Yada, yada. Insert disclaimer here. Yada, yada. DBZ isn't mine; it's
property of Toei Animation and Toriyama-sama. Yada, yada. I'm not making
any money off this fic, but if you insist on suing me, I'd be happy to give
you my textbooks, and my old, crappy DDR pads. ^_^
'………' Thought.
"………" Spoken.
Vegeta wondered inwardly to himself if his sleep had always been as restless as it had since he'd come to Earth. He almost never got more than two hours of solid rest, and on the rare occasion that he did, he would be in an exceptionally good mood for an hour or so, before he ran off to train. His dreams weren't really dreams; they were nightmares… visions of Vegeta-sei, of Freiza, of his own father.
The prince sat up in his bed with an enormous amount of speed, and rested his forehead in his left hand with an almost inaudible groan. None anything that had been happening lately made sense to him in the least. Especially why he'd had the impulse to stick up for that silly Briefs woman the night before.
He glanced out of his shattered window, and noted that the black against the horizon was quickly giving way to shades of orange and pink. Another grunt later, he was in a full sitting position, and pulling on those dirty white boots of his, making his trek across the bedroom to the bathroom. He found himself kicking glass shards out of the way, courtesy of his broken window, and scratched hand. The Saiya-jin almost felt bad for what he felt he'd probably end up having to tell Bulma. IF he had a mate, and IF she was running around with other guys, he'd be mad, too. He pondered this for a moment, tossing around the idea of not telling her. He made up his mind; at breakfast, he'd tell her. But for now, he just decided to concentrate on washing up.
The cool water felt good against his face; even though he was a Saiya- jin, he felt the need to be clean whenever possible. After all, he was a prince. After freshening up a bit, he walked back into his bedroom, via the path he'd made coming the opposite way. Vegeta stepped into the royal blue suit, and grimaced as he picked up the tattered chest plate. He dismissed any negative thoughts, and shoved the thing over his head, finishing off with his gloves. He flexed his fingers, and smirked, walking off to breakfast.
Meanwhile, Bulma was in the kitchen, humming something or a rather to herself as she attempted to make herself and his highness something to start off the day with. Admittedly, she couldn't cook a decent dinner to save her life, but hell. She wasn't a culinary chef, she was a scientist. She had no need for cooking; she had people to do it for her. But, unfortunately, not yet. So she was stuck cooking for herself and Vegeta. On today's menu were eggs, bacon, coffee, and toast. Bulma picked herself off a slice of toast, a half of an egg, and a few strips of bacon; the rest was left for Vegeta. And there was a lot left. Just as she sat down, she saw the prince come into view that almost… irresistible smirk on his face. Irresistible? Bulma shook her head to herself. 'What am I thinking?'
"Is the rest for me?" Vegeta's gruff voice broke the little woman's train of thought off completely.
"Oh, uh.." Bulma studied Vegeta's well-built body; he was short, but Bulma figured that was part of his charm. Her father had always said that short men were cocky, and this one was no exception.
"Well?" Vegeta was becoming inpatient. Bulma could tell by his sudden change of facial expression. He stood in the doorway, arms folded neatly across his chest, fingers tapping across the mass of pure muscle that encased them.
"Yes, Vegeta. It's yours," Bulma sat down to finish eating, as Vegeta settled himself across from her, and ate his fill. She'd always been amazed at how much a Saiya-jin could eat. Between Vegeta, Gohan, and Gokou, they must go through half of the world's food supply every year; she'd never imagined that a single person could eat that much. In one day, Vegeta probably ate more than she would that year.
As she finished her meal, she glanced up, noticing that Vegeta was staring heavily at her. All she could do was stare back, afraid that he wanted to kill her or something. One thing she did know was if he did decide he wanted her gone, she could do absolutely nothing to stop him; she was powerless.
Vegeta studied the little woman intently. He'd never noticed how beautiful she was until now. He pushed back in his chair, still gazing over her. She saw this as an opportunity to get up and leave, thinking he was done, but he simply sat back, still staring at her. She was halfway up out of her chair when his voice brought her from her trance.
"Sit. I have to talk to you." Bulma studied him for a moment, completely and utterly confused.
"Vegeta, I really can't. I have to get to work. We'll talk another time." This was a massive blow to his pride. He'd actually spoken civilly to her, and this was how he was repaid? His nose wrinkled up a bit, and he growled. Vegeta sauntered up to her, stopping only inches away from her face as he glared at her. 'If this woman is afraid, she does a very good job of hiding it,' he thought to himself.
"Listen here, woman. I actually speak to you as if you're one of my own, and this is how I'm treated? You'll damn well listen to me, and you'll do it with respect. Got it?" His last words were soft, but with a remarkable furious ring to them. Bulma nodded and stepped back, her arms doubling over her chest.
"Make it fast, like I said, I have work to do." Vegeta scowled. He knew he could never hurt this little woman, but she didn't know that, so he used it to the best of his advantage. Bulma stood there, not showing any signs of moving any time soon, so he figured he'd tell her standing. It was her own damned fault if she fainted and died. He snickered at the thought, and leaned against a wall, proceeding to tell his story of how he'd seem Yamcha the previous evening. Of course he added on a little more, just to make it more dramatic, but he surprised himself and pretty much told the truth.
Bulma stared at him for a moment, tears forming in those vast cerulean eyes of hers, and she moved to the table to sit, all of the defenses she'd put up just moments before coming crashing down. Vegeta had expected her to be upset, but not like this. He'd never seen his little woman cry. 'His?' He shuddered. Since when did he think of her as his? She gazed up at him, watery azure pools and all.
"So.. I was right, then," her voice was shaky, and her hands trembled. He'd never seen her so distressed before. He couldn't think of anything to do except walk over to where she sat and stand by her.
"What in the hell are you talking about, woman?" Bulma's sad blue eyes met his, and he saw how upset she really was.
"Well, you see… I'd had the idea for a while…" She stopped and sniffled, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand as a child would do. "And… I see no reason why you'd lie to me about something like that…I've actually never known of a Saiya-jin to lie at all…you've just confirmed my suspicions is all…" Vegeta stared blankly at her. 'Does she mean..?' he contemplated, ' that she knew all along? And she just sat here and did nothing?' Bulma broke down and started bawling all over again. Vegeta had a good mind to leave, and he tried, but his body just wouldn't move towards the door. They'd only move in her direction. That damned woman.
Before he even realized what he was doing, he'd brought her up into his arms, and held her quivering body as close to his own as he could. He was surprised at how right it felt, though he'd never admit it to anyone, it was hard to even bring himself to acknowledge it. He was expecting her to pull away from him, but instead, her arms found their way around his waist, and she pressed the side of her face into his chest, inhaling the soft scent that was so... Vegeta. Soft and soothing, but incredibly manly. All Vegeta could do was stare down at her. He heard the doorbell ring, but paid no attention to it. It wasn't important to him right now. Not like it ever was to begin with, but especially not now.
Mr. Briefs got sick of hearing the doorbell, and finally got up from the couch and the morning news to answer it. Yamcha stood there with a bouquet of a dozen red roses and a sly smile on his face.
"Good morning, Mr. Briefs. Is Bulma around?" He put on the best grin he could muster. Bulma was a real gem, and he didn't want to loose her. He was hoping Vegeta hadn't told her yet, and if he had, that he'd be able to talk his way out of this one. He really did love her, it was just that... he needed some excitement in his life. He wasn't ready to settle down all the way yet. He'd let her know when he was, but that time wasn't now. Not yet. Mr. Briefs stepped aside and let Yamcha in.
"She's in the kitchen eating, I think. Go ahead in."
"Thanks," Yamcha hid the roses behind his back, and took a breath before entering the kitchen. As he looked in, the flowers dropped to the ground, and he stared inside.
Vegeta was standing there, looking down with almost animal intensity at Bulma, who was nestled quietly against his chest; her sobs had ceased, and she stood there contently, countenance buried into the side of his neck, breathing softly against it. Vegeta had felt Yamcha's arrival, and he glanced over to him. If looks could kill, this was most definitely instant death.
"Y..YOU!" Upon hearing Yamcha's voice, Bulma turned from her comfortable spot at the base of Vegeta's neck and stared; angry, distraught, saddened. Her normally bright, playful eyes were tearstained and puffy. Yamcha was full of questions. He turned to her for answers, but she simply buried her head back into Vegeta, holding him tighter. Little did Yamcha know, all of his questions were about to be answered, and not by Bulma.
'………' Thought.
"………" Spoken.
Vegeta wondered inwardly to himself if his sleep had always been as restless as it had since he'd come to Earth. He almost never got more than two hours of solid rest, and on the rare occasion that he did, he would be in an exceptionally good mood for an hour or so, before he ran off to train. His dreams weren't really dreams; they were nightmares… visions of Vegeta-sei, of Freiza, of his own father.
The prince sat up in his bed with an enormous amount of speed, and rested his forehead in his left hand with an almost inaudible groan. None anything that had been happening lately made sense to him in the least. Especially why he'd had the impulse to stick up for that silly Briefs woman the night before.
He glanced out of his shattered window, and noted that the black against the horizon was quickly giving way to shades of orange and pink. Another grunt later, he was in a full sitting position, and pulling on those dirty white boots of his, making his trek across the bedroom to the bathroom. He found himself kicking glass shards out of the way, courtesy of his broken window, and scratched hand. The Saiya-jin almost felt bad for what he felt he'd probably end up having to tell Bulma. IF he had a mate, and IF she was running around with other guys, he'd be mad, too. He pondered this for a moment, tossing around the idea of not telling her. He made up his mind; at breakfast, he'd tell her. But for now, he just decided to concentrate on washing up.
The cool water felt good against his face; even though he was a Saiya- jin, he felt the need to be clean whenever possible. After all, he was a prince. After freshening up a bit, he walked back into his bedroom, via the path he'd made coming the opposite way. Vegeta stepped into the royal blue suit, and grimaced as he picked up the tattered chest plate. He dismissed any negative thoughts, and shoved the thing over his head, finishing off with his gloves. He flexed his fingers, and smirked, walking off to breakfast.
Meanwhile, Bulma was in the kitchen, humming something or a rather to herself as she attempted to make herself and his highness something to start off the day with. Admittedly, she couldn't cook a decent dinner to save her life, but hell. She wasn't a culinary chef, she was a scientist. She had no need for cooking; she had people to do it for her. But, unfortunately, not yet. So she was stuck cooking for herself and Vegeta. On today's menu were eggs, bacon, coffee, and toast. Bulma picked herself off a slice of toast, a half of an egg, and a few strips of bacon; the rest was left for Vegeta. And there was a lot left. Just as she sat down, she saw the prince come into view that almost… irresistible smirk on his face. Irresistible? Bulma shook her head to herself. 'What am I thinking?'
"Is the rest for me?" Vegeta's gruff voice broke the little woman's train of thought off completely.
"Oh, uh.." Bulma studied Vegeta's well-built body; he was short, but Bulma figured that was part of his charm. Her father had always said that short men were cocky, and this one was no exception.
"Well?" Vegeta was becoming inpatient. Bulma could tell by his sudden change of facial expression. He stood in the doorway, arms folded neatly across his chest, fingers tapping across the mass of pure muscle that encased them.
"Yes, Vegeta. It's yours," Bulma sat down to finish eating, as Vegeta settled himself across from her, and ate his fill. She'd always been amazed at how much a Saiya-jin could eat. Between Vegeta, Gohan, and Gokou, they must go through half of the world's food supply every year; she'd never imagined that a single person could eat that much. In one day, Vegeta probably ate more than she would that year.
As she finished her meal, she glanced up, noticing that Vegeta was staring heavily at her. All she could do was stare back, afraid that he wanted to kill her or something. One thing she did know was if he did decide he wanted her gone, she could do absolutely nothing to stop him; she was powerless.
Vegeta studied the little woman intently. He'd never noticed how beautiful she was until now. He pushed back in his chair, still gazing over her. She saw this as an opportunity to get up and leave, thinking he was done, but he simply sat back, still staring at her. She was halfway up out of her chair when his voice brought her from her trance.
"Sit. I have to talk to you." Bulma studied him for a moment, completely and utterly confused.
"Vegeta, I really can't. I have to get to work. We'll talk another time." This was a massive blow to his pride. He'd actually spoken civilly to her, and this was how he was repaid? His nose wrinkled up a bit, and he growled. Vegeta sauntered up to her, stopping only inches away from her face as he glared at her. 'If this woman is afraid, she does a very good job of hiding it,' he thought to himself.
"Listen here, woman. I actually speak to you as if you're one of my own, and this is how I'm treated? You'll damn well listen to me, and you'll do it with respect. Got it?" His last words were soft, but with a remarkable furious ring to them. Bulma nodded and stepped back, her arms doubling over her chest.
"Make it fast, like I said, I have work to do." Vegeta scowled. He knew he could never hurt this little woman, but she didn't know that, so he used it to the best of his advantage. Bulma stood there, not showing any signs of moving any time soon, so he figured he'd tell her standing. It was her own damned fault if she fainted and died. He snickered at the thought, and leaned against a wall, proceeding to tell his story of how he'd seem Yamcha the previous evening. Of course he added on a little more, just to make it more dramatic, but he surprised himself and pretty much told the truth.
Bulma stared at him for a moment, tears forming in those vast cerulean eyes of hers, and she moved to the table to sit, all of the defenses she'd put up just moments before coming crashing down. Vegeta had expected her to be upset, but not like this. He'd never seen his little woman cry. 'His?' He shuddered. Since when did he think of her as his? She gazed up at him, watery azure pools and all.
"So.. I was right, then," her voice was shaky, and her hands trembled. He'd never seen her so distressed before. He couldn't think of anything to do except walk over to where she sat and stand by her.
"What in the hell are you talking about, woman?" Bulma's sad blue eyes met his, and he saw how upset she really was.
"Well, you see… I'd had the idea for a while…" She stopped and sniffled, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand as a child would do. "And… I see no reason why you'd lie to me about something like that…I've actually never known of a Saiya-jin to lie at all…you've just confirmed my suspicions is all…" Vegeta stared blankly at her. 'Does she mean..?' he contemplated, ' that she knew all along? And she just sat here and did nothing?' Bulma broke down and started bawling all over again. Vegeta had a good mind to leave, and he tried, but his body just wouldn't move towards the door. They'd only move in her direction. That damned woman.
Before he even realized what he was doing, he'd brought her up into his arms, and held her quivering body as close to his own as he could. He was surprised at how right it felt, though he'd never admit it to anyone, it was hard to even bring himself to acknowledge it. He was expecting her to pull away from him, but instead, her arms found their way around his waist, and she pressed the side of her face into his chest, inhaling the soft scent that was so... Vegeta. Soft and soothing, but incredibly manly. All Vegeta could do was stare down at her. He heard the doorbell ring, but paid no attention to it. It wasn't important to him right now. Not like it ever was to begin with, but especially not now.
Mr. Briefs got sick of hearing the doorbell, and finally got up from the couch and the morning news to answer it. Yamcha stood there with a bouquet of a dozen red roses and a sly smile on his face.
"Good morning, Mr. Briefs. Is Bulma around?" He put on the best grin he could muster. Bulma was a real gem, and he didn't want to loose her. He was hoping Vegeta hadn't told her yet, and if he had, that he'd be able to talk his way out of this one. He really did love her, it was just that... he needed some excitement in his life. He wasn't ready to settle down all the way yet. He'd let her know when he was, but that time wasn't now. Not yet. Mr. Briefs stepped aside and let Yamcha in.
"She's in the kitchen eating, I think. Go ahead in."
"Thanks," Yamcha hid the roses behind his back, and took a breath before entering the kitchen. As he looked in, the flowers dropped to the ground, and he stared inside.
Vegeta was standing there, looking down with almost animal intensity at Bulma, who was nestled quietly against his chest; her sobs had ceased, and she stood there contently, countenance buried into the side of his neck, breathing softly against it. Vegeta had felt Yamcha's arrival, and he glanced over to him. If looks could kill, this was most definitely instant death.
"Y..YOU!" Upon hearing Yamcha's voice, Bulma turned from her comfortable spot at the base of Vegeta's neck and stared; angry, distraught, saddened. Her normally bright, playful eyes were tearstained and puffy. Yamcha was full of questions. He turned to her for answers, but she simply buried her head back into Vegeta, holding him tighter. Little did Yamcha know, all of his questions were about to be answered, and not by Bulma.
