Frozen Stars – Chapter 2: Why do the assholes have to congregate in MY vicinity?

Bulma was still fuming while she was eating dinner in the faculty mess hall, hours after she'd stormed out of the Commandant's office. How dare that little bastard Morris threaten her! She'd… she'd… well, she had no fucking idea what she'd do to him, except cuss him out in her head every time she saw him, or thought about him, but she had to come up with something devastating. Because how dare he!

She'd have understood if Starfleet wanted her to apologize for embarrassing Prince Vegeta (and herself, of course) in front of the whole faculty, because even though she would've hated every second of it, she'd been out of line, and she knew it. But… for Alfrmyke? How could those stupid idiots still be so fucking dense to think that she'd done anything wrong there? It was literally self-defense, for fuck's sake! Did she have to do an interpretative dance to make them understand? Had all the reports she'd written, all the debriefings she'd endured not been enough?

"Who do you want to kill today, and can I help?" Launch asked as she slid into the seat across from Bulma, tray in hand, and Bulma chuckled for the first time since she'd gotten her day ruined by a certain smirking, aristocratic asshole.

"Am I that obvious?"

"Yup. Wouldn't take a rocket scientist to figure it out." Launch (who actually was a rocket scientist) tried a spoonful of her mess hall soup and made a face. "And I can't let you go murder the Commandant all by yourself, you'd totally get caught, especially because the whole faculty knows your motive now."

Launch had exactly two things she was passionate about: food, and making things go ka-boom. Which was why she was the most popular person in the Tactical department at Starfleet Academy, despite her abrasive personality where ka-boom things were concerned. Nobody wanted to piss off the lady who put a tray of kick-ass baked goodies in the staff kitchen every day, and knew how to MacGyver a bomb out of a pen and a paper clip (pen optional). She'd also been Bulma's friend since their high school days, and now that they both taught at Starfleet Academy, they were closer than ever.

"Or is it less of a murder situation, and more of a glitter bomb situation?" Launch asked when Bulma didn't answer right away, lost in her thoughts, and Bulma suppressed a laugh at the thought of the Commandant finding pink craft herpes on his dress uniform a year later. If anyone could do it (and without getting caught, too), it was Launch. When Bulma had broken up with her fiance Yamcha after the Alfrmyke debacle, Launch had thrown her a "Forget about the Guy" party that had involved a buffet that made professional caterers green with envy, and forty-seven different ways to blow off steam by blowing up things in your back yard, and honestly, best party ever. In fact, Bulma could use another one right now, because she'd been in a real "Let's blow things up!" mood ever since Vegeta had just sauntered back into her life with his judgmental face and sarcastic smirks.

But as much as Bulma thought that the Commandant would've deserved a glitter pipe bomb in his mail, it wasn't the right move, and not only because it would've been glaringly obvious to anyone with more than two brain cells to rub together that she was the culprit (not that Starfleet had a huge surplus of brain cells, if their handling of the Alfrmyke situation was any indication). But a glitter bomb also wouldn't accomplish anything, and it wouldn't let her keep her job and her dignity. She'd have to choose between the two, which was the crux of the issue. "The Commandant is making me apologize."

"Bastard," Launch dead-panned as she pulled her bowl with curry over, the substandard soup apparently not good enough to eat, but whatever else Launch had wanted to say died on her lips as a shadow fell over their secluded table tucked away in a corner near the windows. Someone had clearly gone out of their way to seek them out, and Bulma wasn't surprised when she found Doctor Cui's purple face sneering down at them. Wonderful. Just what I need tonight.

"Trying to insult me, Launch?" he smirked, and Launch put her spoon down with too much control in her tightly curled fingers, the clink against the hard plastic tray too loud, audible even over the background murmurs of the faculty dining hall.

"I assure you, if I was trying to insult you, even you wouldn't have to ask," she replied coolly, her explosive temper that was the stuff of legends in the Tactical department barely controlled, and Cui laughed stiffly before he turned towards Bulma, ready to revel in her misfortune (and unwilling to antagonize Launch further, because the woman was almost as good at finishing fights as Bulma was at starting them).

"I'm surprised you're still here, after your stunt this morning," he taunted Bulma as he tried to pull himself out a chair, then reconsidered when Launch put her hand on its back rest, her face furious. "Starfleet should've kicked you out a long time ago, but after today, you're good as gone. Dead woman walking."

Bulma took a deep, deep breath and reached down to reserves of calm and patience she had already exhausted this morning when dealing with Vegeta and Commandant Morris. He's not worth it. He just isn't. He's just an annoying little gnat you can't shake off, and you really don't want a dry-cleaning bill and a disciplinary hearing for breaking his nose.

She and Cui had known each other since they'd joined Starfleet together eighteen years ago, both in the Science track, both graduate students in the Gravitics department. They'd worked together well enough at first, had even bounced ideas off each other, but there had been no way back to comfortable coexistence after the asshole had stolen Bulma's dissertation topic. She'd thought he was her colleague, maybe even her friend, but after she'd talked to him about the research she'd already done on orbital resonance patterns within the rings of Saturn, it quickly became clear that he was an opportunistic asshole who had it out for Bulma instead, and who wanted to take credit for her hard work.

Starfleet would've allowed him to get away with it, too – they'd called it a mere coincidence that they were researching similar topics and Bulma didn't have proof – and for years, Bulma's worst nightmare had been the thought of her rival finishing his dissertation first. Because a dissertation was supposed to be an original piece of research, and you couldn't exactly call it original when your rival had published it first. Fortunately, her fears turned out to be unfounded. Bulma did not only manage to publish first, his work had also been so laughably bad that he had to completely re-write it during the following years while Bulma already did a teaching stint at the University of Betazed. And because he was constitutionally incapable of the introspection necessary to figure out that he'd fucked up, big time, the man was still salty as fuck about everything and blamed Bulma for his disastrous reputation in the scientific community in general and the years he'd lost as a grad student in particular. And now he was here to fuck with her some more, and gloat over her humiliation.

"If they kick me out, at least I go out with a bang," Bulma retorted as calmly as she could manage and leaned back in her chair. "The Commandant knows me by name. Your career, on the other hand, has been an excellent example of barely passable mediocrity, to the point where your boss's boss struggles to remembers you. What was the last paper you published called again? Oh, that's right, nobody remembers, because it was just as bad as your dissertation."

Cui turned an even darker shade of purple and spat out, "At least I have not ruined a First Contact and caused an interstellar incident."

Alfrmyke admittedly was a sore spot for Bulma, and Cui knew it too well after the scene she'd made that morning, but she still managed to summon a superior little smile. "Yeah? That's because you've never been closer than three parsecs to a First Contact procedure. Can't fuck up when you're not involved, can you?"

"Oh, look at you, so smug now." Hatred was now pouring off Cui like a tropical rainstorm, and some tiny voice inside Bulma that went unused too often told her to be cautious, when she'd never been afraid of Cui before. Then he sneered, and Bulma promptly forgot about it because she was so fucking angry. "I hate to break it to you, but your days of glory are over, bitch, and mine are coming now. I'll get what I deserve."

"The only thing you deserve is a thorough ass-kicking," Launch hotly interjected while she twirled her spoon through her fingers menacingly (Bulma had no idea how she did it – it was a spoon, after all, the least menacing cutlery option out there).

"Is that a threat?" Cui asked, angling for something he could report later in the most obvious fashion possible, and Launch laughed.

"Do I look like I'd dirty my boots by kicking someone like you?"

Neither Bulma nor Cui were quite sure if Launch was trying to deescalate, or implying that she'd just shoot him and make sure the body was never found, and as entertaining as the Launch show (complete with upcoming fireworks) was, Bulma didn't particularly care to find out which option it was. She just wanted the asshole gone, preferably yesterday. Being humiliated in front of the entire Starfleet Academy faculty really was – well – humiliating enough without your archrival tracking you down to gloat while you were trying to have dinner.

"Is there something of substance you want to say, or do you just enjoy standing here and making an ass of yourself?" she asked, picking up her spoon with a soft, controlled movement that did not reflect her anger, and Cui almost growled with rage, a sound that made Bulma chuckle. What had he expected when he came here and started taunting her, polite dinner conversation?

"You just wait. You won't be this fucking smug for long," he retorted before he hastened away from them, not giving Bulma a chance to get in the last word. Not that she really wanted to say anything right now – she was too confused for that. Usually, when Cui spewed pointless bullshit like that, his voice had an almost desperate tinge, as if he were willing the universe itself to finally do his bidding and make things right for him. But today he'd sounded almost… confident, superior in a different way from his habitual smugness. As if he knew something Bulma didn't – and she didn't like that thought at all. Bad things happened when Cui knew more than she did, because Cui was a fucking idiot, and when he knew more than her, she had missed something trivial yet critical that was going to come and bite her in the ass later.

"Any idea what that was about?" she asked Launch, but her friend just shook her head and grimaced as she turned her attention towards her now-cold curry.

"You tell me, he's your nemesis."

And while that was true, Bulma hadn't paid a lot of attention to him lately, busy as she'd been, first with her assignments as science officer far away from the academic circuit, and then settling into Academy life once again and finding her footing in her new teaching position. She'd thought they were both over this childish middle school rivalry, but now she wondered if it had been a mistake to let her guard down, when Cui so clearly was out to get her and already threatening her. Ugh. Did I scream "HERE!" when all the assholes were handed out? First Cui, and now Vegeta's here at the Academy too! I can't believe it!

The one silver lining about Cui's infuriating intimidation attempt was that it had helped Bulma tremendously where sorting her priorities was concerned. As much as she hated the thought of apologizing to Prince Vegeta of Vegeta – and seriously, who named his kid after his planet or his planet after his fucking kid, that was just a recipe for confusion – she hated the thought of being kicked out of Starfleet even more. She could see it now, how she'd lose her uniform (and that thought stung more than Bulma had expected, with the way she told everyone that she was only in Starfleet for the research opportunities), how she'd pack up her belongings and carry her boxes out of the faculty housing building while Cui sat in the lobby, watching with glee that bordered on the sadistic, cackling triumphantly now and then… yeah, okay, maybe that was a bit over the top.

But as proud as Bulma was, her work and her career were just as important to her, and admitting to Prince Vegeta that she probably shouldn't have tried to kill him back on Alfrmyke wouldn't hurt too much, would it? Especially because after all the talk about proper First Contact protocol, all the inquiries and committees Bulma had sat through, where stuffy Starfleet officials who didn't know where the business end of the phaser was had grilled her relentlessly on her thoughts and decision-making on that fateful night, Bulma was starting to think that maybe she'd overreacted a little, and should've tried to talk to the Saiyans first. Yeah, you just keep telling yourself that… they were totally ready to talk after they'd shot up the hangar bay!

"Penny for your thoughts?" Launch asked, waving her hand in front of Bulma's mostly ignored dinner, and Bulma sighed and pushed her tray away. She'd lost all of her appetite over her considerations, and her food was now cold anyway. If she got hungry later, she could just eat a bowl of cereal at home.

"Why do I always get stuck with the assholes?" she asked almost plaintively in lieu of an answer, and Launch chuckled.

"Must be your charming personality that attracts them." Launch waved around her donut to emphasize the point. "For what it's worth, I have the same problem. And the ones that aren't assholes don't stick around, either."

There was a bitterness to her voice that Bulma understood too well. Just like her and Yamcha, Launch and her boyfriend Tien had been an on and off thing for years, only to break up for good a few years ago when Tien was stationed on a starbase halfway across the Federation. And as much as Launch tried to join Bulma in the happy single life and wanted to explore the Academy dating scene, she really wasn't over Tien, the way Bulma was over Yamcha.

"Hey, at least someone is sticking around," Bulma pointed out sarcastically. "Even if it's the assholes."

She only realized how true her words had been after she and Launch had parted ways outside the mess hall, Launch heading towards the train station while Bulma walked to her faculty apartment building. Because right there, in the lobby of her building, talking to the doorman, stood a short man with a very distinctive spiked hairstyle and an even more distinctive uniform.

Bulma couldn't fucking believe it, and almost walked back out into the San Francisco night again before she remembered that she had something like dignity, and even more right to be here than he had. She lived here, after all. And what was that fucking asshole doing here, in her building, anyway? Maybe he was lost? Asking the doorman for directions or something?

No matter why he was there, Bulma didn't want to talk to him. Not today, and preferably not ever again, at least after Commandant Morris made her apologize to him. Things were awkward enough with her just staring at his back as if she'd seen a ghost, they could only get worse if he realized that she was there, and who she was…

That's my chance! Bulma realized with a jolt. He didn't know she was there yet – so maybe she could escape unseen! Bulma hastened across the lobby while his back was still turned, willing the elevator to be on the ground floor, and for once, the odds were in her favor. The doors dinged open the moment she touched the button, and she entered with a sigh of relief, then selected her floor. In just a few seconds, she'd be safely away from him, and…

A tan, calloused hand wedged itself between the closing elevator doors at the last possible moment, and Bulma felt as if all the air was being sucked out of the cabin when Prince Vegeta entered, his face his customary sour grimace, his eyes sweeping over her disinterestedly, as if she were just another Starfleet uniform and not the woman who'd made a scene this morning, the woman who'd escaped from his prison. Bulma bristled under the implied insult – she had bright blue hair, for fuck's sake, how much more distinct could she get? – until his angry dark eyes snapped back to her face and widened for just a fraction of a second. Ah. So he does recognize me.

Bulma's triumph was short-lived. Things had already been strange before – awkward enough that she'd tried to run away from him like a little coward, because after Cui, she was not dealing with another asshole tonight. But now she was here, and he was here, and he knew who she was, and the tension in the tiny elevator cabin was quickly becoming unbearable, especially when he did not press a button. Because that meant he wanted to go to the same fucking floor as Bulma and God, if he lived on the same floor, she'd probably go dig herself a hole to die in right there. Or just use the conveniently placed elevator shaft.

For a split second, she thought about blurting out her apology then and there. Apologies were like ripping off a band-aid, right? Quick and decisive was much easier than just dragging everything out forever, and this was her opportunity! She could be done with it now, instead of scheduling what felt like going to her doom, probably for a few weeks away, the wait interminable and dreadful. What held her back was Commandant Morris. That guy already hated her guts, and if she told him out of the blue that she'd apologized to the asshole Prince, in private, he'd never believe her, and he'd still make her do it all over again in his office while he looked at her like she'd never be good enough for Starfleet. And Bulma really didn't want to apologize twice – once was plenty when she hadn't done anything wrong.

"Do you live here?" she asked instead, and Vegeta raised an infuriatingly superior eyebrow at her, the expression on his face too close to the smug smirk from her nightmares for comfort.

"I do."

Bulma rubbed her forehead to ward off the approaching headache, before she replied resignedly, "Of course you do."