Author's Note: You all KNOW how long it has been since I updated…and I can not help but be amazed that these characters still move me to write after so long. I hope you all are still enjoying the story. It will actually be completed with in the next few months. (yeah, I know…I've said that before.) Anyway, welcome back to all my old friends and well met, to my new readers. The usual disclaimer applies…I do not own Dragonball Z, or any of the characters herein, except Sirabi.
Happy Birthday Vegeta
Chapter Eleven : Guess Who's Coming to Dinner?
"I try to do subtle! I do! But I am just not built subtly." Bulma fumed in front of a ceiling to floor mirror, fussing with the latest reject from the "what-to-wear-to-Vegeta's-birthday-dinner" pile. While the word 'pile' hinted at some sort of order, there was none. It was more like a designer clothes diaspora. Thousand dollar gowns had been donned and dropped, tailored outfits in horrendously expensive fabrics were tossed to the floor with such recklessness, that the entire fashion industry must have felt the imbalance in the force. And once you had been discarded…there was no going back.
She paused for a deep breath before zipping up. Anxious eyes assessed the fit of the dress while nervous fingers tugged at the strapless top that threatened to spill her ample treasures.
"Damn!" she spat frustrated. "I can not find ANYTHING that feels right! Possibly because this whole birthday thing is beginning to not feel right." Her wan reflection nodded emphatically in agreement.
"It's too late to back out now," she scolded, and the floozy in the too tight silver lame' tube arched a sliver of brow at her. "We went to such trouble gathering the dragonballs." she pointed out. "And…this, is for Vegeta. For his happiness remember?"
She remembered. A kaleidoscope of blue blurred her vision as tears welled. A dozen Bulma's watched with shining eyes as she touched the crescent shaped scar left bare by the gown. "And the real truth, is that even after all this time, despite the bond, we're like strangers….he so rarely lets me in." She mused. "Barely civil strangers who just happen to have a son…."
Breathing shallowly she steered herself away from that particularly painful train of thought and drove straight into another. Her hair. And the whole, impossible thing that had happened…to her. Things like that didn't happen to Bulma Briefs…rubbing shaking hands over her head she scrubbed and pulled and tried to make her hair come back. She shook as helpless grief threatened to overtake her. With a terrible gasp, she fought it down, pushed it away, as ruthlessly as she had discarded the earlier gowns. That way, lay the keening madness of loss. She was afraid if she went there again, she would not return. All that she could do, was take what was left, and create anew.
The Gravity Room
"Vegeta." The vid-com blinked on in the room where the Saiyan Prince was doing ordinary push ups in extraordinary gravity.
"What is it Woman?" He replied without breaking stride, mostly because he knew it annoyed the hell out of her.
"Wear something nice to dinner for me. We're having company in honor of your birthday remember? Chichi, Gohan, Krillin and Piccolo are coming over. I think Krillin is bringing Eighteen." The Prince snorted. As if any of that meant a damn to him.
"I do not understand why you insist on making an ordeal out of this day..." He started gruffly and lost count of his push ups when she interrupted.
"I know you don't understand, Vegeta. Humor me...just for tonight...if you would."
The satin sadness of her tone had him peering at her image on the screen. Aside from the short hair which still startled him, she looked…tired. Where had she been and what had the Brat been protecting her from? And what was that flicker of something that she didn't want him to see? She never broke eye contact, and yet, she was studiously looking away from him. Suspicious, he probed their link, and was not surprised to find the usual static preventing his inquiry. There were times he regretted that she had learned to shield herself from him without instruction….the mind does what it must in order to survive he supposed. He realized that whatever she was working so hard to keep from him most likely had to do with his baka 'birth day.'
Suddenly, a deep growl rumbled threateningly from him, dark eyes narrowed on her with fierce intensity, she fully expected the vid-com to melt off the wall as he spoke.
"You are not planning anything so foolish as last year? I will not be humiliated again." The tone of his voice left no question as to his feelings, and shame bowed her head. It had been months before he even spoke to her after last year's Sombrero incident.
"Of course not Vegeta." Her voice was soft with regret. Why did they always seem to be at odds with one another? Always just shy of that 'togetherness.' Tears pearled in the corners of her eyes. That was the whole reason, behind tonight. If you love something, you set it free.
Feather brows drew together in a scowl as he watched the play of emotion on her face. Something was definitely wrong with the Woman.
"See you at dinner then." Her words ended the exchange abruptly and the vid-com went black. One way or another he'd find out tonight. The Prince continued to stare at the blank screen for several seconds before starting his ten thousand push ups over.
Bulma settled on a halter dress that frankly, she had forgotten she owned. For this, it's first (and final) appearance, it was perfection. It bared the expanse of her back, and arms, the rich depth of jewel toned velvet making her skin luminous. The dark turquoise fabric fastened behind her neck with a delicate jeweled hasp, and a matching jeweled chain trailed enticingly between her shoulder blades. It shirred along her body like a dream, ending just above the knee. Her ghost of a smile was one of feminine satisfaction. If any man could get past the color and curves with his mind intact, her shapely legs were encased to mid-calf in teal suede Jimmy Choo's with chrome stiletto heels. She was suitably impressed.
Her impromptu hair cut had been masterfully reshaped to take advantage of the uneven lengths left by a machete. (Pierre, her hairdresser extraordinaire had initially said it served her right for relying on some discount salon when he first saw her.) There were silky, chin-length bangs framing either side of her face, and the rest was short and carelessly styled. The new style, made her features angular, lent an otherworldly glamour that was supported by frosty makeup, and icy diamonds and pearls at her ears.
"Looking pretty good for what might be the last night of my existence…" She worked on the sickly smile in the mirror, flexing it, kicking it up a notch, until you couldn't tell by looking at her, that inside she was kicking and screaming and dying at the thought of being without him.
"Ah. The doorbell." With a last poignant glance at the woman in the glass, Bulma went to greet her guests.
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Goku's widow looked fabulously sleek in a black and red satin kimono, her long black hair twisted and secured with red and black lacquered combs.
"Oh My God Bulma! When did you get it done? I mean, you look incredible, but, WOW! What a shock! It's so short…" Bulma winked engagingly at Gohan.
"I had it done this week, Chi, and believe me, it DOES take some getting used to."
As Bulma and his mother chatted, Son Gohan found himself terribly… distracted, by their hostess. He knew there was something he needed to talk to her about, but, he couldn't remember what. The moment she opened the door, he'd been riveted. It wasn't just her beauty, to which he'd assumed he had a natural immunity after years of regular contact. It was that she was…changed…somehow, as if the woman had been reshaped along with her hair. Gohan squashed that thread of guilt before it had a chance to form and accepted her welcoming hug. He ran scandalized fingers up her bare arms, drew her firmly against him, and filled his nose with the familiar scent of her. An smirk curved his mouth. It appeared, that his Prince was correct. Bulma did indeed smell different, but he hadn't really processed it until this moment.
Intending her words to reach his ears alone, Bulma stood on her tippy toes and whispered directly into his ear. "Pierre said the only way to fix it was to take it shorter, or buy a wig." He shivered as her words warmed his entire body. Putting as little space as he could between them, he leaned back to assess the new hair. He tugged playfully on one blue satin bang before testing the wispy strands at the nape of her neck. "You look…incredible…Bulma." His eyes gleamed with more than just admiration as he released her.
"It's something else isn't it?" She acknowledged with a small smile. Her brows drew together as she spotted the bruising on Gohan's face.
"What happened?" she asked.
"Ve-ge-ta." He held himself perfectly still as she examined the contusions, prodding with gentle fingers.
"What?! Why?" Her mouth twisted in an unhappy slant. Gohan's throaty laughter accompanied a suggestive grin.
"Evidently he's more aware of you than he lets on. When you got home, he saw the new hairstyle, caught my scent on you, and concluded that you and I were," he paused to clear his throat, "together, the two days you were gone. Sleeping…together." He added unnecessarily. Bulma's eyes glistened, her lips pressed tightly together.
"You're not serious!" She gasped before dissolving into a cascade of easy laughter. The genuine sound made his heart sing, but it was a struggle not to be offended by her amusement. Was the thought so outrageous? Vegeta hadn't thought so. His scowl mirrored that of his Prince when her giggles finally ceased. She murmured, "Really, I didn't know he cared." The gaze Gohan turned on her was so heated, that the rest of her laughter evaporated from her throat.
"Oh, he cares all right. He damn near killed me over it." He rotated his shoulders stiffly, grimacing at the discomfort that radiated from every part of his body. Bulma smiled ruefully.
"That doesn't mean he cares. That's just Vegeta."
"Bulma I mean it… I wish you could have seen it." He frowned as he recalled the despair that had fueled Vegeta's attempt on his life. It wasn't hollow and empty, it was everything. "You would never have cause to doubt again."
"It won't matter after tonight anyway." She hadn't intended for him to hear. She had no way of knowing that he could taste the finality of her intentions, a bitter flatness on his tongue.
"What…exactly…. do you plan to wish for Bulma?"
"Oh you know, women's panties, immortality…the usual." Bulma quipped as she sauntered away flicking a wry smile back over her shoulder at him.
The next moment he was choking as a well-muscled arm clamped around his throat from behind and he was dragged into the shadows. Vegeta, outraged, hissed into his ear.
"Was your father's stupidity inherited?! I told you to stay away from my mate!"
"Was…a…hug." He scarcely managed to gasp out until the Prince released him with a crushing squeeze.
"I don't care WHAT it was! Keep your distance or I'll lock you in a Kami damned cage…" His handsome face was thunderous, his voice promised an agonizing death.
"The closer you get to your rut, the better everything is going to smell….and I don't want you anywhere near my mate! Do not…forget…again."
Gohan nodded shortly, his fingers going to his throat. Vegeta sneered. "If we were on Vegetasei, you'd be dead because of your memory lapse, not nursing a bruised larynx… Of course if we were on Vegetasei, you would never have dared touch my mate in the first place. His dark eyes blazed. Such familiarity, is a Ningen practice." He sounded disgusted, and vaguely tired as he disappeared back into the shadows.
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"Krillin! Eighteen…I'm so glad you could come." Bulma greeted the fashionably late couple.
"We haven't missed anything right?" Krillin asked. Bulma shook her head. Krillin glanced awkwardly at his watch and his cheeks glowed pink with embarrassment. "We…uh…got, sidetracked." he finished lamely.
Eighteen rolled her eyes and muttered flatly, "Dork."
Bulma grinned at Eighteen and suppressed her snicker.
"You have to tell me where you got those boots! They're Jimmy Choo's right?" Eighteen said with keen eyes. Krillin blinked, surprised at his date's expression. Eighteen gave him an impish smile, and a casual shrug. "Add shoes to your list of things I get excited about." Bulma couldn't help but laugh as Krillin's face exploded in red color, and he choked. Secretly, Bulma was thrilled that Krillin might have found someone worthy of him, even if she did have a…questionable past. 'My God that's the pot calling the kettle…. no one who's going to be here tonight does NOT have a questionable past, except maybe Gohan…' Her grin widened. Aliens and androids, sometimes life just seemed too surreal.
"Yes, well…Gohan and Chi are in the study, the Birthday Boy has yet to make an appearance, and Piccolo isn't here yet." Bulma led them through the house which was decorated with blue and silver streamers. Coordinating balloons drifted along the ceilings, through the halls and in each of the rooms. The study was subtly lit and carried the blue and silver theme to it's tasteful max with an array of holographic stars and moons and the occasional planet floating like shimmering confetti in the air.
Krillin put his palm on the small of Eighteen's back as they entered the study. It was testament to her insecurity that she didn't glare or make him remove his hand. Gohan and Chichi fell silent as they came into the room. Gohan recovered first and met Krillin's slam hug with a cheerful greeting.
"Hey K-man! Good to see you again!" The longtime friends embraced. "Who sucker punched ya this time, buddy?" Krillin mock sneered at Gohan's face.
"Vegeta, who else?" Gohan scowled. It wasn't like he'd never sported bruises before…what the hell was up with everyone?
"There's a story you're gonna tell me later right?" Krillin prodded.
"There's nothing to tell." Gohan said pointedly. With a polite smile, he turned his attention to Krillin's 'date.'
He saw a deceptively thin blonde woman with finely textured, pale hair and uneasy eyes. He also 'saw' that she was attempting to mask the fact that she was nervous about this confrontation in particular. Unfortunately for her, his sensibilities seemed unusually acute this evening as he could smell her discomfort. A tart precursor scent that clashed with her cologne. Mentally he snorted, sounding just like his Sensei. However nervous she was, he couldn't help but remember that they had all trained like madmen to prepare for the coming of the androids, of which she was one.
Krillin had wished the detonators out of Eighteen and her brother, so they wouldn't self-destruct and take the planet with them. But that hadn't been until after the androids had beaten the hell out of everyone, Vegeta included, then been absorbed by Cell to complete his final transformation.
'And Cell…' That whole god forsaken nightmare, culminating in the loss of his father, again, was something that he worked very hard, every day of his life, to cope with. His breathtaking smile curved with a cruel edge.
Now here he stood, with the slender, shaking hand of his father's killer, in his. Damn. Regretfully, he chased the irrational thoughts from his head, and reminded himself, that his intention was to treat Eighteen as a person, not an arch-villainess. For Krillin.
He raised her cool fingers to his lips, and kissed them with all the panache of an old-fashioned movie star. The words that followed, slipped out with just enough volume to reach her cybernetically enhanced ears. "No hard feelings eh?" He heard her gasp and registered the ragged jump in her pulse. His eyes glinted with the amusement of a cat with a cornered mouse.
China blues widened in shock, her mouth formed a small moue of surprise, and his thought, was that she didn't smell like an android. She smelled, like a late summer day with dragonflies and baked earth. Some of his favorite things, he grinned rather toothily.
"Really, I'm glad you came, Eighteen." Gohan held her fingers captive when she attempted to draw away.
"Thank you." Her voice held little of the bemused anger in her eyes as she was forced to crush his hand with inhuman strength to free her fingers from his grasp.
"Let's get you something to drink." Krillin suggested and they moved towards the bar.
From the sidelines, Chichi sighed fondly as her oldest son once again made her proud. Not that he ever had to work hard to make her proud. Gohan had often seemed a golden child, gifted mentally and physically but still humble and manageable. Her youngest, was a wild child. And that somehow comforted her, because she knew it was his father's trait through and through. It broke her heart, that his father wasn't there to recognize it. With somber eyes she turned to their hostess.
"Bulma? Does it ever get to you? You know, that the bad guys inevitably end up on our team? Piccolo, Vegeta, and now Eighteen…" She frowned. "Sometimes, it gives me the chills. More so now that Goku is gone." Her voice did not break, but it strained, and Bulma nodded her understanding. "Sometimes yes. But I'll tell you, more and more often, I find myself thinking, that I wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of an attack by Gohan either. I don't think we have anything to worry about."
"Hn. Keep your friends close and your enemies even closer huh?"
"What an awful thing to say" Bulma laughed. "Like it or not, I think they're exactly where they're supposed to be. None of us is ordinary. I'm 'mated' to the Prince of an alien race, you are a Warrior Princess, mother to two of Earth's greatest defenders who also happen to be half alien…Hell, Krillin is the only completely human Z Fighter….what better place for a reformed evil android?" She and Chichi giggled shamefully and Chichi felt the tight bands of worry relax just a little.
Gohan turned his head to the side as if listening to something. Krillin followed suit. "Piccolo-san is here." he said.
"He's not alone." Krillin mused aloud.
"Hmmm. I'll get the door, assuming they'll use it….Chi? Would you go to the kitchen and tell the cook to set another place at the table for me?"
"Of course." Chichi headed in one direction, Bulma in another.
Bulma stepped out onto the porch, the night was warm and filled with starlight and cicada song as she waited for Piccolo to arrive. She did not have long to wait. The Namek materialized out of the humid darkness, in casual attire, his flowing armor missing, but not his formal presence.
"I have brought…company. I hope, it is not an inconvenience." He glanced furtively behind her, as if expecting an angry Saiyan to burst out any second and blast him for bringing an uninvited guest to his birthday dinner. Bulma leaned to the left trying to peer around him. "Of course not Piccolo-san, a place is already set." He nodded his gratitude, but shifted so she couldn't see past him. Bulma snorted in amusement. "Very well. Let's just go in then, you can introduce your guest to everyone at once." She turned away and missed the mercurial flash of humor on the Namek's face.
They walked into a room of quiet expectancy, as if they knew something extraordinary was about to happen. Piccolo nodded briefly at Krillin, and then at his protégé, who wore new bruises since they'd talked last. If he had to guess, he'd put his money on the Prince. But there would have been a great deal more damage if that were the case. He sighed mentally. Something else to ask about when they finished that talk they started on the Capsule jet. For right now, there were other things to set in motion. Ducking his head to hide an anticipatory grin, he drew his companion forward and removed her cloak with a small flourish. He waited until he had eye contact from everyone before speaking.
"Everyone, this…is Sirabi-san."
"All right Piccolo!" Gohan laughed quietly as his mother tried to scorch him with a glare and stare at the new arrival at the same time.
A striking figure in cinnamon silk glanced serenely at the entourage, seeing real faces for the first time since learning she was to be involved. She recognized of course, the blue-haired woman and her dragonball hunters, the short bald monk and the young demi-saiyan that Piccolo was so very proud of…but, that wisp of a woman, was mechanical? And where, oh where, was the No Ouiji?