A DRAGONBALL HONEYMOON © 2004 Darke Angelus Chapter Five Paparazzi Panic

"Have they tried the sun?" Bulma suggested.

Vegeta couldn't believe it. Five simple words that managed to solve a millennium-old dilemma and damned if it hadn't taken her all of thirty seconds to come up with it. 'Have they tried the sun.' Gods be damned- the woman was brilliant!

As he lay in bed staring up at the ceiling, Vegeta listened silently to Bulma's rhythmic breathing. His fingers were linked together behind his head as he pondering the events of yesterday. All of the excitement from their 'alien abduction' had turned the heiress into an insatiable, wanton Goddess. He had gotten a glimpse of that wild abandon right after they had collected the first Dragonball. It had been nothing compared to the sex- crazed woman who had confronted him once the door to their suite had closed. The entire cabana was now in complete disarray; clothes had been quickly discarded (all being his, Bulma was obeying the no-clothes rule of the resort to the letter), the furniture was out of place, and lamps and other fragile items were either knocked to the floor or broken. Even the pictures and lithographs now hung askew on the walls. Their whirlwind passion had started in the living room, moved into the small kitchen, rebounded off of the bathroom, and finally ended three feet shy of their bed.

Turning his head to the left, he stared at her in the darkness. She was lying on her side facing him, her leg pulled up slightly. Her mussed odd- colored hair covered her delicate features so he slipped his fingers into that tangled softness, moving the tendrils carefully away from her face. He'd been with passionate women before, but until Bulma he'd never been with a woman that sparked such a powerfully harmonic chord in himself. With sex, he had always been the kind of man who took it when it came and forgot it when it didn't. But with Bulma, he only wanted to take it, take it, and take it some more. Training and battles be damned. He had no idea a woman from a backwater planet like Earth would ever have been capable of pulling him in so close, closer then he thought he'd ever go, with anyone.

His eyes wandered to the swell of her breast and the pink tip that peaked beneath it. He was tempted to reach out and touch it, to roll the tender nipple between his fingers and feel it harden to a tight bud against his touch. The mere thought began the stirring of something deep within his stomach and he fought the impulse. Instead he slid out from underneath of the rumpled sheets, like a man who had spent many past encounters leaving before his conquest ever woke up. The instant his feet found carpet he straightened and almost fell to his knees from the blaze of fire concentrated in the tail scar at the base of his spine. Taking the trip on Bulma's Wild Ride had aggravated the old wound again. Like a sailor trying to walk on a listing ship, Vegeta painfully hobbled into the bathroom and shut the door.

A long, hot shower relaxed his tense muscles but the scar was still paining him. It had been ever since his first day on Earth when the obese Samurai had ruthlessly hacked off the proud appendage with his pathetically dull sword. Some days were better than others but all of this time of no training and traveling in Bulma's cramped vehicles were taking its toll- and the honeymoon wasn't even half over!

Wiping off a strip of condensation from the mirror over the sink, Vegeta somberly considered his reflection. Bulma had mentioned that he could have the nerves deadened to sensation in a hospital procedure that wouldn't even take an hour. It was tempting, but his memories of Installation 15 kept interfering with him going through with it. He wasn't as fearful of needles as Kakarrot had been, but he didn't want to go out of his way to get stuck by one either. Thankfully, Bulma wasn't a nag over the issue. She was content to let him make up his own mind about the surgery.

Grumbling, he rummaged through Bulma's make-up bag and pulled out a bottle of pills. Extra Strength Tylenol.

Menstrual.

"Ah crap," he grumbled, sifting through the other 'emergency' medications that she had brought along for the trip. There was Gravol, anti-diarrhea tablets, anti-gas pills, and every other anti-something that Earthlings seemed to be plagued with. But there were no other painkillers. Nothing stronger than regular aspirin. In desperation he squinted at the label of the bottle he was holding.

Tylenol Menstrual Caplets act quickly to provide effective relief of menstrual cramps, backaches, breast tenderness, irritability, and headaches, it read. After a moment of consideration, Vegeta muttered, "I guess two out of five is better than nothing," and dry-swallowed six pills.

When he returned to the bedroom, he looked out of the open window. The night was crystal clear and he spared a glance skywards to take in the glittering canopy of stars. There was none of that loneliness or resentment that usually plagued him whenever he stargazed. Rather he felt an odd sort of contentment, a sensation that was utterly foreign to him. Glancing over his shoulder at the bed, he knew who was responsible for this strange feeling. He should have been angered at the prospect of losing his edge, of getting soft, but couldn't muster the emotion.

"I've been ...domesticated," he muttered softly. Bulma's presence had softened his heart and changed him, somehow; had made another life possible. A better one, perhaps.

The cabana suddenly felt too confining and he felt the need to get some fresh air. He looked briefly around for his pants and quickly gave up (they were draped over one of the blades on the ceiling fan and slowly revolving above the sofa). About the only perk at being at an old fogy nudist resort was that everyone turned in before midnight. He'd had quite enough of the sight of stretched teats and sagging scrotums to last a lifetime, thank you.

Guided by the rhythmic roar of waves breaking on the beach, he leaned against a palm and crossed his arms, staring moodily out at the ocean. The sound was actually quite calming and he relished the sensation of warm air gently wafting over his bare flesh. He had no idea that he was even drowsing until a hand lighted upon his shoulder, startling him.

He whirled with a shout, left arm raised and his hand clenched into a tight fist. It was only Bulma standing quietly behind him. "You damn near got your face rearranged, woman! You should know better than sneak up on me."

Unruffled, Bulma said, "I didn't sneak up on you. I called your name twice but you didn't answer."

His only response was a snort and he went back to studying the waves.

"It's really beautiful here, isn't it? The only thing that's missing is a full moon. That would be just the final romantic touch."

"Yes, there's nothing more romantic than a bare-assed Oozaru stamping about squashing naked senior citizens," the Saiyan said and actually coughed out a brief laugh at the thought.

Bulma rolled her eyes in exasperation. At times like this it was always a refresher that the man she had married wasn't from this world. She sat down in the sand and tugged on his arm. When he relented and sat down beside her, she crawled into his lap.

"What preoccupation do you have with always using me as your chair?" he asked, trying to sound indignant even as her body settled easily against his own. It was a weak protest and they both knew it.

"It's the best seat in the house," she purred and wrapped her arms possessively around his neck.

They shared a deep kiss and he relished the yielding pliancy of her lips and the strong shape of her teeth under them. He reached for her breast with his hand and cupped that full warmth. As he stroked the nipple with his thumb, it raised its head, grew hard, and began to tingle. She uttered a small, moaning sigh directly into his mouth and he tasted the fragrance of her breath, letting it awaken a hunger that demanded it be sated.

They made love right there on the beach near the shoreline; skin-to-skin and breath-to-breath their bodies rocked slowly together in the soft sand. It was gentle, this act, with no words spoken aloud between the two lovers. When it was over, they drifted asleep in each other's arms.



Bulma came groggily awake as the sky began to brighten in the east, squinting around at her surroundings. Voices had woken her up but she couldn't figure out where they were coming from. Some early risers from the resort, perhaps. When she tried to sit up she discovered that Vegeta was holding onto her with a death grip. "Vegeta-"

"Huzzuz," came the response.

"You're holding me too tight."

"Huzzuz," he said again, not waking up.

"Damn it." She squirmed around in his muscular arms and acutely regretted where they had chosen to bed down. "Aw great. Now I've got sand in my p-"

"Holy cow! It's really them!" a male voice shouted from the tree line.

Before she could react, a throng of photographers erupted out of the foliage in a dazzling array of flashbulbs, camera lights, and spotlights. There were at least twenty of them approaching at a frenzied sprint with more pelting down the beach on either side, boxing the couple in. Bulma realized with dismay that someone at the resort must have recognized her and leaked her whereabouts to the media.

"Vegeta, wake up!" she screamed.

He muttered something similar to "not now" and released her so he could settle into a more comfortable position. Having no time to question what was wrong with him, she shouted directly into his ear: "We're under attack!"

He jolted awake as if she had shocked him with a cattle prod to the privates. Leaping to his feet like a cat, he crouched down protectively near his bride and blinked in stunned amazement at the swarm of humans who were advancing. His hand immediately shot out in that all-too familiar palm- up gesture that she knew was a precursor to a Big Bang attack. She leapt on his arm and brought it down with her body weight (with effort). "No killing! Just get us back to the cabana!"

"Ms. Briefs! Is it true that you've gotten married?!"

"Can we have a few words with your husband?"

"What's his name? Where did you meet him? Sir! What do you-"

Gathering Bulma up in his arms, Vegeta bowled through the crowd like a pro linebacker on his way to a touchdown, not caring who he knocked over. His reflexes were still muddled by the muscle-relaxants but he managed to get them into the small shelter and lock the door in record time.

"What the fuck was that all about?" he asked in confusion, resting his back against the door.

"Somebody must have leaked it to the press that we're on our honeymoon!" Bulma fumed, running around the room and pulling the curtains closed as the paparazzi closed in.

"Who the hell would have-"his mouth closed with a snap and he didn't bother saying anything more. He didn't have to.

Matching his furious glare, Bulma nodded once. "Dorothy," they mouthed together.

Stamping into the bedroom to get dressed, the Saiyan snarled, "I'm gonna kill that bitch once and for all-"he recoiled as a multitude of flashbulbs went off directly in his face, blinding him.

Grinning with victory, an amateur photographer exclaimed, "Fantastic! Playgirl is going to pay me a fortune for these!" she dove out of the open bedroom window just as Bulma was racing towards her. She actually had the audacity to flip the heiress a thumbs-up as she ran away. "You're a lucky lady, Ms. Briefs! A VERY lucky lady, if you catch my d-"Bulma slammed the window shut, cutting off her words.

Rubbing the spots from his eyes, Vegeta squinted around blindly looking as close to frantic as Bulma had ever seen him. She could understand the confusion; he was entirely out of his depth in this situation. His missions in life had involved subterfuge and carnage, certainly never recognition or celebration. Her heart ached a little for what he would have to go through now that the cat was out of the bag. Like it or not, the rest of their honeymoon was going to be swept up in a media frenzy and Vegeta was now the focal point of the show.

It didn't help when there was the thudding sound of rotors and a helicopter hovered over the small building like the world's biggest dragonfly. "Why are they acting like this? I don't get it!" Vegeta shouted over the sound of the chopper.

"This is why I tried to keep it secret until we got back to Capsule Corporation," she hollered back as she began collecting their discarded clothes. "The world's richest woman has finally gotten married. It's huge news and now, sweetheart, so are you. Like it or not, you're famous."

He definitely did NOT like it, that much was plain on his face. "What if someone clues in that I tried to destroy the earth? If I remember correctly, that was your biggest fear right from the start."

Once it had been but that concern no longer plagued her. "You don't look near the same from that day. You're taller, more muscular, even your hairstyle is different-"At that he ruffled his still too-short hair and scowled. "When you're dressed in street clothes, no one would think twice that you're anything other than an earthman."

"Brr." He shivered in revulsion at the suggestion.

"Our little secret," she tipped him a wink.

He didn't return it. "So... what are we supposed to tell them?"

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," she said and started to get dressed.

Hours later, they were flying over the Atlantic in Bulma's hoverjet while she talked with her mother on the phone and he had her laptop sitting on the console. It had been their poor luck it was a slow news day and the announcement of their marriage was on the home page of every newspaper and television station that had a website on the Internet. Pictures taken from the resort had been downloaded and posted in record speed and at every website he trolled, Vegeta saw the two of them huddled together on the beach, with strategic black bars placed over their privates. He was shaking his head in a constant side-to-side motion that was almost an involuntary twitch.

"- little is known of the mysterious man often seen in company with the elusive heiress. Several unconfirmed sources state that he serves as her bodyguard while others report that he is an employee of Capsule Corporation. Whatever the circumstances of his background, it's plain that his love for Bulma Briefs holds no bounds-"

"Oh crap," he said weakly, clicking helplessly onto the next site.

"IS HE THE FATHER?" was a dramatic marquee on CNN's home page. There was a close-up of Trunks and him side-by-side and only a blind man couldn't see the resemblance. Wolf Blitzer's column had this to say: "Ever since his birth, the paternity of Trunks Vegeta Briefs has been constantly called into question by the media. Although she had garnered some scorn for the choice of having the child out of wedlock, it is now clear that Ms. Briefs has finally decided to relent to her critics' advice and get married. Now for this hour's poll: Who do you think is the baby's father? The man she just married, Mr. Satan, Yamcha of the Earth's Special Forces, Cell, or was it from some one-night stand? Results will be posted at-"

"Aw crap," by now Vegeta was almost whining. It didn't help overhearing Bulma as she said beside him; "-No, mom, I mean it. Don't say one word. Yes, I know he has a great ass but that doesn't mean you have to brag about it. That's my job. If anyone is going to praise Vegeta's ass it's going to be me-"

"Hang up," he growled at her.

"-No, not that either-"she started giggling.

"Hang up the damned phone NOW!" he roared.

"Gottagotheprinceispissed," she said and folded the phone. Calmly, she turned to look at him, eyebrows raised in polite query.

"What are you going to do about this mess?"

"There's not much I can do. We'll have to let it run its course."

"That's a piss-poor strategy and you know it!"

"The only strategy here is patience," she explained. "Eventually, something else will come along and the paparazzi will follow after it. They're like wolves and right now it's our scent they're fixed on."

He continued to glower at her. The vertical line between his brows looked as deep as a trench. "So in a day, this will be all over?"

"Uhm..."

"A week?"

"Ahh..."

"A month?"

"...If we're lucky."

He slumped in his seat and went back to browsing the Internet. One search engine was already boasting over a dozen listings for "Bulma's Mystery Man Nude PicXXX". By tomorrow it would be over a hundred.

"I'm in hell," he said matter-of-factly.

"Oh, it isn't so bad-"

""Click here for pictures of Bulma's well-hung mate! 'What a lucky lady!' claims Playgirl editor.""

She started laughing. "Well, I can't even sue them for lying in that case."

She could have sworn that she saw his lips twitch in amusement but wasn't sure. The issue was a sensitive one and she didn't want to push her luck. Setting the hoverjet on autopilot, she pulled out her Dragonball radar and regarded the display. "Collecting a Dragonball will get our minds off of this circus for a little while. Let's see... according to this, we'll find the next one on the west coast of Europe. It looks like it's on an island-"

"Great Britain," Vegeta piped up.

After a moment of studying the data, she nodded. "That's right. It's in Southern England, right around -"

"London."

She whirled around in shock. "How do you know all this?"

His face carefully guarded, Vegeta turned the laptop around and let her read the display. He had accidentally surfed over to a BBC news site where there was a picture of the one-star Dragonball resting on a velvet cushion. "Mystic Relics and Ancient Artifacts," the headline proclaimed. "The British Museum is featuring an exclusive grand opening tonight of their new wing devoted to its unique collection of rare archaeological treasures. In its first ever appearance to the public is the mystic Dragonball, rumored to possess extraordinary supernatural attributes. In attendance will be several members of the Royal family, as well as dignitaries, various social elite, and the media-"

"Hnh," she said, sitting back in her seat. She became lost in thought and Vegeta knew from past experience that when she went silent it was never a good thing. It was another of those qualities that they shared. "What's on your mind?" he asked warily.

"I was thinking that we might be able to kill two birds with one stone."

He brightened a little with the thought of getting away with some killing but figured (correctly) that it was just damnable human slang. "How?"

He didn't get the answer he was hoping for when she turned to him and asked, "Did you pack your tuxedo?"



Oh yeah, I'm definitely in hell, Vegeta thought gloomily as he considered his reflection in the hotel room's mirror. He was immaculately decked out in a brand new double-breasted tuxedo complete with dark blue cummerbund and silk bow tie. From the disgusted expression on his face he might as well have been wearing a straightjacket; it would have felt about the same way to him: Restrictive. He didn't even know when Bulma had bought the damned thing, more proof that she had packed everything but the kitchen sink for their honeymoon. Heck, there was probably one or two of them stored away in a capsule somewhere, too.

"I'm almost ready!" Bulma called from the bathroom.

He grunted and went back to glaring at himself. As an afterthought, he pulled out a comb and ran it through his thick hair, trying to coax it into a shape that didn't look like he'd stuck his finger in a light socket. Not for the first time he was wondering why he was even going along with this charade. At first Bulma's plan seemed simple enough; show themselves to the media, and steal the Dragonball all in one night. Bulma's logic was that the paparazzi would back off a little if they didn't play so hard to get and answer a few simple questions. As ever, the Saiyan was coming to terms that his mate really didn't understand the concept of logic any more than he did. And maybe, just maybe, she didn't understand her fellow earthlings as well as she thought she did either.

One simple phone call to the curator of the British Museum had been all it took. Their attendance at the supposedly by-invitation-only affair was made immediately. A limo was arranged to pick them up at eight o'clock on the dot and take them directly to the Opening. Glancing at the grandfather clock in the hallway, Vegeta saw that it was ten to eight. "Speed it up, woman. You're going to make us-"

"I'm ready," she announced.

Snapping his head around, he saw that she was standing in the hallway. Their eyes met; brilliant blue against raven black and the charge was almost electric in its intensity. Vegeta actually took a wandering step back in amazement before he collected himself. Wearing a full-length red satin dress with matching elbow length gloves, she drifted down the corridor towards him. She had her hair carefully done up in a stylish coif and was wearing a pair of teardrop earrings and a pearl necklace. There was a calm smile on her perfectly made-up face and the two simply regarded one another in silence before Bulma offered, "You look wonderful."

"Thanks."

She waited patiently for a similar compliment and when it didn't come, she pulled a wrap around her shoulders and moved towards the door, muttering, "Well, I guess we'd better get going. Wouldn't want to be late."

Completely oblivious of his slight, Vegeta went along with her willingly enough. They had barely stepped outside of the door, that the doorman was holding open for them, when a deep black limousine pulled up to the curb. The side door opened up like a crow's wing, exposing a sumptuous cabin interior of dark burgundy. There was no one behind the wheel and the Saiyan hesitated even as Bulma climbed inside. "It's sent from the Museum on automatic pick-up," she explained when it appeared as if he wasn't going to join her. "No flying tonight. We're going to this Opening in style. If you don't get in, we're going to be late."

With clear reluctance, he got inside the spacious interior and sat self- consciously beside her. The door pulled itself closed and the limousine rose on its cushion of air and left the hotel. For most of the way Bulma sat still in her seat while Vegeta turned all of his attention to the side window, watching the sites as they drove down Great Russell Street. He said nothing despite her repeated attempts to draw him out. He had been largely silent ever since they had checked into the Guildhall Arms Hotel and she began rifling through the capsules for their formal clothes. Their brush with the media had bothered him, that much was true and even understandable, but she knew the alien well enough to tell when his quiet periods were spent brooding, scheming, or being just plain anxious. She had to find out for sure what mode he was currently stuck in. "Vegeta-"

"Did you really mean that?" he spoke up in a rough voice. "About my being taller?"

Momentarily baffled by the odd question, Bulma could only stare at him in confusion.

"Is that important to you?" he persisted, turning to look at her.

"Important to me? No, it's not important-"

He snorted. "Bah. I know what you're used to."

"Yamcha? Is that what you're bothered about?" she asked with dismay. She remembered how he had reacted to the criticism of his height by the man at the rest stop on the first day of their honeymoon. She had suspected then that there was more behind his over-reaction than just wounded pride but she had miscalculated that shame had any part to play. Until now, she had never even known it existed. "He was an unfaithful, skirt-chasing fraud who had a dick the width of a pencil-"she thought that Vegeta's left eyebrow twitched in amusement at this but couldn't be sure. "Sure he was tall, and it gave me a sore neck every damn time we kissed."

His eyes narrowed suspiciously, searching for any trace of lie in her words. "It's the truth, Vegeta. You and I are a perfect fit. It shouldn't even matter to you... but it obviously does. Why?"

"Most worlds associate height with respectability and this planet is no exception," he told her grudgingly. "I could turn the earth inside-out a hundred times over but all that anyone seems to care about is that I have to jump to reach the top shelf in a grocery store."

She shrugged. "You think you're alone?"

"I think it's unfair. Kami showed me the truth in his hall of mirrors those few years back. I saw how I was supposed to be if Frieza had never intruded into my life and r-... ruined me. I was actually King of the Saiyan Empire," he paused as he relished that grand title and its implications, before adding in a harsher voice, "and I was tall."

Not for the first time, Bulma cursed Kami's reasoning behind showing Vegeta his dark future, and what a limited time that he had to actually enjoy it. She hadn't been aware that there had been other things thrown into the mix and none of them appeared to be good. "What happened?"

Frieza happened! he thought with terrible venom, squeezing his eyes shut. The vein on his temple pulsed with the force of his rapid heartbeat. It's always Frieza! "It doesn't matter anymore," he managed to say instead, forcing himself to calm down. "Just... forget about it."

"I honestly don't know where all this is coming from. Krillin and the others have made fun of you and you've never reacted to it."

"I'll tolerate it from them. They've paid their dues but I won't allow it from powerless morons. I didn't put my life on the line and battle Cell to be ridiculed by humans." He glowered down at his feet and added in a voice so low that she barely heard the words, "Especially not in front of you."

There it is, Bulma thought even as her heart gave one fluttering thump in her chest. He doesn't want me to be embarrassed by him- or even worse; for him. And over such a silly thing as height! Oh Vegeta, you're not so far removed from us 'powerless morons' as you like to think. Deep down you're very human and far more vulnerable than I ever suspected. If I ever had any lingering doubts that you care for me, they're gone right this instant.

While she tried to find the right words to say, he drifted back into his thoughts. He was thinking about all of the political functions that Frieza had forced him to attend, and always with Radditz and Nappa in tow; a deliberate display of true specimens of Saiyan height and build. His own royal blood and power had seemed to mean nothing to the dignitaries who always regarded him with amusement and scorn and -perhaps worst of all- a little pity; the dwarf prince who came waist-high to his two bodyguards. It was considered something of private joke and his keen ears always caught every word, every insult, every laugh- filing that information away for a time when the diplomacy would finally end and the assassinations could start. In the end, he got the last laugh but the damage had been done. He was short, he always would be, and no matter how high the body count grew, nothing was ever going to change that.

Nothing.

"How many will be at that Opening?" he asked in an odd voice.

"Uhm? Oh, two maybe three hundred people. It's hard to say. Why?"

All those humans looking at him. Judging him. Studying him. It would be like reliving Installation 15 all over again but this would be far worse. This time, Bulma was here to witness it. Her friends and family would follow it in the newspapers and television reports. He imagined them getting out of the limousine and one person (in his increasing fear, he envisioned this person to look like Zarbon) would point at him and call out, "Look! It's a little monkey! Isn't it adorable?" The laughter would start, it would be contagious, and Bulma would be beside him sharing his complete humiliation.

"No," he whispered.

"What?"

"No. I'm not doing this. Stop the limo."

She was staring at him in complete confusion. "Vegeta-"

"I'm leaving! Make this fucking thing stop RIGHT NOW!" he roared so loudly that the volume actually made her wince.

He's panicking, Bulma had time to think. Of all of the revelations I've seen this evening, this has to go to the top of the list. "Calm down," she said in a level voice.

"Dendedammit- I said-"

"We are NOT stopping!" she yelled directly into his face. "You aren't going to run away and hide just because you've suddenly got cold feet. We are a couple and we're going to handle this together. Now you SNAP OUT OF IT!"

He recoiled from her verbal barrage as if he had been slapped. She figured that no female had ever once in his life addressed him in such a brusque manner before. It was precisely the feat that she was hoping to accomplish: snap him back to reality before he became permanently camera-shy.

She pointed a stern finger at him and pressed on, "I'm not going to tolerate any of your Saiyan superiority bullshit, Vegeta. Not tonight. You ARE going to escort me to that Opening as if you have no other purpose in your life, and you ARE going to be on your best behaviour. You're a prince. At least, that's what you're always ramming down everyone's throat! It's high time you started acting like one. Have I made myself clear?"

"..."

"I didn't hear you. Was that a yes?"

Unable to even formulate words in his fury, Vegeta gave a motion of his head that could have been a nod or the beginning of a seizure.

Ignoring the thunderstruck outrage on his flushed face, she sat back and busied herself by smoothening out the wrinkles on her dress. "When we pull up to the curb and the door opens, you will get out first and wait for me. When I get out, you'll take my arm and escort me inside the Museum. After that I don't care what you do; go sulk in corner, go hide in a broom closet for all I care. Just understand one thing: We came as a couple and we'll leave as one. I'll tell you when it's time to leave and not the other way around. Got it?"

That slack-jawed expression was still on his face but it was getting gradually darker, like thunderheads snuffing out the sun. It came as a relief to Bulma when they pulled up along side of the sidewalk in front of the British Museum. There was a gigantic throng of spectators held back on either side of the red carpet by rope barricades. Photographers began taking pictures as the limousine pulled to a stop, flashbulbs popping like miniature bolts of lightening.

The door on Vegeta's side opened but he didn't react to it. He was staring at her with concentrated hatred.

"What's it going to be?" she challenged in a level voice, narrowing her eyes the slightest bit. Inside, she was scared to death. Was he going to give in or was he going to explode and wipe out everything standing within a five-kilometer radius? The shouting crowd (as well as the city of London) had absolutely no idea how close death came that night as Vegeta carefully weighed her words.

He finally looked away and got out of the limo and stood beside the door, staring back at the throng and paparazzi and enduring their flashbulbs without flinching. When she extended her hand, he guided her out and stood beside her, his arm entwined around hers.

"Look! It's Bulma Briefs and- Ohmigod, is that her husband?!"

"Hey gorgeous, will you give me your autograph? Pleeeeeeze?"

"Ms. Briefs- Just a brief word with your husband-"

Bulma only offered them a light-hearted wave as she and Vegeta climbed the steps to the entrance of the huge Museum. All eyes followed them with single-minded curiosity, pointing at them for emphasis (a couple following behind them was largely ignored). Bulma's status as an heiress to Capsule Corporation, a multi-billion zeni empire, was always a topic of interest in the society papers. It was chiefly the reason she preferred to keep a low profile by hanging around with Gokou and the other Z Warriors rather than associating with people more fitting her status. Aside from one dalliance to an Opera close to a year ago (with the ever-boring Phillip Mitchell Anderson the Third in attendance), the last time she had attended such a hugely publicized event was when she had still been dating Yamcha. He had escorted her to a movie premiere wearing an old puke-brown threadbare suit he had bought at a flea market. The jacket had been at least one size too small on his oversized frame, the cuffs of his pants had been about three inches above his ankles, and the whole thing had reeked of cat urine. The tabloids had a field day over that sight and none of it had added to Yamcha's constant low self-esteem.

Looking sidelong at the man beside her, Bulma could understand why everyone was ogling him with such obvious curiosity. Despite his size, the Saiyan had a presence about him that immediately caught one's attention and demanded respect. The features beneath his dark skin were fine-boned and exotic and he had even managed to style his alien mane into a respectable fashion. The tuxedo he wore was immaculate right down to the shoes. There was even the glitter of diamond in his cufflinks. Bulma felt her heart skip a beat when he glanced back at her, his expression guarded but, thankfully, calm. She thought she had never seen anyone so handsome in all of her life and almost stumbled on a step when his strong arms steadied her.

"Thank you Vegeta," she said breathlessly when they reached the entrance.

"I just did what you told me to do. Nothing more," was all he had to say. He disengaged her arm and walked into the chaos of the foyer where people were making introductions, reporters were mingling, and the sight of flashing sequins on dresses was enough to blind the uninitiated.

I guess I deserved that, Bulma mused without surprise. Still, they had walked the red carpet without incident. Vegeta had been too outraged by her reprimand to dwell on the insecurities that had plagued him and if that caused a rift between them- well, that was too darned bad.

Still, she looked around for him as she walked inside, deliberately avoiding the reporters for now. The huge building was one of Britain's architectural landmarks, housing a collection that was one of the finest in existence, spanning two million years of human history. European Old Master paintings were on this first floor, with rare books and manuscripts, sculptures, and royal collections occupying the other three. Looking up, she could see the guardrails of the darkened sections that had been closed off for this evening's celebration. Just as she started to turn away, she caught sight of a swift blur vaulting over the railing of the second level and disappear into the darkness. Sparing a swift glance around, she was relieved to see that no one had seen what she did. Vegeta had gone off to do what he did best, sulk and she had to submerge a pang of anger. She was on her own after all.



Pelting down the corridor at a run, Vegeta's feet almost came out from underneath of him when he skidded to a stop, spotting a restroom sign. He burst through the door and went straight to the sink and turned on the tap with shaking hands. After splashing his face with a few handfuls of cold water, he felt a little better. Not much, but at least it didn't feel like he was going to vomit.

He had spent many years traveling in space pods where the close confines and sensory deprivation would have turned anyone else into stark-raving lunatics were it not for the stasis gas. He had never minded that mode of travel. There was something tranquil to the experience; having the comfort of his own thoughts, undisturbed by others. He was a loner by nature and design, and it had taken a long time before he could permit himself to become a pair by allowing Bulma into his life. Perhaps even a trio, with Trunks included.

But this Opening! Bulma had absolutely no idea what this was like for him. Too many humans in too small a space; colognes, perfumes, shampoos; that was just the smells not even including the mustiness of the Museum itself. There were too many sounds of conflicting voices trying to rise above each other. The lighting was dim with constant camera flashes bothering his sensitive eyes. As a result of it all, the lobby, huge by usual standards, was actually claustrophobic. It was all just too much!

Reconsidering it brought the nausea back and he ended up being sick after all. He hadn't had much to eat all day and only managed a few dry-heaves over the sink before controlling his gorge by indomitable self-will. Splashing water back on his face, he wasn't even aware that he had company until someone in the stall behind him flushed the toilet.

Oh great, he thought and his pale cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

A security guard stepped out of the stall, buckling his belt and cast Vegeta a shrewd gaze as he went to the sink. "Buddy, I'm not going to even try to rail on you for being in an off-limits area. You look like you have your own troubles," he said, washing his hands.

Swallowing back bile, Vegeta ignored him and just stared down at the running water.

"What is it? Food poisoning? I heard that the Beluga caviar might be past its date. It looked slimier than normal."

Vegeta went pale again, thinking: If you don't shut the hell up I'm going to have to kill you. Then I'll puke on you. I'd call that poetic justice.

The guard noticed his shaking hands. "Oh, I get it! It's that circus down there. Probably one of your first Openings, am I right?"

"What do you know of it?" Vegeta snapped.

"You think you're the only one to hate crowds?" he released a hearty gale of laughter as he dried his hands on a towel. "Bloody hell, everybody hates those damned things! Everybody who's normal, anyway. Half of the Museum staff got blitzed on the champagne even before the doors opened. The other half- 'ey, just a minute! I might have something for you."

While the guard rummaged through his pockets, Vegeta began to calm down a little. Part of it had to do with the understanding that he wasn't alone in how he felt, and the other was the possibility that maybe it was Bulma who was damaged here and not him after all. The human spoke true- who in their right mind would willingly attend one of these functions?

"Yeah, thought I had them," he said and pulled out a small bottle of pills. "Before you give me the look, these are legal. Just normal Valium tabs. Trust me, mate, if you knew the Curator who was in charge here you'd understand why the staff keep refilling their prescriptions! Maybe taking one might take your edge off, you know?"

Vegeta didn't even hesitate. "I'll take three," he said, holding out his hand.



When she accepted the fact that Vegeta wasn't returning anytime soon, Bulma began to walk around the outskirts of the gathered throng, evaluating the artwork. The new wing was still cordoned off and the ribbon cutting ceremony wouldn't start for at least another hour. Waiters flitted in an out among the various cliques, offering rich canapés on silver platters as well as fluted crystal glasses of champagne. Bulma accepted a glass and sipped it slowly, viewing a painting with polite interest, nothing more. Most of the works were post-Impressionist and they really weren't her fancy although she could appreciate the historic significance. She probably would have enjoyed herself more if she'd had someone to share comments with. She could well imagine Vegeta's reactions to what he saw; ... Ugly shit. Bad shit. More shit... Perhaps it was for the best he had gone into hiding, but she had to smile at the thought.

"Bulma!"

She turned and saw a couple weave their way around several groups in a direct route towards her. She recognized the woman immediately and fought to maintain the look of poise. Her name was Sally Masters whose father owned several metal fabrication plants her own father often did business with. She was also the gossiping bitch Bulma had overheard badmouthing her and Trunks in a washroom during an intermission at the last Opera she had attended. As if nothing had ever happened between them, Sally lightly grabbed her shoulders and pantomimed kissing her left and right cheek before pulling back and regarding her- every single inch, from hairline to shoes. The tall man beside her was her husband Phillip, a well-known Tennis player.

Sally made an exaggerated gesture at Bulma's dress and declared, "You look absolutely beautiful, Bulma! That dress is just to DIE for!"

"Thanks. Yours looks great too." In actuality, Sally's dress was a bright pink monstrosity with gay ruffles that made her look like an explosion in a cotton candy factory.

"Well, it should! It's a Marcus Target original from Italy. Daddy had it flown up on his private jet just so I could wear it this evening."

"Is that so? Well, it certainly looks good on you, Sally. It has a nice... cut to it."

The blonde woman tittered in delight. "You Briefs always did have a sense for fashion. Tell me, does your mother still wear ballroom gowns when she serves afternoon tea?"

Bulma finished her drink to keep her mouth from making any rude comments and wished a waiter would show up for a refill. Meanwhile, Sally had snatched onto another couple as they were passing. During all of this, her trophy husband just stared vacantly at a piece of artwork, letting his wife do all of the talking. As bad luck would have it, it was Sally's co- conspirator Nancy Peterson.

All we need now is the third bitch to make this a real party, Bulma thought grimly, looking around for an attendant with a drink tray.

"Well, hello Bulma!" Nancy said, not quite having the brazen courage to kiss her greeting as her friend had done earlier. "This is my husband Edgar."

The man, clearly thirty years the woman's senior, took Bulma's hand and kissed it. She had never been so grateful for her gloves in all of her life. Edgar's lips looked like two pieces of raw liver. "My extreme pleasure," he said smoothly.

"Edgar is a lawyer at the head of his own firm; Peterson, Deschain & Allgood, perhaps you've heard of it?"

"Uh, no- I can't say-"

"-He comes from old money. Very old money. Why, he's traced his lineage back to a half-cousin of Queen Victoria herself! We just bought a quaint little manor house out by Queenborough near Rochester. It was only half a million pounds, mind you, but Edgar's family has roots there so we thought..."

Bulma eyes were slowly glazing over. So were Sally's because no one was including her in the conversation. "I was just commenting to Bulma on her mother's tea parties," she interrupted brightly.

"Does she still have them?" Nancy asked with a condescending smile. "I'll have to make it a point to drop by some time and make my introductions."

Suuuure, you will, Bulma thought, knowing full well that her mother was laughed at behind her back by her circle of so-called friends. It hurt her to see her mother made fun of simply because she was an extremely open and trusting person. "That'd be nice, Nancy. She'd like to meet you," she said instead with a broad smile that looked as fake as it felt.

All at once, Edgar seized her hand and slipped a business card between her fingers. "I wouldn't mind meeting your father myself, Ms. Briefs. Do you happen to know who is currently representing the interests of Capsule Corporation?"

"Oh poo, Edgar! This isn't the time or place to discuss business," Sally huffed, meaning that the topic bored her. "I must say, Bulma, I'm pleased to see that you no longer have that hideous perm. Your current cut flatters your face very nicely. Not many women could get away with that garish color either. How DO you manage to pull that combination off?"

Starting to do a slow burn, Bulma said from between tight lips, "I have a talented hairdresser."

"Why yes, it could be that," Nancy said, adding a distracted wave. "I could loan you my personal stylist for a weekend if you'd like. He has the most talented hands."

"Well, enough with all of this small talk! Where is he Bulma?" Sally said eagerly, eyes dancing. "I want to meet him."

"Where is- Oh! You mean my husband." That's a good question, Bulma thought forlornly. Where WAS Vegeta?

"And that ring!" Sally snatched her left hand and brought it closer where she could eye it like a curious raven. "What a-a creative setting. Is that one carat in silver?"

"The setting is platinum and it's two carats, actually."

"Only two?" Nancy drawled extending her left hand and exposing a ring that was so huge and garish that there was no way it could be a fake. "Edgar slipped this on my finger on our wedding day; isn't it lovely? It's three carats and cost over a million zeni."

Bulma nodded once. "I'd wear the original diamond if I could but at over 130 carats it's a little heavy." The looks that she got back from both couples were priceless and the heiress submerged her amusement with difficulty. Point for me, she thought with a mental grin.

"Please tell me you didn't marry that terribly shy fellow in that disgusting suit," Sally cut in, changing the subject entirely while Nancy tried to recover. "Tell me that it wasn't him." The gloating look on her face was plainly hoping that the answer was yes.

"Actually, I-"There was a light nudge on Bulma's right arm and a glass of champagne was offered to her. She recognized those cufflinks immediately and turned with a smile of true relief. Vegeta was beside her as if he had been standing there all along and the look on his face was one of passive neutrality. Not annoyance, but not cheerfulness either. Anyone who didn't know him would have just thought that he looked bored with the whole affair. "Everyone, I'd like you to meet my husband, Vegeta. Vegeta, I'd like you to meet Sally and Phillip Masters and Nancy and Edgar Peterson.

Both Edgar and Phillip immediately extended their hands. Nursing his own drink, Vegeta kept his free hand in the pocket of his pants and stated coldly, "I don't shake hands."

Edgar immediately frowned in annoyance. "Vegeta... hm, that's very unusual. Is that your first name or your second?"

"My second."

"... and your first?" he asked in exasperation.

"Prince, and it's considered a title. You'd best remember that the next time you address me in polite conversation."

Sally's eyes widened (and hers weren't the only ones). "You're an honest-to- gosh Prince? How wonderful!" Her eyes immediately flicked down to his crotch and back to his face again, her cheeks were high spots of excited color. While checking her e-mail before the big event, she had followed the Playgirl editor's advice and 'Clicked here for pictures of Bulma's well- hung mate!' She hadn't been disappointed by what she saw and concluded that Bulma was indeed a 'lucky lady'.

"Indeed," Nancy drawled under her breath. She was clearly NOT happy.

"Which country are you from, Prince Vegeta?"

For one moment, Bulma feared that he was going to launch into his long- winded Saiyan speech until he improvised with; "A small Arabic state in the Middle East. You wouldn't know it. Trust me. I doubt that you could even spell it," he flashed Bulma a teasing little smirk. The lie was short and believable and Bulma offered him a grateful smile in return.

"You two make a... perfectly matched couple," Nancy managed to get out. Edgar had deliberately drifted away from their little circle and began impatiently waiting for her to finish with the small talk. He had been outclassed and hadn't liked it one little bit. "We'll talk some more later on in the evening."

"Oh, I can't wait," Bulma said coolly.

Flashing her an irritated little glance, Nancy extended her hand towards Vegeta as she said, "And it was a pleasure to meet you, Prince Vegeta."

The Saiyan regarded the outstretched hand as one might a distasteful snake and continued drinking without taking it. His coal-black eyes drilled into her brown ones with a look that could have withered solid steel and she took the hint. With an intake of breath, Nancy hurried over to her husband's side and quickly led him away.

Turning slightly on his heel, Vegeta then settled his condescending gaze onto Sally who, at that moment, suddenly appeared to realize that there were other people at this gathering who might be more interested in her and in what she had to say. She took possessive hold of her husband's arm and passed both Bulma and Vegeta a quick nod before searching elsewhere for easier prey.

Vegeta slowly shook his head. "Air headed bimbos."

"For once, you and I are in agreement there, Prince," Bulma clicked her glass against his and proceeded to catch up on her drinking. This was going to be a loooong night. After several moments, she eyed him shrewdly and admitted, "I really didn't think that you would be coming back."

"I just had to use the bathroom. The next time I go you can hold my hand," his smirk had deepened until it almost resembled a smile. That was when she realized things were going to be okay for the night and he was going to behave himself. Hell, he actually fit in better with this superficial crowd than she did and the irony was not lost on her.

She noticed that several of the reporters were standing a respectable distance away. It was clear that they wanted to talk to them but were under strict orders by the organizers of the Opening not to be intrusive. "Well, do you think you're up for some interviews?"

The Saiyan watched as more newshounds began to catch their scent and gather. "Do I have a choice?" he grumbled.

"Just stick to the story and the attitude and you'll do just fine," she said sincerely, taking his hand. He didn't fight the hold, or even try to ignore it. Squeezing it back, the pair approached the reporters with their cameras, video reorders, and questions. Their endless, mind numbingly tedious questions.



For the next hour Vegeta remained extremely calm whenever a reporter approached them. When he spoke, he used a soft and conciliating tone that was very similar to the voice he used when he was in bed with Bulma. It captivated the invasive reporters, particularly the female ones, and Bulma was actually surprised to feel a vague prickle of jealously whenever she watched the Saiyan turn on the charm. This tactful behaviour was entirely unlike him and the heiress was at a loss of words on what to say, it was so unusual. He allowed photographs to be taken of them and, in a complete turnabout of events, was often the one to whisper under his breath at her; "Smile, you look as though you're attending a funeral."

There was an undercurrent of murmurs as the other attendees of the Opening watched them; some with interest, others with acute jealousy. Nancy Peterson looked like she was ready to explode while Sally Masters kept a respectable distance; she was struggling with a perplexing sense of terror and lust for the inscrutable Prince. This reaction of hushed respect, even envy, from her peers was new to Bulma. With Yamcha, she had accepted the condescension and disapproval his presence had created, not really minding. Hell, she had loved the guy. The impression that Vegeta made on these pompous snobs, however, took her completely by surprise. There were going to be no veiled barbs at her expense this time and she gave his arm a grateful squeeze while smiling affectionately at him.

The time finally came for the Opening of the British Museum's new wing. The Curator stepped up to an elaborate podium and pontificated for the next twenty minutes about the effects of fantastical lore upon modern culture. Finally, Camilla Parker Bowles cut the ribbon with a pair of 24-carat gold scissors. There was a brief pause for photographs before everyone filed inside. The new wing intensified the gothic architecture of the main building with its stone and intricate masonry design. There was an extensive statue exhibit that represented both Greek and Roman mythology and while the Curator gave a brief explanation of the origin and significance of each piece, Vegeta strayed from Bulma's side for the second time that evening, drawn to a statue that was in the corner.

Its marble surface pitted and flaked from centuries of erosion, the sculpture depicted a solitary man in heavy armor and a cape. The serious expression on the man's bearded face appeared to be calm expectation of a looming war, devoid of fear. A memory tugged at Vegeta's mind, one he had thought long-buried, and he flinched when a gentle hand brushed against his sleeve.

"You're thinking of your father, aren't you?" Bulma asked as she rejoined him.

"How would you know?" he retorted gruffly.

"I can tell how your face tightens up. What were you thinking?"

At first she figured that he wouldn't tell her and angrily stalk away but that odd complacence remained and he only went back to looking at the sculpture. "His face had looked like that, when he sent me off with Nappa to become Frieza's pet. I think he realized that planet Vegeta was going to be destroyed no matter what he did. He had given up on his people, on me, and I'll always hate him for that."

"He saved your life."

He stared down at the polished slate floor and muttered, "For what I went through, I would have preferred to have died with the planet."

She touched his face, forcing him to look at her. She was actually smiling a little when she said, "I, for one, am very grateful to your father. If he hadn't sent you away, I never would have gotten the chance to fall in love with you, Vegeta."

"Bulma..." He was at a rare loss for words and she moved in to take advantage of that indecision and kiss him. Just as their lips met, there was a sudden flash beside them and a photographer called out, "Perfect shot! Thanks you two!"

"Sonovabitch," the couple echoed together as the man busily mingled among the patrons and guests, who were all staring at them. The Curator flashed them a brief contemptuous glare and coughed into his fist to redirect everyone's attention, "Now ladies and gentlemen, let me present the jewel of this entire exhibit. The rare Dragonball of legend!"

Protected by a glass case cordoned off by rope barricades, two guards stood impassively beside the display. Seated on its cushion, the one-star Dragonball was pulsating in deep red and orange hues like a round heart. For the first time that evening, Vegeta and Bulma were left alone as the paparazzi swarmed the exhibit and the couple deliberately hung back, strategizing.

"I wasn't counting on the guards," Bulma said under her breath. She glanced up at the ceiling and scanned the walls. "Security cameras, too. I also see motion sensors but they would have to be shut off for this event. There's just too many witnesses, Vegeta. We'll have to come back for it later."

He shook his head. "We came to do a job and we're not leaving it behind."

"This isn't a mission."

"Yes, it is," he told her levelly. "All we need is a diversion. I can faze in and steal it before anybody clues in."

Now she was the one shaking her head. "No one is going to create a scene here tonight- especially not you!"

He had his arms crossed and only regarded her blandly. "Then I guess we'll just see how the night goes," he responded in a composed tone and walked over to join in the rest of the tour, leaving her to gape after him.

For the rest of the evening, the Saiyan never strayed far from her sight. He would drift away when she began talking to someone and come back when she gave off that invisible cue that signaled she was getting impatient with the conversation and wanted to get away. A few clipped words from him was usually all it took to free her. For the most part, he trolled the extensive buffet and took advantage of what it offered. He was never seen without either a drink or plate in hand but at least he was subtle about it. Gokou would have taken one look at the huge spread and done a face-dive in the smoked salmon platter.

Keeping a close eye on him, Bulma wondered what was going through the shrewd alien's mind. The longer this odd behaviour lingered, the more concerned she became- it was all so unlike him. She couldn't help but wonder when he was going to create his diversion and how it was going to be accomplished.

Sally Masters had overcome her fear and on several occasions drifted over to talk to him whenever Bulma was engaged in conversation with someone else. Her acute jealousy returned every time she saw the two together. The emotion was completely unjustified. Vegeta barely responded to the woman's presence, offering only monosyllabic responses if he bothered to speak at all. To keep her sharp tongue in check, Bulma made sure that she always had a glass of champagne handy to sip on. She had lost track of how much she'd had to drink so far this evening and was unaware that she was becoming quite drunk. Every time she saw Vegeta near that blonde, she finished her current drink and reached for another.

By eleven o'clock, the crowd was beginning to thin as couples began to file out of the entrance to where their limousines waited at the curb. Bulma singled out the Saiyan by the buffet table and clutched his sleeve, this time more for balance than encouragement. "I told you that we were going to leave when I said so," she said, her voice thick with the sweet aroma of sparkling wine.

Wiping his mouth with a napkin, he nodded politely. "I remember you saying that."

"Well, the time is now."

"That's fine," he said, setting his plate down. He suddenly scrutinized her carefully, so much so that she self-consciously wiped the sides of her mouth. "What? Do I have food on my face?"

"Your make-up is smudged," he observed casually. "You should do some touching up before we have to endure another barrage of photographers when we leave."

"Fine," she huffed, stamping off towards the bathroom. "I'll only be a few minutes. Don't you move."

"Yes dear," he said in a low voice, his patient smile broadening into a devilish grin. It was a look that Bulma would have immediately recognized if she had looked over her shoulder at that instant. It transformed his tolerant, composed facade into one that looked slightly insane. For the first time this evening, Vegeta's 'badman' persona finally surfaced with a vengeance. He hadn't forgotten how she had spoken to him in the limo and she was about to discover that payback, in this case, wasn't a bitch: It was a pissed-off Saiyan.

The instant she disappeared into the ladies room, he walked briskly over Sally Masters and took her hand. "It was a pleasure meeting you this evening. For what a limited time I had to enjoy it, that is."

The blonde's face fell. "Oh, you're leaving?"

"It's Bulma's idea. She thinks that you're an opportunistic slut who's trying to steal me away from her. Ridiculous really, don't you think?"

Sally's face paled dramatically before two bright spots of color appeared on each of her cheeks. "Where is she?" she managed to squeak out.

"Bathroom," was all he had to say and the incensed rich woman marched off in the same direction that the heiress had gone.

Grinning wickedly, Vegeta sought out Nancy Peterson next. It took only a few words before that woman stalked across the huge room, her delicate hands squeezed into tight fists of fury.

Settling beside the entrance to the new wing, Vegeta crossed his arms and waited for his diversion to start, still smiling that malicious smirk of a born troublemaker. This should be good, he thought and started to chuckle.

In less than a minute, he could hear the words "slut", "bitch", and "whore" reverberate throughout the expansive lobby and people were beginning to drift over to the direction of the ladies washroom. Clusters of photographers and camera crews began to catch a whiff of a potential story and headed that way until all that remained behind were Vegeta and the two guards.

Forcing a look of concern on his face (it was difficult, for the first time this night he was actually enjoying himself), Vegeta ran inside the exhibit and yelled at the two guards, "You have to come quick! Somebody's being attacked!"

One of the guard's glanced at the other. "Finally something interesting! Bullocks to this stupid ball!"

As they sprinted out, the Saiyan hung back. He glanced sidelong at the glass display case, fazed out of sight, and reappeared a few seconds later. "Too easy," he said as he tucked the Dragonball under his jacket, and burst out laughing.



"I think I'm gonna throw up," Bulma moaned.

"Keep your head down, then. I don't want any stains on my tux."

The pair was sitting on the roof of the Museum. Once he had secured the Dragonball, Vegeta forced his way through the crowd and entered the bathroom. It was an interesting sight that greeted him. Bulma was straddling Nancy Peterson while Sally Masters was on the heiress's back trying to execute a full nelson. All three were hissing and spitting like cats in heat and it took a few seconds before Vegeta, oddly turned-on by the spectacle, to move in and successively pull his bride free. Her hair and dress in a shambles, she clung to the Saiyan as he forced his way through the ogling throng. He released a mild electromagnetic pulse that erased any film or digital images of the brawl. The minute he took her around a corner and momentarily out of sight of the crowd, he flew them to the second level and out a back exit, heading for the roof.

"It was just like that Opera all over again," Bulma was whining. "The three of us in a bathroom at the same time- What are the odds of that?"

Struggling to keep a straight face, Vegeta pulled out the Dragonball instead and offered it to her. "It doesn't matter. We got what we came for."

She considered her reflection in the mystic orb. Sally had pounced on her just when she had been putting on her lipstick and she had a streak of crimson that zigzagged up her right cheek. Her hair was in complete disarray and her dress was ripped under her left arm. Adding the raccoon circles around her eyes from smeared mascara and it was enough to make her want to weep. "I'm a mess," she said, handing the Dragonball back to him.

Vegeta got up and extended his hand, pulling her to her feet and holding her when she started to sway. He considered her rumpled appearance and actually betrayed a slight smile. "You look beautiful-"

"Oh, Vegeta-"

"-Almost as good-looking as me."

She wrapped her arms around his neck, too spent to argue. Compliments from the Saiyan were rare and she didn't want to break the mood. Letting her collect her bearings, Vegeta reached into his pants pocket and looked at what laid in his palm.

Three small, white pills.

It would have been easy to take what the security guard had offered and fall back to coping with the stress of the Opening while on the drug. He had to accept that this high-profile life was the price to pay for being married to Bulma. The effects of the menstrual muscle-relaxants had been enough to slow his reflexes this morning. He didn't want to rely on that crutch. From now on he resolved it was going to be up to his own wits to endure that future, and it wouldn't be accomplished by taking pills. All things considered, the evening had gone by just as he had hoped it would. At long, long last, the fears and insecurities of his past finally retreated into the archives of his memory and allowed themselves to be buried once and for all, permitting him to face the future. It was about damned time.

"What's that?" Bulma asked in a slurred voice, squinting at his hand.

"Just lint," he responded and casually threw the pills away. Gathering her in his arms, the couple returned to their hotel.



The next morning found Bulma's mother to be in seventh heaven. Dr. Briefs found her in the living room with an enormous stack of newspapers and she was going through each and every one, cutting out articles that related to their daughter and new son-in-law. She was pasting each one into a scrapbook that she was going to give to the couple when they returned. Sitting on the floor beside her, Trunks was playing with the glue and scraps of newsprint were stuck to his face and purple hair.

"Enjoying yourself, dear?" he asked, lighting a cigarette with practiced ease and picking up a paper that hadn't been mutilated yet.

"Oh! This is sooo much fun!" the blonde squealed happily. "I know that Bulma didn't want the press to find out so soon. She wasn't sure how poor Vegeta would react to all of the exposure, but look at them together! Don't they make a wonderful couple?"

"Yes, they do," Dr. Briefs admitted, opening the paper to the entertainment section and seeing a photograph of the newlyweds standing together, smiling into the camera. Bulma was wearing an exquisite dress and the Saiyan was in a tuxedo. The scientist didn't know what function they were attending, but he realized that the pair complemented one another perfectly. "They most certainly do."



Treating herself to a day of shopping, Chi Chi Son walked down the clean sidewalk of the Western Capital's market square, pushing Goten in his stroller. The baby was sucking down his third bottle of the morning and was already winding up to start demanding his fourth. The child was turning into a bottomless pit, just like his father. Sadly enough, he seemed about as bright.

Buying a coffee from a vender, the brunette took small sips as she took turns babbling to the boy while they window-shopped. "So many pretty things!" she remarked to the baby. "Don't you think so, Goten? You don't see stuff like this in the country. Heavens no! This is your first time in the Capital since you were born."

She faltered a bit and looked back the way they had come. The headquarters building of Capsule Corporation was less than five blocks away. She and Bulma had not parted on good terms and the widow felt some degree of guilt for not visiting sooner. "Goten, would you like to visit a friend? She has a small boy who's only a little older than you are. He's a bit rough, and not nearly as gentle in nature as you. That comes from his father. But his mother is a kind woman, if a bit spoiled."

In response, Goten released a burp that turned heads and grinned toothlessly up at his mother.

Taking that as agreement, Chi Chi turned the stroller around. "I doubt that Vegeta is still sticking around, truth to tell. I imagine that he's headed back out into space, turning helpless planets into ash. When you're older I'll tell you all about him. A horrible man. Just despicable. Why, I imagine that he's broken poor Bulma's heart. Again! Not that I didn't warn her."

She was still going on with her tirade when they came to a magazine stand. Blown up to gigantic proportions was the picture of Bulma and Vegeta sharing a kiss in the Museum exhibit. The caption beneath the poster read: "The Capital's Newest Newlyweds: The Heiress and Her Prince!"

Chi Chi spit out a mouthful of coffee halfway across the sidewalk in shock.



Nursing a hangover, Yamcha was sitting at his kitchen table in his boxers when he heard the slam of the newspaper against the front door of his apartment. He went to retrieve it, almost groaning when he had to bend down, and went into the living room to catch up on the day's events. He knew he was in for a rough day when he opened up the paper to the society pages and caught sight of Bulma and Vegeta attending some Museum opening.

"Man, I just can't catch a freaking break!" he groaned, balling up the paper and throwing it across the room.

He went back to bed and pulled the covers over his head and stayed there for most of the day.



Nobody was smiling at Master Roshi's home, either. Android 18 was chasing Krillin around the small house while swatting him with a rolled-up newspaper. "130 carats! Vegeta -of all people- gave Bulma a 130 carat diamond!" she was yelling over and over. "All you gave me was this one carat pebble! I thought you loved me!"

"B-buh-but honeybunch, I love you with all my heart! I DO!" the small monk protested, trying to protect himself from his enraged fiancée.

-SWAT- "Then you get out" –SWAT- "And get me" –SWAT- "A diamond that shows" –SWAT- "You mean that!" 18 hollered. Her blue eyes were blazing so brightly that her gaze felt hot on his skin. "Right NOW!"

"Yuh-yes sweetcheeks. Y-you bet. Right away," Krillin said meekly. He approached the android to give her a kiss, saw the livid glare on her face, and thought better of it. Without another word he left the small island in search of something worthy to present to her.

Standing at the doorway with her arms crossed, 18's sensors reacted to scrutiny and she sneered at Master Roshi who was looking in through the open window. "Don't you have anything better to do than stare at me, old man?"

"Why, no, not real-"the old pervert started to say but the turtle grabbed hold of one of his black socks and dragged him out of sight.



Seeking refuge from a fierce Himalayan blizzard, Tien and Chiaotzu staggered into a small building that turned out to be a temporary ski lodge for a group of extreme skiers and snowboarders. They were welcomed quite openly and the little telepath remained close to the fireplace while Tien sat at a corner table, sipping a hot chocolate. One of the athlete's had a laptop sitting beside him and the fighter asked, "Do you mind if I look around a bit? I'd like to do some catching up."

"Be my guest," he said, and slid the computer over to him.

For the next hour, Tien consulted weather sites and did a little research on mountain climbing. After that he surfed the Web for a bit. It didn't take him long to discover that Vegeta and Bulma had gotten married. It came as a surprise but nothing to write home about. Both people were hot- tempered and puerile and the fighter figured that they deserved one another. His third eye blinked with interest when he came across the link: "Click here for pictures of Bulma's well-hung mate! 'What a lucky lady!' claims Playgirl editor."

Tien glanced around for Chiaotzu and saw his companion still shivering by the fire. After a moment of deliberation, he hit the link.

The pictures loaded and Tien took his time regarding the Saiyan's 'assets'.

"Hmmm," he said with a vague smile.

Chapter Six: It's off to the Great White North (and no, I'm NOT talking about CANADA!)