Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ A Cop Story ❯ Rainy Days and Mondays ( Chapter 24 )

Disclaimer : You know the drill by now. They don't belong to me, just certain elements of this particular story do. Anyway, on to the stuff…

I know I have warned you before, I don't do drama…

A Cop Story

Part Twenty Four

By RM

Rainy Days and Mondays

He circled a kick to her head but she blocked it with ease. It had been like this all night. He was getting frustrated and it was definitely showing.

"You're fighting like a pansy," she told him as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

He growled and lunged, throwing a backhand. She ducked and twisted, landing a leg into his side. The blow propelled him several feet, slamming him against the wall. He didn't hit hard but he still grunted upon impact and slid down breathing a bit out of sorts.

She stood over him as he lifted himself onto his hands and knees, panting slightly.

"I may as well be fucking weak," he ground out.

She blinked in surprise. She knew he was tired. He had insisted on working nine shifts straight, meaning he'd been at work for at least three days without rest. She knew that Captain Roshi allowed him that. After all, Vegeta was Vegeta. But this? This thing whining on the floor? This was not Vegeta. She didn't understand this.

"What are you babbling about?" #18 asked as she tapped her foot and crossed her arms, watching him closely. He hadn't made a move to get up and the way he was panting sounded more like resigned sighs than anything else.

"Blasted woman! It's all her fucking fault!" She heard him grumble, spitting out a glob of something on the practice mat. "Nappa was right. This planet and that woman have made me soft."

Her eyes widened as the spark of recognition ignited the thought process. She had been in this situation herself once before.

"You're talking about Bulma," she quietly stated rather than asked.

He looked up at the wall as he shifted on to his knees, not able to look her in the eye as he tilted his head back and sighed. He'd been avoiding the woman for the past week, replaying in his mind the night of his fight with Nappa. It had started when honor came into question. But what came out of it was something else. Nappa had accused him of becoming weak, and although Vegeta was able to vaporize Nappa with his pinky finger, he couldn't shake what Nappa had said from his thoughts. The words kept replaying themselves in his head over and over like a bad disco hit.

"Just do us all a favor and put me out of my misery."

#18 stood straight and still. She watched with a thoughtful expression as he knelt facing the wall. She carefully considered what she wanted to say.

"Bulma wouldn't consider it a favor," she finally replied quietly and slowly, trying to gauge his reaction.

"Hmph," he stated with very little emotion. "After she sees what I have been reduced to, she'll want…"

"And just what have you been reduced to?" #18 interrupted him sternly.

He took a moment to consider this. "A short, whin…"

"Love has made you short?" She interrupted him again, this time earning a wince from the Saiyan prince at the mention of the `L' word.

"There is no such word in the Saiyan tongue." He lied.

"Bullshit," she stated quite evenly, calling his bluff. "And even if there wasn't, that doesn't mean that it doesn't exist." She countered.

He paled as her words hit home. He had used the word on several occasions, alone with the woman, but never in the way she had wanted to hear it. He could even admit it, if only to himself that he loved her. All Saiyans knew of the concept of love. It wasn't unknown to them. Love of battle, love of glory, love of a challenge. But the love between people? The love between mates? That was rare. That was frightening.

"It changes nothing. I have still become weak," he confessed.

"Cut the crap Vegeta," she stated sharply. "It changes everything."

He squeezed his eyes shut tightly, bowing his head wishing for a fleeting moment he could just go back to the days before Earth, before this. Although life then had been more miserable than any hell he could imagine, it had been all black and white, and in essence, so much easier than this.

"Look at Goku. He feels love towards so many people. He loves all of us in his own little way, and we all respect him for it," #18 replied before adding, "well, maybe except you."

"I respect him for his power and strength. He is the only one in this fucked up, shit-filled universe who poses any type of challenge to me," he admitted, balling his hands into fists.

"So? He wears his heart on his sleeve, showing his feelings openly," she pointed out. "According to you that makes him weak. Yet you say he is powerful. Which is it Vegeta?"

He was silent for a moment as she stood over him. She remembered her own struggle when she came to terms with herself that she could feel love towards someone. Krillin had changed her life for good. And forever.

"I can't…" he whispered.

"Yes you can. It's OK to love someone and to receive love in return. It's normal and it's healthy. Even for Saiyans." She could hardly believe what she was telling him, that these things were actually coming out of her mouth. The old her would have kicked him in the teeth by now.

His whole body bent forward as he slouched, still on his knees and facing the wall. She could almost feel the tension oozing from his every pore.

"She'll laugh at me. They all will."

"Am I laughing?" She asked him. She was not amused in the least. The whole scenario was rather bizarre, her giving pointers about love to Vegeta. She was concerned though. She'd never seen him so utterly, emotionally defenseless. "She loves you Vegeta. I can tell that she does. Although I can't imagine why," she added. She wasn't about to tell him that it was obvious to everyone that he cared for her as well. "Look, I've been through this myself. I wasn't always so nice."

"I hate to break it to you, but you're still a bitch." He smirked, turning his head slightly to catch her expression from the corner of his eye.

"Maybe," she shrugged. "But I'm happy."

She heard him sigh as he picked himself up and walked across the mat towards the bench.

"Go see her. Go and tell her how you feel," #18 stated to his back.

"It is 4:00 a.m. on a Monday morning," he replied quietly.

"So? When the shift ends, go and see her. You have almost two hours to prepare." She shrugged.

He stood at the bench for several minutes unmoving. He was trying his damnedest to stay calm, but he was so nervous his stomach felt as if he had just eaten a cow that was still kicking. What he really needed was food and sleep. Not in that order however, since the first thing he really needed was the woman. He pulled his sweatshirt over his head and shuffled over to the door.

"Don't be afraid to tell her," #18 advised as he reached for the knob.

He squared his shoulders and turned to face her for the first time since his confession. "I fear nothing!" He practically spat, the smoldering fire in his glare returning at the suggestion that he was afraid of anything. Hesitant, but never afraid.

"We've all changed in some way over time," she stated. "And all of us have become stronger, some more so than ever thought imaginable. Just keep that in mind."

He didn't want to tell her that she was right. She was right about a lot of things. He had made up his mind, with a little prodding. He loved Bulma, more than he had ever thought possible. If loving her this much made him weak, then heaven help the next person to state as much. He'd show them exactly how weak love had supposedly made him.

*****

He was blindsided by a door. After a few moments of painfully dizzy silence he snapped back to reality as a foot nudged his side. A hand was shoved in his face, offering him a lift. He grabbed the offered hand without thinking and was consequently pulled up on his feet.

"Watch it next time, Baldy!" A voice growled near his ear.

Vegeta? Was that Vegeta? Did the mighty prince himself just help him up? Krillin blinked a few times as his vision cleared, but he didn't really see much as he was shoved through a door and booted onto the practice mat.

"You have yours, woman. I'm going to get mine," he heard Vegeta state coolly and slam the door closed.

#18 giggled and knelt down on the floor next to the shorter man, giving him a great big hug and a kiss.

"Hi Honey," Krillin replied to the feeling of lips on his cheek. "Was that who I think it was?"

"Yes. And do you realize how utterly irresistible you are after you've been hit by a door?"

"Uh…no," he stated a little nervously. "Are you suggesting I get smacked with doors more often? `Cause that may put a damper on our relationship."

"No," she chuckled and kissed him again. "But now I can call you lumpy for the next few days."

"Great," he mumbled. "At least it's a change from being called Baldy."

"Really? I think the whole bald angle is very sexy."

Krillin shook his head and glanced back towards the door Vegeta had recently slammed. "I just remembered something," he commented absentmindedly. "I'm still pissed at those guys."

"He did buy you a brand new car," she reminded him as she stroked his cheek with hers. "How about we go get some breakfast and then head home for a little hanky-panky?"

He blushed at her forwardness, not really knowing why. After all, it was the truth.

"Sure," he replied with a slight nervous chuckle. He really did like working midnights.

*****

He scuffled across the luxuriously carpeted hallway on his way downstairs, scratching himself and also managing to pick up a sizable amount of static on the way. He rubbed his chin absentmindedly with his free hand. It had been two weeks since his drunken stupor at the bowling alley, and although he somewhat remembered finally falling through his own apartment door with Vegeta, he didn't really remember hitting the light pole on the way. They had both stayed at his place for a while, finishing off the last of his beer and watching some late night wrestling. When they finally remembered they were supposed to be somewhere else, there was a mad scramble to get from point A to point B.

Arriving at Chi Chi's place, they found that the girls hadn't come back yet. Amazingly, they managed to clean themselves up without destroying anything and eventually both found complacency in watching the same wrestling match they had been watching at Goku's, never once realizing that their entire trip had taken no more than five minutes. Super speed had its perks.

Of course, Chi Chi had been furious. She brought Bulma home with her and was actually quite glad to have the company. When she walked into the living room she began the scolding. Vegeta remained seated on the floor, rolling his eyes, arms crossed. Goku had his back to the doorway, wincing every three seconds as his little sugar cookie let him have it.

He yawned and stretched at the top of the stairs before fixing his pants and making his way down towards the kitchen. It was still dark outside and the house was chilly as he passed through the foyer. His favorite room was well lit however, and was far from empty.

"Good morning Sweetie," Chi Chi greeted him from the counter. She hadn't bothered with getting dressed, opening a canister of flour in her bathrobe. She began to measure out a cup of the pristine powder when he wrapped his arms around her waist.

"You're up early," Goku commented as he kissed her lightly on the top of her head. He glanced over at the microwave clock which glowed an angry 5:00 am. He sighed and rested his chin on her head as she continued with her task.

"I wanted to try out this recipe while I still remember it," she replied with a touch of laughter in her voice. "You know how it is."

"Yeah," he nodded, moving her head with his. "It's all good."

"Why don't you go upstairs and take your shower," she ordered him playfully. "By the time you're ready for work, I'll have a nice breakfast for you."

He nodded with a smile at the thought of one of her delicious breakfasts, once again moving her head with his. He sighed happily as he continued to hold her, his eyes sliding closed very slowly.

"Sweetie?" She questioned. "Shower?" She questioned again when she got no response. His grip began to loosen slightly but his overall hold didn't ease. She giggled when she realized that his breathing pattern had changed, becoming deep and even. "Sweetie?" She questioned one last time before dropping the bomb. "If you go shower now, I'll have your home-made doughnuts ready for you by the time you're out."

His eyes shot open immediately as he inhaled deeply through his nose.

"Doughnuts!"

*****

She was eating her cereal and fixing her lipstick. The two activities didn't really go well together but she was trying to save some time. She needed to look good for her 11 a.m. conference with some very important people. While she herself was a very important person, she had learned a long time ago that while pretty got you places, stunning got you everywhere.

The doorbell buzzed and she wondered who could possibly be stopping over at 6 a.m. She made her way over to the window, glancing down to check on the front door. She smiled as she saw her prince charming standing with his back to her door, staring across the street. She buzzed the intercom on her way back to the table, waiting to hear the stomp of feet up the stairs. Instead, she heard the door slam and blatant cursing which only seemed to get louder.

She shoved a spoonful of food into her mouth and crunched away a little nervously. She had the feeling that Vegeta had been avoiding her for the past week. It was a little unnerving since they had spent a romantic three days the week before together at one of her business conferences out of town. It had taken some doing, but she had suckered him into going and while they were there, she'd come to the definite conclusion that he loved her too, even though he had yet to state as much.

Her romantic reverie was cut short by two strong hands slamming down on the table.

"Woman," his voice was dead calm but stung like frostbite. "The door was NOT bolted. Care to explain?"

She raised her head slowly to look him in the eye. He looked like shit and he looked mad as hell. She narrowed her eyes and was about to give him a smart reply when he cut her off.

"We have spoken about this before," he continued glaring at her. "Do not force me to speak about it again." He finished, moving from the table straight to the refrigerator. His stomach was now doing flip-flops. Sure, in his heyday there was nothing better than crushing a few skulls under the feet and delighting in the cries of terror and pain. And when he had made up his mind to kill someone, or even everyone, no lock would stand in his way. With humans, however, the foolish devices seemed a bit of a deterrent. Didn't the woman know what kind of sickos were out there?

Her blue eyes flared with anger as she watched him grab a pitcher of freshly squeezed orange juice and down it in several gulps. When it was empty he flashed her an icy look, placing the empty container on the counter and stomped out of the kitchen. She gripped the table as she watched him go, knuckles turning white as she tried to calm down. She knew he did this to her on purpose, and this morning she was not going to get all frazzled just because he liked her that way. She had a very important meeting today and she would not allow him to make her stoop to his level.

Her chair scraped against the tile of the kitchen floor as she stood and stalked out of the room, down the hall, and into her bedroom all the while sidestepping articles of clothing he had shed on the way. She crossed her arms and leaned against the doorframe, watching him brush his teeth with his finger.

"Forget your brush again?"

He didn't bother to answer other than the huge glob of paste and saliva he expertly hawked in the sink. He grabbed a towel when he had finished and gave her a look. She wasn't really sure what the look was, other than to say he was tired.

"You look like shit," she commented with a concerned frown. She wasn't trying to be smart. He really did look terrible.

He was starting to break a sweat. He was sure of it. He really did want to do as #18 had suggested and just come out and say it, but he had spent enough time around the woman to know that she had certain moods about her. Perhaps now wasn't the best time. Perhaps he should wait until she was having one of her female moments.

She reached out and felt his forehead while he was busy staring off into space. He wasn't known to blank out like that and she was rather worried. He felt normal, a little clammy but he'd just shaved and washed his face so that was to be expected. Not waiting for him to protest, she firmly grasped his wrist and pulled him towards the door, only managing to demonstrate to him how strong she wasn't as he pulled her back towards him and the sink. Without taking her in his arms, he kissed her roughly, until she finally collected her wits and broke free.

"My lipstick!" She gasped as she turned around to check her reflection in the large bathroom mirror. He snickered and retreated into the shower to clean up after three days on the job.

Satisfied that she hadn't been ruffed up too much, she walked into the bedroom to fluff the pillows. After a few minutes of quick clean-up, two strong arms wrapped around her and pulled her down onto the bed.

"Call in sick," she heard his deep voice demand.

"I can't," she regrettably informed him.

He sighed but made no other remark. When he failed to carry on about not having his way, she began to worry once again. The prospect of her big, strong Saiyan being sick made her a little nervous, although the situation was typically male. Catch a little sniffle and the world might end.

"When I come home," she stated quietly as she pushed him down on the pillows and fixed the blankets around him, "I'll make us some dinner and we can see about giving you a nice, long massage, OK?"

She watched as he simply nodded at her offer. Yes, there was most definitely something up. He was never this passive and he hadn't insulted the prospect of her cooking. She kissed him one last time before walking out the door. She heard the sheets rustle and peeked back into her bedroom to see that he had rolled over onto his side.

In like a lion and out like a lamb. Today just didn't feel right at all.

*****

The place had been busy well into the night, but the hours of operation weren't the ones that concerned Piccolo. After they had closed and the help had left for the night, one of the back lights had been left on. Piccolo had felt adventurous at that point and decided to employ his proficient powers of observation by peeking in the front glass window. Even though he was pretty easy to spot, he was pretty damn good at being sneaky.

He grumbled distractedly as he held his glass of warm water to his lips. He hadn't found anything out of the ordinary. While he truthfully expected as much, it was also a little disappointing. He was hoping for a little more evidence or at least something amusing, although the testimony the sauce had provided alone was sufficient enough to do the trick.

He continued to grumble as he slouched and crossed his arms, annoyed that the unmarked car had very little leg room. He smacked his lips in distaste, remembering the pungent aroma of that sauce and that certain flavor it added to the air. It was that smell that first pointed out to him that there was a problem. He felt pretty stupid for not recognizing it before.

Checking his watch since the clock in the car was still an hour or so off, he decided that he would stick around for another few hours. After that, he had a very important meeting with the Mayor himself, and a certain someone who would most likely be thrilled to see him.

*****

Yajarobi was fat, lazy and insensitive. Well, he was working on the weight issue, he was usually willing to give it a little bit of effort, and he was actually very… insensitive. Currently, he was exhibiting this last virtue in a car full of people.

"I say, more for me," he offered his opinion freely. "I ain't sharing."

One of the officers in the backseat began to snicker quietly, which only earned him a smack in the arm from Bulma. He tried to contain his mirth as they pulled into a small gas station for a refuel.

Gurudo and Yajarobi were the first out to shop for snacks while the officer next to Bulma got out to pump gas. They were all coming from a high profile armor conference, which had been the focal point of Bulma's employment with the department. She sighed as she sat alone in the car, drumming her fingers on the armrest. Despite the chilly temperature and her rather short business skirt, she decided she'd like to stretch her legs. She stood near pump number two, watching some of the mechanics in the garage talk while working on an engine.

The screeching of tires pierced through the otherwise normal din of daily traffic. Yajarobi was ambling out of the building when the first shots rang out. Glass cracked and shattered on the panes of the garage and the cars parked at the pump as a black SUV pulled up to the curb, windows open and radio blaring. Bags of chips and other goodies went flying through the air as Yajarobi hit the pavement, the first victim of a stray bullet. While the gunfire seemingly concentrated on the mechanics shop, it was rather random in regards to its course in getting there.

Bulma was frozen in place. The scene unfolded itself in slow motion and although every cell in her body sensed danger, there was nowhere for her to run even if her legs were working. She stood shock still as she saw Yajarobi fall to the ground in a heap, his high-pitched scream piercing the frigid afternoon air. She saw two of the mechanics tumble to the cold concrete, one lifeless and the other writhing in agony. Blood was spattered everywhere, but mostly on the car where the first mechanic had taken several shots to the head and upper body. She turned her head in dumbstruck awe to see the other officer running towards her, and she felt strange, stinging wisps of air as the shots continued to fire.

Nothing seemed real. It wasn't really happening, she thought, just before a solid body crashed into her, pulling her down and bleeding on her new business suit to boot. The last things she heard were loud cursing and laughter as the sound of squealing tires once again shattered the scene, leaving behind a world of confusion. And an awful lot of blood.

*****

Minding his own business on a Monday afternoon, #17 beat his head against the steering wheel in frustration. At times such as this he was never quite certain if it was caused by the weather, the coffee, or if it was simply due to the fact that it was Monday.

He made a grab for his drink when the radio squelched, causing his whole body to jerk and in turn, knocking his knee against the beverage holder, spilling the hot liquid on his pants. Swearing loudly, he fanned his lap, almost missing the broadcast on the law enforcement airways.

"Patrol 27 to radio. We have a 10-…"

"I've been shot in the ass!" #17 picked out Yajarobi's strained voice in the background as it interrupted the call. He began to laugh at the expression he imagined to be on that chunky, little piece of shit's face. The humor of the situation was short lived however. As Gurudo requested an ambulance and back-up, his ears picked up another frantic voice in the background.

"Oh shit! Bulma!"

#17's eyes narrowed. Yajarobi rather deserved to be shot on a daily basis. But Bulma? She was a friend.

He prepared to kick the engine into high gear and jet over to the scene of the shooting to make sure everyone was at least still alive, a nervous feeling settling in the pit of his stomach. Paying close attention to the activity on his portable, all units in the vicinity were informed to be on the lookout for a black SUV that was said to have made the assault. Luckily, Gurudo had caught the whole thing, and had been able to convey the plate number.

#17 mentally noted the information and prepared to pull out.

That's when he was sideswiped.

The jerk must've been going at least ninety miles per hour. The side view mirror was ripped clean off the car. #17 shouted a few choice expletives before noticing the vehicle that had almost totaled him…a black SUV whose plates matched the ones they were looking for.

Not bothering with an inferior piece of machinery such as his car, mostly since he was pissed, he bolted from the driver's seat, tearing out the seatbelt in his haste. He powered up and flew down the street, not really thinking or caring who saw him, and in the blink of an eye had caught up to the suspects. Without hesitation, he reached down and under, grabbing the rear frame and lifted the back tires completely off of the street. The vehicle jerked violently as its forward progress was halted, the rear wheels spinning while the driver continued to floor it. Smoke began to rise from the front tires turning on the pavement, but #17 was much too strong to let go for something so trivial. Looking around to see what other activity was taking place on the street, #17 noticed that they were partially under an old railway viaduct that passed over the road, mounted on either side by huge concrete walls. He grinned as the air was filled by the acrid stench of burning rubber.

Shifting his weight slightly, he began to turn the rear he was holding, maneuvering the vehicle perpendicular to the thick stone. With a sudden laugh he let go, watching as the SUV bounced once on the pavement, picked up some speed, and slammed into the solid stone wall.

The driver never had a chance to figure out exactly what was going on, or indeed what had happened. When the automobile connected with the wall, the front end crumpled up like an accordion, and the air bags released. With a satisfied smile, #17 wiped his hands together and walked towards the wreck. The street was pretty empty, thankfully, so #17 had no problem crossing the roadway. He peeked in the windows and not being able to see anything through the tinted glass, he punched his own, personal peep hole with his fist. No one was dead, he noticed with a frown, but the two in the back seat were pretty messed up. And as he expected, no one was conscious. He grabbed his portable from his belt and spoke evenly as he hailed Puar who was working the dispatch.

"11X to Radio," #17 spoke calmly as he scanned the area for witnesses. "I have the suspects at the old south line."

The wailing of sirens were getting louder as #17 continued his report.

"Send another ambulance."

*****

City Hall was usually teeming with some type of activity. Unfortunately, it was usually the type of activity that made an awful lot of noise. Piccolo rubbed his sensitive ears as he listened to the incessant clicking of acrylic fingernails on a keyboard as the secretary abused hers just outside Mayor Popo's environmentally friendly, fiftieth floor office.

"I really should have picked up on it sooner," Piccolo informed the Mayor with a slight wince. He looked over to the other person present in the room, who also seemed to be having some problems with the noise issue.

"Well…" Mayor Popo began before he was interrupted.

"This is rather disturbing," Kami interjected quietly from his seat near the window. "The ingredients in this report are very similar to a forgotten recipe from the old country."

Piccolo nodded in agreement, trying not to sneer. He had never really gotten along too well with the Mayor's good friend Kami. Even though the two were of the same species, there was absolutely no love harbored between the two. It was rumored amongst those who knew of Kami, that he was the real brains behind Popo's successful mayoral reign. Piccolo wasn't deceived however. Piccolo knew the truth.

"The Black Water Mist," Piccolo murmured from his seat as he stared at the floor.

"Yes," Kami replied flatly.

"Isn't that just a myth?" Popo asked as a tiny bead of sweat trickled down the side of his face.

"I'm afraid not," Kami informed them. "But luckily, this isn't quite the right formula." Kami was a little disturbed that the mythical formula to control the minds of living creatures would be known about outside the confines of his `lookout'.

"The question is," Piccolo began as he shifted his glare from Popo to Kami, "could that formula even be replicated? We know that this formula here isn't quite right, but the fact is that they are working on it."

Kami nodded as Popo stared off into space. Yes, if allowed to continue who knew what kind of trouble this little problem could cause.

"No," Kami confessed, breathing a slight sigh of relief. "I don't believe they could replicate the formula. But the problem is, who knows what other kinds of mischief could be caused? We have to put a stop to this."

Mayor Popo watched Kami as the meaningful look of determination on the old Namek's face wasn't lost on him. Popo gulped and nodded, pushing the small intercom button on his desk, connecting him with his secretary. The pounding on the keyboard stopped as the door opened and a pretty, smiling face appeared.

"Yes Mr. Mayor?" Launch questioned happily before taking in the seriousness on all three faces staring back at her.

"I want you to get me the number to the health department, along with some information concerning city licensing and ownership papers ASAP. Could you do that Miss Launch?" Popo asked very nicely.

"Sure!" Launch gushed with excitement. "Did you also want me to call to double check on those theatre tickets?"

Mayor Popo cleared his throat before smiling and looking over towards a frowning Piccolo. "Yes, Miss Launch. That sounds splendid."

*****

"Do you think my little, baby girl will ever be able to bake another batch of cookies?" Mrs. Briefs sobbed into her husband's white lab coat.

"There, there now dear," Dr. Briefs patted his wife's shoulders reassuringly. "She's just been grazed, that's all. Nothing to worry about." He continued on in a calming voice. He didn't want to make light of the situation, but he also had to admit that Bulma would never be capable of baking a decent batch of cookies. And it had nothing to do with being shot.

A throat cleared behind the couple as they stood in the corner of the emergency room waiting area. Dr. Briefs turned around with his wife still in his arms.

"Bulma is resting," Goku smiled down at them. "You shouldn't worry Mrs. B."

"Is she OK?" Dr. Briefs asked his daughter's friend.

"Oh, she's fine. Just grazed. Lost a bit of blood. She was pretty mad though," Goku informed her parents with a worried smile. "They had to give her a sedative to calm her down, and from trying to strangle the nurse."

Dr. Briefs nodded knowingly. Yes, it sounded like Bulma was perfectly alright.

"When can we go back and see her?" Mrs. Briefs asked with a slight sniffle.

"Right now, actually. Might be a good idea before she falls asleep." Goku replied. "I'm headed down for a bite to eat. And, I guess I'd better call Vegeta."

"Wait for us sweetie," Mrs. Briefs grasped Goku's arm as they walked towards the door. "You look haggard."

Dr. Briefs nodded in agreement with his wife's statement. "We'll only be a moment. Go call Vegeta now and by the time he gets here we'll have eaten and be back in time to talk to the doctors."

Goku nodded dubiously, knowing full well that Vegeta would never be that slow. Not where Bulma was concerned. He watched as the doctor and his wife walked through the doors on their way to see Bulma, then turned to the task of picking up the phone to let Vegeta know that his woman, as he called her, had been shot. He sighed as he tried not to think about what Vegeta would say over the phone, then perked up at the thought of food at the end of the task. With a smile and newfound determination, he picked up the phone and dialed Bulma's number, where he had been told Vegeta would be found.

*****

The phone was ringing.

Vegeta lay in bed with the covers kicked off. His eyebrow twitched as the wailing continued, echoing through the previously silent, dark apartment. In his state of semi-consciousness, he thrust his arm out behind him and attempted to swat the contraption responsible for the noise from its table next to the bed. When that didn't work, he finally rolled over and blinked slowly, coming to the conclusion that humans were sick and twisted for even coming up with the concept of a device that not only tried to deafen him, but was used for nothing more than to ask how someone was doing.

He picked up the phone and breathed into it.

"Vegeta?" He heard Goku's happy voice on the other end. He didn't answer and was about to hang up when Goku again began to speak. "Vegeta, I think you'd better come down here. Bulma's been shot."

The phone dropped down onto the receiver as Vegeta once again rolled over and tucked a pillow over his head. He was more than a little perturbed at being disrupted from his nap when his eyes flew open and he began to do something he was not very familiar with.

He began to panic.

Back at the emergency room, Goku blinked at the small black telephone as the line went dead. He shrugged and supposed that he could call back later. He could see Bulma's parents walking towards him in the hallway and his stomach growled at the thought of food. He'd give Vegeta another hour, after he had gotten something to eat.

*****

It took him two seconds to locate a pair of pants and a shirt that didn't smell, and as far as he was concerned, that was too much time. His thoughts were whirling and he was more than a little bit angry that the woman would get herself into any kind of mess. He was also scared. He really wasn't willing to admit it to himself, but that moron had called to say that she had been shot and even had the nerve to sound happy while he was doing so!

He flew to the hospital. Literally. He wasn't willing to take the extra time to drive, catch a cab, or even tie his shoelaces. He burst through the emergency room doors with all of the grace and tact of a stampeding elephant, scaring several people and causing a few of the nurses to jump.

"Where is she?!" He demanded in an extremely stern voice, aiming an even more severe scowl at one of the nurses who was taking a wheelchair back towards one of the rooms. Her eyes widened as she took in his appearance, some primal notion telling her not to jerk this guy around. Trying to keep her wits, and trying not to vex him any more than necessary, she simply pointed a shaky finger towards the emergency treatment area, through a pair of closed doors. He merely growled as he marched over to the heavy barrier, prying them open with a screeching crunch. After he had ripped through the door's locking mechanism that was supposed to prevent people from entering into the area without proper authorization, he slammed it shut and was immediately met with a young doctor who wasn't quite cognizant of just what he was about to get himself into.

"You can't just…"

Vegeta made no reply, firmly gripping the doctor's coat in one hand and hoisting him off of his feet. He titled his head slightly as he considered exactly what he would do to him first. He had always been partial to decapitation. But he also liked a good old-fashioned evisceration. He hadn't done either in a good, long while. His lip curled up in a vicious smirk as the man in his grasp began to squirm, not able to breathe from the hold inflicted on him. Beeping sounded off to his right when Vegeta suddenly remembered why he was there, unceremoniously dropping the unfortunate young man on the floor in a wheezing heap and stepping over him. He strode down the hall, going on smell as the terrible feeling in his stomach intensified.

He was scared, he finally admitted to himself. Scared of what he would find when he did locate his woman. He had always taken it for granted that when anything bad would happen, it would be to him. He never entertained the idea that something would happen to her. He never entertained the thought that he would even care if something did indeed happen to her. At least, not at the beginning. It was this particular weakness that worried him. The one that he had discussed with #18, and the one he had vowed never to fall victim to. It wasn't the weakness he had thought came from being in love. In was the weakness that came from not being in control. He shook his head from side to side, coming to stand in front of a drawn curtain where he knew his woman would be situated. He tried to catch his breath as he listened to the soft beeping and humming of machines, reminded of all the times he himself had been thrown into regeneration tanks after being beaten within an inch of his life. That he could handle. This was something completely different and totally foreign.

He could get over this. He would face this weakness head on. He would regain control and prove to himself that he could handle this.

He stepped through the curtain and almost lost it.

She was laying there, quite the picture of peace and innocence. He always loved to watch her sleep, mostly since it was one of the only times her mouth was shut. He walked around the gurney she was on and looked sourly upon the machines she was hooked up to. He sat down next to her legs and took her hand in his. She was cold, but not lifeless. Shouldn't there be someone helping her? Watching over her? Or was she already too far gone?

What would he do if she didn't make it through this? She would die and never even know what he wanted to tell her. He didn't know if he could live with that, although realistically, he knew that he could live with that. There would just be a few less planets in the universe that would have wished that he could live with that better.

Trying to calm his raging emotions, he leaned down and touched his warm cheek to her cold one, relishing the feel of her smooth, cool skin. He breathed deeply of her scent, which currently didn't remind him of anything too wonderful, as she had been shot at a gas station. He didn't let that bother him as he murmured his threat into her ear.

Her eyes fluttered open when she felt something warm slide across her cheek. She was a little groggy, but she was fighting the mild sedative they had given her. She didn't stir, as she was too sore to move, but she smiled when she saw the thick, black hair hovering off in her peripheral vision, and was about to mumble something when she heard him whisper in her ear.

"Woman, I love you. If you dare die on me and leave me alone, I will kill everyone on this miserable, fucking planet without a second thought or moments hesitation. If you do not wish to see that happen, I suggest you come out of this alive. And everyone can be quite happy and all of those other pathetic, human sentiments. I am not asking you this. I command it of you. If you love me in return, you will accept this and we can move onward with our lives."

Never before had she heard anything so romantic in her entire life. Sure, it wasn't exactly how she'd pictured the moment, but she certainly wasn't about to complain. If there was one thing she knew about Vegeta, it was that he never said anything he did not mean. If he said he loved her, he loved her. And if he said he would kill everyone, she knew he would kill everyone. Although she rather hoped that it was just the anger talking, there was a certain thrill knowing that he would go to such extremes just for her.

She sighed and he pulled away from her only to find her staring up at him, her eyes glazed over and a bit misty.

"Good, you're alive," he stated simply.

"I'll manage to live," she informed him with a smile. He was frowning down at her, but she could tell it was more from worry than from anger. She had become accustomed to his moods and was beginning to interpret the subtle differences between the smirks, stares, glares and frowns. "Mostly because I love you too. And I can just imagine how tired and hungry you'd be after killing everyone. I can't have that, now can I?"

*****

Chi Chi found him in the cafeteria with Bulma's parents, eating pudding and laughing at Dr. Briefs' corny jokes. Visiting hours were almost over and she had come by to see how Bulma was doing after getting the news from her father that her good friend had been grazed in a drive by shooting. As she was walking through the emergency room, she had happened upon a rare moment between Bulma and Vegeta. Chi Chi admitted that she didn't much like Vegeta, but when she had caught them in a sweet and passionate embrace, she couldn't help but think that perhaps she was a little too harsh in her judgements. Bulma was a great friend, and as a smart and wonderful woman, she knew that Bulma would make an intelligent decision about anyone she would date. Even Goku seemed to like Vegeta, and although their relationship was extremely different from the one shared by the other two, Chi Chi decided that perhaps he wasn't all bad. It didn't mean the she liked him now, it just meant that she was willing to look at him a little differently.

"Hi Chi!" Goku greeted her excitedly with a mouth full of pudding.

Mrs. Briefs giggled at Goku's antics while Dr. Briefs stood and pulled out a chair for Chi Chi to join them.

"We have to go soon, Sweetie," Chi Chi smiled at Goku, accepting a cup of coffee from Bulma's father. "Is Bulma being admitted?"

"I think it would be for the best," Dr. Briefs replied. "I'd feel better if they kept an eye on her just in case. It's not like we can't afford to have her stay either. I've already spoken to the doctor."

"She'll have her own private room," Mrs. Briefs clasped her hands together. "I'm going to go home and bake some nice treats to bring in to her tomorrow."

Dr. Briefs eyed his wife and the look did not go unnoticed by Chi Chi, who smiled knowingly.

"Wow, treats?" Goku questioned excitedly. "I may have to stop by and join Bulma for breakfast!"

This time, Dr. Briefs smiled at the young, dark hared beauty sitting next to him. He had the feeling that she understood completely.

*****

It had been a struggle, but he had made it perfectly clear to the doctor that if he had to break some peoples limbs, he wouldn't feel badly since they were already at the hospital. He inhaled a small sandwich, sitting in a plush chair next to the bed where Bulma was sitting up, eating some crackers.

She smiled as she watched him, happy that they had given her a private room complete with her own private shower in the bathroom. Since she had felt woozy, Vegeta helped her wash up, and although the experience was anything but sexual, she couldn't help but feel all tingly at the thought. Of course, he hadn't been happy to see the bandages on her arm and especially on the side of her abdomen. If she had moved more than an inch during the assault, she might not have made it out alive. It was then that she realized how much of a scare this had given him. While she also realized that this level of raw emotion and protectiveness probably wouldn't last, she wasn't sorry that it had happened.

Visiting hours were over but Vegeta had stayed. Even though it wasn't regular hospital policy, the way the doctor saw it, there really was no other viable choice. The television was on, quietly showing the news, replaying details of what had happened earlier. He noticed that she shivered a little at the memory of her ordeal, and he got up to join her on the bed. It was a bit of a squeeze, but that really didn't seem to present a problem. He wasn't about to let her out of his protective embrace anytime soon.

"I'm glad you're staying with me," she smiled as she snuggled against him.

"You are?" He asked, sounding more playful than she had ever heard him sound.

"Yes," she giggled slightly. "We have something important to discuss."

"We do?" He shifted her slightly, trying not to disturb her bandaged arm.

"My locks."

"Your locks?" He raised an eyebrow.

"I think its about time a certain someone bolted them before coming to bed every night with me on a regular basis."

He smirked as he kissed her forehead.

"And Vegeta?" She whispered as her eyes closed. "You'll even have your own toothbrush."

*****

Yes, my feeble attempt at drama. You don't have to tell me, but you can if you want. Thanks to W-Chan for the quick look at a snippet that needed help in its original version. The woman is awesome. So that's it for now. The next part should be up tomorrow…