Disclaimer: Not ... *sniff* ... m-mine .... WAHHH!!!!!! (bursts into tears)
Chapter Three: Awkwardness
Bulma parked her capsule jet at Master Rôshi's island and jumped out, running to the house. She pushed open the door. "Is Yamucha here?" Bulma asked.
Master Rôshi, Tenshinhan, Chaozu, Pu'ar, and Oolong stood looking at her. All bore expressions that varied between anger and disappointment, and Master Rôshi's arms were crossed. "Hello, Bulma," the old man's voice was flat.
Bulma's heart sank. "Where's Yamucha?"
"Upstairs," Pu'ar, the flying cat who was Yamucha's constant companion, told her. "Kuririn's trying to calm him down."
"What did you do to him?" Tenshinhan glared. "I've never seen him this upset."
Brushing past them and heading for the stairs, Bulma ignored the question. "I have to talk to him."
When she reached Yamucha's room, Bulma saw the door was closed. From behind it she could hear Yamucha's voice. "I don't get it, Kuririn, I just don't get it . . . what did I do to turn her away from me? I can't help it if I'm not a Prince, but I always thought I was good enough for her. I guess not."
"Don't talk that way," Kuririn sounded almost angry. "Look, Yamucha, I've known Bulma almost as long as you have, and I know just as well as you do that she's a wonderful girl. But if you're right about her and Vegeta, then she's not worth it."
Bulma sucked in her breath in surprise. She'd always thought Kuririn was her friend . . .
"I'm not saying Bulma's a bad person," Kuririn cut in as Yamucha began to protest. "I know she isn't . . . but if she's decided to move on, don't beat yourself up about it. You're a better person than Vegeta is, by far. She doesn't know what she's missing."
"It's my fault," Yamucha's voice was hoarse, and Bulma wondered if he'd been crying. "I know it is, even if Bulma doesn't realize it. I've abandoned her to train, I've forgotten her birthday and our anniversary . . . I even went with another woman once, even though we didn't go nearly as far as Bulma thought we had. I've been jealous and suspicious of her with Vegeta . . . all this time I've been pushing her away, and now it's too late. It's my fault, and now it's too late for me to bring her back."
Bulma blinked back sudden tears. Yamucha had it all wrong — and it was all her fault! She knocked on the door.
Kuririn answered, and the diminutive, bald monk looked uncomfortable when he saw her. "Hi, Bulma," he mumbled. "I don't know if he really wants to talk to you . . ."
Yamucha was sitting on his bed, face buried in his hands, but when he heard Bulma's voice he looked up. "No, it's okay, Kuririn. She can come in."
Kuririn seemed dubious, but he left.
Bulma entered the room cautiously and sat beside him on the bed, hearing the springs creak and feeling the mattress give between her weight. "What Mom said . . . that isn't what happened."
Yamucha snorted. "Uh-huh, okay . . ." he ticked off points on his fingers. "You've been working on a program for four days, and you decide to go to bed. Vegeta comes inside, your mother says, and later you both go outside. Your mother hears 'funny noises' coming from the gravitational trainer. The next morning, neither you nor Vegeta are in your beds. Tell me, what was I supposed to think?"
She looked away. Over the years she'd accused Yamucha of cheating with far less evidence to go by. "I know that's what it looked like, but . . ." Bulma explained briefly what happened, though she left out the details of the conversations.
Yamucha just sighed when Bulma finished. "How many times, Bulma? How many times are you and Vegeta going to have these 'accidents'? I trust you and respect you, but it's only fair that you show me a little more respect in return, isn't it? Even if — if — you're right and there isn't anything concrete between you two, I still don't think you're being completely honest with me — or yourself."
Bulma wasn't really listening — somewhere through Yamucha's dialogue she had begun thinking of how Vegeta's face had changed during their talk . . . almost as if there was a little boy inside him, struggling to get out . . . Suddenly, Bulma became aware that Yamucha had stopped speaking, and was looking at her sadly. "What was that?" she asked, embarrassed.
"I thought so," he mumbled to himself, then he caught Bulma's gaze and held it. She squirmed, uncomfortable, but was unable to look away. "Bulma, be completely honest, now. Can you tell me that you don't have any feelings for Vegeta at all?"
"Of course I —" Bulma began hotly, feeling indignant, but she stopped. She thought back to the times when Vegeta had been almost civil to her . . . when he lashed out at her in defense of his father . . . how, when she had woken up that morning sitting beside him, she'd had the strangest feeling that it was the safest place to be . . .
Yamucha caught the expression that crossed Bulma's face, and right then, he knew — even if Bulma hadn't yet figured it out. He smiled sadly and placed a hand on her shoulder. Bulma jumped, startled. "I just don't think I could handle too many more 'accidents' like that, okay?" Yamucha shook his head. "I'm really sorry, but there's only so much hurt I can take. I think it's best if we try separating, at least until you work out whatever it is that's bothering you. After that, we'll see."
What are you doing, Yamucha? his mind screamed at him. Don't do it! She's not gonna' fall into your arms and beg you to change your mind . . . you're going to lose her!
I don't own her, Yamucha argued with himself. I have to give her the choice. It isn't fair otherwise.
Bulma nodded slowly, realizing he was right. "Yeah . . . I don't want to do this, Yamucha, but I think it would be the best thing. For both of us."
Yamucha bit back a sigh. He'd been hoping, up until the last second, that a miracle would occur; that Bulma would declare she had no feelings for Vegeta, that of course she didn't want to break up. But these were childish thoughts, he knew. It's true, Yamucha thought, Nice guys do finish last . . . and Bulma always did go for the bad boys . . .
Standing up, Yamucha gave Bulma a hug and stepped back, letting her leave. "I just want you to know I'm not angry," he told her, "It's your life."
"Thanks," Bulma turned to go, but halfway to the door she stopped and glanced over her shoulder. "We're still friends, right?"
Yamucha manufactured a cheerful smile, though all he wanted to do was take her in his arms and kiss her, to tell her that he loved her and he didn't want to lose her . . . but then he remembered the look on Bulma's face when he mentioned Vegeta, and all his hopes died. "Of course we are! I don't want to lose my best friend over something as silly as a breakup."
Bulma's smile was so bright it seemed to rival the sun for dominance of the sky, and Yamucha knew, somehow, that he had made the right decision. "I'm glad. I'll see you later, then. Maybe things will work out."
"Even if they don't, I'll always be here if you need me," Yamucha raised a hand in farewell. "See you later."
As soon as she left, Yamucha went downstairs slowly. The others were watching him. "Is it over?" Tenshinhan asked
Yamucha looked at him, and suddenly found himself smiling, genuinely this time. "No . . . we broke up, but we're still friends."
Tenshinhan appeared relieved. "Well, that's good. Bulma would never want to hurt you — not on purpose."
"I know," Yamucha watched through the window as Bulma's capsule jet took of. "But all I have to say is, Vegeta'd better treat her like the princess she is — or I don't care how strong Vegeta may be, I'll find some way to hurt him . . ."
******
Not quite three weeks after the night on the GT's front step, Vegeta finished his 500th one-finger pushup at 450 times Chikyuu's normal gravity. It was getting too easy — he'd have to get Bulma's father to update the trainer.
Bulma's father? Since when did he think of the woman as "Bulma?" Vegeta growled to himself. The woman was like a disease, invading his thought processes with the persistence of the hardiest of viruses. "Go away!" he shouted, though he knew Bulma was nowhere near.
The Saiyajin threw all his efforts into training, matching his powers against the new training drones Dr. Briefs had provided him. The power crackled beneath his skin, running through his veins like electric current. Vegeta grinned to himself. It was almost intoxicating . . .
Within seconds he obliterated all of the robots — but instead of powering down, Vegeta kept going. Each time he felt his energy had reached its highest point, Vegeta forced it to go higher. Muscles straining with the effort, Vegeta released all his power at once — so intense was the result that pieces of the ceiling began falling, only to be disintegrated when they touched the flaming aura surrounding him.
Almost . . . there . . . Vegeta thought to himself —
— suddenly, the entire gravitational trainer collapsed.
******
Bulma wandered outside just in time to see the GT explode. "Vegeta!" she yelled, feeling her heart leap into her throat. The last time this happened, Vegeta had remained unconscious for days . . .
The smoke cleared, and to her immense relief Bulma could see Vegeta standing in the middle of the pile of rubble. Blood was oozing from several deep gashes all over his body and he looked more than a little unsteady on his feet, but at least he was conscious. Bulma ran to support him. "You've got to stop doing this," she chided him, putting an arm around his waist.
Vegeta coughed a few times and glared at him, but slung his arm over her shoulder to keep from falling. "If it wasn't for your stupid, inadequate machine, I would have made Super Saiyajin by now."
"Well, sor-ry," Bulma rolled her eyes. "I'll upgrade the GT later . . . right now you need to rest."
"I'm fine," Vegeta grunted, then Bulma's hand touched one of the gashes and he had to bite off a yell of pain.
Bulma glanced at him worriedly. "If this is 'fine' I'd hate to see you injured! Come on, I'm not gonna' make you stay in bed for a week this time — I'm just going to put some bandages on you before you bleed to death."
"Melodramatic woman," Vegeta muttered, but in a way he enjoyed the woman's concern. Back when he was younger, getting wounded in this manner would have gotten him a reprimand, or even another beating. Here, the woman was actually worried about him.
He looked at her out the corner of his eye, noticing how her eyes were crinkled at the corners with concern, and the consternation on her features tightened the lines of her face. Her odd-colored hair tickled Vegeta's nose, making him want to sneeze, and he raised a hand to push it away.
Bulma turned to look at him, and their eyes met for a second before a flustered Vegeta dropped his gaze to his feet. Bulma gave a small, embarrassed cough.
She led him inside the house and got a capsulized first-aid kit from the bathroom while Vegeta propped himself up against the sink. Bulma bit her lip. "I'm not sure where to put you . . . Mom will have a fit if you bleed on any of her furniture . . ." she paused uncertainly for a second, then shrugged. "C'mon, we'll go in my room."
Vegeta raised an eyebrow, and Bulma snorted. "I'm not trying to seduce you, Mr. Ego. Honestly!"
"Good," Vegeta tried to stand, but had to grab her arm as his knees gave way. "Because I wouldn't be in the mood anyway."
Bulma laughed. "I'll make a note of that — 'useless to try to sleep with Vegeta if the GT just exploded'."
"Remember that," he shook a finger in her face, but Bulma could see the faintest hint of a smile on his face.
They sat on the bed, and Bulma began daubing antiseptic on the gashes, ignoring Vegeta's insistence that he wasn't going to become infected. ("Saiyajins don't get infections!" "They don't get heart viruses, either, but Son-kun's going to.") By the time she had cleaned three wounds Bulma had Vegeta's blood all over her bedspread and clothing, but she didn't care.
It took the better part of an hour and a half for Bulma to clean the various lacerations, and by the end Vegeta was beginning to get uncomfortable, with the woman invading his personal space. He tried concentrating on the pain from all his injuries, but his attention kept drifting to Bulma. It was extremely annoying at first, but after a time Vegeta got used to it. Bulma began working on a particularly nasty shrapnel wound on Vegeta's forehead, and Vegeta watched her face — she was frowning, from concentration, worry, or a combination of both.
It was funny — Vegeta had never noticed how blue the woman's eyes were. No one on Vegetasei had blue eyes . . . or if the person had, he would have been considered an outcast. Now that he thought about it, however, the more Vegeta decided he liked the color . . .
All of a sudden, Vegeta realized the eyes were looking back at him. He jumped, annoyed that the woman had caught him staring at her. For some reason, even though both of them were clearly embarrassed, neither of them looked away. Compelled by a force he did not understand, Vegeta leaned closer. His lips just barely brushed hers —
"O, there you two are! I've been looking for you everywhere!"
"Mother!!" Bulma shrieked, after jumping a mile high. Vegeta fought the urge to cover his ears. "Don't you ever knock?"
"The door was open, dear," Mrs. Briefs replied amiably, "What are you doing, anyway?"
Bulma started wrapping the last bandage on Vegeta's shoulder. "Vegeta blew up the GT again, and I was just fixing him up," her hands shook, and Vegeta reached up to finish pinning it himself. "Did you want to talk to me, Mother?"
"Yes, actually . . ." Bulma's mother patted her blonde hair, which was piled on top of her head. "That Master Rôshi fellow called just now, and he's having a party tonight. We're all invited — even you, Vegeta. Will you come?"
"Yes, we will," Bulma replied, just as Vegeta retorted, "I don't think so!"
Bulma shot him her famous "look," under which even Goku had been known to crumble. Vegeta, however, scowled back, and Mrs. Briefs watched, amused. For the first time it seemed the two strongest wills on the planet had found their match. "You're in no condition to train for at least two or three days," Bulma pointed out. "You might as well come."
Vegeta snorted. "I'm perfectly fine," he scoffed, but Bulma deflated that idea by poking the bandage that covered his chest, causing Vegeta to wince. "So maybe I'm a little tired!"
Bulma tilted her head. "Come on, Vegeta, it would be fun! You wouldn't have to talk to anyone; you could just stay by the refreshments and scarf down the hors d'oeuvres."
"I could do that here," the Saiyajin pointed out. "Why would I need to go?"
She made a face. "Please? It would be nice to have someone to go with."
"Now the real reason comes out!" Vegeta couldn't help but grin. "You're desperate! You broke up with your mate, didn't you!"
Bulma's face reddened. "That was almost three weeks ago; where have you been? And he broke up with me, okay? I'm not trying to make him jealous or anything, since it was my fault. We're still friends, so there aren't any ulterior motives."
Vegeta cocked an eyebrow. "Really . . ."
"Really! Is it so hard to believe that I want you to come with me as a friend?"
"Yes," he crossed his arms. "You hate me."
"No, I don't," Bulma blushed when Vegeta reminded her of several occasions where she had vociferously stated otherwise. "Well, I don't really . . . and you never know. You might end up having fun."
Vegeta shook his head. "That is definitely not a possibility," he uncrossed his arms. "Fine, I'll go, but only if you'll shut up."
A very Vegeta-like smirk crossed Bulma's face, for she knew perfectly well Vegeta was just making excuses. "Okay," winked at him, letting him know what she was thinking.
"Listen —" Vegeta began, but it was all he managed to say before Bulma shoved him out of the room.
"I have to change," Bulma informed Vegeta when he looked at her strangely, then she gave him an appraising glance, taking in his tattered and bloodstained pants. "You might wanna' get out of that outfit, too."
Vegeta shrugged as Bulma shut the door in his face, then he suddenly thought back to before the appearance of Mrs. Briefs, and he nearly fell over in shock. He had almost kissed her! He, Prince of Saiyajins, nearly kissing that . . . that . . . that annoying human! His father would probably have suffered the first-ever Saiyajin heart attack, if he were alive.
Or maybe not. Bulma may not have any fighting capabilities, but she had the intelligence and determination of any Saiyajin Vegeta had known. Couple that with her beauty and ability to stand up to him, and that made for a very interesting woman.
Vegeta's eyes widened. "I don't believe this," he muttered, stomping back into his room to change into a black training jumpsuit. "Could I be . . . falling for . . . no! I'm Saiyajin!" Vegeta grimaced. Kakarotto was Saiyajin, and he was married — though Vegeta wouldn't want that ChiChi woman for a mate, despite all the positive things Kakarotto could say about her. Any woman who could pull a frying pan out of nowhere to smash the skulls of unsuspecting victims was someone to avoid, in Vegeta's books. I'll stick with Bulma, thank you, he thought.
Stick with Bulma . . . had he actually said that? "Arrrgghhh . . ." Vegeta growled. "Why me? Why did the stupid woman have to break up with her mate?!"
He couldn't be sure, but Vegeta thought he could hear his father laughing . . .
******
It was nearly half an hour later when Bulma finally graced them with her presence, calling, "I'm readeeeeee!!" down the hallway. Vegeta, who was sitting on the sofa in the living room, winced.
"What took you so long?" he barked. Having to listen to Bulma's mother babble on about how happy she was he was coming, was almost more than the Saiyajin could stand.
"Long?" Bulma pouted, coming into view. "I tried to hurry!"
Vegeta glanced at her, then did a double-take. The woman was wearing a dark blue, sleeveless dress, fairly tight-fitting as per her usual style, with the skirt falling to her knees. Her short hair was pinned up, with strands hanging around her face. As much as he hated to admit it, Vegeta grudgingly conceded that the woman looked good.
Bulma caught where his gaze was directed, and she grinned inwardly. Take that, Saiyajin arrogance — the Prince was checking her out! Not some Saiyajin princess — Briefs Bulma, a so-called "lowly human." She snickered. "Hey, Vegeta," she called, unable to resist. "You're sta-a-aring."
"I am not!!" Vegeta expostulated. He was horrified to feel his face reddening. "Your ego is out of control, that's all. Are we going, or not?"
The blasted woman giggled to herself all the way to the hover jet.
During the ride to Master Rôshi's island, Bulma and Vegeta sat beside each other on the passenger bench. Bulma kept sneaking glances at Vegeta out the corner of her eyes — it was obvious he was trying not to stare. Finally, Bulma couldn't stand it any longer. "What is your problem?" she demanded.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Vegeta huffed, glad that the woman's parents were engrossed in their own conversation and weren't paying attention to the back seat.
"Yes, you do," Bulma challenged. "You start to look at me, then you catch yourself and stare straight ahead again," she swivelled sideways in the seat, her knees brushing his. "Why don't you just take a good, long look and get it over with?"
Vegeta did glance at her, but made sure he had his most scathing expression on his face. "Why would I want to do that? You are ugly. That dress is ugly. Your voice is annoying, and the only reason I agreed to come is so I wouldn't have to listen to you. It's only your arrogance that is reading anything else into it. Now leave me alone," with that, he deliberately turned to look out the window. He toyed with the idea of moving to the bench across the aisle, but decided against it.
Bulma frowned. She thought there was something Vegeta wasn't telling, but she couldn't be sure . . . "Whatever, Vegeta," she folded her arms. "I don't know why you can't admit that I'm not as bad as you used to think I was, but I wish you'd knock it off. And you know what? Someday you're going to fall for some girl, and then I'll laugh at you. You hear me? I will laugh!"
"Are you done?" Vegeta kept his gaze focused at the scenery out the window. "I don't care."
Bulma growled to herself, but didn't continue the argument. It was pointless to fight with him when he was in this mood.
The rest of the ride was peaceful and quiet.
******
Whoa ... things got a little close there, huh? Good thing Mrs. Briefs happened to barge in then (or was it? Hmm...)! Will Vegeta manage to loosen up at the party, or will he be his usual antisocial self? How will Yamucha cope with the breakup? And wait ... don't parties usually have . . . dancing?
