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* * * * * * *
"Bulma, are you ok?" Yamcha said, kneeling down next to her in the grass. Bulma had a dazed look on her face, and she was holding something in her hand. Yamcha's chest tightened as he realized it was a silver pendant; much like the one he had given her, only slightly bigger. "What's this?" he asked, plucking it out of her hand.
The loss of the pendant seemed to snap Bulma out of her fugue. "I found it," she said, her eyes traveling up to Yamcha, a tense note of concern in her voice.
"Oh, come on," Yamcha laughed, trying to keep his tone light and failing. "It's got your initials on it; someone gave it to you! Who?"
"That's right, someone," Bulma snapped, catching his tone and getting angry because of it. "I don't know who." She stood up and reached for it, but Yamcha twisted it away, supposedly to look at it in the sunlight. "Give it back," she said tersely.
"Hang on," Yamcha said, "I'm looking at it." He turned it over and over in his hand, sure that some clue as to who had given it to her was on it.
"Hey, grubby, that's mine," Bulma snapped, holding her hand out. "Hand it over."
Yamcha gave up with a sigh and turned to give it back to her. But as he twisted his wrist over, he flicked his hand open, and unintentionally threw it. Time seemed to slow for both humans as it tumbled forward from Yamcha's open hand. Both watched with growing horror as it snapped off a saw blade, and then dropped into a small vat of oil.
Bulma was the first to recover. With a shriek, she dropped to her knees and plunged her hand into the machine oil, digging in the murky blackness for the pendant. Yamcha's eyes widened as he watched his girlfriend do this, and, without thinking about how it would look, he jumped forward and pulled her arm out.
"Stop it!" she shrieked at him, slapping at him with an oily hand. "I've had enough of your infantile behavior!"
"But Bulma, I--" Yamcha started, but he was cut off by her continued tirade.
"You know, when all my friends warned me that you were a stupid, immature boy, I ignored them," Bulma hissed as she dunked her arm back into the muck. "And when I saw that you expected me to have pure thoughts, but you would flirt with other girls, I told myself that your jealously was flattering, and that all you would do is flirt a little. I was fine with that!
"But this, this is low, even for a little immature brat like you!" Bulma finished as she drew the pendant out of the oil. She gazed at it with triumph, but that faded as she realized that the shape was wrong. Even with all that black slime oozing down the pendant, she could see that it was seriously deformed.
"You broke it," Bulma said, and she was startled at how small and broken her voice was. She looked up at Yamcha, who was frozen in shock. "You broke it!" she shouted at him and he flinched.
"Bulma, I--" he started, but she threw herself at him, shrieking again.
"Get out, get out!" she howled, her voice rising to inhuman decibels. "Go away! I never want to see you again!" Her fist balled up around her ruined gift, and she threw that fist at Yamcha. It hit him in the chest, hurting her more than him, but it opened the floodgates, and she began pounding on him with her fists.
Yamcha tried to grab her, tried to restrain her, but her flailing was spreading the oil on her hand and arm to the rest of her, and he couldn't hold onto her as she twisted and shrieked. Clear words had long since stopped coming out of her mouth, and now she was just howling.
She flailed until she was out of breath, and then she stepped back from Yamcha, panting hoarsely. Yamcha saw his chance. "Bulma," he murmured, "you know that I wouldn't do that on purpose."
Bulma stared at him, dripping oil, panting as she tried to reclaim all the air she had just expended. Finally, she lifted her arm and hit a switch on her watch. A soft beep sounded from the oil-encrusted machine, and Bulma put it close to her mouth and said, "Security, I need you to come and remove a trespasser from the North Lawn."
"Bulma," Yamcha said, and was startled to hear his voice crack. "Bulma, I love you."
"Security will be here soon," she said tonelessly. "You have a chance to leave if you go now."
Yamcha looked into her eyes, into the hard coldness he saw there, and he turned and walked away. He would have flown, but he wasn't sure that he could see where he was going; he was having sudden trouble seeing and he wiped at his eyes to clear them.
Bulma saw him walk away, and she almost called him back. But a dull throb from her hand caught her attention, and she hissed in pain as she glanced down at her hand. It was the one wrapped around the pendant; the sharp and deformed edges of the piece had cut into her hand and turned it into an oily, bloody mess. Bulma needed to have it looked at; it might even require stitches, so she turned and walked away as well.
No one was there when security arrived, and they logged it as an official miscommunication.
* * *
Vegeta passed over the machine that Bulma was building before going in for dinner. He frowned when he saw that no more work had been done since he had seen it that morning, and the large splashes of oil also struck him as odd. It was odd enough that he landed there to see if he could figure out the puzzle.
The first thing that he noticed was the smell of blood. Looking around, he couldn't see any large pools, so he decided that it was a small injury, whatever it was. But the smell of cooking food was much stronger her, and Vegeta's stomach rumbled. With a shrug, he headed into the house to see if the old woman was done with food.
The question of who was hurt was answered as he stepped into the kitchen. Bulma was sitting at the table, her right hand bandaged while she listlessly pushed food around her plate with her left. But the importance of the question faded as he realized something - he was concerned for her.
He frowned, realizing how stuck he now was. He had said that he would continue doing this, but he had never expected that he would feel concern for her. That meant that he was starting to care, and years of training at Frieza's hands told him that was a problem.
"Vegeta!" the old woman said cheerfully, her face creased with her permanent smile. At his name, Bulma froze, staring at her plate. Vegeta raised his eyebrow, wondered that was indicating. He wasn't sure, and that made him suddenly nervous.
"You're late, but I saved some for you!" the old woman continued. "Sit and eat!"
Vegeta dropped into his chair and quickly, efficiently consumed his food. The old woman continued her ceaseless prattle, but Bulma didn't join, nor did she look up for the entire meal. Vegeta wondered what was wrong with her, and then berated himself for wasting time caring.
* * *
Vegeta stared up at the stars, but his mind wasn't on the planets represented by those specks of light. Instead, he was wondering why he didn't just leave. The stars had always meant freedom before - freedom from his father, freedom from Frieza, and even once, for a time, freedom from himself.
He sighed irritably as he shifted on the roof of the building - it was uncomfortable here, but it was his one sanctuary from the Brief family. He shift again, and sighed again.
Soft noises carried through the night, and Vegeta sat up on the roof, trying to tell where they were coming from. After a moment of listening, he lifted up off the roof and floated around the side of the house, following the noise to Bulma's window.
He glanced in, careful to not let his shadow betray him. Bulma was holding the pendant that he had given her; she was crying and trying to solve it at the same time. Vegeta stared at her, truly confused. He had thought that the mystery would intrigue her, not depress her. With a sinking heart, Vegeta floated away from her window, wondering where to start now.
Bulma slapped at her tears as she tried to examine the pendant. Every time her vision cleared enough for her see it though, it reminded her of Yamcha throwing it into the side of that saw, and then it falling into the oil. Her mother had been kind enough to clean it and bind Bulma's hand with no questions, but Bulma wasn't sure that she could repair the damage.
Her vision cleared again, but Bulma ignored the pendant for a second, taking deep breathes to clear her head. When she was sure she had it under control, she looked at the pendant again.
A deep slash now cut through the back of the pendant, curving up and to the left until it scored the upper left side of the pendant. Worse, the saw had bowed the front of the pendant slightly, giving it an off-center look. She played with the latch, but the whole thing was jammed shut. "You really screwed it up, didn't you Yamcha?" Bulma asked the room bitterly. "Perfect, just perfect." She dropped her head into her arms and let the despair creep over her. But she didn't cry; she was beyond tears now.
* * *
While Vegeta trained and wondered what to do next, Bulma worked doggedly on the machine. Yamcha didn't attempt to contact her, knowing that she would get in touch with him when - and if - she was ready. The next week stretched long for them all, and the individual tensions built inside each one.
* * *
Yamcha studied himself in the mirror, trying to make sure that he looked irresistible. He was tired of waiting to see if Bulma had forgiven him yet. He was ready to seize his destiny, and to wrest his future from the fire. He loved Bulma, and he couldn't let something like a damaged gift come between them.
* * *
Bulma wiped the sweat from her forehead, and eyed her machine. It looked solid, but now she had to prove it. She dropped onto the ground cross- legged and slid the control board onto her lap. Once she knew that it was working, she would install the control board; there was no way that she was going to be in that machine when she geared it up!
She checked to make sure that the plastic cup of water was inside on the floor; it would be hard to test the machine without her test dummy. Her doomed plastic cup with its little drawn on smile was in place.
Bulma hit the "on" button with a grin.
* * *
Vegeta groaned and tossed on his bed, coming awake with a start. He blinked in confusion, and then realized that he had only dreamed that encounter that he had just experienced. He pulled himself upright and considered what the dream was telling him. "Besides that you're a weak fool," he muttered to himself.
It told him that he was in trouble, that's what it told him. He had been thinking about that woman for nearly a week and a half, and now he could not stop. She plagued his thoughts, and he really needed to get her out of his system.
But how? He started to pace around the room, sinking deep into thought as he considered his options. He could take her, but he knew that all the Z fighters would descend on him, and tear him limb from limb. He could find another woman, and use her to clear his mind. Vegeta gave that option serious consideration before he dropped it in revulsion - sleeping with the woman would be bad enough, and he was doubtful that anyone other than the woman could even arouse him.
That thought stopped him. What was so special about her? What made her the only acceptable woman on this planet? Vegeta sighed. Maybe she had been in his dream for a reason; maybe his brain hadn't picked a random face that he saw often. Maybe, the prince thought, there is a reason.
The screams from outside caught his attention. At first, Vegeta was annoyed by the noise, but that swiftly changed to concern when he realized that it was Bulma screaming.
* * *
"-and how dare you come back into my life with flowers and think that will make it okay!" Bulma screamed as she slapped at Yamcha. "You broke my gift, you use me like you maid for your damn lemonade, and you're a horrible kisser!"
"Bulma, I--" Yamcha said, but she had only taken a breath, and she piled back into him.
"Malicious! Creep! Pervert!" she screamed as she slapped him on the head and shoulders with every syllable. "Get out! I don't want to hear your stupid, lame apology, or see your weak, simpering face-"
Yamcha dropped the flowers that he had been carrying and grabbed Bulma, immobilizing her easily. "I'm not leaving until you've heard me out!" he shouted. "I am sorry about the damn thing that I broke; it was truly an accident!"
Yamcha stared at Bulma in sudden shock as he realized that he had raised his voice to her. He never had done that, and he wasn't sure what to do next.
Bulma stared wide-eyed at Yamcha. He had never talked to her like this before, and she found strangely attractive. Then his face dropped his severe demeanor as he stuttered, "Oh, god, Bulma, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to talk to you like that. I'm really, really sorry." He dropped his forehead onto hers and whispered, "I love you; please don't let a silly little trinket come between us. Please."
Bulma shook off her shock as the combative Yamcha went away. "Silly?" she snapped. "Little? You know nothing of what that pendant meant to me. And your stupid ass had to break it!"
"What!" a voice snarled from above them, and the couple turned to see Vegeta dropping the sky like an angry god. "You broke my claim-gift? That is worse than dishonorable! No man would stoop so low!"
"I knew it, I knew it!" Yamcha crowed, pointing an angry finger at Vegeta. "It was you, muscling in on my territory!"
Bulma whirled on him. "You bastard!" she shrieked. "You were the one who made the bet! What muscling in on territory? You can't call the cops if you give the robber your keys!"
"Y-y-y-you know?" Yamcha choked. "But--"
"I heard every word, and I decided to play along - with both of you," she said, turning to look up at Vegeta. She was supernaturally calm now, confident and in charge of the situation. "I thought it might be fun but then I got to thinking about the kind of man that would make that sort of wager - and accept it." She stepped away from both men and shook her head. "I had originally planned to lure you both along and trap you into a compromising situation with each other. But I think that I'm going to ignore you both, and wait for you to grow up. Have a good evening boys." Bulma turned and walked away from the two men, leaving them gaping after her.
"That-that-that woman!" Vegeta finally gasped out.
"She was going to trick me into something with you," Yamcha said, his voice soft and lost like a child's. "She was going to trick me!"
"She's devious, ruthless, cunning," Vegeta mused. "In all the wrong ways of course, but the seed is there none the less."
"She was going to trick me!" Yamcha moaned. "I'm her boyfriend. Why couldn't we have talked about this, and she could have yelled at me. I'm used to that; I can take her yelling at me."
"A Saiyan would wipe a planet of Friesas clean to have a mate such as her," Vegeta whispered, staring at the door that she had disappeared through.
Yamcha turned to him, taking in Vegeta's stare. "Oh, no, you don't!" Yamcha growled, jumping in between Vegeta and the house. "She's still mine!"
"Funny, that's not what I heard her say," Vegeta said mockingly.
"That doesn't matter!" he snapped. "She's still my girl."
"Oh, yeah?" Vegeta growled, stepping forward to stand toe-to-toe with the human, "then keep her." His tone was full of challenge, and the two men settled into their stare down.
Finally, it was Yamcha who had to look away, his eyes and body acknowledging what was killing his pride - Vegeta's physical superiority. Vegeta smirked as the weakling looked away, defeat clear in his eyes. "Remember this moment, Yamcha," Vegeta said, grinding down the human more. "Always remember this moment when you deal with me, for the tables will never be reversed."
"Shut up, you asshole," Yamcha hissed and blasted away in a comet-tail of white energy. It wasn't until he had reached his house that he realized that he had probably done exactly as the Saiyan wanted him to do. With a moan, he dropped to the floor, covering his face, and tried to figure out what to do now.
* * *
Bulma supposed that she should be depressed and weeping, but she wasn't even sad. She felt great! It was like someone had removed a burden that she didn't even know was there, and she felt like she could fly! She hummed a little tune instead, as she worked on the next project for her father - a program that would really balance his checkbook. A tap at her office door broke her concentration, and she turned, exasperated. "What do you want--" she cut her sentence short when she saw who was there.
"Vegeta?" she asked, completely surprised to see him there. "What are you doing here?"
He didn't answer her; instead he stepped into her office and closed the door. He reached up and twisted the bolt on the door closed, and then raised his face to fully look at her. Bulma stared at the Saiyan, unsure of what to make of his demeanor. His face was set into his typical scowl, but his eyes were flashing with an unidentifiable, intense emotion.
He was across the room in a flash, picking her up and setting her on his lap as he dropped into the chair she had been in with one clean moment. "You knew that I had given you the con-whay, before the moron slipped the truth, didn't you?" he asked her, his voice careful and guarded.
"Um," Bulma stuttered, trying to stand up. "Well, yes, but why am I on your lap?" His arms were like concrete, and wouldn't give.
Vegeta frowned at her. "I told you what the con-whay meant," he growled. "Or did your amazing intellect let you down?"
Bulma's eyes widened as she put two and two together and got five. "You desire me?" she almost whispered to the Saiyan. Vegeta merely nodded. "But I thought you were just wanting to train and to fight."
"Even princes get lonely," Vegeta said. "I could survive just fine alone. But I don't wish to be."
Bulma searched for the words, and finally asked, "But why me?"
Vegeta smiled, a tight twist of his lips that was not pleasant, and certainly didn't look friendly. "You are cunning, capable of maliciousness and deception. You are very intelligent, always a prized trait in a mate, and you are beautiful."
"Sounds really logical to me," Bulma said with a scowl. "I don't like logical; where's my romance?"
"Romance?" Vegeta snorted. "That's what the moron was giving you. Romance wastes time and energy."
"That's funny," Bulma said, crossing her arms, "coming from the man who gave me the con-whay and that great pendant. Many people would have called that romantic."
"That was to get your attention," Vegeta said with a frown. His expression eased as the silence fell over them, and his body began to react to her proximity. He ground his teeth together softly as he stared up at her, waiting for her to make the next move. He had so steeled himself for her refusal that he was surprised when she touched his face, running her fingers down his brow. "Is that a yes?" he asked huskily.
"Vegeta, don't you know when to shut up and kiss a girl?" Bulma sighed.
"Are you asking me for a kiss?" Vegeta smirked, pleased that he was going to win the bet anyway.
"No, stupid, I'm telling you to kiss me," Bulma rolled her eyes. "Sheesh, talk about having to lead a horse to water--"
Vegeta's lips on hers cut off the rest of what she was going to say. It was the only way, he would later discover, to stop her from talking. But for now, it was the first pleasant surprise.
~finis~
* * * * * * *
"Bulma, are you ok?" Yamcha said, kneeling down next to her in the grass. Bulma had a dazed look on her face, and she was holding something in her hand. Yamcha's chest tightened as he realized it was a silver pendant; much like the one he had given her, only slightly bigger. "What's this?" he asked, plucking it out of her hand.
The loss of the pendant seemed to snap Bulma out of her fugue. "I found it," she said, her eyes traveling up to Yamcha, a tense note of concern in her voice.
"Oh, come on," Yamcha laughed, trying to keep his tone light and failing. "It's got your initials on it; someone gave it to you! Who?"
"That's right, someone," Bulma snapped, catching his tone and getting angry because of it. "I don't know who." She stood up and reached for it, but Yamcha twisted it away, supposedly to look at it in the sunlight. "Give it back," she said tersely.
"Hang on," Yamcha said, "I'm looking at it." He turned it over and over in his hand, sure that some clue as to who had given it to her was on it.
"Hey, grubby, that's mine," Bulma snapped, holding her hand out. "Hand it over."
Yamcha gave up with a sigh and turned to give it back to her. But as he twisted his wrist over, he flicked his hand open, and unintentionally threw it. Time seemed to slow for both humans as it tumbled forward from Yamcha's open hand. Both watched with growing horror as it snapped off a saw blade, and then dropped into a small vat of oil.
Bulma was the first to recover. With a shriek, she dropped to her knees and plunged her hand into the machine oil, digging in the murky blackness for the pendant. Yamcha's eyes widened as he watched his girlfriend do this, and, without thinking about how it would look, he jumped forward and pulled her arm out.
"Stop it!" she shrieked at him, slapping at him with an oily hand. "I've had enough of your infantile behavior!"
"But Bulma, I--" Yamcha started, but he was cut off by her continued tirade.
"You know, when all my friends warned me that you were a stupid, immature boy, I ignored them," Bulma hissed as she dunked her arm back into the muck. "And when I saw that you expected me to have pure thoughts, but you would flirt with other girls, I told myself that your jealously was flattering, and that all you would do is flirt a little. I was fine with that!
"But this, this is low, even for a little immature brat like you!" Bulma finished as she drew the pendant out of the oil. She gazed at it with triumph, but that faded as she realized that the shape was wrong. Even with all that black slime oozing down the pendant, she could see that it was seriously deformed.
"You broke it," Bulma said, and she was startled at how small and broken her voice was. She looked up at Yamcha, who was frozen in shock. "You broke it!" she shouted at him and he flinched.
"Bulma, I--" he started, but she threw herself at him, shrieking again.
"Get out, get out!" she howled, her voice rising to inhuman decibels. "Go away! I never want to see you again!" Her fist balled up around her ruined gift, and she threw that fist at Yamcha. It hit him in the chest, hurting her more than him, but it opened the floodgates, and she began pounding on him with her fists.
Yamcha tried to grab her, tried to restrain her, but her flailing was spreading the oil on her hand and arm to the rest of her, and he couldn't hold onto her as she twisted and shrieked. Clear words had long since stopped coming out of her mouth, and now she was just howling.
She flailed until she was out of breath, and then she stepped back from Yamcha, panting hoarsely. Yamcha saw his chance. "Bulma," he murmured, "you know that I wouldn't do that on purpose."
Bulma stared at him, dripping oil, panting as she tried to reclaim all the air she had just expended. Finally, she lifted her arm and hit a switch on her watch. A soft beep sounded from the oil-encrusted machine, and Bulma put it close to her mouth and said, "Security, I need you to come and remove a trespasser from the North Lawn."
"Bulma," Yamcha said, and was startled to hear his voice crack. "Bulma, I love you."
"Security will be here soon," she said tonelessly. "You have a chance to leave if you go now."
Yamcha looked into her eyes, into the hard coldness he saw there, and he turned and walked away. He would have flown, but he wasn't sure that he could see where he was going; he was having sudden trouble seeing and he wiped at his eyes to clear them.
Bulma saw him walk away, and she almost called him back. But a dull throb from her hand caught her attention, and she hissed in pain as she glanced down at her hand. It was the one wrapped around the pendant; the sharp and deformed edges of the piece had cut into her hand and turned it into an oily, bloody mess. Bulma needed to have it looked at; it might even require stitches, so she turned and walked away as well.
No one was there when security arrived, and they logged it as an official miscommunication.
* * *
Vegeta passed over the machine that Bulma was building before going in for dinner. He frowned when he saw that no more work had been done since he had seen it that morning, and the large splashes of oil also struck him as odd. It was odd enough that he landed there to see if he could figure out the puzzle.
The first thing that he noticed was the smell of blood. Looking around, he couldn't see any large pools, so he decided that it was a small injury, whatever it was. But the smell of cooking food was much stronger her, and Vegeta's stomach rumbled. With a shrug, he headed into the house to see if the old woman was done with food.
The question of who was hurt was answered as he stepped into the kitchen. Bulma was sitting at the table, her right hand bandaged while she listlessly pushed food around her plate with her left. But the importance of the question faded as he realized something - he was concerned for her.
He frowned, realizing how stuck he now was. He had said that he would continue doing this, but he had never expected that he would feel concern for her. That meant that he was starting to care, and years of training at Frieza's hands told him that was a problem.
"Vegeta!" the old woman said cheerfully, her face creased with her permanent smile. At his name, Bulma froze, staring at her plate. Vegeta raised his eyebrow, wondered that was indicating. He wasn't sure, and that made him suddenly nervous.
"You're late, but I saved some for you!" the old woman continued. "Sit and eat!"
Vegeta dropped into his chair and quickly, efficiently consumed his food. The old woman continued her ceaseless prattle, but Bulma didn't join, nor did she look up for the entire meal. Vegeta wondered what was wrong with her, and then berated himself for wasting time caring.
* * *
Vegeta stared up at the stars, but his mind wasn't on the planets represented by those specks of light. Instead, he was wondering why he didn't just leave. The stars had always meant freedom before - freedom from his father, freedom from Frieza, and even once, for a time, freedom from himself.
He sighed irritably as he shifted on the roof of the building - it was uncomfortable here, but it was his one sanctuary from the Brief family. He shift again, and sighed again.
Soft noises carried through the night, and Vegeta sat up on the roof, trying to tell where they were coming from. After a moment of listening, he lifted up off the roof and floated around the side of the house, following the noise to Bulma's window.
He glanced in, careful to not let his shadow betray him. Bulma was holding the pendant that he had given her; she was crying and trying to solve it at the same time. Vegeta stared at her, truly confused. He had thought that the mystery would intrigue her, not depress her. With a sinking heart, Vegeta floated away from her window, wondering where to start now.
Bulma slapped at her tears as she tried to examine the pendant. Every time her vision cleared enough for her see it though, it reminded her of Yamcha throwing it into the side of that saw, and then it falling into the oil. Her mother had been kind enough to clean it and bind Bulma's hand with no questions, but Bulma wasn't sure that she could repair the damage.
Her vision cleared again, but Bulma ignored the pendant for a second, taking deep breathes to clear her head. When she was sure she had it under control, she looked at the pendant again.
A deep slash now cut through the back of the pendant, curving up and to the left until it scored the upper left side of the pendant. Worse, the saw had bowed the front of the pendant slightly, giving it an off-center look. She played with the latch, but the whole thing was jammed shut. "You really screwed it up, didn't you Yamcha?" Bulma asked the room bitterly. "Perfect, just perfect." She dropped her head into her arms and let the despair creep over her. But she didn't cry; she was beyond tears now.
* * *
While Vegeta trained and wondered what to do next, Bulma worked doggedly on the machine. Yamcha didn't attempt to contact her, knowing that she would get in touch with him when - and if - she was ready. The next week stretched long for them all, and the individual tensions built inside each one.
* * *
Yamcha studied himself in the mirror, trying to make sure that he looked irresistible. He was tired of waiting to see if Bulma had forgiven him yet. He was ready to seize his destiny, and to wrest his future from the fire. He loved Bulma, and he couldn't let something like a damaged gift come between them.
* * *
Bulma wiped the sweat from her forehead, and eyed her machine. It looked solid, but now she had to prove it. She dropped onto the ground cross- legged and slid the control board onto her lap. Once she knew that it was working, she would install the control board; there was no way that she was going to be in that machine when she geared it up!
She checked to make sure that the plastic cup of water was inside on the floor; it would be hard to test the machine without her test dummy. Her doomed plastic cup with its little drawn on smile was in place.
Bulma hit the "on" button with a grin.
* * *
Vegeta groaned and tossed on his bed, coming awake with a start. He blinked in confusion, and then realized that he had only dreamed that encounter that he had just experienced. He pulled himself upright and considered what the dream was telling him. "Besides that you're a weak fool," he muttered to himself.
It told him that he was in trouble, that's what it told him. He had been thinking about that woman for nearly a week and a half, and now he could not stop. She plagued his thoughts, and he really needed to get her out of his system.
But how? He started to pace around the room, sinking deep into thought as he considered his options. He could take her, but he knew that all the Z fighters would descend on him, and tear him limb from limb. He could find another woman, and use her to clear his mind. Vegeta gave that option serious consideration before he dropped it in revulsion - sleeping with the woman would be bad enough, and he was doubtful that anyone other than the woman could even arouse him.
That thought stopped him. What was so special about her? What made her the only acceptable woman on this planet? Vegeta sighed. Maybe she had been in his dream for a reason; maybe his brain hadn't picked a random face that he saw often. Maybe, the prince thought, there is a reason.
The screams from outside caught his attention. At first, Vegeta was annoyed by the noise, but that swiftly changed to concern when he realized that it was Bulma screaming.
* * *
"-and how dare you come back into my life with flowers and think that will make it okay!" Bulma screamed as she slapped at Yamcha. "You broke my gift, you use me like you maid for your damn lemonade, and you're a horrible kisser!"
"Bulma, I--" Yamcha said, but she had only taken a breath, and she piled back into him.
"Malicious! Creep! Pervert!" she screamed as she slapped him on the head and shoulders with every syllable. "Get out! I don't want to hear your stupid, lame apology, or see your weak, simpering face-"
Yamcha dropped the flowers that he had been carrying and grabbed Bulma, immobilizing her easily. "I'm not leaving until you've heard me out!" he shouted. "I am sorry about the damn thing that I broke; it was truly an accident!"
Yamcha stared at Bulma in sudden shock as he realized that he had raised his voice to her. He never had done that, and he wasn't sure what to do next.
Bulma stared wide-eyed at Yamcha. He had never talked to her like this before, and she found strangely attractive. Then his face dropped his severe demeanor as he stuttered, "Oh, god, Bulma, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to talk to you like that. I'm really, really sorry." He dropped his forehead onto hers and whispered, "I love you; please don't let a silly little trinket come between us. Please."
Bulma shook off her shock as the combative Yamcha went away. "Silly?" she snapped. "Little? You know nothing of what that pendant meant to me. And your stupid ass had to break it!"
"What!" a voice snarled from above them, and the couple turned to see Vegeta dropping the sky like an angry god. "You broke my claim-gift? That is worse than dishonorable! No man would stoop so low!"
"I knew it, I knew it!" Yamcha crowed, pointing an angry finger at Vegeta. "It was you, muscling in on my territory!"
Bulma whirled on him. "You bastard!" she shrieked. "You were the one who made the bet! What muscling in on territory? You can't call the cops if you give the robber your keys!"
"Y-y-y-you know?" Yamcha choked. "But--"
"I heard every word, and I decided to play along - with both of you," she said, turning to look up at Vegeta. She was supernaturally calm now, confident and in charge of the situation. "I thought it might be fun but then I got to thinking about the kind of man that would make that sort of wager - and accept it." She stepped away from both men and shook her head. "I had originally planned to lure you both along and trap you into a compromising situation with each other. But I think that I'm going to ignore you both, and wait for you to grow up. Have a good evening boys." Bulma turned and walked away from the two men, leaving them gaping after her.
"That-that-that woman!" Vegeta finally gasped out.
"She was going to trick me into something with you," Yamcha said, his voice soft and lost like a child's. "She was going to trick me!"
"She's devious, ruthless, cunning," Vegeta mused. "In all the wrong ways of course, but the seed is there none the less."
"She was going to trick me!" Yamcha moaned. "I'm her boyfriend. Why couldn't we have talked about this, and she could have yelled at me. I'm used to that; I can take her yelling at me."
"A Saiyan would wipe a planet of Friesas clean to have a mate such as her," Vegeta whispered, staring at the door that she had disappeared through.
Yamcha turned to him, taking in Vegeta's stare. "Oh, no, you don't!" Yamcha growled, jumping in between Vegeta and the house. "She's still mine!"
"Funny, that's not what I heard her say," Vegeta said mockingly.
"That doesn't matter!" he snapped. "She's still my girl."
"Oh, yeah?" Vegeta growled, stepping forward to stand toe-to-toe with the human, "then keep her." His tone was full of challenge, and the two men settled into their stare down.
Finally, it was Yamcha who had to look away, his eyes and body acknowledging what was killing his pride - Vegeta's physical superiority. Vegeta smirked as the weakling looked away, defeat clear in his eyes. "Remember this moment, Yamcha," Vegeta said, grinding down the human more. "Always remember this moment when you deal with me, for the tables will never be reversed."
"Shut up, you asshole," Yamcha hissed and blasted away in a comet-tail of white energy. It wasn't until he had reached his house that he realized that he had probably done exactly as the Saiyan wanted him to do. With a moan, he dropped to the floor, covering his face, and tried to figure out what to do now.
* * *
Bulma supposed that she should be depressed and weeping, but she wasn't even sad. She felt great! It was like someone had removed a burden that she didn't even know was there, and she felt like she could fly! She hummed a little tune instead, as she worked on the next project for her father - a program that would really balance his checkbook. A tap at her office door broke her concentration, and she turned, exasperated. "What do you want--" she cut her sentence short when she saw who was there.
"Vegeta?" she asked, completely surprised to see him there. "What are you doing here?"
He didn't answer her; instead he stepped into her office and closed the door. He reached up and twisted the bolt on the door closed, and then raised his face to fully look at her. Bulma stared at the Saiyan, unsure of what to make of his demeanor. His face was set into his typical scowl, but his eyes were flashing with an unidentifiable, intense emotion.
He was across the room in a flash, picking her up and setting her on his lap as he dropped into the chair she had been in with one clean moment. "You knew that I had given you the con-whay, before the moron slipped the truth, didn't you?" he asked her, his voice careful and guarded.
"Um," Bulma stuttered, trying to stand up. "Well, yes, but why am I on your lap?" His arms were like concrete, and wouldn't give.
Vegeta frowned at her. "I told you what the con-whay meant," he growled. "Or did your amazing intellect let you down?"
Bulma's eyes widened as she put two and two together and got five. "You desire me?" she almost whispered to the Saiyan. Vegeta merely nodded. "But I thought you were just wanting to train and to fight."
"Even princes get lonely," Vegeta said. "I could survive just fine alone. But I don't wish to be."
Bulma searched for the words, and finally asked, "But why me?"
Vegeta smiled, a tight twist of his lips that was not pleasant, and certainly didn't look friendly. "You are cunning, capable of maliciousness and deception. You are very intelligent, always a prized trait in a mate, and you are beautiful."
"Sounds really logical to me," Bulma said with a scowl. "I don't like logical; where's my romance?"
"Romance?" Vegeta snorted. "That's what the moron was giving you. Romance wastes time and energy."
"That's funny," Bulma said, crossing her arms, "coming from the man who gave me the con-whay and that great pendant. Many people would have called that romantic."
"That was to get your attention," Vegeta said with a frown. His expression eased as the silence fell over them, and his body began to react to her proximity. He ground his teeth together softly as he stared up at her, waiting for her to make the next move. He had so steeled himself for her refusal that he was surprised when she touched his face, running her fingers down his brow. "Is that a yes?" he asked huskily.
"Vegeta, don't you know when to shut up and kiss a girl?" Bulma sighed.
"Are you asking me for a kiss?" Vegeta smirked, pleased that he was going to win the bet anyway.
"No, stupid, I'm telling you to kiss me," Bulma rolled her eyes. "Sheesh, talk about having to lead a horse to water--"
Vegeta's lips on hers cut off the rest of what she was going to say. It was the only way, he would later discover, to stop her from talking. But for now, it was the first pleasant surprise.
~finis~
