Second Chances for Bardock's Sons
By Trynia Merin
Beta'd by Sarah Slutz
Disclaimer: I don't own DBZ so please don't' sue me. Tomic and the few other fan characters are my only claim in this. This isn't for money, it's for fan enjoyment. This was originally one chapter but I split it into two to break it up a bit.
At around nine PM, Bulma returned to the Capsule house. In the back of her mind, she was thinking how glad she was that it had two bedrooms instead of one. Living that time with Goku when they were both no more than kids taught her the value of such contingencies. She was relieved to see it was still standing, with lights turned on in the inside. The flickering light of a television caught her eyes, and she glimpsed the spiky haired figure glued to the TV set, the remains of forty Capsule dinners piled around him.
"I'm home!" she joked.
"Should I be surprised? What kept you so long? Is the transaction of business so time consuming on this world?"
"I've got you some changes of clothes for tomorrow!" she cheerfully announced, setting the piles of bags down. "And of course myself a few choices. Now before you get on me about the sleeping arrangements, there's two bedrooms, and I'm assuming you'll want the first pick of beds, so the king sized is in there."
"I saw for myself, woman. You don't have to act like a damn tour guide," he grumbled.
"Not even you can grump me out, Mister Sunshine. I'm going to shower and get some rest. If you have any questions about anything you should ask me now!"
"What the hell is that?" he wondered, as Bulma dug out of one of the bags a strange cylinder and an object with a gleaming blade across it.
"A razor! I guess you guys don't use these in outer space?"
"I use my ki to burn it off. Or one of my slaves does it for me," Vegeta snorted.
"You'd better get your shower first. Because I take quite a while," she said, glancing at him. "It'll take me that long to clean up your little mess in the living room."
"You were the one who suggested me eating that processed food instead of hunting so don't bitch at me, woman," he laughed a bit harshly.
"Shut up and shower if you're gonna! Before I forget, I did get you some pajamas to sleep in. That's what people wear to bed on this planet."
Incredulously he blinked at her marching out then walking back in with a folded garment decorated with blue and white stripes. "You're shitting me, right?"
"Well if you prefer sleeping naked," she giggled.
"Vulgar female," he glared at her. "As if I'd give a lowly human like you the privilege of looking on my royal person undressed!"
"My, my, we're modest, aren't we? Well, you go first. And no peeking when it's MY time," she snorted back, giving him another full on Bulma glare. "And you can put your armor or whatever outside the door to be washed."
"Pfft, leave me alone if you're so inclined!" he snapped at her. Bulma darted out of the bathroom, pulling a face at him as he slammed the door behind him. He wondered just what he was getting into going along with this fool woman's plans. It was far easier to blow up the stadium and demand Raditz and Tomic to return with a report. His attempts to summon them had met with a dead link. He was going to have a chat with Raditz about breaking protocol.
Bulma retreated to her room to wait for his alien pain in the rear to use the shower. She heard cursing and soon marched into the chamber to see the Prince leaning over with a soaked suit. Already his armor was stacked with boots and gloves on the floor, revealing the tight fitting blue bodysuit conforming to every muscle. That strange band around his waist Bulma knew was a tail had become detached and was waving back and forth annoyed. No stranger to seeing Goku do this, Bulma was still a bit nerve wracked. Around Vegeta's boots was a sizable puddle and the water was still pouring out at full blast.
"Woman, how the HELL do I operate this thing?" he demanded, splashing water everywhere.
"It's EASY," she glared at him, reaching around him to turn down the water. ""You turn the water on here, and you stand under the shower! Jeez…"
"And then what? Where's the surfactant?" Vegeta grunted. Rolling her eyes, Bulma grabbed a towel and started to mop the excess water off the floor. She then moved over and opened the cabinet by the sink, digging some items out. Deciding to amuse himself, he wandered over and stared at her mopping water off the floor. He had to admit she had a nicely shaped backside that was moving back and forth in the air.
"Soap, buddy," Bulma grabbed a bar from the closet with a labeled bottle and thrust them at him. "Soap is what you use for the body, and shampoo for the hair. I even bought you some male scented stuff so you don't bitch at me for floral soaps. I know men hate that. And there's even a razor and shaving cream."
"This stuff stinks like crap," he grumbled.
"Oh shut up and hurry up!" Bulma glared at him. "Ungrateful brat!"
"Are you talking about yourself, female?" he shot back, dumping the items on the side of the shower. "I usually have one of my slaves undress me…"
"No way buddy, forget it! You're on your own!" Bulma squeaked, jumping back as he moved over to her. Already his top peeled up and dropped to the floor next to his armor.
"You scared of a naked alien?" he teased. Bulma turned a bright shade of red and slammed the bathroom door. Satisfied he had shut her up; he proceeded to strip the rest of his clothing off. He did not realize that Bulma was curiously peering through the crack in the door.
"Come in and help me or leave. Your choice!" he cackled.
"Eep," Bulma yelped, darting out. Seeing Yamcha naked was no big deal, for they were logically lovers for the past few years on and off. However, the idea of seeing this total stranger in the altogether made her feel as giddy and silly as a schoolgirl.
Fortunately, she only had to wait ten minutes for the sounds of the shower to stop. Carefully she opened the door and saw nothing but tanned flesh crisscrossed with scars. To her shock, his flesh was completely dry, and he did not' even think of wearing a towel.
"Kami, can't you use a ROBE!" she wanted to say before she choked back the words. The Prince heard the woman's startled yelp and snickered to himself, sliding the borrowed robe before she could get a good look, and wandered into the other bedroom. Satisfied it was safe she tiptoed with her basket of personal hygiene supplies and darted into the bathroom, locking the door behind her.
As if a simple lock would keep him out, she rationalized. Fear pounded her heart, wondering if this alien would somehow come in. Finally, she relaxed; relieved he had not left a mess in the shower, for there was no more water on the floor. Oddly enough, none of the steam she expected from a bath was present. The towels left out for him were bone dry. How did he dry himself unless…
"Duh he used his ki I bet," Bulma mumbled, deciding to take a nice long shower and forget what was happening. When finished she put on her robe and nervously exited the bathroom. Everything was deadly quiet in the small house when she entered her bedroom, she noticed as she glanced around. If she strained her hearing, she could swear she heard Vegeta speaking in a strange language. Quickly she dismissed the urge to listen, realizing he was speaking in his alien tongue and she could not overhear anyway. Bulma retired quickly to bed.
It was early in the morning on the second day of the Tournament. Before the first set of matches, the Z fighters stretched and meditated. Goku remained near his brother Raditz, and when he could not, either Krillin or Yamcha did. They shivered at the angered look in Raditz' eyes while he scanned the crowd. Desperately, he wanted to use his scouter, but they had convinced him it would be a bad idea. Still he kept it in a pocket of the training gi. Chichi had altered one of Goku's uniforms to accommodate him, and he felt strangely naked in only cloth.
"These clothes are flimsy," he muttered to Yamcha.
"But they're easier to fight in," Yamcha said, chugging down a bottle of sport's drink. Raditz mumbled and accepted a huge gallon jug from the cooler next to him. Krillin shouted and jumped up and down, rushing toward them.
"I won! I did it!" Krillin laughed. "So, what about you guys?"
"I'm in," said Yamcha.
"Is there any question, Cue ball?" muttered Raditz.
"Huh, don't look so happy for me," Krillin blinked at him. "Oh wait I know why you're so cranky. You still haven't found your girl, have you?"
"His wife," said Yamcha.
"Man, some guys have ALL the luck. Well don't' worry, we're keeping an eye out," he said.
Just then, Chichi strode up wearing her long blue fighting outfit. "Guys, where's Goku? I do hope he's drinking enough because I can't stand to see him getting dehydrated!"
"Have you seen anything, little sister?" Raditz asked. At this, the men raised their brows and Chichi giggled.
"Actually I saw a girl who wanted me to give one of you boys a message. I forgot in the excitement yesterday! She said not to worry. I assumed that she meant you, Radz-kun," she said.
"Who, where?"
"Over there," Chichi pointed to a tall figure stepping up to fight. She wore a long white cloak, and a turban bound on her brow. Long harem style pants floated around her legs, muscular and a pair of powerful arms was bound in blue sleeveless halter blouse. The collar had the same effect as Piccolo's, but sunglasses shaded her eyes, and her mouth covered by a veil.
"Wait, there she is now," said Chichi.
"The mystery woman," Krillin blinked.
"Without all those clothes she could be pretty. She's got one hell of a body, for a fighter," said Yamcha.
"Wait a minute," Raditz blinked. He saw a gold armband on her upper left thigh, and one on her arm.
"She looks familiar? She came in with that green skinned goon that's been freaking us out," said Krillin.
"I stood by her in line," Chichi said.
"I have to see her," Raditz said gruffly. "Excuse me."
"Now wait, if you go over there, and he sees you, he might do something to hurt Bulma! Remember he has her prisoner!" Yamcha grabbed his hand.
"Damn it!" Raditz cursed.
Son Goku sudden joined them. "What's up?"
"It's my mate... my wife. She's with that green man," Raditz hissed in his ear.
"OH man. That's her? Good thing she's still alive. But her power comes and goes like a candle flame," Goku blinked.
"I must see her, let her know that I'm here for her," Raditz gritted.
"Wait, I remember that Ma-junior guy is in the third block, up to qualify. Maybe you can distract his attention Goku while Son Raditz tries to contact his wife," said Krillin.
"Would you let me?" Raditz whispered. "I at least need to let her see me."
"But what if he senses you," Yamcha blinked.
"Too bad you're not psychic like Chaotzu and me," said Tien.
"I am," said Raditz quietly. "Like you and your young friend I share a bond with her. I only hope that she won't betray the fact we're here."
"C'mon, let me help you out," Krillin said. "We guys gotta stick together. Coming Yamcha?"
"OK, but I've got my eyes peeled for her," said Yamcha.
"No, let me go," said Chichi. "She'll recognize me. Come on, Radz-kun, we'll just walk over there."
"Thank you," Raditz nodded.
"Mmm hmm," Goku nodded. "Don't worry. I'm sure it will work out. I'll distract Ma-junior's attention. You go tell her that she's gonna be OK. But tell her that we can't get ourselves away, right?"
"Right," said Raditz. He strode off along with Chichi and Krillin, as nonchalantly as possible.
As Tomic stepped down from the fighting ring, Chichi tapped the judge on the shoulder. "Excuse me, but I seem to forget where my husband is next signed up to fight?"
"Oh, hello there, Mrs. Son. Congratulations, you married one of the best fighter's we've seen!" he said.
"Oh well, you know," said Krillin modestly. "I've known Goku most of my life and he's been trying to outdo me."
"Hey, I remember you. Krillin right? You've grown quite a lot since you last competed. It's GREAT to see you and your friends back! It would be dull without you,"
Outside, Son Goku kept watch on Piccolo. The fighter was gearing up for his match. Chichi and Krillin were effectively standing near a large lien for the WC. His nose twitched at a scent that made him hope that the Namekian didn't have as sensitive a nose. Yamcha nervously looked to Tien, who was gearing up for his next match for the semifinals.
Raditz ducked out a minute later; rushing out and behind the crowd that was lined up for the facilities. Shouts and complaints veiled him while he made his way back to where the others were gathered. Yamcha saw the telltale grin on the Saiyan's face, and sensed what had happened. However, he knew better than to ask.
Two islands away, Bulma had awakened before dawn, quickly taking out breakfast items and starting to prepare something for him. No doubt if he had Goku's appetite, he would bitch and moan if breakfast wasn't prepared early. She yelped when she felt a hand on her shoulder, whirling around to clobber her assailant with a spatula. Her eyes met those bottomless ones of the Prince, without a scouter covering his face, and it stunned her to see him wearing a normal bathrobe. His hand, without gloves had caught the metal spatula easily, his other grabbing her wrist clad in her own long-sleeves. Bulma had dressed in her Capsule corps jacket, a pair of attractive shorts, and comfortable tube top she had purchased the other day.
"So this is what I'm expected to eat," he said unimpressed.
"If you don't like it, go out and hunt, your Majesty, and blow your cover," she sniffed, trying to conceal her pounding heart.
"As if you'd eat all this slop by yourself," he said, sitting down at the table. Bulma felt increasingly unnerved, almost sensing the heat of his gaze as he simply sat there and expected her to bring everything to him. It was the reaction she had expected from a real Prince, which came as a great relief to her. Still that predatory look reminded her that he was definitely not human. Unlike Master Roshi, Yamcha, or other males, she could not tell if he was drooling over her, for his face was fixed in a rather stern frown.
"You could have gotten dressed you know," she commented, serving him a tenth plate of pancakes laden with syrup. She had to thank herself for the automatic food machines that rendered her task easy.
"I suppose you wouldn't kill me with this fare. You were bullshitting me when you said you couldn't cook," he said after swallowing his food. "Trying to sell yourself short to persuade me to change my mind?"
"I don't know WHAT you're talking about," she huffed, finishing her glass of grapefruit juice and sneaking some bacon and eggs for herself. At least he did not shove his face full of food and leave crumbs everywhere. Instead he had picked up the knife and fork and used it, although a bit stiffly, effectively enough.
"You're surprised I can eat like you," he murmured. "Your idiotic television is rather educational. Weak, insipid programming, but very entertaining sometimes."
"I suppose you'd prefer something macho with tons of explosions and guts and blood?" Bulma asked.
"Yes," Vegeta answered. Bulma inwardly shuddered.
"Um, did you see the clothing I put out for you?" she tried again, to change the subject. "Let's change now and find your friends."
"I have no friends, Woman! You must mean my subordinates!" he protested.
"Sheesh, picky, picky. Now about those clothes, do they fit?" she persisted.
"You're jerking me around. You expect me to wear such ridiculous garments?" he asked.
"Now WAIT, I got you some pretty nice threads, Prince!" she glared at him.
"Whatever," he answered, pushing himself out from the table and standing up. "Be ready to leave in an hour. I want to scope out this pathetic fighting tournament and see if this world has ANYTHING worth offering."
"You're welcome," Bulma mumbled as he left her to clean up the mess without even thanking her. Piling it all into the dishwasher, she set it to run, then retreated to her room to finish fixing her hair.
"You've got to be drekking me," came a loud shout.
Fussing and grumbling indicated he was having difficulty with the fastenings. Bulma called out, "You want help?"
"Keep out of here, you low class…" he grumbled.
"Jeez, you'd think we were married the way he's bitching me out," she mumbled, then felt blood rushing to her face. Just what made her think that of all things? Bulma hardly cooked for anyone in her life, except perhaps when she would go on trips herself and not want to eat takeout. Yamcha she had tried making some foods for, and he did like her cookies. Bulma could follow a recipe just like a set of blueprints, and everyone was fond of her shish kabobs and special seasoning for barbecues.
"Goku's wife isn't the only one who can cook," she had bragged. Just because she spent a lot of time in a lab, that did not mean Bulma was a slouch at making food, with a seasoned pro like her mother to mentor her. Perhaps she had some illusions of making someone a good homemaker. As long as she waited on his Majesty, he seemed to keep from insulting her, until he got bored and picked a fight with some stupid ungrateful comment.
"Little alien prick," she mumbled to herself. "When I thought about meeting a handsome Prince, I didn't mean some weirdo monkey man falling from the freaking SKY!"
Then she remembered she had an agreement with Vegeta. His name seemed strange and exotic, the way he pronounced it. Yet he mentioned his home planet had the same name. Stranger still, Bulma thought, fixing her makeup.
"Are you going to take forever, girl?" inquired the smooth but raised voice. "Time's wasting. Get your ass out here and let's GO!"
"All right, keep your SHORTS on your Royal pain," Bulma shouted back. "Kami… he's worse than dealing with Goku!"
"Damn," she mumbled. Marching out, she was presented with a vastly different person standing in the middle of the living room, dressed in regular clothes. Those black jeans she had selected fit him as a second skin, along with a red button up short-sleeved shirt. He had also slipped on a matching jacket and was hunting around for something, a frustrated expression on his face. "What did you do with my clothes?"
"I encapsulated them," she said, tossing him something.
"You what?" he glared at her, catching it.
"I capsized them! Don't' worry, they're fine! Nothing broken! I don't think that thing you wear on your face was with the rest of the stuff."
"Of course not, idiot. Like I'd be stupid enough to leave it in your grubby hands?" he asked, pulling it out of his pocket.
"I still can't believe you consider THESE as anything fit for royalty," he grumbled, gesturing at his outfit.
"Here, mister cool, if you HAVE to wear the damn gloves," she rolled her eyes. Without the blasted scouter, he looked almost as if he could pass for normal human. However, the hair was quite an issue itself. At least she had been right in estimating that he wore size nine men's shoes.
"You can't put that thing on your face! It's a red flag!" Bulma said. "We also have to hide your hair…"
"No fucking way. ENOUGH is enough!" he snapped, shooting her such an evil glare that he looked just like one of the debutante spoiled boys she was forced to dance with at a Capsule function years ago. Next, he would be stamping his foot, she thought with a giggle.
"All right, settle down, don't blow up the house!" Bulma shouted back, seeing blue ki crackling around his fist. "Dammit!"
"Are you done now, stupid wench!" he gritted his teeth. She gave him a sickeningly cute smile, and put her capsules into a purse, slinging it across her body. While she was tempted to wear that nice blue minidress, she felt a bit loathe to if something unexpected came her way. You couldn't attempt to kick ass or escape in such an outfit.