Concerto Six

Moving Backward To Go Forward

oooOooo

The lull of rain orchestrated the soundtrack to the dismal weather, the cold winter breaking slightly to produce an unusually warm day. Bulma watched cars drive by the café window in a uniformed fashion, and she found herself slightly jealous. They waltzed by her, softly splashing droplets against the square, side street window, unapologetic about their hurried motions. Everyone had somewhere to go, something to do, and she sat here waiting.

With a sigh, she glanced down at her watch again, only to be taunted by the ticking time. Yamcha had agreed to meet her at their favorite café downtown for lunch, his own way of apologizing for his lack of attention lately, and he was already teetering on the forty five minute late mark. She wasn't too entirely upset about not seeing him often, the schematics of her and her father's smart home design occupying more time than she would have thought, but at least she had shown up on time. And she didn't have the luxury of having a two week vacation either.

She swiveled the phone around on the table in front of her in a full circle, her mind slowly giving way to an imaginary game of spin the bottle, before she finally broke down to texting him. In the early stages of their relationship, he had accused her of being too nagging, too clingy, even though it was he who would call first and arrange dates and other outings. As such, she tried not to become too overbearing, even in moments such as these when it was her right to ask about his tardiness. She knew that he was probably resting on his last day before heading back to Vegeta's boot camp of an orchestra, but didn't she at least deserve a call?

The agony was punching her in the stomach, and she barely sucked in a breath before she realized that she was being silly. He was her boyfriend, after all, and it shouldn't annoy him if she wanted to call him and locate his whereabouts. Her thumb lazily unlocked the screen and searched for his name, the familiar pink hearts and yellow faces blowing kisses flashing across the screen. Bringing the receiver up to her ear, she balanced it on her shoulder with ease, turning her head to once again watch the grey clouds paint the afternoon sky.

"Hello?" His voice was breathy and pitchy, causing her stomach to flip flop in insecurities.

"Where are you?" She chewed her bottom lip in frustration as her ears sensitively listened for the voice of another- the feminine voice of another.

"Just getting some workout time in with Goku and Krillin, babe. These guys are insane, I mean I thought I was obsessed with working out, but I've got nothing on them. You should see them-"

"So you're not coming!?" Her tone was hard to barricade in sweetness as the weight of his words washed over her. He had stood her up to exercise? She would have taken it a little easier if he was still sleeping, but he wasn't going to show up to lift weights?

"Coming? Coming where…" she heard the hesitation in his voice as it dawned on him. "Oh man, Bulma, I'm so sorry. I totally forgot about our lunch date today."

"We just talked about it last night," she breathed out, unable to coax the irritation dripping from her tone, "you were the one who picked the place out."

"I know, I know, babe. There's just so much going on right now, you know, with rehearsals starting back up tomorrow, and I just want to take care of my body while I got the chance to do so. You understand, right?"

She sighed into the receiver, battling the urge to either become the understanding girlfriend or the irate one.

"I'll make it up to you. Tonight even. I'll take you to that new restaurant that opened up on the north side. I heard they have incredible veal."

It's actually kind of dry, she wanted to say but she swallowed the words. Yamcha had always complained that she did too many things without him, enjoyed new adventures without bothering to call, so when she slipped up and indulged in new eateries she kept it a secret. That way she could enjoy whatever meal she desired, not even bothering to count calories like he so often did for them, and not have to hear his remarks about how many glasses of wine she ordered. "Don't you have to get up early tomorrow? If we go to that place, it'll take us at least an hour to get back home, and that's just me being nice."

He breathed heavily into the phone and she knew he was pondering. "I mean, it is a little inconvenient, but I am the one who stood you up and, gosh babe, I just feel terrible about it."

A child walked past the window and looked inside the small café, his eyes hungrily roaming over the various sweets at the stand behind her. His mother tried to tug him along, but he whined and pulled on her sleeve, pointing at the colorful pastries. Bulma couldn't help but smile, Yamcha's voice becoming white noise to her, as she watched the kid smile toothily in victory as he danced to the café doors. She found herself missing that sort of innocence; the one that life robs you of when you finally open the naïve veil over your eyes. She thought she found the freedom in the passionate strokes of a brush against a canvas, but now she realized that she simply hadn't taken off her veil yet.

"Bulma? Babe? You still there?"

"Yeah," she said half-heartedly, feeling her heart clench at her dismal perspective on her adult life. She was young and fortunate enough to not have to stress over money, and had a mind that knew no limitations. So why did she feel so stifled, so caged?

"So do you want to go out to dinner or not?"

Her answer was muffled as her eyes focused on a flicker of hair across the street from her view, the person briskly walking under the green and pink striped awnings to avoid the steady rain. Her gaze followed him, recognizing immediately the familiar flamed hairstyle, wondering what he was doing and where he was going. Yamcha yelled into her ear again, startling her from her thoughts, as she gathered her purse and coat.

"Sorry, Yamcha, but I don't think tonight will work. Maybe we can have brunch or something tomorrow when you get a break in your schedule."

"Are you sure? I don't want you to be upset at me."

"No, it's fine. I won't be upset, just as long as you don't leave me hanging again. "

"I promise, babe," he chuckled, pausing briefly to chat with one of the men in the background, "Listen, I'm going to have to let you go. The guys are pestering me about hurrying it up, so I'll just see you tonight. Not sure what time I'll be home, though."

"It's fine, take your time," she sauntered out of the café, her eyes searching the busy streets for Vegeta, "I'll talk with you later."

"Alright, beautiful. I love you."

"You too," she said before realizing how off putting it was. But her thumb had ended the call without her brain's confirmation, and her new quest was nagging her to continue. She would give Yamcha an acceptable excuse later, but her curiosity was bugging her now.

She wasn't one hundred percent sure as to why she had decided to follow him, creeping in shadows like an alley cat, but she found herself staying out of sight to see what he was up to. Something about Vegeta and his musical genius of a brain itched her quizzical one, and from their few conversations, it was very unlikely to her that he would be willing to share what made him the visionary that she witnessed at the concert. And considering that this part of downtown was home to the self-proclaimed artists and musicians of South City, it piqued her interest in what he found endearing over in these parts.

It wasn't hard to keep up, with his ink stained hair helping pose as her guide, and soon she found herself outside of a vintage floral shop. She snooped below the front window, pressing her back against the glass as if she was browsing the outside arrangements, all the while looking over her shoulders at him. He seemed direct in his purchasing mission, heading straight to the counter and pointing at a vase of lilies to the clerk. So he was dating someone, then? She tried to imagine the type of woman who could handle Vegeta's sharp tongue. Was she soft, like the petals of the lilies he was now handing his card over for, or was she as delicate as a razor blade? Did she whisper sweet nothings in his ear when he brought her flowers like that?

He paid for them, not bothering to even mutter a full sentence to the clerk, and made his way to the door. Bulma turned so that her back would be to his, but she underestimated just how close she was to his frame. She could practically taste the cologne that layered him as he stepped out of the shop, hearing a shuffle from his bag as he carefully protected them from the rain. When she heard the clacking of his oxfords on the cobbled pavement behind her, she slowly turned around before continuing her escapade. She felt like a sly fox readying on its prey, except hers was dark and mysterious and she wasn't convinced she should even be biting.

He walked down the cluttered street and Bulma took notice at how people seemed to move out of his way. Perhaps it was the foreboding expression that stained his face, or the way his hand was shoved in his pocket, angling his elbow like it was a self-preserved weapon, but it was as if they were trying their hardest to not bump into him.

Perhaps he was a regular in these parts, and they knew him.

He walked faster once he passed an intersection, before sharply turning into another building. This one was lavender, a cute little shop that Bulma had never paid much attention to, with the words 'NAPPA'S FINE GOODS' splattered on the white awning. There was no window readily available for her to peer into, forcing her to go inside if she still wanted to be the nosy little mouse she was becoming accustomed to. She grabbed a soggy newspaper neglected on the bench in front of the shop and entered, stuffing her face in the wet contents.

Vegeta beelined for the counter, making Bulma wonder if he ever took his time in just looking around like she liked to do, and cleared his throat loudly. The shop owner-Nappa, maybe?- approached, and as Bulma swiveled around to avoid another customer, she noticed the glow of a smile of the owners face that screamed familiarity as he drank Vegeta in.

"Mr. N'Ouija," he said, his upper lip getting lost in the thickness of his moustache, "you have great timing."

"So I take it that you were able to fix it, then?" Vegeta's voice was softer than she realized, yet deep and velvety, like the undertone of a piano key, and it made her shiver. Whenever they conversed, his words were clipped, tight. But he spoke with such an oozing amount of smoothness that she almost didn't recognize it.

"Just like you asked," the owner placed a velvet cloth on the glass counter and sat a gold necklace on the surface. Vegeta hunched over it, studying it closely. She watched him run his fingers over the chains, delicately like he was stroking a newborn bird, and nod his head in subtle approval. So he was dating someone. And he had purchased his lover flowers and a necklace. Bulma never pegged him as the romantic type, but her eyes saw what she could only confirm as gestures of affection.

"This will suffice. How much do I owe you?"

"Vegeta…" the husky voice quieted with familiarity, spiking Bulma's already heightened attention. "You know that I can't charge you for this."

"How much, Nappa?" Vegeta's voice tightened.

The older man sighed, tracing the curves of his moustache. "I don't feel right making you pay for this. She'd kill me if she knew."

"Well she isn't here right now, I am. So how much? If you don't answer, I'll leave an absurd amount on the counter and consider our business finalized, both now and in the future."

Nappa stared at Vegeta with hardened eyes. Bulma couldn't believe it. This nice man was offering his services for free, and Vegeta was still being so cold towards him?

"Fine. Fifty dollars."

"That's underpaying."

"What do you-" Nappa realized his tone was carrying and he quieted it, looking around to make sure he didn't disturb any of the other customers. He hunched over, whispering close to Vegeta as his palms pressed on the glass. "What do you want from me, huh? Fifty dollars is more than enough for this, so don't make this harder on me then it already is."

Vegeta stared back at him for a moment, growling low in his chest before taking the money out of his wallet and placing it in Nappa's hand. The exchange was tense, and Bulma couldn't help but wonder about the scenario. Why was his lover so adamant about him not paying, according to Nappa, and why was Vegeta so insisting that he did?

"I have to use your restroom, Nappa," Vegeta's words cut through her thoughts.

Nappa reached down and produced a key before letting up the wooden table that separated the front of the shop from the back. Vegeta coolly walked through, his tense back muscles constricting even under his thick black coat. When he was out of sight, Bulma decided to investigate a little further.

She approached the counter with her finger to her lips, browsing her blue eyes over several pieces of jewelry and antiques as if she was a potential customer. "Excuse me," she called out to Nappa, planting a smile on her lips.

"Oh, well, hello there miss," Nappa leaned his weight on his elbow, his eyebrow raising in her direction, his voice seeping with flirtation, "and just how can I help you today?"

Bulma laughed uncomfortably, not wanting to break her false character. "Well, I was hoping to buy a gift for my sister in law, on behalf of my brother. He wants me to get her the perfect necklace, but he wants it to look like it came from him. Now normally I'm flashy with my pieces, but he's more into the antiques."

"Then you've come to just the right place, miss….?"

Bulma hadn't thought of that. Sometimes, she forgot that her picture could be easily recognized to those that were into the sciences. Being in a more artsy platform gave her a sense of anonymity, but one name drop would ruin that. "Tights. My name is Tights."

"Ahh, an odd but beautiful name, just like its owner. I have several pieces behind the counter that would fit a woman of your tastes," he bent over to grab some chains, "and lucky for you, I have a sale going on today."

"Well, actually, I was eyeing the one that the gentleman had, the one who just went back there. I assume he was purchasing it for his girlfriend, so I figured I would take the cautionary leap of faith."

Nappa's face evened out as he met hers, the flirtation in his eyes flickering out like a neglected candle. "That chain is a one of a kind piece, and I only made it once."

"You made it? How talented of you. You must know his girlfriend very well to design such a marvelous chain."

"You don't know what you're talking about, Miss Tights, and if you did, you wouldn't be asking that sort of question while he was still around. And I've got the funny feeling that you know it isn't for his girlfriend."

Bulma caught her breath, feeling the persona of her charade dying out. "I'm not sure what you mean."

"Look, you're not the first and you probably won't be the last of these groupies of women that lust after the man," Nappa pointed a thick thumb in the back area of the shop, "but like I tell the rest of them that come in here, if he aint interested, then he aint interested. And you mingling in affairs that got nothing to do with you won't help your case. Now normally, I'd make a spectacle of you and call him back here to let him know what you're up to, but because you're gorgeous and all, I'll let you out of here with a warning: Vegeta has no place in that cold heart of his for any type of woman right now, and the only woman that lives there isn't going away no time soon. So get over yourself, and find someone who might be remotely interested." The fire came back to his eyes at his suggestive words as he wiggled his eyebrows at her. She shook her head at him.

"Look, I don't know what you think I'm doing, but I was just curious-"

"Nappa, you're out of towels."

Bulma turned away suddenly, making a direct exit for the door at the sound of Vegeta's voice. Her heart pumped at the almost-catching of her, and she moved to the nearby alley to catch her breath, the rain soaking her hair. Just what was she doing, following him around like a madwoman? All she had wanted to do was to see what made him tick, what inspired him, what shops he frequented, anything to break the ice of the man that held her unspoken admiration. She hadn't expected a lecture from some bald guy in an antique shop.

And she certainly hadn't expected to be presented with the sudden need to know more about Vegeta's personal life.

She heard the bells of the shop door open and peeked over the edge of the bricked alleyway wall. Vegeta was standing there, his hands stuffed in his pockets, the bouquet of lilies dangling under his arm. He stared straight into the distance, appearing to be studying the cars as they rolled past him, as the rain made its home in his thick hair. Bulma watched him with a perched eyebrow-just what was he doing now? Was he waiting for someone?

Bulma believed she had her answer. A woman was approaching, the heels of her red pumps playing music against the pavement, her cherry red curls bouncing on her shoulders. Her face was pressed tightly into a scowl, just the kind of woman that Bulma envisioned Vegeta would be into. But Nappa had said that Vegeta had no time for any sort of woman, so did that make her a groupie?

The woman walked towards Vegeta as he turned to look at her. She smiled briefly at him and he nodded, his eyes narrowed slightly as she parted her lips to talk.

"Haven't seen you around here in a while, Vegeta."

He shrugged his shoulders as he resumed his gazing off into the distance. "I've been busy."

She looked down at the ground, awkwardly kicking at one of the pebbles that decorated the side street, and nodded. "I've heard. Nappa tells me that you're making quite the impression on the music scene. I haven't had the chance to come out to a concert of yours, but I'm proud of you."

"You don't need to come. It isn't necessary."

"I figured you'd say that, but I will come see you play." She wiped her nose and looked off into the same distance he was looking at, the frizz of her curls battling the rain. "I remember you used to play all the time back then. It seemed like she never stopped talking about you, even to the point where I got jealous. She always said you would be something great and I'm glad you did." She turned back to Vegeta, her eyes locking on the bouquet nestled under his arm. "Are those for her?"

He turned his head slightly so that he could look at her, his eyes cold. "Don't you have work to do?"

"Of course." She smiled, although Bulma could tell that it was made of porcelain, and cupped her hands behind her back. "Well, it was good seeing you Vegeta. You should come visit us more often, Nappa really misses seeing you."

He didn't answer her, instead watching her small frame enter the shop behind them. She turned again briefly to give him a phantom smile again, eventually turning in to the shop.

Bulma watched the entire exchange with a curious mind. She was hoping to grab some answers on this makeshift voyeurism, but instead she was left with a boiling pot of questions. Vegeta turned in the opposite direction and began to walk, his shoes louder than the splash of rain ricocheting from car tires. She gave him a good distance before emerging from her hiding corner herself, looking briefly in the shop to see the red haired woman again. She was discussing something with Nappa, wringing out her curls and looking pretty sad. Bulma turned from the exchange and continued her suit of Vegeta, careful to not be seen and even more careful to not drown in her own thoughts about the entire ordeal.

oooOooo

Vegeta had nowhere interesting to go after that, only stopping by a newsstand for a sandwich and Coke, and Bulma was growing tired. She imagined that he would lead her into various music shops, art supply stores, even the library, somewhere other than just leaving his footprints in the downtown area.

The streets were ending just ahead of him, their cobblestones transitioning into luscious green grass. The rain was falling impossibly harder, making her vision blind from the wetness and wind. She had it now; Vegeta carried around secrets in the inner linings of his mouth so that only he could taste them. It probably explained why he never talked, lest he spilled them everywhere.

She was about to turn and call a cab to take her back to the café, her expedition taking her far longer than she initially planned, but then Vegeta abruptly stopped. She was lingering behind a tree, his back to her, when he began to speak into the wind:

"I know you're back there."

Her breath hitched in her throat. Was he talking to her? Impossible. Other than the almost slip up at Nappa's, she had done an impressive job at being inconspicuous. Or so she thought.

He turned around, the rain running down the sharp angles of his jaw, and she realized to her dismay that he was staring in her direction.

"Behind the tree. You're not that slick, Bulma."

Yikes, so she had been caught.

Reluctantly, she emerged from the tree, pushing the wet bangs from in front of her eyes. She gave him a lopsided grin, one that apologized and admitted her deception at once. His gaze was hard, his eyes the color of midnight, his lips unmoving. She wondered if she should move closer to him, perhaps explain to him what she had been doing all along. From his expression, it seemed pointless. So she asked the only thing that seemed appropriate:

"How did you know I was back there?"

Vegeta chuckled, the you-can't-be-serious undertone clearly lacing through his laughter, and shook his head. He stroked the sides of his jaw with his thumb and index finger. "No one in this entire city, and I'm willing to bet planet, has hair color the shade of the ocean. And on a day like today, you stick out like a sore thumb. I noticed you back at the floral shop."

"Oh." She looked down at her pathetically wet feet and felt their pain. So she hadn't been sly at all. She was a fool. "Are you upset?"

"Am I upset? You're asking me if I'm upset that you followed me around for almost an hour and fifteen minutes? What the hell do you think?"

"I'm sorry," she said softly, innocently running her eyes up to meet his, "I was just curious."

"About?"

"I don't know, you, I guess." She sighed and used one arm to shield her face from the rain, squeezing her elbow with the other. "I just wanted to see if you were doing something musically related. Maybe provide some insight into the man that I saw that night."

"The man that you saw that night," he repeated her words, his tone full of mockery, "what are you? A child?"

"No!" She knew she was wrong, especially now for getting caught, but the last thing she wanted was to deal with his condescending words. "It's just that you're so private and not very talkative, and I was hoping to do some research."

"Oh? So you're a reporter now?"

"No, not for an article. For a…" she looked at him, her face relaxing as she chewed over her next set of words, "It's for a painting I want to finish."

He didn't respond, instead watching her under a careful gaze, making her feel uncomfortable. The only sounds that blanketed them were the loud slaps of rain against cobblestone, an awkwardness sleeping between them. He looked down at the bouquet in his hands, not bothering to meet her face.

"Go home, Bulma. Go home to your simpleton of a boyfriend and tell him he'd better be on time for rehearsal tomorrow. Or better yet, go to my apartment and clean it out so that I can move in by the end of the month." He turned from her then, leaving her bewildered. Was that all he was going to say to her?

"Vegeta," she called out to him, fighting against the loudness of the rain, "where are you off to? The thing is, I've really got nothing to do, and I figured since I came all this way, maybe you'd like some company."

His back did not move and neither did his lips. She wondered if she had crossed the line, but she hadn't gained anything from her trip following him. The least she wanted was a chance to talk to him and figure him out, even if it was only slightly.

"You're a talented painter," he said aloud finally, "and your perception is remarkable. But even with that gift, you still can't see where you're not wanted." He paused, and for a second she braced herself for more hurtful words. "Go home," he said before walking ahead, this time not turning back.

She watched his silhouette until it faded in with the scenery of the trees, his figure hiding in the thick of the fog. Her eyes spotted something white and she looked on the ground, spotting a neglected lily. She walked over to it and picked it up, letting her fingers delicately roam over the silken flower. Something inside of her told her that he hadn't meant that; that for a second he was considering asking for company, even if it was just hers. There was something lonely about Vegeta, something isolated and sad, but a sturdy wall blocked away those emotions, letting the man hide behind scowls and harsh words.

But Bulma had seen differently. And even if no one else wanted to admit it, not Chi Chi and certainly not Yamcha, Vegeta was more than hushed whispers among his orchestra. He was more than stoicism and privacy. There was no way that someone so closed off could create something as so beautiful as the music she heard that night.

And as she tucked the lily into the pocket of her coat , carefully protecting it so that it didn't smush, she vowed to herself that she would make even him see it, too.

oooOooo

A/N :

Thank you to everyone who reviewed, liked, followed and favorited this story. You guys have been the best part of my year so far, you have no idea and I'm so grateful that you guys enjoy this story! I hope this chapter wasn't too boring, it was something I had envisioned in my head since I decided to turn this into a fic.

I won't drabble, so as always, please R&R my friends! Until next time!