A/N: You requested it (twice) (which is kind've a first for me, and..*ahem*
anyway), so here it is! Chapter Four! Thank you, nice reviewing-type
people! You're so sweeeeet! ^_^ It's longer than the last one, and we're
moving into B/V territory at last.
Disclaimer: I don't own Dragonball Z, which is a good thing, because if I did it probably would have died after the first volume because of my laziness and lack of updating. Gomen, gomen!
Chapter 4: There's Your Trouble
"Bad dog, this is Panther. The jet has landed. I repeat, the jet has landed." 'Panther' re-adjusted her headset to keep it from slipping down her face (it hadn't exactly been designed with a cat's ears in mind) and waited for a reply as Yamcha and Cesily vanished inside the restaurant.
"Roger that, Panther. I'm in position. Any sign of the Harpy?"
"Not yet, Bad Dog. Keep sharp. Panther out." Pu'ar flicked off the outgoing channel and settled down to wait, wondering if Dugan felt just a bit silly wearing a headset and using code names. It made her feel cool, like a spy or a secret agent. The cat stifled a giggle at the thought of Dougan in a tuxedo like James Bond, then jerked upright as the Irish Wolfhound's bass voice crackled in her ears.
"Panther! B.I mean, the Harpy is coming your way. See her?"
"Roger, Bad Dog. I see her. Plan A in progress." Pu'ar switched off her headset, slid it over her ears, and set it down gently. She took a deep breath, pictured what she wanted to become, and whisper-squeaked, "Change."
There was a puff of smoke, and a soft "poof" as the air around her was forced outward. Pu'ar waved the smoke away and looked over her new form. She really didn't like transforming into the opposite gender, but in a good cause. She/he cleared her throat to make sure that her vocal cords had changed along with the rest of her. It would be embarrassing, to say the least, to march up to her prey (a.k.a. Bulma) and speak up in her normal squeaky-toy tones, especially in her current shape. Pu'ar scooped up the headset, tucked it into her pocket, grinned evilly, and closed in on the hapless figure of her victim.
* * *
Bulma paused in front of the double doors of the restaurant which had just swallowed her former boyfriend and his current date with teeth of wood and glass. At that moment, staring anxiously through the frosted windows of the oak-paneled door, she thought that that building was absolutely the most intimidating thing she had ever seen, scarier than Vegeta in a rage, scarier than Zarbon or even Freeza. Step through them, and she would take the first strides down an unstoppable road towards either regaining her erstwhile boyfriend or losing him forever. Taking a deep breath, she stepped forwards.
And bumped headfirst into one of the handsomest men she had ever set eyes on. He was taller than Bulma, but so much that he loomed over her like a skyscraper. His chin was at exactly the right level for the top of her head to fit snugly beneath it for cuddling. His hair was the almost-black brown of a bar of finest dark chocolate, and his eyes were the blue of a deep, cool, pure mountain lake. His lips were full and sensual (but definitely masculine), his skin was perfectly tan and unblemished, and his nose beautifully sculpted. Bulma nearly collapsed into his arms on the spot as their eyes met, but restrained herself with an effort. 'Yamcha,' she told herself, 'Think of Yamcha.'
And then he spoke, in a voice that was rich, and deep, and sent a shiver down Bulma's spine- so much so, in fact, that she didn't hear a word of what he actually said. Realizing after a moment that he had, in fact, spoken to her, she blinked and tried to get her vocal cords working.
"Wha? Huh?" 'Oh, very clever, Bulma,' she berated herself mentally.
"I'm sorry for bumping into you," he repeated in those rich, warm, knee-melting tones. "What's your name?"
"B-bulma," she stammered, still overcome. 'Mission,' she thought, rather dazedly. 'I'm on a mission.or is he my mission? No, that can't be right.'
"I'm Pu.er. Puer," the man repeated, a little nervously.
'What?' Bulma thought. 'I'm making him nervous? I must be even sexier than I gave myself credit for!' This thought restoring her self-confidence and her loquaciousness to their usual titanic levels, she smiled becomingly at him.
"Don't be sorry. It was all my fault, really." 'Wait, mission. Mission? Mission. Yamcha! He's getting away! With that girl! I have to stop him!'
Her smile didn't waver an iota as she continued smoothly. "It was nice meeting you, Puer, even with the bumping, but I really have to be going now. Pardon me."
* * *
"Why the rush?" Pu'ar made her altered voice calm, but inwardly she was panicking. She had been so sure it would work! The shapeshifter caught sight of Dougan around the corner and calmed herself with a deep breath. They did, after all, have a backup plan.
"I'm looking for someone," Bulma explained smoothly. "He just went into this restaurant, and I'll miss him if I don't hurry. Now, please excuse me."
"Of course." Pu'ar stepped aside graciously, and signaled to Dougan as Bulma started forwards. He dashed out of hiding like a giant gray arrow from a siege bow, intimidating as only a very large dog can be when he's rushing toward you at full speed, growling and snarling like a wild thing. Bulma took a breath to scream, but Pu'ar tackled her before she made a sound. The air was lost in a gasp as they hit the dirt, Pu'ar 'shielding' her from the attacking dog, coincidentally, smearing soil and gravel into her dress. The shapeshifter sprang to her (well, technically his, at the moment) feet and confronted Dougan, who was playing the furious, frenzied dog with a skill that could have won Oscars for best performance. He rushed suddenly, straight at Bulma, whose eyes widened as she gasped for air. Pu'ar mock-lunged at her canine accomplice, who dodged her with ease and flung himself at Bulma, thoroughly ripping her skirt as she stood too shocked to scream before running onward and disappearing around a corner. Pu'ar smirked before turning around to face Bulma and putting on a concerned expression. Plan B had gone off perfectly.
* * *
Tears welled up in Bulma's eyes as she sat in the grass outside the restaurant and stared numbly at the rent in her dress. 'This was Yamcha' favorite,' she thought. 'I wore it for him.' She started to sob in earnest. 'Now I'll never get him back! Never!'
"Are you okay? I'm so sorry." She glanced up at Puer's concerned face and sniffed, trying to pull herself together at least a little.
"J-just go now, p-please."
"Do you want me to walk you home, or anything?" He sounded truly worried, and Bulma managed to get herself under control. Barely.
"N-no. I'll be all right. I just need to be alone."
"You sure?"
"Yes." Bulma picked herself up, brushed some of the gravel off of her clothes, sniffled, and walked away with as much dignity as she could muster.
* * *
"Pu'ar?"
"Yeah?"
"I think we just did a bad thing."
"Dougan?"
"Yeah?"
"I think you're right."
* * *
Vegeta sensed the woman in the house the second she stepped through the door. He heard her pause in the entrance of the kitchen, the room in which he was currently ensconced, heave a heartfelt sigh, and mutter, "This is not my day." He did not turn around. He did, however, take the opportunity to evaluate her mental state by her scent, as only a Saiya-jin could. Hmph. Depressed and almost crying, with overtones that suggested she had fallen in some dirt recently. Not a good time to taunt her, then. Although her body was pathetically weak, he did get some enjoyment out of their verbal battles, not that he would ever have admitted it. He heard her sniffle, and could almost feel her collect herself before she started across the room.
"Vegeta," she acknowledged him coldly as she passed.
"Woman," he replied, just as cool.
She stalked past him, head up, eyes forward.at least, until she tripped and fell heavily on the edge of the carpet.
* * *
Bulma felt tears sting her eyes as the carpet stung her knees, and blinked fiercely. 'I will not cry in front of Vegeta, I will not cry in front of Vegeta.oh, what the hell. It's not like he'll care, anyway.' The sobs she had been restraining so determinedly broke free at last, shaking her body in their iron fist. Over their fury, she heard Vegeta stand up, his chair squeaking on the floor, and felt him come towards her on cat-quiet feet. He stood behind her for a moment, almost uncertainly, before snorting in exasperation and speaking.
"If you must cry, woman, can you at least do it somewhere else?"
"S-sorry," she got out between sobs, and started gulping her tears back down to that place in her chest where they were normally contained. Suddenly, she found herself hauled upright a trifle roughly, at blinked at Vegeta's sharp-planed face through a haze of saltwater.
"Did that weakling take off again? Good riddance."
"Go away, Vegeta. I'm not really in the mood right now." Bulma noted with a certain amount of pride that she had managed to get those words out without stammering or breaking down again.
Vegeta, meanwhile, had no idea what he thought he was doing. Some odd, forgotten instinct had propelled him out of his chair and over to the weeping woman, accompanied by the urge to make her stop crying. He didn't like it. So he slipped into his typical reaction to a confusing or uncomfortable situation; he got angry.
"Why should I go away? You're the one who barged in and started crying!"
Bulma's temper flared in response, and she snapped a reply. "It's my kitchen in my house, that's why! I'm letting you stay here, monkey-boy, and the least you can do is do what I ask for a change!"
"I am the prince of all Saiya-jins, woman, and if you think."
"Oh, please! Not that again!" She poked him in the chest, eyes narrowed. "You may be the prince of all Saiya-freaks, but you're not the prince of me! So take a hike!"
"No!"
"Why?!"
Why? Good question. Why didn't he just leave this house, with its annoying occupants, catch his own meals and live by himself between bouts with the gravity machine? Not sure of the real answer, he hesitated a fraction of a second before shouting a hasty answer.
"I'm not taking orders from any weak Earth woman!"
"Fine, then!" If Bulma had noticed the tiny pause, she wasn't letting on. "See if this weak Earth woman ever fixes any of your stupid training machines again!" With this parting shot (not the best in her repertoire, but it would do), she whirled and stalked away, her tears forgotten in typical Vegeta-inspired anger. 'Stupid Saiya-jin.'
'At least you're not crying anymore.'
'Shut up.'
Vegeta, left alone in the kitchen, snorted. "Hmph. Stupid woman."
'At least she stopped crying,' a little voice in his head niggled.
"Shut up."
Disclaimer: I don't own Dragonball Z, which is a good thing, because if I did it probably would have died after the first volume because of my laziness and lack of updating. Gomen, gomen!
Chapter 4: There's Your Trouble
"Bad dog, this is Panther. The jet has landed. I repeat, the jet has landed." 'Panther' re-adjusted her headset to keep it from slipping down her face (it hadn't exactly been designed with a cat's ears in mind) and waited for a reply as Yamcha and Cesily vanished inside the restaurant.
"Roger that, Panther. I'm in position. Any sign of the Harpy?"
"Not yet, Bad Dog. Keep sharp. Panther out." Pu'ar flicked off the outgoing channel and settled down to wait, wondering if Dugan felt just a bit silly wearing a headset and using code names. It made her feel cool, like a spy or a secret agent. The cat stifled a giggle at the thought of Dougan in a tuxedo like James Bond, then jerked upright as the Irish Wolfhound's bass voice crackled in her ears.
"Panther! B.I mean, the Harpy is coming your way. See her?"
"Roger, Bad Dog. I see her. Plan A in progress." Pu'ar switched off her headset, slid it over her ears, and set it down gently. She took a deep breath, pictured what she wanted to become, and whisper-squeaked, "Change."
There was a puff of smoke, and a soft "poof" as the air around her was forced outward. Pu'ar waved the smoke away and looked over her new form. She really didn't like transforming into the opposite gender, but in a good cause. She/he cleared her throat to make sure that her vocal cords had changed along with the rest of her. It would be embarrassing, to say the least, to march up to her prey (a.k.a. Bulma) and speak up in her normal squeaky-toy tones, especially in her current shape. Pu'ar scooped up the headset, tucked it into her pocket, grinned evilly, and closed in on the hapless figure of her victim.
* * *
Bulma paused in front of the double doors of the restaurant which had just swallowed her former boyfriend and his current date with teeth of wood and glass. At that moment, staring anxiously through the frosted windows of the oak-paneled door, she thought that that building was absolutely the most intimidating thing she had ever seen, scarier than Vegeta in a rage, scarier than Zarbon or even Freeza. Step through them, and she would take the first strides down an unstoppable road towards either regaining her erstwhile boyfriend or losing him forever. Taking a deep breath, she stepped forwards.
And bumped headfirst into one of the handsomest men she had ever set eyes on. He was taller than Bulma, but so much that he loomed over her like a skyscraper. His chin was at exactly the right level for the top of her head to fit snugly beneath it for cuddling. His hair was the almost-black brown of a bar of finest dark chocolate, and his eyes were the blue of a deep, cool, pure mountain lake. His lips were full and sensual (but definitely masculine), his skin was perfectly tan and unblemished, and his nose beautifully sculpted. Bulma nearly collapsed into his arms on the spot as their eyes met, but restrained herself with an effort. 'Yamcha,' she told herself, 'Think of Yamcha.'
And then he spoke, in a voice that was rich, and deep, and sent a shiver down Bulma's spine- so much so, in fact, that she didn't hear a word of what he actually said. Realizing after a moment that he had, in fact, spoken to her, she blinked and tried to get her vocal cords working.
"Wha? Huh?" 'Oh, very clever, Bulma,' she berated herself mentally.
"I'm sorry for bumping into you," he repeated in those rich, warm, knee-melting tones. "What's your name?"
"B-bulma," she stammered, still overcome. 'Mission,' she thought, rather dazedly. 'I'm on a mission.or is he my mission? No, that can't be right.'
"I'm Pu.er. Puer," the man repeated, a little nervously.
'What?' Bulma thought. 'I'm making him nervous? I must be even sexier than I gave myself credit for!' This thought restoring her self-confidence and her loquaciousness to their usual titanic levels, she smiled becomingly at him.
"Don't be sorry. It was all my fault, really." 'Wait, mission. Mission? Mission. Yamcha! He's getting away! With that girl! I have to stop him!'
Her smile didn't waver an iota as she continued smoothly. "It was nice meeting you, Puer, even with the bumping, but I really have to be going now. Pardon me."
* * *
"Why the rush?" Pu'ar made her altered voice calm, but inwardly she was panicking. She had been so sure it would work! The shapeshifter caught sight of Dougan around the corner and calmed herself with a deep breath. They did, after all, have a backup plan.
"I'm looking for someone," Bulma explained smoothly. "He just went into this restaurant, and I'll miss him if I don't hurry. Now, please excuse me."
"Of course." Pu'ar stepped aside graciously, and signaled to Dougan as Bulma started forwards. He dashed out of hiding like a giant gray arrow from a siege bow, intimidating as only a very large dog can be when he's rushing toward you at full speed, growling and snarling like a wild thing. Bulma took a breath to scream, but Pu'ar tackled her before she made a sound. The air was lost in a gasp as they hit the dirt, Pu'ar 'shielding' her from the attacking dog, coincidentally, smearing soil and gravel into her dress. The shapeshifter sprang to her (well, technically his, at the moment) feet and confronted Dougan, who was playing the furious, frenzied dog with a skill that could have won Oscars for best performance. He rushed suddenly, straight at Bulma, whose eyes widened as she gasped for air. Pu'ar mock-lunged at her canine accomplice, who dodged her with ease and flung himself at Bulma, thoroughly ripping her skirt as she stood too shocked to scream before running onward and disappearing around a corner. Pu'ar smirked before turning around to face Bulma and putting on a concerned expression. Plan B had gone off perfectly.
* * *
Tears welled up in Bulma's eyes as she sat in the grass outside the restaurant and stared numbly at the rent in her dress. 'This was Yamcha' favorite,' she thought. 'I wore it for him.' She started to sob in earnest. 'Now I'll never get him back! Never!'
"Are you okay? I'm so sorry." She glanced up at Puer's concerned face and sniffed, trying to pull herself together at least a little.
"J-just go now, p-please."
"Do you want me to walk you home, or anything?" He sounded truly worried, and Bulma managed to get herself under control. Barely.
"N-no. I'll be all right. I just need to be alone."
"You sure?"
"Yes." Bulma picked herself up, brushed some of the gravel off of her clothes, sniffled, and walked away with as much dignity as she could muster.
* * *
"Pu'ar?"
"Yeah?"
"I think we just did a bad thing."
"Dougan?"
"Yeah?"
"I think you're right."
* * *
Vegeta sensed the woman in the house the second she stepped through the door. He heard her pause in the entrance of the kitchen, the room in which he was currently ensconced, heave a heartfelt sigh, and mutter, "This is not my day." He did not turn around. He did, however, take the opportunity to evaluate her mental state by her scent, as only a Saiya-jin could. Hmph. Depressed and almost crying, with overtones that suggested she had fallen in some dirt recently. Not a good time to taunt her, then. Although her body was pathetically weak, he did get some enjoyment out of their verbal battles, not that he would ever have admitted it. He heard her sniffle, and could almost feel her collect herself before she started across the room.
"Vegeta," she acknowledged him coldly as she passed.
"Woman," he replied, just as cool.
She stalked past him, head up, eyes forward.at least, until she tripped and fell heavily on the edge of the carpet.
* * *
Bulma felt tears sting her eyes as the carpet stung her knees, and blinked fiercely. 'I will not cry in front of Vegeta, I will not cry in front of Vegeta.oh, what the hell. It's not like he'll care, anyway.' The sobs she had been restraining so determinedly broke free at last, shaking her body in their iron fist. Over their fury, she heard Vegeta stand up, his chair squeaking on the floor, and felt him come towards her on cat-quiet feet. He stood behind her for a moment, almost uncertainly, before snorting in exasperation and speaking.
"If you must cry, woman, can you at least do it somewhere else?"
"S-sorry," she got out between sobs, and started gulping her tears back down to that place in her chest where they were normally contained. Suddenly, she found herself hauled upright a trifle roughly, at blinked at Vegeta's sharp-planed face through a haze of saltwater.
"Did that weakling take off again? Good riddance."
"Go away, Vegeta. I'm not really in the mood right now." Bulma noted with a certain amount of pride that she had managed to get those words out without stammering or breaking down again.
Vegeta, meanwhile, had no idea what he thought he was doing. Some odd, forgotten instinct had propelled him out of his chair and over to the weeping woman, accompanied by the urge to make her stop crying. He didn't like it. So he slipped into his typical reaction to a confusing or uncomfortable situation; he got angry.
"Why should I go away? You're the one who barged in and started crying!"
Bulma's temper flared in response, and she snapped a reply. "It's my kitchen in my house, that's why! I'm letting you stay here, monkey-boy, and the least you can do is do what I ask for a change!"
"I am the prince of all Saiya-jins, woman, and if you think."
"Oh, please! Not that again!" She poked him in the chest, eyes narrowed. "You may be the prince of all Saiya-freaks, but you're not the prince of me! So take a hike!"
"No!"
"Why?!"
Why? Good question. Why didn't he just leave this house, with its annoying occupants, catch his own meals and live by himself between bouts with the gravity machine? Not sure of the real answer, he hesitated a fraction of a second before shouting a hasty answer.
"I'm not taking orders from any weak Earth woman!"
"Fine, then!" If Bulma had noticed the tiny pause, she wasn't letting on. "See if this weak Earth woman ever fixes any of your stupid training machines again!" With this parting shot (not the best in her repertoire, but it would do), she whirled and stalked away, her tears forgotten in typical Vegeta-inspired anger. 'Stupid Saiya-jin.'
'At least you're not crying anymore.'
'Shut up.'
Vegeta, left alone in the kitchen, snorted. "Hmph. Stupid woman."
'At least she stopped crying,' a little voice in his head niggled.
"Shut up."