Bulma's deep blue and gold dress floated about her figure as she stepped off the transporter pad. The two crewmen with her began hoisting her crates, but she ignored them as she regarded the ship's captain and first officer with practiced aloofness. "Captain Roshi, Commander Son," she said, a warm smile spreading across her face. "It's good to see you again."
"Ambassador," the captain greeted by way of a small bow. "What a surprise. Starfleet command didn't tell us whom we'd have the privilege of hosting." His eyebrows raised, and he chuckled with amusement as he turned toward his first officer. "What's the stardate again, commander? Feels like I've been thrown back a decade into the past."
Commander Son grinned at his superior. "I think it's only been seven years, captain," he replied, then turned toward their guest. "Bulma, it has been a long time. How are you?"
Bulma allowed him to take her arm as they escorted her from the room and into the familiar, pristine white halls of the Starship Nimbus. She was shown to her quarters, where her belongings had already been deposited. When she stepped inside, she discovered her living room would be spacious enough to accommodate guests, and her bedroom housed a king-sized bed.
"Please join me on the bridge when you're settled," Captain Roshi said, and with a not-so-subtle onceover, turned on his heel and retreated down the hallway.
Bulma's lip curled at the creepy old professor-turned-starship captain as he left, and she turned toward the commander. "I see he hasn't changed a bit," she said with a knowing smirk. "And neither have you. I guess you haven't found a woman able to tame you yet."
Commander Son blushed and rubbed a hand through his wild Saiyan hair. "Heh, I don't think it's me who needs taming," he said, looking down at his feet with a soft smile.
Bulma lifted an eyebrow and invited her old friend to take a seat. "Would you like to stay for dinner tonight? You can bring your untamed lady friend too," she said, casually rifling through her crates and producing a capsule containing a specialized replicator. "I brought your favourite."
Goku stammered at Bulma's tease and looked like he was about to deny it, but he turned his attention to the device in her hands instead. "We have replicators aboard the ship, you know," he said. At the blank expression Bulma gave him, he amended, "I know, nothing compares to a Briefs family special, but the captain will invite you to join us at dinner. And I think I'll need a little time before- that is, she-"
"You don't have to tell me, it's okay. It won't hurt my feelings too much." Bulma gave him a wink to put him at ease, then turned the conversation abruptly to business. "Commander, Roshi briefed you on the mission, did he not?"
"C'mon Bulma, no need to be so formal. You can still call me Goku. ...And yes, he did. Why?"
"Then you must know that I'm going to need you at my side when we make contact with the Legacy in response to their distress signal. I specifically requested a vessel with a Saiyan aboard because this would be difficult without an actual Saiyan present."
"Uh, about that," Goku said, but was interrupted by the comm.
Commander Son to the bridge.
"I'm on my way," Goku replied, then turned back to Bulma. "Come with me. I think you'll understand why you're aboard Nimbus if I introduce you to our tactical officer."
As the turbolift's doors opened with a stately whoosh, Bulma got her first look at the Nimbus' bridge in years. Like its captain, it felt as though nothing had changed—save for a few obvious upgrades here and there to the upholstery and panel configuration.
"Ambassador, good of you to join us," Captain Roshi greeted them. He turned to his first officer. "Commander, we're going to make a pitstop at Kami's Lookout to bring on a few extra crew, orders of the admiral himself."
"Aye, captain," Goku said and left Bulma in the company of his captain to go and make the necessary preparations.
"I hope you will enjoy your stay aboard the Nimbus," Roshi said. "I understand you are already acquainted with many members of my crew."
"I look forward to seeing all of them," Bulma said, walking down the ramp and glancing around at all of the curious faces on the bridge, some familiar and some new. "Commander Son and I–" she said and then stopped mid-sentence as a certain officer caught her gaze. "I'm sorry captain, is he your tactical officer?" She gestured to a man standing at the console to the left of the bridge, who now turned his attention toward her with an expression that mirrored her own disbelief. He looked different. Older, obviously, but even the way he carried himself had changed. He'd become as rigid as she remembered every other member of his family being.
"Oh, are you also familiar with Lieutenant Vegeta?" Roshi asked.
Bulma didn't turn to face him when she replied. "Yes, sir. We went to the academy together."
"Excellent. I've assigned him to be your right-hand for this mission."
Bulma's face fell.
"I've asked that Lieutenant Vegeta assist you in strategizing in the days we have remaining before we make contact with the Legacy." Roshi turned toward Vegeta. "Lieutenant, please make sure Ambassador Briefs has whatever she needs for the duration of her stay with us."
There was a long pause as Vegeta and Bulma stared at each other before the lieutenant nodded. "Aye, sir," he said, tone entirely professional but masking the contempt Bulma knew he felt for her. He gestured for her to step back into the turbolift, where he followed and stood on the opposite side from her, hands tucked behind his back and sitting just under his wrapped tail. He looked the epitome of Starfleet decorum and stared straight ahead, not even sparing her a glance. An icy silence stretched between them once the doors closed and the lift descended deck by deck.
"Ambassador," he finally said as the doors opened at their destination. He stiffly held out his open palm to indicate that she ought to go first.
"Very professional, Lieutenant," she mock-commended him. "Or would you prefer to be called Prince?" She allowed a tiny smirk to adorn her lip at the sarcastic inflection in her last statement.
"As long as I am an officer on this vessel, you will address me as such," Vegeta stated coldly.
"And as long as I'm the Ambassador by whose wishes the captain has been ordered to comply, I outrank you, Lieutenant." Bulma was going to enjoy pushing him to the limits of his patience. "Now let's get to it, shall we?" she asked in the brightest tone she could manage, just to annoy him.
The mission looked straightforward on paper: contact and assist a Saiyan generation vessel who'd sent out a distress signal. But of course, Bulma's missions were never merely straightforward. The Legacy, as it was called, had been out of contact with Vegeta-sei for a century after being deployed into deep space.
The war with the Federation had only been over for the last 35 years.
"What do we know about the attitudes on Vegeta-sei a hundred years ago?" Bulma asked.
Vegeta sat across from the conference room table from her, arms crossed. "Anti-Federation sentiments were at an all-time high."
Bulma brought her hand to her chin and tapped her cheek. "Hm," she murmured. "How are we going to fit a hundred years of progress into a single mission?"
"Tch." Vegeta tried to hide his contemptuous smirk when Bulma looked up at him.
"What?" she snapped.
"Permission to speak freely, Ambassador?" Vegeta asked, all snark now that they were behind closed doors.
She'd rise to that challenge, ready to shoot him down. "Speak your mind, Lieutenant."
"The last thing that's going to be on their mind is diplomacy. They're expecting a Saiyan vessel and a Saiyan crew. Personally, I think it's absolute idiocy on the part of Starfleet to be sending the Nimbus in."
"I specifically requested a vessel with a Saiyan aboard," Bulma said, furrowing her brow. Where was he going with this?
"That's just it. They saw fit to send a human ambassador."
"And they gave me the help of the Saiyan prince. High Command are on their way, but I was the closest option, and I'm sorry if that's not good enough for you, but we have to make do with what we've got. Now, are you going to offer more arguments or do you have any useful input?"
"You need to let me handle the speaking. They will accept my authority."
Bulma rolled her eyes. "They've been independent for a hundred years. Things will be more difficult than you think." She paced back and forth before stopping to look up at him again. "Do you have your royal garments with you?"
Vegeta eyed her suspiciously. "I have some. What are you thinking?"
"Good, I'm sure we can replicate whatever you don't have," she said, dismissing his question with a wave of her hand. "Go bring me what you've got, and we'll start from there."
Vegeta watched her as she paced but stayed put.
"Now, Lieutenant," Bulma commanded. How far apart they'd grown.
A day later, they stopped at Kami's Lookout, a Starfleet base orbiting an enormous blue gas giant. The Nimbus bustled with activity as the staff loaded medical supplies and tuned up the warp coils.
Bulma took the time to stretch her legs and escape the lieutenant. They'd done nothing but argue since she arrived, and he was really starting to get on her nerves.
Bulma kept out of the workers' way as much as she could, but she found a prime viewing spot and sat to watch the cacophony. The hangar to which Nimbus was docked had ceilings almost higher than the ship itself and its deck stretched nearly 800 meters across. The station serviced ships, shuttles, and cruisers of all different makes. Bulma could see Saiyan pods amongst them as well.
A short, bald man with a tattoo on his forehead was guiding one such pod toward Nimbus on a hover cart when he spotted her. "Bulma!" he shouted, waving from across the hangar. "Good to see you!"
Bulma wiggled her fingers at him in response. Krillin was one of her first human friends at the academy. Beside him stood a tall Namekian named Piccolo who didn't spare her a second glance, too focused on his task helping Krillin move the pods.
Once it was apparent that the ship was preparing to get underway, Bulma strolled back aboard and down the hall toward her quarters.
"Ambassador," Piccolo's voice sounded behind her, startling her wandering thoughts. She turned toward him, wide-eyed. He'd never spoken a word to her before.
"Lieutenant," she replied, spying the rank pips on his collar.
Piccolo bowed in formal greeting. "It is good to see you. I understand Nimbus is responding to a distress call and that your services were required due to the delicate situation. Please allow me to assist in any way I can."
Bulma nodded slowly, confused at what brought this on. "Thank you, I will let you know if there's anything I need."
Piccolo bowed again, and with that, he left. Bulma turned to watch him leave, but shook her head as he rounded the corner. The Namekians were an agreeable, peaceful race, but Piccolo was different from his brethren. He preferred solitude to meditate, whereas other Namekians were community-oriented. And instead of living a peaceful life, he trained every spare moment he could get. At least, that's what Krillin had told her. Piccolo had been an outsider even at the academy, but his impressive skillset and knowledge of dozens of martial arts ensured he was left alone by those who would mock him, and sought out by those who required his expertise.
Bulma continued to her quarters and settled in by the viewport. There were at least two more weeks before they'd be in range of the Legacy-ample time to choose the wisest course of action if she'd been assigned to any other Saiyan but the prince.
"Captain, I'm picking up a signal," the communications officer, Yamcha, said. They were a week into their sojourn from Kami's Lookout and so far, nothing notable had happened.
Bulma sat to the captain's left, while the commander sat at his right. She hadn't spent much time on the bridge yet, instead spending her days arguing with Vegeta, catching up with old friends, and writing essays in the privacy of her quarters.
"It's on an outdated frequency. I think it's Saiyan, sir."
Roshi nodded. "We're probably picking up the Legacy's distress call on a higher band. Means we're getting close."
"I'm also getting something else, but it's so faint that our sensors can't make it out. I'm working on amplifying it."
"Keep me updated." Roshi nodded and turned to Bulma. "I'd like you and Lieutenant Vegeta to meet me at 1300 hours to discuss your progress." His gaze lingered on her face for a while longer before he turned back to the viewscreen.
Bulma nodded, mildly perturbed the way his eyes were struggling to stay above her neckline. At least the old man was trying. There wouldn't be much progress to report, but they were still a week away.
The spacious conference room where Bulma had spent a better part of the week attempting to make arrangements began to feel stifling. She sat across from the captain but next to Vegeta, and she longed to be in any other seat than this one. But, dammit, she'd been here first and he was the one who sat down next to her. She wasn't about to give in.
"I may not be the ranking officer for this mission, sir," Vegeta said. "But, speaking as the reason this particular vessel was chosen by Starfleet, we need to do more. We have to plan for every contingency."
"We have plenty of time, Lieutenant," Bulma argued. "I'm not expecting the first encounter to go smoothly. We have to build their trust."
Vegeta shook his head. "You need to let me do the talking first. Any other solution will only end in disaster." He turned toward her and spoke condescendingly: "Some of us have an aptitude for battle strategy, and I would suggest you listen."
The worst part of this situation, Bulma thought, was they couldn't even agree to disagree.
A week later to the day, Bulma received a communication from the bridge in the middle of the night. "I'm sorry to wake you, but we have detected the Legacy on short range sensors, ma'am," the officer said. "The captain requests your presence on the bridge immediately."
Bulma wished she had more time to prepare. She had to settle for only a light dusting of makeup and hastily-donned ceremonial garb. When she stepped out onto the bridge, she felt woefully inadequate next to Vegeta in his regalia with all of its white plating, gold trim, and the flowing red cape.
"Their weapons are charged," Piccolo, who was on shift as helmsman, said quietly.
"Unsurprisingly, it appears we've been led into a trap. Shields up," ordered the captain. Then, noticing Bulma as she entered the bridge, he beckoned for her to hurry. Once she was in position next to the lieutenant, he turned toward the communications officer and gave him a nod.
No amount of studying history texts could have prepared Bulma for the sheer ferocity exuded by the group of hooded Saiyans who appeared abruptly on the view screen.
Roshi quietly murmured to raise the Nimbus's shields, but not to ready the weapons yet.
"What is the meaning of this?" the one standing in front and who seemed to be their captain hissed. He looked between the human captain, his Saiyan first officer in traditional Saiyan garb, replete with a hood similar to the one the other Saiyans wore, and the man who stood by them both decked in full Saiyan royal armour.
"My name is Captain Roshi of the Starship Nimbus," Roshi began. "I have been sent by-"
"I do not address you, human," the other captain spat. He turned toward Vegeta. "You, who wears the crest of House Vegeta. You defy the tenets of our forebears and lower yourself in this way? You dare stand as an equal next to these filthy-"
"I am Prince Vegeta of the planet Vegeta-sei," Vegeta interrupted, his voice more powerful and authoritative than Bulma had ever heard it before. It belied his rank in Saiyan society and his royal privilege, and brought a chill down her spine. The prince resembled his father when he spoke. "By the authority vested in me by the House of my father, King Vegeta, I order you to stand down. We are here to offer our assistance in response to your distress call."
The Saiyan captain's first officer scoffed. "A Saiyan prince, having dealings with humans? With Starfleet? Laughable!" he roared. "No Saiyan worth his salt would lower himself to such filth, much less someone claiming to be the prince."
"The Saiyan High Command has sent me before you," Vegeta said, respectfully addressing the officer but turning his attention pointedly back to the Legacy's captain. "The war has been over for 35 years. Power down your weapons, and we will escort you peacefully back to Vegeta-sei. If you do not comply, you will be taken by force."
His command was met with raucous laughter from the bridge of the Legacy and an order from their captain to fire upon the Nimbus.
Bulma braced herself as the the explosions reflected off the shields, sending a gentle rocking throughout the vessel. She realized that Vegeta was attempting to speak in terms that an antiquated Saiyan society would understand, but she resented his ultimatum. They had so much more to work with, and he'd just set her plans back in a major way.
The next part of the encounter went about as well as Bulma expected. The Nimbus's shields easily took the brunt of it and fired a warning shot of its own to show the Legacy just how out-classed it was. It would take days now, if not weeks, to reason with the wayward Saiyans.
Roshi ordered them immobilized in the Nimbus's tractor beam to avoid destroying them. The crew set about repairing the shield generators, and Bulma and Vegeta went back to the drawing board.
Bulma stood in the centre of her quarters, hand cupping her chin and covering her smug expression. "You always did tell me that the only thing that outweighs Saiyan Loyalty is Saiyan Pride."
"This is not the time to be repeating old proverbs," Vegeta hissed. "And there's no need to state the obvious."
"Are you upset?" Bulma asked, leaning her other arm on her counter and feigning genuine concern. "I told you this wasn't going to be as easy as you thought. Did you consider that maybe not every Saiyan is willing to kneel before someone else just because they're told to?"
"No Saiyan would do that," Vegeta spat. "But cohesion and loyalty to the royal family have helped my people weather many storms."
"So they don't accept you as their sovereign," Bulma said with a nonchalant shrug. "So what? This is why Starfleet assigned me to the Nimbus. Stuff your pride back into your pants for just a second and let me do my job, would you?"
Vegeta sputtered at her vulgar phrasing, but she ignored the tomato-red shade of his face as she contemplated options. "We clearly need to appeal to their pride, because like you said, they're not going to kneel just because you told them to. They've lived on that ship for generations-nobody aboard has been alive long enough to know what it's like to live in subjection to their planet or the royal family. They've had decades to build their own hierarchy, so we'll need to figure out what the status quo is before we shake it up."
"They knew my family crest," Vegeta murmured. "They clearly still hold some sort of reverence for their king."
"There's an old earth saying that one should never meet their heroes," Bulma replied sardonically. "Maybe you're just a disappointment to them."
As soon as the words left her mouth, she knew she'd gone too far.
Vegeta flinched as though her words had flayed his skin. "Maybe so, Ambassador, but I'm still Saiyan, and so are they. I'm not sure what good a human is going to do, and I'm not sure why Starfleet thought it was a wise decision to send you here."
"Isn't it obvious? To set a fire under your ass, because apparently you can't come up with the conclusions on your own."
Vegeta snarled and took to his feet, ready to come to blows if she again insulted him. "Do not think I won't bring you to your knees before me just because we are familiar with each other," he growled.
Bulma lifted an eyebrow. "Is that a threat or an invitation, Prince?" She took a step toward him. "Don't tell me you've decided to finish what you started all those years ago." She bit her lip and gazed at him from underneath hooded eyes, relishing in how uncomfortable her actions made him.
Vegeta backed up like a cornered animal at the sudden turn in her mood. "Woman, step away from me this instant. Nothing happened then, and nothing is going to happen now!" He bared his teeth, old instincts flooding to the fore as he dropped into a fighting stance.
"Nothing may have happened, Lieutenant, but that doesn't mean you didn't want it to. That you don't want it to now."
"You know my station could never allow it," Vegeta said, the fire instantly gone from his voice.
Bulma straightened up and dropped the pretense. "So you admit that you want it?"
"No, that's not what I said. You are a fool for even thinking I could want a human woman."
Bulma's cold gaze swept over his face. The prick was lying, but she knew better than to call him out on it. "The existence of half-Saiyans tells me that your people don't find us nearly as repulsive as you all seem to claim," she spat.
"Well, maybe if you were half-Saiyan, we'd have a fighting chance to convince the lost Saiyans to come home. But you're just a sad wannabe who can't decide which world she belongs to."
Bulma balled her fists at her side and, when she found herself unable to control her temper, stormed past Vegeta and kicked over a vase in the process, leaving it to shatter in her wake as she rounded the corner into her bedroom. She might be human, but her temper was all Saiyan.
Not long after, Bulma heard the tell-tale whoosh of the door as Vegeta let himself out. When she re-emerged, she saw that he'd left the shattered vase where it lay.
As she paced about her room, still silently fuming, her door chime sounded.
"Come in," she sighed, steeling herself to explain what had just happened to whichever unlucky soul stood on the other side.
To her surprise, it was not Goku as she expected, but the captain's advisor, Chichi-a woman with whom Bulma was not very familiar.
Chichi's long black ponytail swayed as she glanced at the floor behind Bulma's feet. "I'm almost afraid to," she replied with a skeptical expression, tucking the strands framing her face behind her ears.
Bulma stood aside to invite her in.
"I saw the Lieutenant stalking toward his quarters looking grouchier than usual a few minutes ago. Things still aren't going well, I presume?" Chichi asked with a knowing smile. "He can be… difficult, sometimes."
"It's like you read his mind," Bulma said, a smirk pulling at the corner of her mouth.
"Even if I could, I didn't have to. But I knew he'd be fine. You—not so much. You're still upset."
"Did your empathic abilities tell you that?"
Chichi simply nodded to the broken shards on the floor.
"To be fair, that happened earlier," Bulma said with a guilty shrug.
Chichi leaned in conspiratorially and whispered, "You know, exercise is a great way to blow off some steam."
"I suppose you're going to direct me to the holodeck?" Bulma asked with a wry smile, and had her answer when Chichi mirrored her expression.
"It's for your own good. And that of the ship," Chichi replied, leading Bulma out of her quarters and down the hall. Once they reached the holodeck, Chichi left the ambassador to her own devices with a set of meditations to run through.
Bulma scrolled through the pre-programmed crewman exercise modules until she found Vegeta's. She knew it would provide a challenge for her; despite being a skilled warrior in his own right, Vegeta and Bulma had been trained under the same masters, and she could hold her own.
Once the program was loaded, Bulma stepped inside and gazed around at the lush, dense jungle that awaited her. A quick-running stream gurgled a few meters inside, and in the distance, she heard a bird call into the wild. Only yards away, a clearing surrounded by the hulking remains of a transmitter tower awaited her.
The computer decked her out in an almost perfect replica of her old battle armour from Vegeta-sei; if she didn't know better, she might have thought it had come directly from her closet. Every detail was painstakingly crafted, and Bulma knew that this was exactly the experience she was looking for. She pulled the leather armour tighter around her middle and the metal plating on her vambraces clanged as she moved. Once she was finished inspecting the stitching (which looked authentic as far as she could tell), she stood up straight. "Computer, my daggers."
She never did master ki as her Saiyan counterparts had, but she was deadly enough with her pair of blades that she could hold her own in an arena like this one. The weapons materialized in her hands and she dropped into a stance, waiting for the inevitable surge of enemies that lurked in the shadows.
Almost immediately, a humanoid enemy burst forth from the brush and charged for a full-frontal assault. Bulma coughed as he pinned her against a nearby tree, but was quickly able to break free and take him down with a well-placed dagger in his jugular. Almost immediately, another enemy sprang forward, but she was ready for this one. She ducked and wove around his own dual blades as one got stuck in the tree and the other swung fruitlessly in the empty air.
It had been a while since she'd felt the adrenaline coursing in her body like this. The sweat poured from Bulma's brow as wave after wave of enemy bore down upon her. The humid jungle air seemed to press in on her lungs as she gasped for breath. The feral grin that split her face portrayed something fiercer than human.
It had been a long time since she'd exerted herself like this, but there was no time to stop and catch her breath. A group of three enemies converged on her at once, wielding electrified weapons and menacing grins. She took them all out by using their own size against them, grabbing one by the shoulders utilizing his momentum to take down his comrades.
Bulma sensed a presence behind her and whirled around to face her enemy, daggers dripping with synthesized blood. "Not much of a program," she said as she straightened up.
Vegeta kicked the dead enemy between them and locked her in his dark gaze. "Tch. Computer, level two."
Together they dispatched the new wave of goons, mirroring each other's movements and tumbling past each other in perfect sync as their enemies fell at their feet. And once it was over, they stood on opposite end of the clearing, gasping for air and intent on seeing each other to their death.
Bulma made the first move. She dropped her daggers to run at Vegeta, empty-fisted and angry, but when he caught her wrists and held her at arm's length, she stopped struggling. She could read in his eyes the emotions he struggled to hide. To her surprise, he let her go. She lunged at him again, but this time he allowed her to crash into him and pound her fists against the armour guarding his chest. "Why did you abandon me?" she sobbed. "How could you cut me out like that?"
Pain. It was pain in Vegeta's eyes, and it bubbled to the surface in the tender way he stroked the back of his trembling hand down her tear-soaked cheeks. "I didn't think you could understand," he murmured softly.
"You didn't care to let me try." Bulma pulled back from him to look him in the eyes, ugly-crying be damned. "You stopped trusting me."
"No," he whispered roughly. "I didn't trust myself."
Then he grabbed her hair and pulled her head to the side, nuzzling his face into the crook of her neck and inhaling her scent like he'd been starved of if half his life.
She dropped her hands to her sides as her brain short-circuited at the sudden change in the atmosphere. Her hands found their way to his waist as he nipped at her pulse point, ran his teeth along her jaw, and finally captured her mouth in a kiss that betrayed his years of desperation and longing.
The intensity that she brought to the kiss unmasked her own unfulfilled desires, and in a moment of unbridled passion, she shoved the prince up against the nearest vertical surface and bit his neck in return.
That was all the encouragement he needed.
As she pulled the straps of her top up over her shoulders, Bulma eyed Vegeta with an impish grin. "I guess some exercise programs are better than others."
Vegeta regarded her for a moment from his newfound spot atop a twisted piece of metal. "You humans sure know how to make light of a situation."
"You never could stand it when I tried to make you laugh," Bulma said, then imitated his expression with an over-exaggerated seriousness.
"That's not true," Vegeta said quietly. "But you hide behind it. You can never say what you mean."
Bulma smiled enigmatically. "That's part of my charm, babe. I can't play all my cards for the world to see, you know. But you, on the other hand, keep your cards so close to your chest that I'd say it's your biggest flaw."
"I don't often have much to say," Vegeta countered. "I prefer to listen."
"Or you're too afraid to speak your mind," Bulma teased even though she knew it wasn't quite true, then sighed wistfully. "We should have done this years ago."
"We weren't ready-" Vegeta began, but Bulma cut him off.
"I was," she said with a cheeky lift of an eyebrow.
"There was too much happening in our lives, and too many responsibilities to care for," Vegeta continued as though she had not spoken at all. "We could not have committed to each other."
"I think you were too afraid," Bulma replied, but deep down she knew he was right. She startled when she looked up to find him on the ground and stalking toward her.
"Not anymore," Vegeta said, his voice low but filled with purpose.
Bulma watched with alarm as he tore a strip of cloth from his uniform and reached out to do the same to her top. "What are you doing?" she asked in disbelief, stepping back in shock as he rent a piece of fabric from her own clothing and tied the strips together.
He can't possibly be- No. He's insane if he thinks- Bulma's thoughts were cut short as Vegeta took one of her hands in his and set about winding the cloth around them.
"Are you out of your mind?" Bulma asked as she slipped from his grip and nearly tripped backwards over herself as she tried to get away.
Vegeta's gaze bore into her own, confusion evident-he knew that she should know what this meant. "We are one," he said simply, cocking his head ever so slightly in silent bemusement to her reaction.
Bulma glanced side to side, certain she was in some bad dream. "I know, I was there," she said incredulously.
"Then we must perform the ceremony at once," Vegeta said, furrowing his brow. To him, it was an obvious progression of events.
To Bulma, however…
"I'm not marrying you!" she shrieked, wrapping her arms around her middle and shrinking into herself. "I can't be somebody's wife!"
"You already are," Vegeta stated, then motioned with the cloth in his hand for her to come closer.
"That's a Saiyan custom, and I am not a Saiyan," Bulma spat. She turned on her heel and purposefully strode toward the door of the holodeck. So much for blowing off steam.
"For all intents and purposes, yes, you are," Vegeta bellowed after her. "You were raised on Vegeta-sei. You swore the oath beside me. Now you would throw all of that away? You would dishonour your prince and your promise?"
"I was eleven!" Bulma screamed back, turning to face him again and glad to see he had stayed put. "Don't you dare throw the decisions I made when I was a child back in my face. I can't marry you for more reasons than I can count."
"Didn't seem to stop you earlier," Vegeta scoffed. He was red in the face-anger, shame, embarrassment? Who knew? Who cared?
"I had a great time, Prince Vegeta," Bulma said through clenched teeth now. "But it's just sex. That doesn't make me your wife."
"That's a human attitude."
"Well, you idiot, I am human."
"You're more Saiyan than you realize."
"Ha!" Bulma couldn't help the bitter laugh that escaped her. "So that means I need to follow all your little traditions?"
"You pledged your loyalty to our ways." Vegeta was near admitting defeat, but the pride inside him burned like a pilot light that refused to go out.
Bulma could read the shame, anger, and heartbreak on his face, but her own turbulent emotions prevented her from going to him. The side that urged her to him almost won out before she squashed it decisively and tucked it away where it could never see the light of day. "Your ways, not mine," she said quietly, and turned to leave before he could see the tears streaming down her face for the second time that day.