(A/N: Okay. Here's the deal, guys. Starting next Saturday night (and not including this chapter, duh), I'm gonna be updating on a weekly basis until the story is finished. A warning! Somewhere along the line the rating WILL GO UP. It will be nothing gawd-awful explicit, but this site doesn't allow any sexual insinuation in the T category, and I respect their rules. I don't think anyone should be scared away by that warning, but if you're bothered by stuff like that…well yeah, don't read it. Sorry, that's enough for the warnings. Like I said before; just trying to capture the right audience who is mentally mature enough for 'innuendo' makes a face And it'll end up being a pretty good length, so just bear with me; I'll try not to write a boring chapter.

(Anyway, I'm glad you're liking the story so far. sneaky grin There are gonna be so many twists and turns in this story that you won't know your toes from your fingers. Whether that's a good thing or not is up to you, but I'm kinda looking forward to seeing your reactions. Please keep writing in and tell me what you think; I love all the reviews I get. One for each chapter would be nice…halo There are always things I need to improve if I want to become a professional writer, and you all are the teachers who grade my papers. Stupid analogy, I know, but hey what can you do. You guys are the best. Okay, I'm gonna shut up now and let you get to reading.

Ciao, everyone. R&R.)

Hours of careful emergency surgery and worry ensued. Bulma bent tirelessly over her wounded husband, removing every shard of glass with precision and care. Finally the last of the glass was out and the wounds disinfected and wrapped, and the girl sank back into her chair with an exhausted sigh.

"My, this does remind me of how we got together," she muttered, glancing at her patient's bandaged body with a reminiscent eye. Leaning forward, she crossed her arms on the railing of the bed and rested her chin upon them. She stroked his forehead tenderly, fond memories playing across the white bedspread. He had told her everything about the Saiyan race. She had held his hand as they talked, and he had not fought back. Perhaps he couldn't have removed himself from her grip even if he tried. She didn't know. But what she did know was that he had looked upon her then with an expression that had never returned after his recovery. Lost in her thoughts, she didn't even realize she had drifted off just as she had what seemed like so many years ago. But this time was a little different; her head had slipped down to rest upon his chest, its steady rise and fall lulling her into a dreamless sleep.

"Bulma! Bulma, where are you? Please, Ranessa is here! Remember what we agreed on? Oh please don't have gone out…"

Yamcha sprinted down the steps leading to the lower portion of the lab, looking wildly for the blue-haired beauty that ever seemed to elude him. Mr. and Mrs. Briefs held Ranessa at the door with their mindless chit-chat, but that would only retain the drunken model for a little while. Hoping fervently that they wouldn't let anything slip, he rounded a corner and skidded to a halt in the main part of the lab.

"Yamcha?" Krillin called from where he cradled 18 in his short arms. The android had long since awakened, and was now regarding the intruder with cold interest. Sitting up, she pushed her blond hair behind her ear and crossed her arms.

"What do you want?" she asked icily. "Bulma is in the recovery room with Vegeta. Leave."

"Uh…yes ma'am," he replied with a frown, then took off into the recovery room. "Bulma! I need--" His voice was cut off by a strangled cry as the scene before him sank in.

Awakened by a sudden chill in the night, Bulma had irritably jerked out of her slumber and took a sleepy look around. The entire room was dark except for the soft beam of the equipment, and she vaguely wondered what she had been doing. Getting to her feet, she stumbled across the room and pulled a few hospital sheets from the cabinet, planning to crawl into one of the numerous hospital beds for the remainder of the night. But as she was walking toward an unoccupied cot, she heard Vegeta moan and shift in his uneasy slumber. Concerned and now fully awake, she pulled a small penlight out of her shirt pocket and shone it on the Saiyan prince.

He was tangled in the sheets and bathed in a cold sweat, making his clothes stick to his body as he tossed and turned on the slender mattress. Over and over his mouth formed the harsh words of the Saiyan tongue, as if he were silently screaming in his pain drugged dream. Biting her lip, the girl had eased herself into the bed beside him and slipped her arms around his neck, stroking the base of his hair and murmuring soft words of comfort against his cheek. The prince calmed almost immediately, as if the presence of another returned the cool, if unconscious, mindset to his proud soul. With a final shudder, he had slumped against her, sinking back into a dreamless sleep.

Not knowing what else to do, Bulma had curled up against his warmth and closed her eyes, planning to sneak out of the lab long before he ever awoke to save his pride. She wasn't that tired…

After all, she was only exhausted.

Yamcha now saw the two entwined beneath the hospital sheets, curled around each others' bodies like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. Both still wore all their clothes, thankfully, but the fact that it was almost impossible to tell one from the other seemed to cancel that out as Yamcha looked on in inexplicable silent fury.

"Bulma!" he hissed, poking the girl hard in the side.

"Hnn…" she mumbled, nestling closer to Vegeta. The Saiyan Prince, though unconscious, compensated for her move and drew her tighter against him, snaking his left leg through hers to bring them ever closer.

"Bulma!" he said again, this time louder. The blue eyes flickered open.

"Wha…what?" Blinking in the sudden light, the girl attempted to stretch, only to find her arms pinned beneath the Saiyan's heavy torso. Still half asleep, she wondered idly if she had gotten her hand stuck under the mattress again.

Then it hit her.

"Oh…my God," she whispered.

The incredible warmth of Vegeta's powerful body enveloped her as his sweet breath flowed lightly across her face from between parted lips. His strong hands rested lightly on her waist; it was almost as if the curves had been designed for them to rest there. Not noticing Yamcha in the least, she shuddered as a wave of desire flooded from her head to hear toes; it was almost as if someone had dumped a bucket of water that was both hot and cold all over her body. She felt the closeness of his hips, the way his leg entwined with hers… Without even thinking about it, she snaked her head up and closed her lips over his, slipping her tongue between those sweet, parted lips…

"Bulma!" Yamcha shouted, startling her from her brief moment of fantasy.

She sat up immediately, the force of her movement tearing her arms from beneath Vegeta's body. Her cheeks were stained a bloody crimson as she glared furiously at the intruder.

"WHAT!" she hissed, rage flowing over him like a tsunami. She cast a worried glance at Vegeta and was relieved to find him still asleep. Rounding on Yamcha, she clambered to her feet and shoved him out of the room, hastily closing the door behind them. "What do you want! I was a little busy--"

"Yeah, I could see that," he muttered, shuddering. "But remember our deal? That girl I told you about has finally found me, and I really need you to keep up with your end of the bargain. I fed Trunks, bathed him, dressed him, got peed on--"

"Yaaaaaaaaamcha!" came a singsongy voice. Ranessa flounced down the stairs in a tangle of messy blond curls. "Where aaaaaaare you?"

"Uh, with my wife!" he called back, quickly snaking his arm around Bulma's waist and tugging her close. She shot him an incredulous look, but decided to play along for the sake of curiosity.

"Wife?" she asked, confused. "I thought ya said you were single, baby!" A gurgling laugh bubbled up from her stomach, and her flushed cheeks grew redder still. "Kinda scrawny, ain't she?"

Bulma's cheeks burned with their own inner fire, but before she could come back with a scathing reply, Yamcha pinched her side to silence her.

"No," he answered truthfully, casting an appreciative sidelong glance at Bulma's well-toned body. "She's just right."

"How do I know yer not pullin' my leg?" she slurred, pulling a flask of brandy from her leather purse. "Y'seemed single enough when ya slept with me."

The orange-outfitted fighter's mouth flapped open and closed. Bulma raised an eyebrow, glaring at Yamcha with undisguised revulsion. "You didn't tell me that, DEAR," she snarled. To think she had almost married this man for real!

"Oh, uh, well, I was drop-dead drunk when I met you, Ranessa, and I um…" he stammered, black eyes darting back and forth between the two women. "It was a tryst, really! I didn't know what I was doing!"

"Sure you didn't," the blue-haired genius muttered, slipping out of his grasp and folding her arms before her. Just like you didn't sleep with that girl from New York, and that exchange student from Britain! And that prostitute you met on the street. And you wonder why I turned you down!

"Heh, don't sweat it. That's what I like about ya," she smirked, pinching his cheek. "I can be a li'l naughty myself, y'know…"

"I wouldn't doubt it," Bulma put in, turning up her nose.

"But I love Bulma!" Yamcha bellowed, making both girls jump in surprise. Taking Bulma by the hands, he pushed his lips against hers, holding her fast with the strength of his will. The girl tried to struggle, but found herself held fast.

Ranessa regarded them with drunken amusement, then, with a final glance over their shoulder, turned to leave. "Well, Yamcha, whenever ya feel like giving up this act, I'll be back!" She shot him a sexy smile. "See ya tomorrow, sugar." With that, she sauntered up the stairs and left.

Yamcha, however, didn't stop. Despite her nails digging into his knuckles, he pushed her against the wall, attempting to slip his tongue between her tightly closed lips.

God, Yamcha! Stop! Stop it! Dammit, how can you do this to me! She squeezed her eyes shut, trying with all her might to break free of the iron grasp. If only she had been a Saiyan…

"How touching."

Yamcha's eyes opened wide, and he whirled around. Bulma sank, gasping, to the floor, craning her neck to see the one person she longed for most - was closest to - yet somehow could not have.

Vegeta leaned against the door, arms crossed, his head cocked dangerously to the side. The coal black eyes flickered ominously green as they bore deeply into those of the man before him.

"Please, continue," the prince said sarcastically, waving a hand with feigned magnanimity. "I would like to witness this thing you pathetic humans call love."

"You already did it to her, you asshole," Yamcha grated. "I haven't."

Vegeta raised an eyebrow, bearing a striking resemblance to an expression worn by Bulma not ten minutes before. "Done what? Loved her? Hardly."

"I mean sex, idiot!" Yamcha yelled, wondering at his own audacity. "You already took her, you raving maniac!"

"Oh, so is that all they're good for?" Vegeta retorted. "Then you'll excuse me if I don't stick around after all!" He pushed away from the wall to take a step forward. "But there are a few things I want to know before I leave you to your pleasures."

Bulma noticed with a heart-wrenching pang that he favored his right leg, which was swollen and black, that she had overlooked in her haste to remove the glass. His left eye was matted shut with a sickening yellow ooze; infection had set into the wounded eye over the course of the night. However, the proud Saiyan Prince showed no outward sign of pain. The good eye was kept carefully squinted as he fought to maintain some form of a smirk.

"Is that what human 'love' is all about? Mating?" He spat at Yamcha's feet.

"N-no!" Yamcha sputtered. "Wait just one minute, you despicable--"

"I think there's another word for that - one that is actually quite common in my native tongue.," Vegeta continued, staring the feeble attempts at defense into silence. "Your foolish translation, however, would have to be lust." The eye narrowed even further, nearly set ablaze under the lowered lid as he turned his scathing gaze upon his wife. "It's just as I thought. There is no such thing as 'love'; it's all a stupid fantasy you humans use as an excuse to send the streets crawling with your misbegotten brats! It's no wonder we don't have a word for it. It doesn't exist!" Attempting to whirl on his heel, the Saiyan Prince stumbled on his crippled leg and crashed to the floor in a flurry of thumps and curses.

Breaking free of Yamcha at last, Bulma ran to his side, attempting to slip her arms under his and help him to his feet. Vegeta shook her away with a look of utter disgust, digging his fingers into the metal wall and pulling himself up. Where he touched the cured iron, blackened scorch-marks trailed behind his scrabbling hands.

"To think I almost believed you!" he hissed, wiping the crust from his eye. "Tell me, woman; do you 'love' him too? Do you 'love' that man in that picture with you in the ridiculous red dress?" His voice lowered dangerously as he forced the last question through gritted teeth. "Do you love that idiot Kakarott!"

"No! Vegeta, please--!"

"You would do well to never speak to me again, arrogant little whore!" Locking his knee against the pain, he walked without limping toward the window. With his hand on the latch, he cast her one last ferocious glare. "I am honor bound in my promise to you to raise the brat until he comes of age," he spat, "and I will honor that vow with my pride. And that is assuming the little monster is even mine!" Then, in a rush of power, he was gone.

Bulma stared after him in stunned silence. Tears trickled down her cheeks in slow motion, and she found her hand traveling to her heart.

"V…Vegeta…"

Yamcha seemed equally floored, but was determined to regain some shred of his dignity. "C…can you believe him?" he scoffed, taking a step forward. "I've never seen a guy have it more wrong. Egotistical little bastard. I'll bet he only slept with you because he had nothing better to--"

"Vegeta slept with me because he felt for me!" Bulma exploded, whirling around to jab a finger in his face. Despite what she had told her mother only a few days earlier, she was voicing now more what she needed to hear than what she believed. But she got carried away in the rush of emotion and began to speak the innermost desires of her heart as if they were fact.

"Vegeta slept with me because I helped to bear his pain! Vegeta slept with me because I was there when NO ONE ELSE CARED!" She shoved him back against the wall, pounding as hard as she could upon his muscled chest. "Vegeta took full responsibility, even though he knew next to nothing about weddings, regardless of his own needs or desires! Vegeta made a promise, and he kept it! Still keeps it! He's a loner, but he made a sacrifice for honor! I know he can never love me, but at least he's not a two faced, lowlife, lying, sunnuva…" The blows slowed, and she eventually stopped to let her head sink into her hands.

"It must have looked…so bad," she whispered. "The way we were…what he saw… what he must have thought…!"

"B…Bulma, I'm so…so sorry…"

"No you're not!" she yelled, angry again. "You've always wanted to get into my pants. Don't you even dare try to deny it! But I'd have ended up just like all the other girls; used, pregnant, and forgotten, watching you go off with some new little tart the very next night!"
"Bulma--!"

"You only wanted me so much because you couldn't have me," she grated in a low voice. "You knew I had you figured out! I saw all the numbers on your cell phone. I knew you were calling them; Tracy, Laina, Amber, I saw them all! Get out, Yamcha. Our deal is off. Get out before I call the police."

"But--"

"OUT!" she roared through a haze of tears. Yamcha whirled around and ran out the door, his feet pounding the pavement as he sped out of sight.

Sinking to her knees, Bulma once more buried her face in her hands. "What possessed me to agree to such a thing? I should've known this would happen!" she berated herself, asking a question to which she knew she already had the answer. In her heart, she knew she had longed to be held and coddled and appreciated. She knew she would never receive the kind of attention she so desperately needed from Vegeta. At the time of the agreement, she had convinced herself that she was doing it to earn herself a free babysitter, but now she could only admit to herself that what she really wanted was affection.

Someone to hold me…

Shuddering with silent sobs, she pulled her knees up to her chest and cried.