A/N: Yes, I'm back! This fic has been removed, edited, and will be re-
uploaded gradually (say every few days, tentatively).
Disclaimer: I do not own DBZ or any of its characters, and I make no profit off this work of fanfiction. Don't sue me, I'm broke anyway!
A Tail Tale Chapter One
Realistically, if Vegeta had never admitted that he didn't know what Christmas was, the whole thing never would have happened.
But he had been so dumbfounded by the sight of the blasted woman and her annoying mother bringing a tree indoors and covering it with gaudy lights and fragile glass spheres that he had been unable to keep his mouth shut.
"What do you imbeciles think you are doing?"
The blue haired wench had been furious, but before she could retort the older blonde ditz was off. From her babble he gained a general knowledge of this 'Christmas' celebrated by many of the pathetic inhabitants of the pathetic planet. In theory it was not too different from the winter solstice observed on Vegeta-sei. But he wasn't about to tell that to his erstwhile hosts, and stormed off into the kitchen in search of a meal. Meanwhile, the conversation continued as the tree was set up.
"Poor boy! I'll bet he's never even gotten a Christmas present!"
"Mom, Vegeta is not a boy, and I don't think he cares one way or the other - insufferable jerk!"
"Oooh, I know, I can make him a nice sweater to wear when the weather gets colder!"
Bulma sweat-dropped at the idea of Vegeta in a sweater, not to mention the idea of Vegeta's probable reaction to such a gift. But the whole thing did make her think, and that was a dangerous thing to do to a genius such as her. Her brain proceeded to take the idea of what to get her bad- tempered houseguest for a Christmas present as a direct challenge. It should perhaps be noted that she was currently not involved in any serious projects, and so had idle time on her hands.
It was during the first explosion of the Gravity Room that she got her idea. A semi-conscious Saiyan prince had been carried into the med-lab, bruised and bleeding. Bulma quickly determined that he was mostly stunned, but not seriously injured. The best thing to do for him would be to clean him up and get him to sleep it off.
She told him as much and began to wash the blood off him. As he came back to himself, he tried to protest and leave, whereupon Bulma, annoyed beyond her limits at his attitude, told him exactly where he could stuff his protests and threatened to neuter him if he didn't stay still and let her finish.
Whether it was her tone, the threat, or that he was hurting more than he would let on, Vegeta submitted, albeit grumblingly, to her ministrations. She cleaned him up as gently as she could, eying his muscular body appreciatively as she did so. Bulma might have changed somewhat since her days of traveling with Goku, but she still appreciated the male species - especially one as handsome as Vegeta. Too bad he could use an attitude transplant, she mused as she moved the damp cloth down his back. On the other hand, if Yamcha had been as self confident as Vegeta, she might not have finally dumped him over his wishy- washy, often downright fickle ways.
As she reached his lower back, the Saiyan let out a noise somewhere between a hiss and a snarl. His muscles tensed up, and she jerked her hand back immediately.
"Sorry, did I hit a sore spot?" she asked. It must have been pretty bad for someone as stoic as him to react.
"Yes, woman, a sore spot," he hissed between clenched teeth, and there was something so sarcastic and venomous in his tone that she looked again. Exposed by a tear in his training outfit was a raised lump on his lower back perhaps two inches in diameter, and barely half an inch in height. It was deep brown, different from his olive skin tone, and looked - furry? After a startled moment, Bulma realized that it was the remnant of his tail.
"Does that - hurt you?" she asked somewhat tentatively. He turned his head to glare at her out of sullen onyx eyes.
"I don't know, maybe I should cut off your arm. Then you can tell me if the stump still hurts," he bit out sharply.
"That's different," she began, but he cut her off with his harsh laugh.
"Different," he mocked. "Do you assume that because of our similarities, Saiyans are humans with tails? That it is somehow extraneous?" Vegeta snorted and turned his head away in disgust. "I have lost what was at the very least a limb, woman."
And he would say no more, not making another sound as she finished cleaning him, and for once Bulma was too engrossed in her thoughts to argue with him. A seed of a plan was germinating in her mind.
After the GR incident, Vegeta noticed that the woman was spending at least as much time in her lab as he at his training. He only noticed because he did not have to put up with her pathetic excuses for meals, and her absentminded idiot of a father was the one repairing the GR. He told himself that he did not care what the blue haired annoyance was doing, and pushed himself harder than ever. Super-Saiyan was so close he could all but taste it, yet still he could not break through the barrier. Given that, it was perhaps no surprise that three days before Christmas the GR exploded again. This time, however, Vegeta was seriously injured.
Less than 24 hours later.
Bulma cautiously opened the door to the med-lab. Her quarry, the solo occupant of the room, lay sleeping in one of the beds. The GR explosion had left him badly hurt, and it would be two days before the crop of senzu beans would be ready. Now was the perfect time to put her plan into action.
Looking every inch the frazzled researcher, down to the weary eyes and stained lab coat, she padded quietly across the smooth floor, holding a small syringe full of bluish liquid. She paused at the bedside, taking a moment to make certain he was in no immediate danger. Vegeta was heavily bandaged, nearly as badly as Goku had been after their first fight. His chest rose and fell steadily, though, and the monitors indicated no current problems.
She wiped down his exposed bicep with an alcohol swap, and injected him with the serum. To her dismay, he jerked violently as the last of it entered his bloodstream. The syringe went flying as the prince caught the hand that had held the needle and sank his teeth deeply into it. Bulma screeched in shock and pain.
Fortunately, Vegeta let go almost immediately. He hadn't even woken up while he was attacking her! Furious, she stormed over to the counter, muttering dire curses at the unconscious Saiyan while she bandaged her wounded hand.
Two hours after Bulma left the med lab, the Saiyan prince stirred once again. He rolled onto his side, muttering in his sleep. A fuzzy brown appendage worked its way out of the sheets to lash contentedly on the mattress. Vegeta had his tail back.
Disclaimer: I do not own DBZ or any of its characters, and I make no profit off this work of fanfiction. Don't sue me, I'm broke anyway!
A Tail Tale Chapter One
Realistically, if Vegeta had never admitted that he didn't know what Christmas was, the whole thing never would have happened.
But he had been so dumbfounded by the sight of the blasted woman and her annoying mother bringing a tree indoors and covering it with gaudy lights and fragile glass spheres that he had been unable to keep his mouth shut.
"What do you imbeciles think you are doing?"
The blue haired wench had been furious, but before she could retort the older blonde ditz was off. From her babble he gained a general knowledge of this 'Christmas' celebrated by many of the pathetic inhabitants of the pathetic planet. In theory it was not too different from the winter solstice observed on Vegeta-sei. But he wasn't about to tell that to his erstwhile hosts, and stormed off into the kitchen in search of a meal. Meanwhile, the conversation continued as the tree was set up.
"Poor boy! I'll bet he's never even gotten a Christmas present!"
"Mom, Vegeta is not a boy, and I don't think he cares one way or the other - insufferable jerk!"
"Oooh, I know, I can make him a nice sweater to wear when the weather gets colder!"
Bulma sweat-dropped at the idea of Vegeta in a sweater, not to mention the idea of Vegeta's probable reaction to such a gift. But the whole thing did make her think, and that was a dangerous thing to do to a genius such as her. Her brain proceeded to take the idea of what to get her bad- tempered houseguest for a Christmas present as a direct challenge. It should perhaps be noted that she was currently not involved in any serious projects, and so had idle time on her hands.
It was during the first explosion of the Gravity Room that she got her idea. A semi-conscious Saiyan prince had been carried into the med-lab, bruised and bleeding. Bulma quickly determined that he was mostly stunned, but not seriously injured. The best thing to do for him would be to clean him up and get him to sleep it off.
She told him as much and began to wash the blood off him. As he came back to himself, he tried to protest and leave, whereupon Bulma, annoyed beyond her limits at his attitude, told him exactly where he could stuff his protests and threatened to neuter him if he didn't stay still and let her finish.
Whether it was her tone, the threat, or that he was hurting more than he would let on, Vegeta submitted, albeit grumblingly, to her ministrations. She cleaned him up as gently as she could, eying his muscular body appreciatively as she did so. Bulma might have changed somewhat since her days of traveling with Goku, but she still appreciated the male species - especially one as handsome as Vegeta. Too bad he could use an attitude transplant, she mused as she moved the damp cloth down his back. On the other hand, if Yamcha had been as self confident as Vegeta, she might not have finally dumped him over his wishy- washy, often downright fickle ways.
As she reached his lower back, the Saiyan let out a noise somewhere between a hiss and a snarl. His muscles tensed up, and she jerked her hand back immediately.
"Sorry, did I hit a sore spot?" she asked. It must have been pretty bad for someone as stoic as him to react.
"Yes, woman, a sore spot," he hissed between clenched teeth, and there was something so sarcastic and venomous in his tone that she looked again. Exposed by a tear in his training outfit was a raised lump on his lower back perhaps two inches in diameter, and barely half an inch in height. It was deep brown, different from his olive skin tone, and looked - furry? After a startled moment, Bulma realized that it was the remnant of his tail.
"Does that - hurt you?" she asked somewhat tentatively. He turned his head to glare at her out of sullen onyx eyes.
"I don't know, maybe I should cut off your arm. Then you can tell me if the stump still hurts," he bit out sharply.
"That's different," she began, but he cut her off with his harsh laugh.
"Different," he mocked. "Do you assume that because of our similarities, Saiyans are humans with tails? That it is somehow extraneous?" Vegeta snorted and turned his head away in disgust. "I have lost what was at the very least a limb, woman."
And he would say no more, not making another sound as she finished cleaning him, and for once Bulma was too engrossed in her thoughts to argue with him. A seed of a plan was germinating in her mind.
After the GR incident, Vegeta noticed that the woman was spending at least as much time in her lab as he at his training. He only noticed because he did not have to put up with her pathetic excuses for meals, and her absentminded idiot of a father was the one repairing the GR. He told himself that he did not care what the blue haired annoyance was doing, and pushed himself harder than ever. Super-Saiyan was so close he could all but taste it, yet still he could not break through the barrier. Given that, it was perhaps no surprise that three days before Christmas the GR exploded again. This time, however, Vegeta was seriously injured.
Less than 24 hours later.
Bulma cautiously opened the door to the med-lab. Her quarry, the solo occupant of the room, lay sleeping in one of the beds. The GR explosion had left him badly hurt, and it would be two days before the crop of senzu beans would be ready. Now was the perfect time to put her plan into action.
Looking every inch the frazzled researcher, down to the weary eyes and stained lab coat, she padded quietly across the smooth floor, holding a small syringe full of bluish liquid. She paused at the bedside, taking a moment to make certain he was in no immediate danger. Vegeta was heavily bandaged, nearly as badly as Goku had been after their first fight. His chest rose and fell steadily, though, and the monitors indicated no current problems.
She wiped down his exposed bicep with an alcohol swap, and injected him with the serum. To her dismay, he jerked violently as the last of it entered his bloodstream. The syringe went flying as the prince caught the hand that had held the needle and sank his teeth deeply into it. Bulma screeched in shock and pain.
Fortunately, Vegeta let go almost immediately. He hadn't even woken up while he was attacking her! Furious, she stormed over to the counter, muttering dire curses at the unconscious Saiyan while she bandaged her wounded hand.
Two hours after Bulma left the med lab, the Saiyan prince stirred once again. He rolled onto his side, muttering in his sleep. A fuzzy brown appendage worked its way out of the sheets to lash contentedly on the mattress. Vegeta had his tail back.
