Vegeta stepped into the lobby of Capsule Corp.'s Headquarters. Wide glass windows let the bright, pale autumn light flood the spacious room. Vegeta considered the lack of shadows neither heartening nor auspicious. More than one person stared at him once he had crossed their line of sight. In response, he did all within his power to betray absolutely no emotion or intention as he searched for Bulma's energy and the best possible route to it.
"Excuse me, sir," a man's voice called out from behind a tall desk.
Vegeta turned and glared at him menacingly.
"Can I, uh, help you?"
The Saiyan strode up to the desk. The scrawny secretary, who barely matched Vegeta's height, trembled when the fully-armored Saiyan eyed him directly. "Take me to Bulma Briefs," Vegeta ordered, his voice low.
"Do you have an appointment?" The secretary glanced at the computer screen in front of him. "I don't see anything scheduled for right now."
"I don't need one."
A middle-aged woman shoved the male secretary away from his place at the desk. "Listen, mister," she barked at Vegeta, "you need an appointment if you want to see Dr. Briefs. Do you have a badge? Back up, and let me see some ID unless you want me to call security."
"That won't be necessary," Vegeta hissed.
"I don't like that look you're giving me," the woman snapped. "I don't think you're up to any good. Badge now or you're out of here." She picked up a phone.
"Wait! Don't call security just yet!" the other secretary interrupted. "I think this is Vegeta. Did you get Dr. Briefs' memo? She said to contact her immediately and not to call security."
"You've got to be kidding me," the woman sighed. "Just look at this guy. He obviously doesn't even have a badge. I've already dialed security."
"No!" the scrawny man gasped. He fumbled with another desk phone. "Dr. Briefs, I think Vegeta is here to see you," he stammered into the receiver.
Vegeta folded his arms over his chest, snickering to himself. Glancing to his side, the Saiyan saw that two men dressed in black and navy blue approached him. One of them reached out to take him by the elbow, and Vegeta shot him such a malignant, threatening scowl that he hesitated. The other guard reflexively rested his hand on the pistol belted to his waist.
The lanky secretary, his skin now gleaming with nervous sweat, dashed out from behind the desk. "It's all right. We called you by mistake," he said to the guards, waving his arms frantically. "This is Vegeta—the guy from the memo! He looks just like the picture."
"Yes, it's all right, everyone!" a voice called out.
Vegeta turned, recognizing the voice as Bulma's.
"Come with me, Vegeta," she said calmly, but firmly. "Don't mind any of these people." Eying the guards boldly, she repeated, "It's all right, everyone."
The Saiyan watched the guards retreat timidly; Bulma's assurances had melted away much of the room's former tension. Spinning on her red heels, she headed towards the elevator off to her side. Her tight gray pencil skirt restricted the length of her strides, and Vegeta caught up to her after hardly a second's passing. Together, they stepped into the elevator.
Once the door slid shut, Bulma's expression hardened into one of anger. "What did you think you were doing, Vegeta? You can't just march up and demand to see the vice president of a major corporation—especially if you don't have a ID badge, not to mention a passport or driver's license! And you came in your armor, of course. You just had to make a spectacle of yourself!"
"You had prepared your workers for my arrival, regardless," he retorted contemptuously.
"Whatever. It's because I had to be prepared for whatever weird thing you might do. I'm glad I did send my staff a memo. Probably saved a few lives!" she stormed with slight sarcasm. She drew in a deep breath and adjusted her ruffled red blouse as she released a sigh. "Okay. You can tell me what this is all about once we get to my office. Once that door opens, just keep quiet and put on a face that wouldn't make a kid cry. All we have to do is walk down the hallway. I don't want to cause any more scenes."
"Your presence seemed to have as dramatic an effect as mine did," Vegeta commented caustically. "Your underlings must fear you."
"Underlings? Don't even go there." She straightened her posture and tugged her skirt towards her knees. "Okay. Door's about to open."
Wordlessly, they exited the elevator and made their way down the hall. In front of them stood a decoratively engraved double door; Vegeta assumed it marked the entryway to Bulma's office. He had known abstractly of the woman's power and prestige on Earth, but the material symbols thereof brought a new depth to his knowledge. Walking just behind her, he watched her take one shuffling step after another; her awkward gait, exaggerated by her impractical shoes, struck Vegeta as ironic—ironic that a woman of global prominence hardly knew how to carry herself. He wondered if she was conscious of how wantonly she swayed her rounded hips or if she did it intentionally.
She entered a passcode, swung one door open, then waited for Vegeta to slip inside. After shutting and locking the door behind her, she approached a large desk at the center of the room, then perched on it slightly, crossing her ankles in front of her. "So. What's going on, Vegeta?"
The Saiyan had begun pacing in front of a wide window that overlooked the city.
"You wouldn't go near a bunch of Earthlings unless something was up," she continued as he kept pacing silently.
Once he made a few more rounds, he stopped, confronted Bulma, then glared at her directly. "You must return to your laboratory and work alongside your father to finish the gravity simulator. I refuse to wait any longer."
Stubbornly, Bulma crossed her arms under her breasts. "You can't be serious. No."
"I did not offer you a choice in the matter." He clenched his fists at his sides.
"I'm done here in just a couple hours. Can't you wait that long? What's this really about?"
Vegeta could feel his face heat with rage. "No waiting. I just want the simulator fixed. That is all!"
"You need to keep it down, Vegeta. If people hear you shouting, they might try to call security again." She pointed at an embroidered couch that rested against one wall. "Take a seat over there, take a deep breath, and tell me what's going on without shouting. I've got an appointment in an hour and a half, so make it quick. You're really anxious, and you need to relax before you give yourself an aneurysm."
Something about this place seemed to play into the woman's delusion that she held any degree of authority over him. "You dare—an aneurysm?—presumptive woman!—orders!" he growled incoherently. He had resumed his pacing. To his chagrin, he found that he had stopped beside the couch Bulma had indicated, and, if he had not frustrated himself enough, he found that he had fallen into the cushion with as little resistance as an obedient child. He rested his elbows on his knees, squeezing his head between his palms. Bulma let him sit quietly for a moment.
"What's up, Vegeta? It's okay to let it out. I know this isn't just about the gravity machine. Your training helps you deal with the stuff going on in your head, and the more stuff going on, the more reckless you get. You probably already know that it's a pattern for you. It's obvious enough that other people notice it too."
Unblinkingly, Vegeta stared at his boots. Whatever he felt at the moment had paralyzed him; he made no effort to analyze and provide an account of his interior state.
"I just realized something. Maybe it will make you happy." Bulma uncrossed her ankles and stood up. "Ever thought that you've gotten dependent on the gravity machine because nothing else can push you hard enough? It means you've gotten stronger. I can sort of see how that might be frustrating, though, for somebody who uses physical stress as a coping mechanism."
"You think my training is little more than a coping mechanism?" Vegeta snarled cuttingly. He had spoken in the lowest register of his voice, and one could not have heard him unless they listened for his response.
"Of course it's more than that. I just said that because I know that the reason you're here is isn't just because you're impatient. You and me both know you aren't that childish. Another person might just give in to your demands because they were afraid of your Saiyan-sized temper tantrums. I'm not going to do that. I'm not afraid to respect you. I'm going to talk this through. I hope you'll treat yourself with the same dignity and not trivialize your feelings."
"My feelings?" the Saiyan muttered in the same deep tone. "What nonsense."
Bulma sat down beside him.
He removed one hand from the side of his face and bore into her coldly with his black eyes.
Delicately, she brushed his shoulder. "What's going on, Vegeta?"
He flinched at her touch. "Do not touch me! You're driving me crazy! I can't think straight anymore. Any trace of focus I once had has left me entirely. I haven't been myself in weeks." He straightened his posture, then gripped Bulma's upper arm, forcing her to face him directly. "It is your fault!"
"You're not crazy," was Bulma's simple, confident reply. " Not in the way you're afraid of, anyway. If you're talking about what I think you are, then it's completely normal."
"How can I be sane when I can do nothing but let a woman invade my mind? I let you do to me more than Frieza had ever done over the course of twenty years. If that does not betray mental instability, then I don't know what does." The grip he held on Bulma's arm tightened. "None of this makes sense."
"Not everything has to. I've told you that before." She reached out and put one hand behind the Saiyan's neck, urging him closer. "And it makes more sense than you think it does anyway."
He hesitated. He knew she could not move him herself; she could only urge him one way or the other. Part of him wondered how he could resist her at all; almost everything about her made him wild. She was beautiful, competent, brilliant, courageous. She had acknowledged him and his universe as none had before her. Perhaps it did make some sense after all, as she had said. Vegeta realized that he wanted it to make sense.
"What are you thinking?" she asked.
He could not speak his realization; it still remained but a half-developed thought, and not one he could share readily under any circumstance. Instead, he merely relented to the woman's touch and fell into her arms. He buried his face in the velvety skin of her neck, and he couldn't help but taste it. Lightly and lazily, he began licking the tender spot where her pulse raced.
"What are you doing now, Vegeta?" A subtle, giddy laugh hid itself in her voice. He felt its vibration against his cheek. "I've still got an appointment in less than an hour."
Frieza himself could have an appointment with her; he wouldn't care. After releasing his hold on her arm, Vegeta let his hand wander to the front of Bulma's blouse. She caught his hand there with her own, and she entwined his fingers with hers as she lifted his arm away and dragged it around her slim waist.
"Mm, this is nice and all," Bulma purred, "but this isn't really the best—"
The Saiyan caught the last word with his lips. The woman did not resist; on the contrary, she parted his lips with her tongue almost immediately. Vegeta received her eagerly. He felt a tug at the base of his neck; the woman had begun to play with his hair idly. A bittersweet scent seeped from her pores, and Vegeta intuitively understood that she reeked of desire. In an instant, he remembered his own desire, and he inwardly condemned his now painfully restrictive undergarments with a fleeting curse.
A cough broke out from the direction of the doorway.
Vegeta's eyes flew open and darted to the source of the noise. He met the gaze of the scrawny secretary.
"Uh, Dr. Briefs?"
Bulma jerked away from Vegeta with enough speed to exceed his Saiyan expectations for her. "Oh my God," she gasped, her agitation increasing with every syllable. "This had better be important!"
The secretary blushed so fiercely that his pimples seemed to vanish in the rosiness that spread across his face. "Your appointment might be here a bit early," he muttered in one breath. "I tried to call you."
"Email! You ever heard of it?" Bulma howled.
"I sent one, but I, uh, wasn't sure you got it."
"Well, I know all about it now, so you can leave. One word, by the way, and you're fired—and blacklisted!" she screeched. She had gotten up to hurl her threats down the hallway, for the secretary had already turned to flee by the time she had uttered the word "fired." After catching her breath, she addressed the Saiyan still seated on her couch. "Get your ass back to the house and eat fucking everything in the fridge!"
Vegeta smirked wickedly.
"What's that look for? Get going! I'll help with the goddamn gravity machine when I get home."
"Underlings," he taunted.
"Oh my fucking God."
Author's Note: Remember to check out Frozen Truths, a story about Vegeta's past under Frieza by LadyLuckRogue, a good writer friend of mine! After talking to LadyLuckRogue and brainstorming with her, I can promise you that Frozen Truths will prove a gripping, epic tale! She already has the prologue and first chapter posted. If you like The Mistaken Wish, you may like Frozen Truths, and you should check it out!
Remember that after I, your author, finish The Mistaken Wish (don't worry, though, I still have a ways to go!), I hope to add a bonus chapter in which I answer frequently asked questions pertaining to my story. I thought it would be a cool way to interact with my readers and give them a way to enjoy the story in new ways even after I finish it. If you have a question, don't hesitate to ask in a review or in a personal message. I'll give you a couple examples of some questions to get you guys thinking: "How do you choose chapter titles?" "Why did you write The Mistaken Wish from Vegeta's perspective?" or even "What have been your greatest influences as a writer?"