A.N.: All right, I take my earlier comments back. At this point in time, it doesn't look like this is going to have a plot, after all.
Well, at least not a plot that involves real fighting or enemies or anything. Unless something changes drastically, this is just going to be your basic Veggie/Bulma mush.
I'll write a fighting story later, maybe, but this is all you're going to get from me at the moment.
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CHAPTER TWO
Bulma scowled, blue eyes narrowing dangerously as the electrical panel she'd spent the last half hour trying to remove continued to remain stubbornly in place. She stared at the dull metal, a scream of frustration hovering on her lips for this blatant disobedience to her unspoken wishes.
This panel was confusing her, and she couldn't find any reason for the lack of movement. She'd already taken off the screws, already released the secondary hooks she'd installed for safety purposes. Why wouldn't the thrice-cursed sheet of metal come off?
She untwisted her legs, stretching the slender limbs to either side of her as she tried to find a more comfortable position on the floor of the gravity room. She didn't see any reason to continue her discomfort, especially since, if matters continued as they were, she'd be here for quite some time.
She bent forward, pushing herself closer as she attempted to find the source of her frustration. The panel blinked back at her under the artificial lights of the room, and she wondered if an inanimate object could truly be mocking her.
She rolled her eyes, wishing she could just resort to using the blowtorch she'd stashed in her workshop many years before. If only she didn't have to worry about fusing the delicate circuitry behind the panel…
"Wait a second," she muttered softly, eyes widening with sudden inspiration. Why hadn't she thought of this immediately? "I'm such an idiot!" she exclaimed, chuckling. She shifted position, a light grin on her lips as she began to run slender fingers along the edges of the panel.
Her delicate brow furrowed in concentration, but her movements were steady and patient as she continued to trace the edges. Her fingers encountered nothing more incriminating than a few spots worn smoother than they should be, but her smile only widened. She knew, now, what had happened.
Vegeta must have allowed a stray blast of energy to hit the equipment. He probably hadn't been paying attention—or simply hadn't cared enough to protect the very circuitry that allowed him to continue training in the first place. Either way, the heat from his attacks must have melted parts of the panel itself, making a quick removal and a quick repair impossible.
Bulma's smile faded suddenly, her mouth now twisting in anger. What had the poor gravity room done to deserve this? Better yet, what had she done to deserve this? Vegeta hadn't yet seemed to realize that she had better things to do with her time than constantly repair the equipment he hadn't earned the right to use in the first place.
"Stupid Vegeta," she muttered, blue eyes still roving over the metal. How was she supposed to get this thing off? Had the panel been located anywhere else, she wouldn't have hesitated simply to use a sharp knife or laser cutter. As it was, she couldn't risk further damaging the circuitry behind the metal.
She'd already spent too long on this task, but she knew she'd never be given the time she needed to do this as well as she should. As vital as this section of the gravity room was, Vegeta would never allow her to properly complete the repairs. He would insist that she simply get the training room working without concern for long-term functions. Then, when the machine inevitably failed again, he'd scream at her for not doing her 'job'.
Of course, she thought tiredly, she really didn't have to worry about the future of her equipment. Knowing the habits of her unwanted houseguest as well as she did, she realized that the gravity room would probably be in ruins before the week was out, anyway.
Bulma sat back, lifting one grease-stained hand to push the fringe of aqua hair from her eyes. She didn't realize that her movements had left a streak of black across her forehead, though that streak was lost beneath so many others that she wouldn't have cared if even Yamcha had seen her in this state.
Her frown returned as an image of a considerably less agreeable man regained control of her thoughts, and she sighed. Why did Vegeta have to be this way? She'd been fairly generous to him, all things considered. She'd given him a home, provided his meals and his support—all without question or complaint.
Well, without too much complaint, anyway. She'd made no qualms about her feelings for him, of course, but she'd also done nothing to actively chase him away.
Actually, no, she thought suddenly. She wasn't being entirely truthful, even to herself. Hadn't she been on the verge of destroying this same gravity room only the day before? She'd wanted to chase him away, to make him mad enough to leave her alone. She'd been too much of a chicken to follow through, of course, but the intention had still been within her mind.
Was it a crime to want to hurt a man who'd tried to do—and was still doing—the same to her?
"Ah, well," she muttered, shrugging gently. "He may be a necessary jerk, but he's still a jerk. No court would ever convict me for doing anything to him, especially if they'd met him first."
She stared at the panel for a moment longer, blue eyes willing the metal to separate without requiring any more effort on her part. "Stupid Vegeta," she growled again, knowing the metal wouldn't be very compliant to her desires. "Stupid Saiyans. They've just got to destroy everything they touch, don't they? Can't just bloody well be careful for once in their lives."
She sighed again, leaning back and pushing herself off the floor while she stared at the hated panel. "That does it," she snapped to herself. "If Vegeta wants me to fix this thing, he has to help me. I'm tired of doing everything on my own." She stood, shaking her head. "Stupid, lazy, good-for-nothing monkey."
"You'd better not be talking about me, woman."
Bulma shrieked as Vegeta's deep voice startled her from her frustrated reverie. She spun to face him, eyes wide and angry as she fought to regain the balance she'd almost lost to his sarcastic and unexpected greeting. "Don't do that," she snapped in quick response, fighting an urge to stamp her foot like a spoiled child.
She glared at him, wishing he had the decency to relieve her wounded pride with even the smallest signs of his own weakness. She knew he wouldn't give any, of course, and she almost groaned as his black eyes met hers, glinting with the mockery he was never without.
Her glare deepened as she stared at him, cerulean eyes darkening with anger at this muscular, impossibly frightening man before her. He didn't react to her fury, instead maintaining his overly casual position at the entrance to this little domain. His arms were crossed over his broad chest as he watched her, leaning against her doorway with an ease she knew he never really felt. His sharp eyes bored into hers, and she almost shuddered under the intensity of his gaze.
He scowled, and her own eyes narrowed suddenly. How much of her mutterings had he heard? Vegeta wasn't an overly large man, but she was always surprised by the silence with which he sometimes moved. For all she knew, he could have been watching her for quite some time, listening to her conversation with herself, and she would not have been aware.
"How long have you been there?" she demanded as he continued to stare at her, making her feel more self-conscious than Yamcha ever had. She wondered, idly, if he'd come to yell at her again.
Go ahead, buddy, she thought, giving him a scowl of her own. I'm in the mood for a fight, even one that I might not necessarily walk away from. Do your worst—I dare you.
He hadn't answered her question, and she rolled her eyes in annoyance. Could nothing about this man ever be easy? She forced herself to step towards him, though she wanted only to run until she found a place where those penetrating eyes of his couldn't follow her.
She stared at him in return, still feeling more than her fair share of unease. "Did you want something?" she finally asked, keeping her voice soft lest she betray her true thoughts.
He still didn't answer, and she shrugged and turned away. Though her instincts told her not to leave her back exposed to this man, his eyes were too intense. She chose, instead, to stare down at the tools she'd gathered in anticipation of her task, keeping her gaze away from Vegeta's.
She took a deep breath, not allowing herself to forget the resolution she'd made only a moment before. "You're not doing anything right now," she murmured suddenly, "so you can help me fix this. I'm not physically strong enough to make the repairs on my own, and I'll move faster if I have someone else working on this with me."
She glanced at Vegeta over her shoulder, noticing that he was still staring at her. "You can't train until I fix this stupid thing, anyway," she informed him, forcing away her unease, "so you might as well be useful."
He didn't move, and she pushed her hair from her eyes once more. "Come on, Veggie," she snapped, deliberately using the name he hated most. "I don't have all day. Believe it or not, I do have other chores, you know. I can't sit around waiting for you to jump-start that single brain cell of yours."
She pointed rather imperiously towards the panel, giving a quick, sarcastic smile that she knew wouldn't pacify him against her own rudeness. "I can't cut that thing off without causing more trouble," she explained, tone rather bland, "but I need to get inside if I'm going to fix the gravity room. Be a sweetheart and just rip it off for me, will you? Ironically enough, you'll cause less damage with your fingers than I could with every tool at my disposal."
Her smile widened with genuine humor at that, and Vegeta stared at her in clear surprise. Then, as her eyes began to narrow with impatience once more, he reluctantly came forward. She stepped aside, letting him move past her to access the panel. She pointed to the piece she needed him to remove as he bent down, pressing his gloved fingers into the metal with just enough force to rip apart the fused sides.
After her many frustrations with this harmless bit of metal, Bulma's joy at seeing the job done with such ease overcame her common sense. She knelt beside Vegeta as he tossed the thing aside, unconsciously using his shoulder for balance as she examined his handiwork.
She didn't notice that his body had stiffened with her thoughtless action, and she didn't realize that his eyes had become a thousand times more intense than ever before as he turned to stare at her. His features tightened, and he glanced quickly away from her dirty, smiling face.
Bulma's grin widened as she leaned towards the newly exposed circuitry. "This is great," she laughed, letting her blue eyes assess the damage. "It isn't nearly as bad as I'd thought it would be. I can have this fixed in less than ten minutes."
She stood again, releasing Vegeta's shoulder as she bent to retrieve one of her more useful tools. "Thanks, Vegeta," she said, and her hatred of him was momentarily lost beneath the clear gratitude in her voice. "It may not seem like a big deal to you, but I couldn't have done this without your help."
She smiled at him, forgetting, for the time being, just whose responsibility this truly was. Vegeta's instant flinch went unnoticed once more as she laughed brightly, meeting his eyes for the first time since he'd come to this room. "Remind me to call you if I ever find a jar I can't open," she teased, voice lightening with unexpected humor.
He looked away, scowling more fiercely than even she had ever seen him and seemingly unwilling to meet her laughing, aqua-colored eyes. She only shrugged in response, however, not really caring that he'd become angry again. This was, after all, his normal state of mind, and she'd stopped noticing long ago.
Bulma turned back to her panel, seeming almost to forget her unwilling assistant as she began to readjust the tool she'd just picked up. "At this rate, I might have time to go shopping, after all," she said, now speaking more to herself than to her dark-eyed companion as she returned to the panel, tool in hand. "I've been wanting to pick out a gift for Chichi's birthday party next week," she explained, "but I haven't had time before now."
She glanced at him from the corners of her eyes, and, in spite of her earlier frustrations, her gaze somehow remained light. "I've been too busy fixing things to go shopping," she told him, tone only a little more severe than usual. She looked away again as he continued to glare at her, his own black eyes narrowing.
Bulma shook her head, still absurdly cheerful as she bent and examined the damage once more. "Chichi," she declared softly, "wouldn't have understood if I'd just given her an I.O.U. She can pretty scary when she's mad, and she would've killed me if I didn't bring something decent to give her." She sighed, grinning ruefully. "For someone who lives in boonieville," she laughed, "Chichi's strangely picky about her gifts."
The young human thrust her hand into the circuitry, ignoring the sparks now erupting from the more damaged portions. "You know," she continued, voice becoming thoughtful as she began to repair the machinery with an almost blatant disregard for the possibilities of electrocution, "you should come with me. You're invited to the party, too, of course, and you can't really show up without a present. It's tacky, not bringing a gift."
She turned to glance at him, smiling brightly. "Besides," she added cheerfully, "you're in just as much danger from Chichi's wrath as I. She won't be any more likely to forgive you for neglecting her than she would be to forgive me, you know. For all that she's human, she's still a dangerous lady, and you shouldn't make her mad by not bringing a suitable present. She'd probably sic Goku on you, if you made her angry enough."
Her smile widened into a grin, though she didn't look at Vegeta again as she began reattaching a few loose cables. "She has quite the temper, does Chichi. Sometimes, I think her anger is the only thing that's helped her survive a marriage with Goku."
Bulma continued with her work, not caring that he still hadn't responded to her words. She didn't often notice his silences anymore, and she was too focused on her task to be concerned with his inability to form polite conversation. She simply chose to continue talking, speaking with the assumption that he wasn't really listening, anyway.
"The party is supposed to be something special," she continued, reaching out to carefully grip a particularly thick coil. "Chichi's still mad at Goku for forgetting their last anniversary, and he's been trying to make it up to her for a solid year. Poor man—he really didn't know what he was getting into when he married the Ox King's baby girl."
She pushed her head into the panel itself, absently handing Vegeta the tool she'd been using as she began the actual repairs using only her bare fingers. He took it automatically, scowling as she pushed her face a little too close to the sparks.
"Of course," she mused aloud, unaware of his expression, "Goku'll probably end up ruining his own plans. He's a great guy, but he's not terribly reliable unless the situation is life-threatening. He's just as likely to forget that he's trying to get on her good side as not, and then Chichi will be really angry with him."
She reached back, never actually turning her head as she attempted to take back the tool she'd given him. Her attention was focused elsewhere, however, and she grabbed Vegeta's wrist instead. He tensed again as her cool fingers grazed his skin, though Bulma continued not to notice.
The sparks still coming from the panel had captured the bulk of her attention, and she still didn't turn to look at him. Her questing fingers simply slid over his hand, lightly brushing his fingers as she finally latched onto the tool.
She tugged gently, already eyeing the section meant to hold this bit of wire. He didn't resist her, and Bulma took the coil back into her own hands. She stared at it for a second, frowning as she realized that the ends of the wiring had melted beyond recognition.
She leaned back on her heels, reaching into her belt for the wire clippers she usually carried. She pulled the clippers free, using them to trim the edges of the wire. Then, going back to her original position, she began to reattach the piece.
"So," she asked suddenly, "what do you want to get her? You're not the closest of friends, of course, so you can probably get away with some meaningless trinket." Her faced scrunched into a thoughtful expression. "Candles, maybe?" she mused aloud. "No," she answered, "Chichi doesn't really go in for that sort of thing. What about music? CD's?"
Vegeta scowled again as she continued to mutter to herself, speaking for the first time since he'd found her in this room. "I'm not going," he snapped. "I'm a prince of Vegetasai, not some silly peasant with nothing better to do than spend time with a bunch of backwards human yokels. Count me out."
Bulma rolled her eyes yet again. "You're such a jerk, Vegeta," she complained, irritation overcoming the temporary truce they'd been under. "It's the least you can do, after everything that's happened."
She turned to glare at him, sparks flaring in her gem-like eyes. "Besides," she growled, letting him know that she wouldn't brook an argument over this, "I'm not leaving you here by yourself. You'd probably wreck the entire house, and not even I can afford the repair bills you'd wrack up."
She turned back to her work, favoring him with one last, angry glance. "It's bad enough that I'm constantly having to replace the parts for the gravity room—I'm not going to give you free run of my house, Vegeta. You're coming with me, whether you like it or not."
She pulled her head free at last, leaning back on her heels again as she breathed a deep sigh of pure relief. "There," she said, "the problem's been taken care of, at least for now."
Bulma turned back to Vegeta, and her eyes were hard. "But don't even think about coming back in here for at least a day, Veggie. I'm not letting you ruin my entire week by wrecking the place again." She stood, one hand on her hip. "Besides," she growled, "we're going shopping."