"Well, lookee here," Bulma cooed as she rubbed her hands gleefully over the slice of pepperoni and artichoke pizza with extra onions bigger than the size of her face. "Come to mama." She veritably cackled as she picked it up with both hands and funneled it into her face.
Yamcha cringed slightly. "I still can't believe you like onions. Extra...onions," he complained, taking a bite of his own pizza with much less flair.
"It's been too long," she explained through a mouth full of pizza. "Like, a month too long."
"You come here often?"
She nodded, licking her lips with deep satisfaction like a cat with cream. "Every other Friday after work."
He shot her a smile, the corner of his eyes crinkling. "Antonio's has offered to sponsor the Titan's next year."
"No shit?" She asked with genuine awe. She missed Yamcha's face falling fractionally at her foul mouth as she took another extra large bite of her pizza. "Wow. Lucky ducks. Are you guys going to file in here after each game for pizza like a bunch of little leaguers?" She smirked at him playfully.
"We're a little more mature than that, B." He leaned back in his chair, sipping on his bottled water and eyes roaming over the other tables.
…He wasn't joking.
Bulma's smirk fell.
She watched him thoughtfully.
"Is there something on your mind?" She prompted, staring at him cautiously.
Yamcha immediately faced her with a look of apology. He ran his hands through his hair nervously, giving it a light pat to smooth it back into its suave style. "I'm sorry. I'm just nervous about this date." He chuckled. "I didn't mean to sound like that."
Her eyes narrowed as she gazed at him warily, before turning her attention back to her pizza and popping a thick slice of artichoke into her mouth. "Um, Yamcha...this isn't a date." She stopped chewing and stared at him.
"No, no, of course not!" He chuckled anxiously, waving his hand in the air and leaning back in his seat with a casual air that his nervousness belied.
She raised her eyebrow at him, chewing her crust, before swallowing and glancing around for a napkin. Finding none in close proximity, she sucked the tips of her fingers before wiping them on her jeans.
"Gross, Bulma. There are napkins right there." He leaned over to an empty table, yanked some from the holder and tossed them in her direction.
Bulma's face fell with disbelief. "Oh my," she commented on his behavior dryly.
Yamcha looked away, visibly bristling.
Oh yes, she recognized this behavior. This was Yamcha's famous passive aggressive maneuvering. It was meant to make her feel guilty, while allowing him to be the good guy.
"What is wrong with you?" She asked quietly. "You've barely ate your pizza and you're already acting snooty. I haven't seen you in over three years and it's like our time apart never happened."
Yamcha continued to look out over the heads of the other customers, ignoring her even as he chewed the inside of his cheek with restrained displeasure.
How dare he act so condescending?
She sipped on her Pepsi noisily, causing him to glance over with disapproval. "You used to be so laid back. Until you joined the Titans." She pronounced the name childishly, disrespectfully, even crossing her eyes a little. "What is wrong with you? I've met old people more fun than you. Relax, it's just a little pizza grease." She sucked up the last of her Pepsi, and glanced at the empty cup with disappointment.
"What's wrong with you?" He asked with quiet force, leaning in and startling her. "You used to actually take care of yourself." His eyes raked her form.
She grew instantly livid.
"You used to be so sweet. I could take you places," he continued. "It wasn't such an embarrassment to be out with you."
She felt a ball of ice churning in her stomach, numbing her. "I see." She tried looking into his eyes, tried to determine if he was being genuine or just lashing out, but he avoided her gaze. "Why did you even ask me out? Surely you had to have had the sense to know I'm not one of your idiotic fawning sluts."
There it was. Three years, and Bulma had finally grown bold enough to breach the issue of his infidelity.
"I'm going to get more soda," he said firmly, standing. "Let's just calm down and talk things through. We obviously need to get some things off our chest."
She knew he was just trying to make himself look like the good guy and make her seem over-emotional. She looked down at her hand on her cup with disembodied surprise. She was shaking indignantly. It seemed, even three years later and with no time to spare, he was trying to put her back in a box. No box, a furious internal voice rebuffed. No more boxes.
She looked down at her soda. It was down to its watery dregs. She felt a surge of hostility towards it. "I need more pop, too," she snarled, before standing and walking toward him.
They both walked stiffly to the soda fountain, queued in line behind a family fumbling with their drinks, without speaking to one another.
"I'm sorry," he finally uttered. "I just wanted to see you again. I just, I thought you'd be excited for me. I wanted to tell you….I'm being looked at for the major leagues."
He looked at her expectantly.
Bulma's eyes grew increasingly wider. "And what, you thought that since you're a big shot now I was just going to give it up again? Apology not accepted."
His tone turned icy. "The romantic I am, I thought of the one person who'd known how badly I've wanted the major leagues all these years. I thought you'd be excited for me," he said accusingly. The family in front of them walked away quickly, glancing back at them, but Yamcha and Bulma didn't notice as they turned toward one another angrily.
"I see what this is about," she gasped. "You want me to moon over you. Pat you on the back and give you some victory pie. You just want someone to take care of you! Still haven't learned to cook for yourself, I see?"
"It's perfectly logical, Bulma," he replied with irritation under his breath. "You know you haven't been the same since I left. You know you need me, want me back." As if incited by his own venom, Yamcha just kept going. "Your mother caters to your dad. So does my mom. It's the natural order of things." Bulma felt bile rise in her throat. "It's this stubbornness," he spat, gesturing at her shapeless, overall-clad form, "that is exactly the reason we didn't work. How can I go the next step with a girl who thinks engines are more important than taking care of the man that works so hard for her?"
"You weren't even working!" Bulma finally erupted, voice traveling over the surrounding tables. "I was paying our bills. I was making dinner every night. I wasn't allowed to go out on Friday nights. I was pulling all your weight, and I was making excuses for your walking all over me!"
"Lower your voice," he whispered urgently, eyes darting around.
"And I broke up with you!" She snarled.
"Is there a problem here?"
The two turned towards the intruders, who stood a few feet from them calmly. Both wore long, black wool coats and stared at Yamcha with cool gazes. She'd have recognized them anywhere. Raditz's hair was as lush as ever, falling over his back as he sucked his beer through a straw with detached amusement. Nappa's bald head gleamed in the bar light.
"We can't hear the game over your ruckus," Raditz explained with complaint, leveling his gaze at Bulma.
Without a second thought, she stuck her tongue out at him.
Raditz's eyes narrowed, and he stuck his tongue out at her with even more sauciness than she did.
"Do you know these guys?" Yamcha asked her with a hint of accusation. "These assholes threw peanuts at us in the dugout all last night before we had them escorted out." He glared at the lawyers.
"Yeah. I know them. And I wish you had tripped on a peanut shell and broke your face, you egotistical, backwards jerk!"
"Real witty!" He yelled in her face.
"What's your problem, man," Raditz asked Yamcha boredly. "Leave her alone. She didn't do anything to you."
"Yeah. Leave her alone before we have to remove you from the premises," Nappa commanded with amusement, cracking his knuckles with a vile smirk.
"Hey folks, keep it down or take it outside!" Someone yelled at them from behind the bar.
"Get bent!" Bulma yelled back.
"Real lady like," Yamcha countered.
She wagged her finger at him. "I was through with you three years ago, and I am STILL so over you!"
Yamcha stepped closer to her, sneering down in her face, causing Nappa and Raditz to take a step forward—
only to be parted by another person, in the same style of sophisticated wool coat but much shorter and oozing much, much more menace.
Yamcha didn't notice as he put his face in Bulma's, causing her to flinch, a reflex she never thought she'd experience again. "Well," he seethed, "I can't believe I was willing to lower myself to your level again. I thought you'd be happy for me. Instead, you spent the whole date stuffing your face, even though you should be watching your waistline." Bulma sucked in air. "You're not worth dating, let alone fucking, and you never will be," she heard Yamcha say from down his nose through a sort of tunnel vision, and she slowly watched his finger come towards her to jab her insultingly in the chest, "and that's why you're not woman enough to be with me—"
Yamcha's tirade was shut up forcefully by Vegeta's fist slamming into his jaw, which emitted a crack as Bulma watched it in slow motion shift unnaturally from his face.
"She's too good for you, you joke," Vegeta said beside her as Yamcha squirmed on the floor, holding his jaw.
Raditz and Nappa burst into giggles. "He's making me miss the game, the prick," Nappa complained to Vegeta, downing the rest of his beer.
Bulma's head swiveled towards Vegeta, regarding him as though he'd grown another head, just as the same voice from behind the bar screamed. "Alright, you fucks! I'm calling the cops!"
"Oh, shut up!" Bulma and Vegeta craned their necks and yelled.
Only for Vegeta to narrowly miss the fist headed for his temple.
Vegeta stiffened, regarded Yamcha with offended fury. "Why you—"
Customers were tripping over each other, filing out of the restaurant, and distantly, sirens wailed.
"Come at me, you pointy haired piece of—"
Nappa shut Yamcha up with a nauseatingly hard fist to the stomach.
"Oh shit!" Bulma squeaked.
To the men's amused bafflement, Bulma broke the tension by leaning over and filling up her cup of Pepsi from the fountain. She giggled nervously.
The three men stared at her wryly.
"Don't want to leave without a refill," she explained. She popped a lid on it and turned back towards them. "Okay. Come on, boys." She pushed the men gently towards the door. "Let's get out of here," she encouraged with the calm authority of a school marm as people swarmed Yamcha on the floor, trying to help him up.
Vegeta shrugged off her hand before storming out of the building. Bulma, sandwiched between Nappa and Raditz, followed him out with a look of concerned confusion.
"What is he—"
Vegeta was already slamming the door to his Porsche, barely a second before the engine roared to life. And then he was peeling out of the parking lot, the rear end of the sports car swinging the opposite way with the force of his speed before shooting down the street.
"Well, that was crazy fun," chimed Raditz. "Was that pretty boy your boyfriend?"
Bulma looked up at him as the volume of the sirens got louder. "Ex. Ex-boyfriend," she corrected him, cocking her eyebrow at the not-so-innocent curiosity laced through his words. "Well, thanks, guys. You have my permission to throw peanuts at him anytime."
That's when she realized Nappa and Raditz still had their beer mugs in hand. Raditz sucked on his bright pink straw until it fizzled noisily with air, and Bulma cringed.
"Yep. No problem," Nappa issued blandly. "Welp, we better get out of here. See ya later, alligator." Nappa raised his glass to her before turning the other way.
The two men disappeared into the dark alley, Raditz shooting her a wink before they faded into the alley shadows.
Bulma stood slack jawed, staring at the space they left off before glancing down the street in the direction Vegeta took off. She heard the door of Antonio's open, Yamcha's bellowing rising from the bowels of the restaurant threaded through alarmingly loud sirens.
"Oh, gosh." Bulma jumped up and shuffled quickly to her bus, sucking on her Pepsi. "Better skidaddle."
Bulma shut the front door loudly and swept into the apartment. "You won't believe what just happened!" She yelled, stopping in the center of the living room with her arms outstretched, forgetting that she was avoiding Chi Chi and the apartment.
Chi Chi scurried in, her silk jammy pants swishing around her slender legs, her eyes wide. "What on Earth? What just happened?"
Bulma couldn't help the wide grin that split her face. "Oh. My god. It was just like a movie!" Bulma hopped back and forth on her heels a little in her excitement. "Yamcha just got knocked out by Vegeta and Nappa."
"What?" Chi Chi balked.
"I know! Isn't it ridiculous?" She put her Pepsi down on the breakfast bar, giggling at the memory. "They called the cops on us and everything." Bulma's face melted with dawning horror. "Oh no. Nooo. They'll never let me back at Antonio's again."
"Why in the hell did they punch out Yamcha?" Chi Chi shrieked incredulously.
"He was being his characteristic turd self. That's why," Bulma replied, a little defensively.
"Yamcha is not a turd," Chi Chi contended. "Is he okay?!"
Bulma's jaw dropped. "Yes, he is a turd. He's a turd if there ever was one."
"Says the woman sleeping with the king of turds!" Chi Chi countered loudly. "Bulma, I set you two up on that date! Yamcha emailed me asking me to do it, and I had hoped it would do you some good!"
"What?" Bulma drew in a breath sharply.
"I set you two up together, you dunderhead, and not surprisingly, you ruined it!"
Bulma stared at her friend in dismal stupefaction.
Chi Chi rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest defensively. "That didn't come out like I intended it to," she muttered, only mildly apologetic.
"No." Bulma's hoarse voice broke through the room, stilling Chi Chi. "No, that's exactly what you mean. Tell me, Chi Chi, do I embarrass you?"
Chi Chi turned red with mortification as she realized Bulma had caught her in her scheme and wasn't going to allow her to dig her way out.
"Yeah. That's what I thought," Bulma whispered despondently.
She strode towards her bedroom, leaving Chi Chi alone in her growing dismay.
"Bulma, I'm sorry," she rushed, taking off after her friend. "I didn't mean it like that. I was just trying to help—"
Bulma was shoving clothes into a duffle bag.
"What are you doing?" Chi Chi cried out.
Bulma was tearing through her drawers and shoving things into the bag, and to Chi Chi's horror, Bulma looked up at her with watery eyes, her face puffy and twisted with emotion.
"I'm tired of you treating me like I'm crippled." She slammed the last drawer shut and swung her backpack over her shoulder. "You'll have your remaining $200 in rent for the end of the month. I'll send you the check tomorrow."
Chi Chi watched her friend stride down the hall with choking emotion. "Bulma, please!" She pleaded after her, brokenly. "Don't go."
Bulma reached for the front door knob, and then turned. She looked up from underneath wayward curls with anguish. "Yamcha was emotionally abusive. And controlling. That's why I broke up with him. Guess how he behaved tonight?" Chi Chi stared at her friend with downward spiraling horror. "Vegeta hit him only after he told me I'd never amount to anything." She looked at her friend steadily, one tear escaping down her round cheek. "I don't need a man. I don't need a mother or a wife. I needed a friend, but I guess I'm too much of an embarrassment to even deserve that. If you like Yamcha so much, why don't you go marry him. You deserve each other," she whispered rashly through her teeth before shutting the door behind her on Chi Chi's anguished face.
Bulma tore at her hair a little and dumped her head into her arms, rolling it against the cold steering wheel.
"Okay," she whispered to herself hoarsely. "Okay, calm down, you."
She reached for a handkerchief on the floor and blew her nose into it, making a mental note not to forget she did and use it in her hair. She glanced into the bus's rearview mirror.
She looked terrible.
She opened the glove box, which fell open loosely on its hinges, and ransacked it for makeup. Any makeup. Finding none, because she didn't wear makeup, she bent over the passenger seat, shifter pressing into her abdomen, and rustled through the trash on the floor before chirping "A-ha!"
Clumsily straightening herself, she clutched one of Chi Chi's spare drugstore powder compacts. Smoothing it on her face profusely, hoping she was using it the right way, she tossed it onto her dash and gave herself a last cursory look in the mirror. She took a deep breath through her nose and unbuckled her seat belt, the cold metal catching on the lock mechanism. She yanked it out, and it gave, jerking back and hitting the window as it reeled into itself.
She hopped out of the bus and shut the door with a hollow clang behind her. She knew he was here because both his Ghia and his Porsche were parked underneath the trellised carport.
Bulma walked slowly up the sidewalk, her heart pounding a little tattoo in her chest. Making her way up the stairs, the well-sealed wood thumping under her boots, she took a deep breath.
Her knuckles hovered over the address on the door, three metal digits neatly nailed into the cherry wood door.
She knocked.
And waited.
Until she was shivering, and with a smoky huff in the cold air, knocked again.
Feeling an anti-climactic, sinking sense of disappointment, she stepped away from the door. She turned and headed back towards the stairs, shoving her hands in her coat pockets against the cold and biting her lip.
She heard the door open behind her, and turned.
He leaned against the door frame, arms crossed over his bare, wide chest. He stared at her calmly, and she stared back at him over her shoulder uncertainly.
"Well?" He asked gruffly, before moving away from the door frame. Although he'd disappeared from view...the door didn't close.
Bulma made her way uncertainly back towards his door.
His back was pressed up against the open door, his slender, muscle-packed waist jutting out as he slumped back, waiting for her. His eyes followed her in, and she shuffled in until she stood in the doorway, arms crossed protectively over her chest.
They stared at one another in the lamp light spilling from the front room. His gaze drifted over her features, noting her red rimmed eyes and her slack, despondent expression.
"You look like shit," he said softly.
Her eyes narrowed.
He reached out and rested his warm hand on her jaw, and then he leaned in slowly and kissed her.
She clutched the hand cupping her face and returned the kiss.
Moving her slightly away from the doorway without pulling away, he pushed the door closed with his free hand. He felt her light breath against his open lips between kisses and he captured them with his mouth. Tracing the curve of her ear with his thumb, he thumbed the soft spot where her neck met her jaw with resounding pleasure.
Sighing into his mouth, her hands emptied themselves from her pockets and trailed down his collar to palm his warm chest, its familiar solidness comforting. Taking a deep breath through her nose as they kissed, she inhaled his cozy scent of clean cotton and spice and lingering bar soap. He pulled away momentarily to kiss his way down her jaw, and she took the opportunity to rub her cheek against his. It was like he emitted some bad vibes-disrupting force field, given how her brain just turned to mush around him.
He startled her when he rumbled, "You interrupted me."
"Interrupted what?" She asked woozily.
Vegeta drew her closer and gestured to the inside of his condo. "Eating, woman. Sleeping."
That's when she smelled it. She was already drifting out of his arms and towards the stove.
"Oooooh." She pinched a piece of steak between her fingertips from the stir fry in the large wok and popped it into her mouth. "Mmm," she praised him, her eyes widening.
"Get out of there," he griped, inserting himself between her and the stove to give the food a stir, but not before she reached around his other side and snatched another piece. "Hands off!" He snapped, although not unkindly.
"Do you want it back?" She asked before sticking out her tongue and showing him the chewed up, sorry-looking piece of steak mush.
He turned in distaste, and she smiled, swallowing, forgetting everything else but him with growing pleasure. She snapped the waistband of his shorts playfully. He snapped back around and grabbed her face in his hand, kissing her firmly on the mouth. "No one eats my food without paying for it," he purred against her mouth before lowering his head to her neck and sucking lightly. Her eyes widened as she felt him grow against her from under his thin shorts.
"I just did," she contended throatily. He growled and pulled back, giving her a disapproving scowl and then shoving his hands in her hair and kissing her hard on the mouth. His tongue pressed against her lips and she opened easily for him, kissing him back with deep approval. His shoulders were wide, and she traced the cartography of his body with her hands, skimming his chest, over his ridged sides, down to cup his hard hips. His hands in her hair, his mouth in hers, and she was there, somewhere, floating in the clouds he was making of her head.
He slapped her ass and she fell from the clouds hard. "Ow!" She frowned. "Hey, watch it, buddy."
"You're preventing me from eating my dinner," he explained remorselessly, before turning back to the stove, switching off the burner and moving the pan to a cooler one. She ran her hand absentmindedly down his back and peered over his thick arm, which stirred the stir fry. Her mouth watered.
"Looks like there's enough in there for me." She smiled sweetly up at him.
He snorted. "You saw wrong."
He was spooning it onto a large red dinner plate and growled as Bulma reached into the cabinets and grabbed one of her own. She gave him a wink, and he plopped a helping of stir fry onto her plate with narrowed eyes. "Hmph."
Reaching into the cabinets and grabbing the chili sauce, he routinely uncapped it and dumped it over his rice. He froze as Bulma shrieked, and turned to look at her with horrified reprisal. He didn't have time to blink before she slapped his hand.
"What's the point of making dinner if you're just going to put that much hot sauce on it?"
"Don't tell me how much hot sauce I can put on my food," he snarled defensively.
"Jeez, have a side of stir fry with that chili sauce why don't you," she teased as she spooned some extra onions from the pan onto her plate, smiling under her breath.
He cocked an eyebrow at her as he pulled an extra large piece of steak off his fork with his teeth.
She took an experimental bite, and her eyes lidded with pleasure. "Thanks to you, I never got to finish my pizza." She shot him a disapproving look.
"It sounded like it wasn't going to get eaten anyway," he disputed quietly.
She put her fork and plate down gently, and turned to him, brows knit with worry. "About that," she started, mouth parting as she tried to form the words.
"I don't want to hear it," he stated roughly.
"You will hear it." She frowned. "Thank you."
He growled down at his plate with his mouth full.
"Thank you for sticking up for me."
His eyes shot up towards her, and he regarded her with dark intensity.
"It was awfully considerate of you. You know, considering you're a jerk and all." She smiled at his narrowed eyes. She placed a kiss on his cheek quickly, and pulled away blushing. "Anyways. That's all that has to be said. Just, thank you."
He stared at her with surprise, chewing slowly.
"Mmm, the steak is so tender. You don't get skillet steak like this by flash frying it." His head tilted towards her with cat-like curiosity. She licked her lips, glancing down at her plate to stab at it with her fork, when she spotted papers strewn over the counters. She leaned over, glancing over them. "Doing work on a Saturday night?"
Swiftly, Vegeta's hands came slamming down on top of them, sweeping them out of eyesight.
But not before she had one pinned beneath her own hand. She looked hard at the memo, which seemed to come into focus with each small breath, each beat of her heart, punctuated, again and again, by the memo's header:
Subject: Bulma Briefs
Her eyes ran over the text unyieldingly. She saw Vegeta move towards it out of the corner of her eye, and she put up her hand stiffly.
He stilled.
BARDOCK VEJITA AND SONS LEGAL COUNSEL
PERSONAL AND CONFIDENTIAL MEMORANDUM
To: All Associates
From: no Ouji, Vejita and Son, Bardock
RE: Freeman Case and Compensation
This past year has shown unparalleled success for our firm, thanks in no small part to our associates. We are pleased to announce that we are offering a salary bonus to whichever associate can successfully put the Freeman case six feet underground. After extensive research into the neighborhood under investigation, evidence points to 'B's Dubs' business owner Bulma Briefs as the primary instigator in the failure so far to finalize the case.
The salary of the associate who can uncover her role in the prosecution and divide Ms. Briefs from the legal counsel at Baba and Sons will see their salary raised by ten percent and a chance for a senior position at our firm.
Let's end this fiscal year with an unrivaled achievement for our firm, and by passing on our appreciation for loyalty to our business. We are delighted to have this opportunity to recognize your hard work.
no Ouji and Son
Bulma looked up at Vegeta with wavering vision.
"Have you gotten what you wanted from me yet," she issued thickly, "or will you be playing with my emotions until you've successfully secured your position at Bardock Vejita and Sons?"
Vegeta wouldn't meet her gaze.
"You coward," she spat. "You're no different from him."
He looked up at her cruelly then. "Well, would you rather me fuck you before I ask you to leave, or later in court?"
She stopped breathing.
A sob escaped her throat. She turned and fled, and when the door swung shut behind her stiffly retreating form, Vegeta snatched the plate from the counter and hurled it at the wall with a bellow.