Chapter 4: Help, the asshole is stuck in my head now
"… and then he speed-walked out of the Commandant's office like he wanted to break the sound barrier!" Bulma put her chopsticks down on her rice bowl and enthusiastically gestured for emphasis as her friends around the table listened to her first-hand account of the encounter between Commandant Morris and Prince Vegeta. An encounter that was quickly becoming the stuff of legend on the San Francisco campus of Starfleet Academy, no thanks to a certain brilliant and blue-haired scientist, of course. "I think he even made a dent in the wall when he threw open the door!"
"What did Morris say?" asked Chi-Chi, black eyes large and curious as she leaned forward across the table. Bulma relished the attention from her friend, who usually reserved scrutiny like that for her husband Goku, her two sons Gohan and Goten (particularly when she suspected they were up to no good), and her high-grav research chamber. Chi-Chi hadn't heard the story before because she'd been working overtime again, trying to fix a thing that seemed increasingly unfixable, and Bulma didn't have to be asked twice to tell a fifth time. Or was it the sixth? She had lost count at this point.
"That was the funniest part," Bulma chuckled. "He looked like he couldn't fucking believe it! And I have no idea why, because Vegeta was nothing but rude since he arrived here at Starfleet Academy, and still, somehow, Morris thought… that the guy would make an exception for him? And of course he didn't."
"He really doesn't seem to be the type to make exceptions," Bulma's ex Yamcha added almost thoughtfully, and Bulma turned towards him, surprise on her face. Not because he was there – they got along better now than when they'd been a couple, after the initial grief over their disastrously timed break-up had passed and they'd remembered why they were friends. But she had had no idea that Yamcha knew Vegeta, because if she had, she would've had a good bitching session about the prince with him a lot sooner!
"What do you mean? Did you have a run-in with the guy?" she asked, and Yamcha's brow furrowed over his immaculately pressed red Starfleet uniform shirt, his confusion mirroring Bulma's.
"Don't you know? He teaches hand-to-hand combat classes for Security track cadets now that the semester has begun."
Even though she didn't know why (logically, the guy had to have a job to be here at Starfleet Academy, right? And Morris had even mentioned that he was going to teach when he'd introduced him at the beginning of the semester), Bulma couldn't help herself and started to laugh uncontrollably. She couldn't imagine a job the man was worse suited to than teaching, especially self-defense! Just the thought of him, with his perpetually scowly face, standing in front of a class of doe-eyed cadets and trying to show them how to defend themselves, when he was such a frightening figure even out of his space suit! He probably never even had to fight because potential opponents just scurried when they saw him! It was too fucking funny. "Please tell me more about that," she said, touching Yamcha's arm without thought, a memory of closer days that were now in the past. "Did he beat someone up yet?"
It had been mostly a joke, and yet, Yamcha hesitated. "Well… not exactly?"
Bulma chuckled incredulously, the food she shared with her friends in Goku and Chi-Chi's backyard almost forgotten. "What do you mean, not exactly? How can you not exactly beat someone up? And how do you know?"
Yamcha took a swig from his beer bottle before he leaned back in his folding chair (Goku and Chi-Chi's circle of friends far exceeded the capacities of their regular patio furniture). "I teach the class after him, so I've seen some of his teaching while warming up. And uh..." He awkwardly scratched the back of his head. "He's not very gentle, and that's after the department head told him to knock it off with knocking cadets around, or at least that's what the scuttlebutt says. But from what I've seen… I believe it. I don't know what he did at the beginning of the semester, but those guys and gals are terrified of him."
"The Security track cadets are terrified?" Krillin asked incredulously, and Yamcha nodded.
"Yeah. You know how there's a certain type of guy who frequently ends up in security? Tall, buff, brawny, and built like a cabinet?" Bulma had to suppress a laugh at his words, because Yamcha had just essentially described himself to a tee without a trace of irony or recognition in his voice, but when he raised his eyebrows at her, Bulma just shook her head and gestured for him to continue. The finer points of irony were usually lost on the man, and that was one of the reasons why their relationship hadn't lasted. "Vegeta is maybe half of them soaking wet on a good day, after he had dinner, and still… they scurry for him. And he doesn't even have to raise his voice."
"Can he fight?" Goku asked from his post behind the grill, where he was busy turning chicken, sausages, vegetables, and pineapple (he was the designated cook of the family, as his hours at work were a lot more flexible than Chi-Chi's), because of course that was what interested him the most, and Yamcha nodded, almost grudgingly.
"I don't like the guy because of what he did to Bulma, but man, when he fights… it's like nothing I've ever seen, no martial arts I've studied. Must be some special Saiyan stuff I have no idea about. Moves so well it feels like he learned to fight before he learned to walk, and he's fiendishly strong, too. Might even have a chance against a Vulcan hand-to-hand."
"I'd love to spar with him!" Goku looked so excited by the prospect that Bulma almost felt betrayed by her friend, but of course, fighting was what he did, what he loved. He'd made a successful career out of it while also being the primary caregiver for his and Chi-Chi's two sons, and now that Goten was old enough to go to school and Chi-Chi had reduced her crazy hours at Starfleet, he'd opened his very own gym, with plans to expand through the Bay Area. "Can you get me an introduction?" Goku asked with the puppy-like eagerness that had fooled more than one opponent into underestimating him, and Yamcha laughed.
"The man is about as approachable as a brick wall, and I suspect he'd introduce me to one if I tried!"
Instead of laughing at the joke, like she had expected she would, because joking about Vegeta was her way of coping with the humiliation that still burned in the back of her mind, Bulma stared off thoughtfully towards the swing set where Goten screamed with delight as his older brother pushed him higher and higher. What Yamcha had said was undoubtedly true, and while she certainly enjoyed complaining about Vegeta – she'd done her fair share of it during the last few days since her meeting with him and Morris – something in Yamcha's words had struck a chord with her.
She'd retold the story of Vegeta's meeting with the Commandant so many times now, and still, instead of things becoming clearer with her friends' input, the more she thought about the situation, the less she understood. She'd written off Vegeta's hostility as part of his charming personality before, but his words about his people knowing what the Federation was like… they only made sense if there was history there, some long-standing grudge maybe? And how could that be, if Bulma was the one who'd made First Contact (if one could call what had happened a First Contact) with his people when Vegeta had stormed her space station unprovoked? It didn't make any sense, and Bulma had no idea how could she possibly fit all of the puzzle pieces together.
And that wasn't even getting into the things he'd said about her, because no matter how hard she had tried to forget them, his words lived in her head, rent-free. "Fought with spirit and cunning" was all Bulma could think about when she was lying in her bed alone, trying to fall asleep, and she hated that more than any other aspect of the situation, even the fact that she'd been forced into the humiliating scene in the Commandant's office.
Starfleet had spent so many years telling her that she'd fucked things up at Alfrmyke that in her darkest moments, when she stared at herself in the mirror and faced the dire reality that her superiors had flushed her career down the toilet without a second thought, she'd started to believe them. That her actions had really been as indefensible as they'd said, that she shouldn't have fought and relied on the Saiyans' mercy instead, that a few scientists on a small station at the edge of surveyed space would've been an acceptable sacrifice to ensure a smooth First Contact with a new species. And she hated herself for her weakness, that she was so easily persuaded, not only of her own worthlessness, but also that of her colleagues – her friends – the people she'd been responsible for.
But now the last man in the universe she'd expected to – but someone who had been there, who had seen things first-hand and wasn't a pencil-sharpening paper pusher in some stuffy office at Starfleet Headquarters – had told her that they were wrong, and she was right. That she really had done not only everything she could, but that she'd done well, more than well, that she'd been… brave. And it had made Bulma realize how deep those scars ran, how badly she felt Starfleet had betrayed her in their attempt to find a scapegoat to pin this clusterfuck of a situation on, and how much it hurt to know that they'd sacrifice her again… that she would never be able to trust the people she worked for again, and yet had no other option if she wanted to pursue her academic career, because as much as she hated their guts right now, even she had to admit that Starfleet were at the cutting edge of interstellar science.
Bulma hated everything about the situation with a passion, not only her own hurt that felt fresh again now after she'd stuffed it down for so many years, but also that things didn't make sense at all where the Saiyans' First Contact with the Federation was concerned. But in this case, she'd have to get used to the feeling. Because the only person who could clear things up for her was Prince Vegeta, and she certainly wasn't gonna ask him about it, because he was, indeed, as approachable as a brick wall, and a conversation with him would be an effort in futility. This mystery would have to remain mysterious, and she would just have to deal with everything on her own. Not least because Commandant Morris would probably kick her out of Starfleet for real this time if she poked the sleeping Vegeta bear any further, and she really wanted to avoid that after all the headache about staying, and all the hoops she'd had to jump through. Not to indulge an idle bit of curiosity about something that really didn't matter.
Fortunately for Bulma, her friends wouldn't allow her to mope.
"Hey Bulma!" Launch waved a blue-nailed hand that matched her hair today in front of Bulma's face. "You with us, or still spaced out?"
"I'm not..." Bulma started to protest until she realized that she'd actually been miles away with her thoughts, and she sighed and took a swig from her beer bottle. "What do you want?" she asked, because she knew Launch since they'd gone to high school together, and that face Launch just made? She'd seen it countless times when her friend wanted to copy her math homework, because, quote young Launch, "If I copy yours, they won't know I copied it because you never make mistakes!" How the woman had made it through the math portions of her physics degrees, Bulma would never know. Or rather, how she'd made it through the math portions they hadn't taken together. Bulma knew very well how Launch had made it through the courses she'd had with Bulma, and it was definitely not because of her keen understanding of the subject matter, or her stellar work ethic.
"Here, have another piece of the sundried tomato pesto swirl bread," Launch said instead of answering straight away, and Bulma chuckled at the transparent attempt to butter her up, but took the bread anyway. Pretty and delicious was a combo she really couldn't resist.
"So, do you remember the self-defense class you agreed to take with me and Chi-Chi?" Launch then continued, and Bulma froze mid-chew. She had hoped that Launch had forgotten about that, because with Vegeta, her teaching schedule, and her trying to finish her paper for the Vulcan Science Academy Congress in July, she really had neither the time nor the headspace to even think about additional classes. Not that that excuse would deter Launch, of course – her friend had the same schedule, and even managed to go to the gym regularly!
"If I remember correctly, I said I'd think about it," Bulma conceded sourly. "You know, in that 'I don't want to say no outright but I really don't want to do this' tone! And you know that I'm allergic to exercise!"
Everyone at the table laughed at her whining, even Bulma herself. She knew that working out would do her some good, and honestly, she sometimes felt a little bit like the odd one out, surrounded by people who were so obsessed with fitness and martial arts while she herself was a self-professed couch potato. Launch and Chi-Chi and the guys could kick major ass, but the only thing Bulma was good at was verbal sparring (though she was damned good at that, if she dared say so herself). But maybe… just maybe… it was time to branch out. Especially with her experience at Alfrmyke so prominent in her mind now, an experience that had showed her how woefully unprepared she was for the fighting aspects of Starfleet life.
"You have until Friday to sign up," Chi-Chi said firmly, the bad cop to Launch's good cop, with an unspoken "or else" hanging in the silence after she'd finished her sentence. You knew things were dire when Launch – the terror of the Tactical department – was the good cop. Or at least the marginally less threatening cop.
"I'm sure it'll be lots of fun!" Launch added in an attempt to soften the blow, and waved the sundried tomato pesto swirl bread under Bulma's nose again. Bulma took another piece of bread (because who said no to homemade bread?), but silently, she wasn't convinced. Her idea of fun lately was not even a night out with her friends anymore, but a quiet evening with popcorn watching a show or three. That was how boring she'd gotten during the last few years… and now she was taking classes to spice things up. She sighed. She sure wasn't getting any younger, as her mother liked to remind her.
Bulma took the train home not too much later, because she wanted to get some work-related reading in before bed, another sign that she was turning disturbingly responsible and wasn't running on sheer guts and brilliance alone anymore, but not before Launch and Chi-Chi had extracted the promise that she'd sign up for the self-defense course. It really couldn't hurt, she didn't even have to pay for it because it was part of the Starfleet personnel improvement program, and if she absolutely hated it, she could always quit. And if she was completely honest with herself, Bulma had been looking for something she could push herself with lately, something to break her out of the rut she'd gotten into, and, well, guys weren't exactly lining up round the block to go on dates with her right now (not that she bothered looking for them), so the course would have to do.
The Starfleet Academy campus around her was dark as she walked home from the train station, and while the main paths were still crowded with students and faculty enjoying the warm weather even at this hour, when she arrived at her apartment building, she was the only one around. Bulma breathed in deeply, enjoying the smell of the night air and the quiet sounds of a late September evening around her, until movement on the shadowed lawn in front of her building drew her attention. For a moment, she froze with fear, her thoughts racing, until a window on the first floor lit up and she could see the distinctly spiked hair of Prince Vegeta.
He was… doing sit-ups? Bulma frowned in confusion. Even though she'd never been there (hello, allergic to exercise!), she knew that Starfleet Academy had a perfectly good 24/7 staff gym, and yet he was here, in the darkness, looking… sad? Lonely? The thought hit her unexpectedly, and yet it made sense, that the grim set of his features and his abrasive personality hid things he did not want to be seen. For a moment, she contemplated calling out to him, but she'd promised herself that she'd be a good girl, and her career was more important than trading barbs with a man who wanted nothing more than to be left alone.
It was the right decision and she knew it, walking into the building foyer and towards the elevators, and still, it felt wronger than Bulma cared to admit, even in the darkness of the night.