring my past misjudgments back into the open to try to cover your own."
Vegeta decided to step in. He didn't care about Bulma and Yamucha's relationship, but he didn't want the human to spread rumors about him and the whiny woman. If Kakarotto ever got wind of it, he'd never hear the end of it . . . "Listen, you idiot," Vegeta got to his feet and glowered at Yamucha. "The woman is telling the truth. There is nothing going on between the brat and me."
Bulma opened her mouth to retort, but realized that however insulting he was, Vegeta was on her side. She decided not to say anything this time.
Yamucha glared back, matching Vegeta's scowl eyeball for eyeball. Bulma hadn't seen him look this determined in a long time. "I don't know what you're trying to do; scare me off or just make me back down, or whatever . . . but it won't work. I'm not going to lose the woman I love to you just because you're Saiyajin. I don't care if you can beat me up — that isn't what's important."
"I don't want the stupid woman!!" Vegeta yelled, beginning to get really annoyed. "Are you thick, human? You can have her, though I don't know why you'd want her! She's ugly, and loud, and obnoxious, and —"
"Hey!" Bulma cried out indignantly.
Vegeta folded his arms across his chest. "I came into the room and the woman was sobbing her eyes out over you. She was so tired from her useless crying, and I from training, that we fell asleep. That's all."
Yamucha still looked suspicious, but Bulma ran to him. "Yamucha, please . . . there isn't anything between Vegeta and me. Honest!" she grabbed one of his hands. "Please believe me? I would never lie to you."
Finally Yamucha relented, and a small smile crossed his face. "Okay, Bulma."
Bulma flashed him a brilliant smile, and she raised herself up on her tiptoes to kiss him, bringing her arms up around his neck. Vegeta scowled and turned away. Stupid humans. Didn't they know it was rude to do that with someone else — especially royalty! — in the room?
Yamucha broke off first, smiling crookedly. "I'm sorry for snapping at you . . . but you understand where I'm coming from, don't you?"
"Yes," Bulma tugged on his arm. "Let's go take a walk."
"It's late."
"I don't care. The stars are out."
Hand in hand, the couple left the house. Vegeta watched them go, and as he did something rose up inside him. He couldn't figure out what it was. Could it be . . . jealousy? Of course not! That was impossible!
Vegeta frowned, because he knew this wasn't completely true. If not at them personally, he was jealous of something in their situation . . . how, despite their arguments, Bulma and Yamucha seemed to be perfectly content with each other. Vegeta had never had that; he had spent his whole life fighting — whether it was for his father, for Furiza, or with Kakarotto and his friends. He loved fighting; it meant more to him than life itself — but there was still a hole inside him, gnawing away like a hungry rat chewing on his insides. Despite any inner denials he might make, Vegeta knew what it was.
A memory sprang unbidden to Vegeta's mind; an image of himself as a young boy standing beside his father, watching the stars . . .
"You're a strong warrior, my son," King Vegeta looked down at his heir, pride in his eyes. "Someday you will rule the galaxy. And one day, when the time is right, you'll find a Saiyajin woman who is worthy to be your Queen."
"A female??" young Vegeta's eyebrows shot up. "I don't need a woman to help me rule, surely, Father!"
His father seemed mildly amused. "You never can tell. The Saiyajin was not made for battle alone, son . . . we need passions of the heart almost as much as we do war. Feelings don't weaken us, no matter what some might say."
Vegeta still looked skeptical, and his father, in a rare display of emotion, placed a hand on his head, Vegeta's spiky black hair sticking up between his fingers. "You don't believe me now, but when you're older . . . besides, if I thought the way you do, you wouldn't be here."
Little Vegeta made a face. "Eeyuck!" he exclaimed, sticking out his tongue in a disgusted grimace. "It's never gonna' happen to me!"
King Vegeta just laughed. "Whatever you say, son. Someday you'll feel the emptiness, no matter how many you kill or how much glory you attain. One day, you'll understand . . ."
Now, Vegeta shook his head violently. When they'd had this conversation, his father had obviously been thinking of a Saiyajin warrior or princess for his son . . . not a weak, blue-haired human. The King would probably have a fit if he saw Bulma.
Vegeta glowered. What did it matter, anyway? Bulma wasn't his mate — wasn't anything close to it. There wasn't anything to be ashamed about. Of course there wasn't.
Was there?
The Prince of Saiyajins growled at himself and stormed out of the house to the GT, where he proceeded to turn up the gravity to 430. The crushing weight pressed down on him from all sides, but Vegeta welcomed the pain it brought. This was what he lived for; to push his body to the limit, to drive himself as far as he could go. Not any weak emotion, no matter what his father said . . . Vegeta's passion was to become stronger and once again reclaim his title as the greatest warrior in the universe — not some woman.
Especially not —
Vegeta cut off his thoughts with an inward snarl. He would not allow himself to say her name — not even in his head.
But his rebellious brain wouldn't let him have even this piece of mind. As he slipped into battle mode, Vegeta found himself wondering what Bulma would say when he did surpass Kakarotto . . .
******
Bulma strolled through the garden with Yamucha, glad he was no longer suspicious. Really, it was ridiculous to think that she would be having an affair with Vegeta! He was disagreeable, and ill-mannered, and . . . and . . . ugh! His opinion of himself was so high, it was a wonder his head didn't explode from all the pressure. At least Yamucha had a realistic appraisal of his own fighting skills; Vegeta was unbelievably egotistical. Incredibly good looking, but egotistical.
Bulma's eyes widened until she thought they would burst from their sockets. "Whoa, where did that come from?" she muttered.
Yamucha glanced down at her. "What was that, hon?"
"Nothing," Bulma said quickly. She squeezed his fingers. "I'm really sorry I had you worried . . . I feel so bad . . ."
Yamucha shrugged. "Yeah, well, I shouldn't have gone off the handle like that. Let's just start over again, huh?"
"Sure," Bulma smiled.
They walked in silence for a while, and Bulma felt her mind begin to wander. It was just like old times; just her and Yamucha, together under the night sky, Yamucha's warm hand in hers. The only difference now was the lack of the moon, but Bulma didn't really mind. The moon reminded her of the fiasco with the Saiyajins . . . and Vegeta.
Bulma looked up at Yamucha, noting how the starlight hardened the lines of his face, making his features look sharper and accentuating his cheekbones and jaw. For a second, he looked like Vegeta . . .
Unwittingly, Bulma thought back to the conversation she and the Saiyajin had had before the awkward argument with Yamucha. There had been genuine pain in his voice when he talked about — or refused to talk about — his father, and it made her wonder. Perhaps Vegeta was more human — well, whatever — than Bulma had previously thought. It was certainly worth investigating.
"Hey, you," Yamucha's voice brought her back to the present. "Where are you today?"
Bulma laughed nervously. "Sorry . . . I was just thinking about . . . uh . . . the androids. Yeah, I was thinking about what will happen when the androids come."
For a second it looked like Yamucha's eyes glinted distrustfully, but it could have been just the lighting. Nevertheless, Bulma had to remind herself that Yamucha was her boyfriend . . . thoughts about Vegeta were wrong. No matter how handsome he —
No, no, no, no, no!!!
******
It was around four in the morning when Vegeta came inside from the trainer. Bruised and bleeding but exhilarated, Vegeta couldn't help but grin. He'd come this close to hitting Super Saiyajin; he could feel it. It wouldn't be long now.
It had been a week since their conversation on the sofa, and during that time Bulma and Vegeta basically avoided each other. Vegeta pretended not to care one way or another, and Bulma was too embarrassed, so the only words that passed between them had been insults.
Vegeta stumbled into the kitchen wearily, and he flopped down at the table. His head resting on the tabletop, Vegeta began laughing, not caring how psychotic he sounded. I'll surpass you soon, Kakarotto . . . and then we will fight. We'll see who the strongest warrior is . . .
"What is the matter with you?"
He looked up to see Bulma sitting across the table, holding a cup of coffee, an eyebrow cocked scornfully. Vegeta's lip twitched in a derisive sneer. "What are you doing up?"
The woman put a hand to her forehead as if it pained her. "I've been working on a program for the past few days, and I haven't been able to sleep. I tried going to bed tonight, but I have a headache."
"Poor you," Vegeta scoffed. He tried to get to his feet, but was too tired. He'd have to scare her away somehow. There was something different about her, though — and suddenly, it hit him.
"You cut your hair."
Bulma seemed to glow in appreciation as she fluffed her blue-green hair with one hand. It was now cut to chin-length and held back from her face by a dark blue headband. "Yeah, it was too hard to manage. You like it?"
It did look much better that way, but Vegeta certainly wasn't going to tell her that. "Not really. You look uglier than before," perhaps that would make her leave.
Not this time. Bulma merely smiled. "That's a compliment, coming from you. How's the training going?"
Vegeta was mildly surprised — Bulma never showed interest in his fighting before . . . he took the opportunity to gloat. "I'm almost there. Soon I'll be able to pound your precious Kakarotto into the ground."
Once again, all Bulma did was laugh. Maybe all the time spent staring at the computer screen was slowly driving her insane . . . "It would be an interesting match, that's for sure . . . but what would you gain from it? Son-kun isn't your enemy anymore; he wouldn't want to fight. And even if you did beat him, what would the point be?"
Vegeta frowned. He'd never actually considered what would happen after Kakarotto was defeated. It would be rather strange, that was certain . . . all those years, building up to one fight . . . when it was over, then what? It was a disturbing idea.
Vegeta decided not to let it bother him — he'd come to that bridge when he crossed it, or cross the . . . no, wait . . . well, never mind. Vegeta snorted inwardly. Stupid Chikyuujin idioms . . . "Why do you care, anyway?"
"I just think you're working too hard," Bulma stood up and put her mug in the sink, walking behind Vegeta to do so. As she passed by she rested her hand on his shoulder for a second, then pulled back. "Good heavens, Vegeta! You're as tense as a spring!"
Vegeta had no response to that. "What —"
Without warning, Bulma began kneading Vegeta's shoulder muscles with her hands. "What are you doing?!" he bellowed.
"Keep it down, you'll wake my parents!" Bulma slapped him lightly on the head. "Relax, will you? I'm just giving you a massage."
Instead of relaxing, however, Vegeta tensed up even more. Bulma stopped for a minute, and a puzzled look crossed her face as she studied him. There was an expression on Vegeta's face that she hadn't seen on him before — one of fear, and even vulnerability. "What's the matter?"
Vegeta pulled slightly away from her, the expression still colouring his features. He reminded her of that of a dog who had been beaten so many times that he had forgotten what it was like to receive a gentle caress. "Don't touch me," Vegeta's voice was low, almost pleading.
"I'm not going to hurt you," Bulma insisted, placing a hand lightly on Vegeta's shoulder again and feeling his muscles tighten further. Something akin to pity began to make its way into Bulma's heart. "Don't you trust me?"
Vegeta's breath was coming in low, shallow, almost-gasps, and Bulma got the sudden impression that he was thinking back to an event in his past. "Get your hand off me."
"You don't have to be afraid, Vegeta," Bulma said quietly, though she wasn't sure why she said that. Her hand moved, seemingly of its own volition, to rest gently on his cheek. "I won't hurt you."
Vegeta closed his eyes, struggling with his inner demons, then his entire body shuddered and he spoke — so softly that Bulma had to strain to hear: "I know."
Slowly, Bulma moved her hands back to his shoulders, continuing the massage, though less forcefully this time. Gradually Vegeta relaxed, and a smile crept across Bulma's face.
As the minutes slipped by, Bulma couldn't help staring at Vegeta's back; all across his shoulder blades, arms, and back were scars — some were the length of her hand, others longer. She had seen them before, but had never taken much notice . . . now that she looked at them, Bulma realized that not all of them were battle wounds. Some of them looked like they had been made by a whip, or something similar. Without realizing what she was doing, Bulma traced a finger down the length of one of them.
Vegeta jumped. "Don't do that," he hissed.
"Sorry," Bulma apologized hurriedly. "I didn't know they still caused you pain."
"They don't."
"O," she paused a moment, half expecting Vegeta to leave. When he didn't, Bulma gathered up her courage and pressed on. "When did you get those scars?"
Vegeta sat up. "When I was young," he replied gruffly. He hoped his tone was curt enough that Bulma would take the hint and drop the subject.
No such luck. "Who gave them to you?" Bulma inquired. After waiting a few seconds without receiving any answer, she guessed, "Your father?"
Vegeta leaped to his feet and faced her, and his expression was livid. "Who told you that?" he demanded.
Bulma shrank back in fear. "Nobody, I, I . . ."
"You assumed, did you?" Vegeta snarled. "You thought that just because my father was King of Vegetasei and ruler of the most powerful empire in the universe, he would abuse his son. I suppose you think he beat my mother, too?"
Bulma was surprised by Vegeta's outburst, but it also angered her. "Well, look at my example! Besides Son-kun, who doesn't count because he was raised on Chikyuu, you're the only full-blooded Saiyajin I've really known! How could I not think your father would be the same way?"
Vegeta stepped close to her, and his eyes were smoldering with rage. "Have I ever hit you, or Kakarotto's woman? Except in battle, have I ever laid a hand on Kakarotto's brat?" Bulma shook her head. "Just because I'm Saiyajin doesn't mean I cause pain whenever I feel like it!"
Something clicked in Bulma's brain. "How about all those planets you talk about destroying? What about the innocent people you killed then?" she challenged.
Vegeta's face contorted in anger. "That's different!" he thundered. "I was working for Furiza then! Obviously I don't do that anymore!"
"And when Son-kun was on Yardrat and you killed every one of Furiza's henchmen you found?"
"They were loyal to him! They would have eventually come to Chikyuu in search of me and Kakarotto, or your blasted Dragonballs, and then you would have had to kiss your planet goodbye!" Vegeta glared fiercely. "I killed them because they were worthless. They wouldn't believe that their master was dead, and they would have continued their killing sprees in his name."
It felt extremely strange to Vegeta to have to be justifying his actions, especially to this woman. It was something he'd never had to do before, and he didn't like it. A year ago he would have told her to shut up and be done with it, but now . . . now something had changed. It was no longer enough to kill for the sake of killing; something was missing, and Bulma's accusations had made him begin to realize it.
Someday you'll feel the emptiness, no matter how many you kill . . .
Vegeta shook his head. No! He would not believe it.
One day you'll understand . . .
Bulma interrupted his thoughts. "Furiza's minions couldn't accept the facts? Look who's talking, buster! You're the self-proclaimed Prince of the Saiyajin empire — think about it. It's not something I would brag about. The ruler of a dead race, one that was wiped out by Furiza — who was defeated by Son-kun, and again in one minute by that kid. Your only 'subjects' are a fighter and his son, both of whom are three times as strong as you are! Some accomplishment. If that's not living in the past, Vegeta, I don't know what is."
As soon as the words left her mouth, Bulma knew she had gone too far. There was always an invisible line in any argument, and Bulma knew she had just crossed this one.
Bulma's hand flew to her mouth. "I'm sorry," she shook her head. "I didn't mean it."
Vegeta snorted, but it was a hollow sound. "Yes, you did," he replied, and his voice was dead. Bulma forced herself to meet his gaze, and behind his normally cold eyes she saw pain flicker there. He spun on his heel and left the house.
She stared after him indecisively for a few seconds, then ran out the door. Vegeta was stalking back to the gravitational trainer, and Bulma followed him. "Wait," she called.
Vegeta's shoulders hunched as he heard her voice, but he waited until she was directly behind him before speaking. "You won the argument, woman . . . isn't that enough?" his tone was bitter; almost . . . betrayed.
"I'm sorry!" Bulma tried again. "I wasn't thinking . . . it just slipped out."
"But that's what you believe," Vegeta pointed out angrily. "That's what you all believe! That I'm living for an ideal that is dead. Am I right?"
Bulma hung her head. "It's crossed my mind a few times," she admitted.
The Saiyajin's fists were clenched tightly at his sides. "Have you any idea how difficult it is?" he shouted at her. "Being the last of your kind, one of two and a half left in the universe? Stripped of your title and heritage, and dumped on a planet of weaklings whose culture is completely alien to you . . . where, no matter how hard you try, your rival is always one step ahead of you. Try going through that for a few years . . . then you can criticize me for clinging to a 'stupid dream'. I believe that's what you called it in the restaurant."
She tried looking him in the eye, but the guilt welled up inside her and she was unable to hold his gaze for long. "I really am sorry," Bulma said quietly.
Vegeta slumped to the ramp of the gravitational trainer, and cautiously, Bulma sat beside him. He completely ignored her, but at least he didn't order her to leave. All of a sudden, he began talking — whether to her or to himself, Bulma was unsure. She listened anyway. "Ever since I can remember," Vegeta didn't look at her as he spoke. "I have spent my time trying to increase my power, to better myself. That desire fills my soul . . . it runs through my veins instead of blood. Now, it doesn't matter what I want or how hard I train . . . Kakarotto is always there. He doesn't seem to do anything; he is just always stronger. It seems like the harder I train, the farther I am from my goal and the less enjoyment I get out of it."
Bulma could not think of anything to say. How could she, when any words she could speak would sound empty and meaningless? So, instead of talking, Bulma just took Vegeta's hand, lacing her fingers through his. He didn't appear to notice at first, but then his fingers tightened over hers. "Son-kun admires you," she spoke up at last. "I know he does. He talks about you a lot."
"I don't want Kakarotto's admiration!" Vegeta burst forth. "And I don't want your sympathy, either!"
"Then I won't give it to you," Bulma sighed. "I know you don't like help or compliments, but for what it's worth . . . I think I understand some of what you're feeling, and I'll try to help you any way I can."
The Saiyajin Prince glanced at her sharply, but could see only truth and honesty in the woman's eyes. He was tempted to slap her away, but for some reason he could not. "How could you understand?" he snarled.
"I'm the richest woman in the world, the owner of Capsule Corporation . . . but what's the point of that? Money isn't everything, as the old adage says. There's something missing, and I don't know what it is. It sounds to me like you're feeling the same thing. Maybe we could help each other."
"What do you know," Vegeta demanded, but with less vehemence than he had intended. The woman was right — her words struck a familiar chord inside him, but he didn't like this personal connection one bit. "You can't help me. This is something I must face alone."
"Why are you always so proud?" Bulma asked, shaking her head. "One of the reasons Son-kun is so strong is that he lets his friends help him when he needs it. He doesn't hide his emotions behind a mask of invincibility . . . why can't you see that showing how you feel doesn't make you weak?"
Feelings don't weaken us, no matter what some might say.
Vegeta thrust aside the inner voice, afraid of what it might make him do or say. "You don't know what you're talking about," he informed her, but his tone wasn't insulting.
They sat in silence for some time, and finally Vegeta remarked, "I should get back to my training," at the same time that Bulma declared, "It's late . . . I need to get some sleep."
Neither of them made any move to leave.
******
The next morning, Dr. Briefs wandered outside in his house robe, his black cat perched on his shoulder. "Nice day, isn't it, kitty?" he cooed, scratching the wide-eyed animal between the ears.
"Miaow . . ."
Bulma's father glanced at the cat. "Hmm? What was that?" the bespectacled scientist cast his gaze about his expansive property, then stopped short as he saw his daughter and their impossible lodger. Both were asleep, propped against each other so that they were in a sitting position, and they appeared to be holding hands. "Well, I'll be," Dr. Briefs scratched his head. "I wonder what else Bulma hasn't told me? Well . . . I suppose it could be worse . . . that Yamucha boy could come for breakfast again today."
From the kitchen he heard the sound of his wife's high-pitched voice. "Why, Yamucha! So nice to see you!"
"Uh-oh . . ."
******
Bulma woke up to the sound of someone powering up and taking to the air. Blinking groggily, she forced her eyes to focus on the energy trail of the person who was obviously in a great hurry to get away. "Wow . . . I wonder what that was about?"
She shrugged. "Probably some salesman Mom thought was cute and she scared him off," Bulma snorted. "Wouldn't be the first time that's happened."
Vegeta shook himself suddenly and woke up. "What the . . . ?" he muttered.
Bulma decided not to make a big deal of the conversation they'd had the night before. "You want breakfast?" she asked.
"No," he grumbled. "I wasted enough training time last night."
"That wasn't all my fault," Bulma reminded him. "You were talking, too . . . now come on, you're having breakfast."
"Don't tell me what to do," Vegeta grumped, but followed her anyway. He was hungry . . .
Bulma shook her head, smiling. "Okay, whatever you say."
Doctor and Mrs. Briefs were already at the table, the latter smiling pleasantly. Bulma wondered idly if she ever looked serious . . . probably not.
"Good morning, you two," Mrs. Briefs greeted them, setting a huge plate of pancakes in front of Vegeta. Bulma smiled, but Vegeta only grunted and started eating. "Have a good sleep?"
"Yes, thanks," Bulma replied, shooting a warning glance at Vegeta, though he had no intention of saying otherwise.
"I didn't," the woman made a pouting face. "I had a stomachache. I heard you two go outside early this morning . . . what you were doing? There were some funny noises coming from the gravitational whatsit."
Bulma paled. "Uh . . . we were just talking, that's all."
Dr. Briefs looked at Bulma, a serious expression on his face. "You missed Yamucha this morning," he studied her carefully, and nodded slowly when she paled noticeably.
"Y-Yamucha?" Bulma repeated. She went to the stove and poured batter onto the griddle to hide her nervousness.
"Mm-hmm," her mother nodded, as always blissfully oblivious to the nuances of the situation. "He came to have breakfast, as he sometimes does, you know . . . he asked where you were, and I told him you weren't in your bed when I got up."
Bulma yelped in surprise, because it could have been because she burned her hand on the skillet. Abandoning her disastrous attempts of pancake making, Bulma returned to her seat.
"Are you all right, dear? . . . Well, anyway," Mrs. Briefs continued. "Yamucha went upstairs to see if he could find you, but he must have gotten confused — silly boy — because he went in Vegeta's room! Isn't that funny?" she giggled to herself, not noticing the aghast expressions on the faces of the two young adults at the table.
"And then Yamucha came back downstairs, looking like a thundercloud, asking where Vegeta was," Mrs. Briefs prattled on, "So I told him he had been training . . ." the blonde woman tilted her head to one side. "O, yes. I thought I'd be helpful, so I mentioned that the two of you went outside . . ."
"You said WHAT?!"
"That the two of you went outside and didn't come back in."
Vegeta got up from the table and stalked outside, and Bulma buried her head in her arms. "Mom . . . did he ask why I went outside?"
Her mother thought for a minute. "Come to think of it, as soon as I said I heard noises, the boy flew off. I don't know why."
Bulma jumped to her feet, her chair scraping against the floor tiles as she shoved it back from the table. "I've got to go see Yamucha. Now," from outside came the sounds of the gravitational trainer starting up.
"Don't you want breakfast?"
"No, Mom," Bulma said hurriedly. "I'll have something when I get back, okay? 'Bye!"
Mrs. Briefs looked at her husband, obviously confused. "Do you know what's going on?"
"I'm afraid I do, my dear . . . I'm afraid I do."
******
They just keep setting themselves up, don't they! But poor Yamucha -- first the couch, now the Gravitational Trainer? What is he going to think? Will Bulma be able to straighten him out, or will the couple call it quits? Will Bulma and Vegeta overcome their embarrassment to talk to each other?
