Author's Preface
I started Fight for Me last July and have no idea when I'll finish it. I'll try my best to get out a chapter every week, but I can't make any guarantees, and I might not finish this summer – it just keeps getting bigger! At the same time, I really want to finish this story. Just please be patient!
First of all, Fight for Me is about as AU as a story can be and still be considered fanfiction. It's mainly a drama/romance piece about Bulma and Vegeta, but it definitely has its share of fight scenes, as the title would suggest, and various other members of the DBZ cast flitter through. As to the actual plot line; Bulma's an heiress living in Chicago in the Roaring 20s. Vegeta's a prizefighter – a very good prizefighter – with a mysterious past. What happens when their fates become intertwined by a sketchy boyfriend who works in "insurance?"
Warnings – no ki, no Super Saiya-jins, and no sex (at least no detailed sex – nothing against it, just can't write it. This was an R fic before they banned NC-17 on fanfiction.net). Lots of swearing and blood: little mercy. No Japanese. Very slow updates and very long chapters.
I'll only say it once – I don't own the characters, but the story is mine. Territorial, ne?
Finally, feel free to email me with any rants or raves at laughingstar14@hotmail.com.
Chapter 1 – Moods
Our curtain opens on a scene of cultured extravagance. Only the colossal canopy bed off to one side reveals that this room, the size of a small house, is a private bedroom. Everything sparkles. The spotless crystal, china, and lace whisper of wealth. Monet and Degas drape along the walls, occasionally challenged by a Picasso or Klee.
The mistress of this mini-castle is lounging on a blue satin couch, contentedly reading Hemmingway. She seems completely in her element. Her ivory silk dress and scarf elegantly complement her pale skin, while her strikingly blue bobbed hair and deep blue eyes perfectly match the undulating tones of the satin. The hint of a smile plays across her lips. One wonders what Hemmingway has said to amuse her so, but the slim hand absently playing with the string of pearls around her neck betrays her. Her thoughts may be with a man, but Hemmingway has lost her.
A prim female voice from across the room breaks her reverie. "I still say that pearls are for tears." The young woman speaking seems slightly more robust than the blue-haired heiress, but they are in fact similar in stature. It is merely her aura of strength and respectability, combined with her starched black and white maid's uniform, which makes her appear less fragile. Her black hair is wound into a tight bun, with a small white lace cap pinned smartly on top. While she can't be more than 24, she already has the essence of an elderly schoolteacher.
The blue-haired woman barely moves in response to her maid's harsh comment. She sighs and looks to a glass chandelier for guidance. With the air of one who has survived seven plagues, she answers, "Honestly, ChiChi, I can't see why you won't give it up. It's the 20th century! 1923, not 1823! Stop being so ancient."
"Humph. I'm no older than you, Miss Bulma. I simply believe in using common sense, and common sense tells me that this is a bad sign."
Bulma closes her eyes and shakes her head. Not again. She turns toward her dark-haired maid. "Common sense tells you to look for 'signs'? You're always seeing bad signs. I met Yamcha on a Friday the 13th. He owns a black cat. Our first date was dinner at a restaurant directly under 'The Ladder.' Have I missed anything?"
"There was a red sky the morning he proposed."
Bulma's face becomes a mixture of confusion, boredom, and fatigue.
" 'Red sky at morning, sailors take warning,' " the young maid explains somewhat impatiently.
Bulma rolls her eyes. "Of course. Listen, ChiChi. I'm beginning to get the feeling that you just don't like Yamcha. Is there something I should know?"
ChiChi looks down at the cookbook in her lap. "No, ma'am, it's not my place to judge Master Yamcha."
This only serves to peak Bulma's interest. "Come on, ChiChi, you know you can always speak your mind with me. I'm a modern girl! Just tell…" She is cut off by a knock on the door. "Come in!"
A stiff butler in a black tuxedo enters. "A message for Miss Briefs from Mr. [does Yamcha have a last name?]."
Bulma blinks and stands, stretching herself lightly. "Something from Yamcha? I guess it's about our date tonight."
The butler quickly crosses the room. Bulma takes the sealed note lying on the butler's silver tray, and dismisses him with a nod of her head. Hemmingway still in hand, she opens the letter.
Several long seconds tick by. ChiChi grows worried as her employer's face turns to stone: cold, harsh, and unyielding. Suddenly, the fury Bulma has trapped somewhere inside breaks free. "Oh, for the life of me, I will never understand that man!"
Ignoring the now rapidly retreating butler, Bulma rounds on her maid, unconsciously clenching her fist, crumpling the offensive note. "Can you believe him, ChiChi? He's canceled our date! Just like that, all of my hours of planning and waiting – gone!" She snaps her fingers for emphasis. "Just like that! And he doesn't even offer a decent excuse! 'Emergency meeting – so very sorry.' What kind of emergency can an insurance company have? Have all of its customers suddenly taken ill? Come on! The nerve of that…that…bastard!"
ChiChi blushes deeply at Bulma's language. "Please, miss, it isn't becoming of a lady…"
"I'll call him whatever the Hell I want!" Bulma vents suddenly, slamming her book on a nearby table, causing a bone china tea set to tremble precariously. Thinking of her employer's personal belongings, not to mention her own health, ChiChi tries to calm Bulma down.
"It's all right, Miss Bulma. You never know with these big corporations. Your father is busy all of the time, now, isn't he? And yet your mother is happy. And Dr. Briefs' work ends with the walls of Capsule Corporation. The president of an insurance company must have many more obligations than the president of a pharmaceuticals company." A strange look comes over ChiChi's face as she finishes, "Master Yamcha must have many affairs he can only attend to during personal time."
Bulma's anger has cooled by this point to a strong simmer. She doesn't miss the implications of her maid's final sentence.
"ChiChi? What's going on? What's Yamcha doing? Is he…is he cheating on me?"
"No, miss, it's nothing."
"There was something you were going to tell me earlier. What was it? What has Yamcha gotten himself into?"
ChiChi notices the worry, anger, impatience, and fear that fight for control of Bulma's face. Perhaps…She opens her mouth and takes a deep breath. Bulma waits for the young maid to speak.
Silence suffocates the room.
Bulma's anger comes back in full force. "Fine, then, don't tell me anything. I'll just have to find out from Yamcha himself!" She spins away, heading for the door.
"Miss Bulma! Wait!"
Bulma stops and turns back to face her maid. She says nothing, but her posture and expression are clear. Well? Are you going to keep me waiting here until I get fed up and fire you?
Staring at an imaginary speck on the Persian rug, ChiChi takes another deep breath, then spits out, "He's gone to the fights."
Whatever Bulma expected, it certainly wasn't this. "What?"
She's still on shaky ground, so she swallows before answering. "The fights downtown. Master Yamcha…sponsors one of the fighters. He's made a lot of money that way." Her voice, normally so strong, drops to a mumble. "At least that's what I've heard."
"The unregulated fights? But people have gotten killed there! And it's supposedly a hotspot for the Mafia!" She pauses for a moment. "ChiChi?"
"Yes, miss?"
"I have just one question."
ChiChi swallows again and bites her lip. "Yes, miss."
"Look at me, ChiChi."
Slowly, ChiChi raises her head, only to see Bulma…grinning?
"How do you, my prim, proper, medieval handmaiden, know all this?"
ChiChi sighs with obvious relief. "Well, Miss Bulma, I go down there myself sometimes on my nights off." Bulma raises her eyebrows, silently commanding ChiChi to continue. "The fights are actually kind of…" ChiChi trails off, blushing a little, then barely whispers, "…interesting."
Bulma's face suddenly lights up with comprehension. Her eyes narrow slyly. "Don't you mean the fighters?"
ChiChi's face turns bright red. "Hmm…more like one fighter, actually," she says, embarrassed and yet giddy, like a teenage girl. "The one Master Yamcha sponsors. Goku…" she trailed off, her eyes suddenly glazed.
"Goku?" Bulma bursts out laughing. "What kind of a name is Goku?"
"It's not his real name," ChiChi shoots back defensively. "It's the name of some ancient Chinese warrior or something like that!"
"So what is his real name?"
ChiChi returns her attention to that speck on the floor. "I don't know," she mumbles.
Even the polished Miss Bulma Briefs can't remain standing while laughing so hard. She collapses into a giant armchair, holding her stomach, tears dripping from her eyes.
"You…" she wheezes, "…you, my perfect Little Miss Efficiency…you're in love with a…with a…prize fighter…and you don't even know his…his name?"
Fortunately, ChiChi recognizes the irony of the situation. If her own mouth weren't threatening to smile, she might strike her employer in her anger. As it is, humor aside, she is still deeply insulted.
"I'll have you know that Goku is the greatest fighter this city has ever known! He only moved here two years ago, and he's already beaten every fighter within a 50-mile radius! And let me tell you, there are a lot of fighters in Chicago. Some are even really good. But nobody's as good as Goku. He won the tournament last year, and I know he'll do it again this year! That's why Master Yamcha is putting so much on him! He knows that Goku will win!"
"Yes…" Bulma mutters. "Obviously. Why else would he stand me up for a fight?"
ChiChi's annoyance immediately disappears. She stares at the young millionaire before her, apparently trying to read Bulma's thoughts.
"ChiChi?"
"Yes, miss?"
"When you told me where Yamcha was going, and I said I had only one question, you acted like I was going to sick Al Capone on you. What did you think I was going to ask you?"
ChiChi remains silent for a moment, and then answers carefully. "I really didn't know what you were going to ask me, ma'am."
Bulma studies her maid for a moment, and then nods. She immediately turns on her heel and glides to the door across the room. ChiChi stares at her, not sure what to do. Bulma stops by the door, and then turns back to her maid. "I think we'll need our light coats. It's a bit cool outside tonight."
"I beg your pardon, miss? Are we going somewhere?"
Bulma smiles craftily. "I'm in the mood for a fight."
