A/N: Do you know how long it takes to find an episode of Dragonball Z online that works? Three hours.

Disclaimer: An actual disclaimer for this one. I wrote this chapter, HOWEVER: Nearly ALL of the entire bottom half of this story is FUNimation dubbed from Ep.109, Z Warrior's Prepare. It belongs to them and some other people and Akira, but not me. To be honest, I would have gotten better writers. I am not this cheesy.

I wish I owned Chris Sabat.

He could see nothing but red. Black. Greens and purples too.

It was very pretty.

It hurt like Hell, but it was beautiful.

"You're nothing but a big fat jerk Vegeta!"

Yamcha, whose crumpled body lay embedded in the bark of a tree, painfully opened his eyes at the sound of Bulma's high-pitched input.

"This is none of your business, woman."

"None of my business?"

Her yells had turned to screams.

"Keep pushing me, Vegeta! I am worse than Goku!"

Yamcha struggled to stand up, spreading out his arms so that he could steady himself. He fell back against the tree, the ground swaying under his feet.

He could not see very much anymore, but he could make out both Bulma and Vegeta, who were facing each other and arguing.

"B-Bulma," he stammered, the wind still knocked out of him. "Don't bother w-wasting your breath on this guy… He's…."

But whatever it was Yamcha had been trying to say never made it from his mouth. Vegeta had uppercut him and released him powerfully back inside of the curved sheath of that same tree. His nose began bleeding profusely.

"Oh yeah?" Yamcha slurred, covering his nose to stop the blood from spilling onto his shirt. He tried to stand but stumbled back into the tree. "I'll show you!"

Almost drunkenly, Yamcha made a fist and swung it. It missed Vegeta by a few feet. What did not miss Vegeta, was how insolent this downtrodden, beaten man was behaving.

A strong kick plowed him directly through the tree. All of the air left Yamcha's lungs as he struck the earth, inhaling dirt. Before he could stand, a heavy foot crushed into his spine.

"Stop it!" yelled Bulma for the umpteenth time.

Yamcha felt something crawl over his hands, which were pinned to the ground. He had been hit much too hard to make a complete sentence, but one thing was for sure.

"Let me up, Vegeta!"

Damn that cocky son of a bitch! Vegeta not only ignored his request, but pressed his foot down harder on Yamcha's back.

"Why should I? I'm winning."

Yamcha made an unintelligible sound and tried once more to unpin himself.

Epic fail.

"Your pathetic attempt at courage is almost admirable, weakling." Vegeta bent over and snatched Yamcha into the air by his collar. "Lucky for you, I enjoy a challenge."

He dropped a very surprised Yamcha onto the ground, headfirst.

"Move it!"

Bulma pushed past Vegeta and scrambled to Yamcha's side. She half lifted him in her arms and gave the man a severe look that made him flinch.

"What's the matter with you anyway, Yamcha?" she shouted at him, cradling his bleeding head.

"You're yelling at me?" he asked, trying to focus on her eyes, little drops of fuzzy blue and gray dotting his vision. "You're unbelievable!"

She dropped his head from her arms and once again Yamcha found himself sprawled on the ground. "You know, I've just about had it with you! You could show a little bit more gratitude!"

"HE PINNED ME TO A TREE!"

"YOU ASKED FOR IT!"

Yamcha jumped to his feet, but having forgotten in three seconds the extent of his injuries, stumbled and tripped over a bush.

"I underestimated you human," Vegeta's voice said from somewhere. "Your entertainment value makes you far more useful than I previously believed."

"I'm going home, Bulma!" Yamcha said, more angry with his girlfriend than he could voice at the moment. "And secondly…" He stood up without support. "… please catch me…."

His head, heavy as a rock and yet so incredibly light-feeling, dropped to his chest. The rest of him met the dirt.

Bulma had been in her lab for hours. She was not working. She was not inventing. She was merely sitting in a posh blue chair at her father's desk, her head resting on neatly stacked papers and colored folders.

She was thinking.

About Yamcha. About the Androids. About Vegeta.

Strangely enough, she had placed all of the above in order of importance. Vegeta, dead last and the subject of her most difficult thinking, should have been of no significance to her at all. After all, he had nearly killed Yamcha that morning. Something she was sure Yamcha would never let her hear the end of.

"What's the matter with me?"

She pushed a silver pen off the edge of her father's desk and watched it hit the ground. It reminded her of Yamcha.

Had he been right about her? Had it been in bad taste for her to yell at him? Sure, he was a complete numbskull at times and an occasional stubborn jackass, but he was her jackass. She should have taken his side.

But Vegeta…

She smacked a hand against her face for the small flutter that she felt at the thought of him. Bulma tried to convince herself that it was normal to find the prince attractive. He was good-looking, muscular, strong, and his eyes…

"Get a hold of yourself girl!" Bulma said aloud, slightly embarrassed although she was alone.

She sat up and leaned backwards in the chair, her head tilted so that she was gazing at the bumpy white ceiling. She smiled.

So what if Vegeta was good-looking? He was an asshole. A jerk. A waste of her best efforts to instill manners and decency. He was going to take care of the Androids. Other than that, there really was no other use for him.

She felt guilty as soon the thought crossed her mind. Vegeta was alone here on Earth. Who was she to determine his worth? Of course, he had made it pretty clear what her uses were. Not that she believed he hated her. It was all a façade. It had to be.

No one was that cold-hearted.

Bulma kicked back and placed her feet on the desk. Then again, she could not forget Raditz, Garlic Jr., or Frieza. All of them had been incapable of, or had seemed incapable of, compassion.

Was Vegeta like Raditz? Garlic Jr.? Frieza?

"I don't think so," murmured Bulma. "He can't be."

"Dear?"

So surprised was she to hear her father's voice, Bulma nearly fell backwards in the chair. She shot forward and grabbed onto the edge of his desk, pale.

"Dad?"

Her father, dressed impeccably in a white lab coat as always, adjusted his glasses and looked at her with concern. "What are you doing in here, Bulma? Is something the matter?"

Bulma jumped from her seat and threw her arms around him. "Of course not! I just needed to do some thinking and I get too distracted by a messy room. Your office is a lot cleaner than mine!"

Her father squeezed her and then pulled back. "Well, it sure is nice to be home. I didn't mean to startle you but…"

"What are you doing home so early?" Bulma cut in, her eyes squinted. "Don't you have a few more days left of the convention?"

Her father rolled his eyes and let out a lengthy sigh. "Your poor mother and I couldn't stand another day in that dreadful place. Lectures every day, boring activity after boring activity. And let's not forget the hundreds of investors who show up and spend every breathing moment trying to take your fortune."

Bulma frowned. "I'm sorry to hear that. I know you were looking forward to your award."

Her father smiled and dug his hand into a small brown case she hadn't noticed him carrying. "Ah, about that."

He lifted his hand out and revealed a small golden trophy with his name engraved at the bottom. "Your mother lifted it for me out of their storeroom."

Flip. Flip. Flip.

Bulma turned another page in her science catalog. She kept up with what was popular so that Capsule Corp never fell behind in technological advances. Unfortunately, as she sat with her legs crossed in the living room flipping through the magazine, she was having a hard time concentrating.

Outside, Vegeta was training in the Gravity Room and had been all morning. Bulma wasn't completely sure he had left it at all after his fight with Yamcha the day before. Yamcha, whom had called to apologize, had been granted permission to train on Capsule Corp grounds. Bulma could faintly hear Puar, his shape-shifting blue pet, cheering him on outside.

Bulma sighed loudly, wishing there was someone she could complain to aloud. She settled for herself. "Everyone else is working so hard to get ready for those Androids while I'm sitting around the house doing nothing!"

Her magazine forgotten, she leaned forward and rested her chin on her palm. "I wish there was something I could do."

As if to answer her depressed wishes, she heard her mother call her name.

"Bulma! I stopped by the bakery today and look what I bought for us! Nice, huh?"

Her mother had joined her in the living room carrying a large metal tray loaded with various desserts and pastries. One dessert in particular, a large yellow cupcake, seemed to be calling her name. But even then, as she was overwhelmed with the smell of chocolate and sugar, Bulma could not eat.

Her mother squealed in delight as she placed the tray in front of her. "Don't they look scrumptious? Now, which one do you want?"

"They're all yours mom," Bulma said without hesitation, putting her hands behind her puffy, blue hair. "I'm not very hungry."

Mrs. Brief looked flabbergasted and Bulma did not blame her. It was not often that Bulma gave up the chance to eat sweets.

"What's wrong with you? Are you feeling lonely because all the boys are spending all their time training and not spending time with you? That's it, isn't it dear?"

Bulma became instantly overly defensive. "Oh, please." She heard her father's footsteps. "I'm just not very hungry!"

"You know," her father said with a large yawn, "I'm starting to think Vegeta is a few cards short of a full deck!" Dr. Brief looked quite irritated. "It wasn't enough to have the simulator create 300g for him! Now he's demanding that I make more equipment for him to train with. Then all he's going to do is break it!

"Somehow that doesn't surprise me at all," said Bulma, very engaged now that Vegeta's name has been brought up.

Her mother poured a cup of tea. "Well, I think it's great he works so hard!"

Bulma heard the exasperation in her father's voice. "Oh, sure he's training hard. But don't you think he's overdoing it?"

There was a gleeful grin playing on her mother's face. "Oh, no! I think it's very admirable. In my day, a man that showed that much dedication to anything was definitely husband material!"

It was not something Bulma hadn't heard her mother say before. Come to think of it, most of what her mother said nowadays had to do with Vegeta becoming someone's groom.

Poor girl, thought Bulma, thinking about the innocent, unsuspecting woman who might one day find herself in his clutches.

What's the matter with me? Why can't I do this?

The room around Vegeta was red, brightened only by the large white spheroid of energy he had released. Weighed down by 300 times Earth's gravity, the blast's girth and power had expanded greatly. It now ricocheted dangerously around the chamber, striking floating mechanical bots and bouncing off of them.

Vegeta's red eyes followed it with unfailing determination. He had not slept. He had not eaten. He had only trained, and now, as the sweat on his body began coming in smaller increments, he was reminded of his hunger, his dehydration.

He chided himself for thinking of that when there were more important things at hand.

I can do this!

Vegeta spun around, miscalculating his movement and paying dearly for it. It struck him in his shoulder and he dropped hard on the tiled Gravity Room floor. He looked up in time to see that the blast was coming full-speed at him.

Quickly he gathered his strength and fired another one to deflect it. So terrifyingly weak was he becoming! Vegeta gritted his teeth, closed his eyes, strained against the weight of the oncoming ball of energy.

He released more of his power into his reflective beam.

I am a Saiyan!

And his blast began to overtake the other, fighting it backwards, pushing it away. And then something happened that the prince did not expect.

The walls began to shake. The very foundation of the chamber began to crumble beneath him. Red and white light mixed in the air, blinded him. He could hear the explosion, hear the crackling of open electricity, hear the destruction of the newly rebuilt Gravity Room.

The ceiling began to break apart. The walls broke apart. The flooring broke apart. Vegeta too, felt himself being broken apart.

She had heard a sound like that before. The sound of glass breaking and walls caving in. Bulma cared not for the spilled hot tea in her lap, but suddenly and inexplicably for the life of the man who was inside of the exploding Gravity Room.

"What was that?" her mother asked, fairly shaken, but Bulma had no time to answer. She leapt out of her chair and ran out of the front door into the bright sunlight.

"It's dangerous!" her father shouted after her, but Bulma ignored him too. She spun around the side of the Capsule Corp. mansion and ran into Yamcha, who was wide-eyed and standing still in the yard.

"What are you doing just standing there?" she shouted at him. Grabbing his arm she ran faster, dragging him behind her.

As they neared the Gravity Room, Bulma could smell burnt wiring and could see the gray haze of smoke. Her heart thudded in her chest.

She could barely keep her composure as the ruins of the Gravity Room came into sight. It was nothing but a shell of its former self, completely destroyed and collapsed.

What has he done?

"Vegeta!" she cried as she ran towards the wreckage. "Vegeta!"

Bulma reached it first, but Yamcha did not miss a beat.

"I knew this would happen," he said gravely, looking on as she began frantically digging through the rubble. "He's been trying to do the impossible!"

She ignored him, as usual. "Where is he?" she asked, her voice quivering. "Vegeta?"

When there was no response, she began searching more frantically. He was okay! He had to be okay!

A bloody hand shot through the crumbled pieces of cement and screaming, Bulma leapt backwards into Yamcha, who fell over with the weight of them both.

An elbow followed the hand, an arm followed the elbow, and finally a scratched and bleeding torso, unmistakably Vegeta. So relieved was she, Bulma felt dizzy, unsteady.

Less unsteady than Vegeta of course, who, though he seemed very determined to do so anyway, could barely stand.

"Y-you're okay?"

He snarled at this comment and scathingly replied, "Of course I am!"

With that, Vegeta stopped trying to steady himself and stood in front of both Yamcha and Bulma, as though daring them to refute him. Bulma however, was getting angrier by the second.

"How dare you, you dweeb?" she shouted and Vegeta at least had the decency to look startled. "You almost wrecked my house! What are you trying to prove?"

Vegeta's legs began to wobble violently, but he stood his ground. He looked as though he wanted to say something to rile her, if his half-laugh was any indication. But all that happened was that he lost his balance. Eyes shut, he fell back into the rubble he had climbed out of.

"Oh no!" gasped his self-proclaimed female adversary. Bulma ran to his exhausted body and lifted it partially off of the ground. "You're hurt!"

He looked into her eyes, almost sleepily. "No, I don't need help. I've got training to do."

"You've got to stop training for awhile! I mean, look at you! You're a complete wreck!"

"But I feel fine!" he argued, as though she were his mother. "I'm a Saiyan! I can take a little pain; it means nothing to me! And I have to get stronger than Kakarot!"

Bulma felt something expand within her chest at his prideful speech. "Okay, sure. We all know you're a tough guy, but you need to rest now!"

Vegeta pushed away from her. "I take orders from no one!"

As if to prove this point, Vegeta attempted once more to stand on his legs. Unfortunately all he did was prove Bulma right, when exhausted, he swayed and tipped headfirst back into the wreckage. He did not move again.

Dr. Brief finished wrapped the gauze around Vegeta's left ankle. He turned towards his daughter, who hesitated and then slowly pulled the blanket up to cover the patient.

"He should be fine here in the infirmary," Dr. Brief's said, stepping back to admire his handiwork.

Bulma knelt by the edge of the bed where Vegeta lay unconscious. "Is he going to be alright, daddy?"

"I hope so," he answered swiftly, sensing that his daughter was worried. "The only thing that he hasn't bruised are his eyebrows! If he stays in bed for a week or so, he should be alright. He's dodged the bullet again. It's a miracle he survived such a horrible accident."

Scratch dug her claws into Dr. Brief's shoulders and he realized that he was upsetting both his daughter and wife with his frankness. "Those Saiyans are practically indestructible!"

Beside him, his wife began to sob into a hanky. "Poor Vegeta!"

He gently held her. "Come on dear, let's let him rest."

And though he wanted to ask Bulma to come along with them, he did not bother.

He knew where she would be.