Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ A DRAGONBALL HONEYMOON ❯ Paparazzi Panic ( Chapter 5 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

>>>>>
A DRAGONBALL HONEYMOON © 2003 Darke Angelus
Chapter Five ~ Paparazzi Panic


"Have they tried the sun?" Bulma suggested.

Vegeta couldn't believe it. Five simple words that managed to
solve a millennium-old dilemma and damned if it hadn't taken her all of
thirty seconds to come up with it. 'Have they tried the sun.' Gods be
damned- the woman was brilliant!

As he lay in bed staring up at the ceiling, Vegeta listened
silently to Bulma's rhythmic breathing. His fingers were linked together
behind his head as he pondering the events of yesterday. All of the
excitement from their 'alien abduction' had turned the heiress into an
insatiable, wanton Goddess. He had gotten a glimpse of that wild abandon
right after they had collected the first Dragonball. It had been nothing
compared to the sex-crazed woman who had confronted him once the door to
their suite had closed. The entire cabana was now in complete disarray;
clothes had been quickly discarded (all being his, Bulma was obeying the
no-clothes rule of the resort to the letter), the furniture was out of
place, and lamps and other fragile items were either knocked to the
floor or broken. Even the pictures and lithographs now hung askew on the
walls. Their whirlwind passion had started in the living room, moved
into the small kitchen, rebounded off of the bathroom, and finally ended
three feet shy of their bed.

Turning his head to the left, he stared at her in the darkness.
She was lying on her side facing him, her leg pulled up slightly. Her
mussed odd-colored hair covered her delicate features so he slipped his
fingers into that tangled softness, moving the tendrils carefully away
from her face. He'd been with passionate women before, but until Bulma
he'd never been with a woman that sparked such a powerfully harmonic
chord in himself. With sex, he had always been the kind of man who took
it when it came and forgot it when it didn't. But with Bulma, he only
wanted to take it, take it, and take it some more. Training and battles
be damned. He had no idea a woman from a backwater planet like Earth
would ever have been capable of pulling him in so close, closer then he
thought he'd ever go, with anyone.

His eyes wandered to the swell of her breast and the pink tip that
peaked beneath it. He was tempted to reach out and touch it, to roll the
tender nipple between his fingers and feel it harden to a tight bud
against his touch. The mere thought began the stirring of something deep
within his stomach and he fought the impulse. Instead he slid out from
underneath of the rumpled sheets, like a man who had spent many past
encounters leaving before his conquest ever woke up. The instant his
feet found carpet he straightened and almost fell to his knees from the
blaze of fire concentrated in the tail scar at the base of his spine.
Taking the trip on Bulma's Wild Ride had aggravated the old wound again.
Like a sailor trying to walk on a listing ship, Vegeta painfully hobbled
into the bathroom and shut the door.

A long, hot shower relaxed his tense muscles but the scar was
still paining him. It had been ever since his first day on Earth when
the obese Samurai had ruthlessly hacked off the proud appendage with his
pathetically dull sword. Some days were better than others but all of
this time of no training and traveling in Bulma's cramped vehicles were
taking its toll- and the honeymoon wasn't even half over!

Wiping off a strip of condensation from the mirror over the sink,
Vegeta somberly considered his reflection. Bulma had mentioned that he
could have the nerves deadened to sensation in a hospital procedure that
wouldn't even take an hour. It was tempting, but his memories of
Installation 15 kept interfering with him going through with it. He
wasn't as fearful of needles as Kakarrot had been, but he didn't want to
go out of his way to get stuck by one either. Thankfully, Bulma wasn't a
nag over the issue. She was content to let him make up his own mind
about the surgery.

Grumbling, he rummaged through Bulma's make-up bag and pulled out
a bottle of pills. Extra Strength Tylenol.

Menstrual.

"Ah crap," he grumbled, sifting through the other 'emergency'
medications that she had brought along for the trip. There was Gravol,
anti-diarrhea tablets, anti-gas pills, and every other anti-something
that Earthlings seemed to be plagued with. But there were no other
painkillers. Nothing stronger than regular aspirin. In desperation he
squinted at the label of the bottle he was holding.

Tylenol Menstrual Caplets act quickly to provide effective relief
of menstrual cramps, backaches, breast tenderness, irritability, and
headaches, it read. After a moment of consideration, Vegeta muttered, "I
guess two out of five is better than nothing," and dry-swallowed six
pills.

When he returned to the bedroom, he looked out of the open window.
The night was crystal clear and he spared a glance skywards to take in
the glittering canopy of stars. There was none of that loneliness or
resentment that usually plagued him whenever he stargazed. Rather he
felt an odd sort of contentment, a sensation that was utterly foreign to
him. Glancing over his shoulder at the bed, he knew who was responsible
for this strange feeling. He should have been angered at the prospect of
losing his edge, of getting soft, but couldn't muster the emotion.

"I've been ...domesticated," he muttered softly. Bulma's presence
had softened his heart and changed him, somehow; had made another life
possible. A better one, perhaps.

The cabana suddenly felt too confining and he felt the need to get
some fresh air. He looked briefly around for his pants and quickly gave
up (they were draped over one of the blades on the ceiling fan and
slowly revolving above the sofa). About the only perk at being at an old
fogy nudist resort was that everyone turned in before midnight. He'd had
quite enough of the sight of stretched teats and sagging scrotums to
last a lifetime, thank you.

Guided by the rhythmic roar of waves breaking on the beach, he
leaned against a palm and crossed his arms, staring moodily out at the
ocean. The sound was actually quite calming and he relished the
sensation of warm air gently wafting over his bare flesh. He had no idea
that he was even drowsing until a hand lighted upon his shoulder,
startling him.

He whirled with a shout, left arm raised and his hand clenched
into a tight fist. It was only Bulma standing quietly behind him. "You
damn near got your face rearranged, woman! You should know better than
sneak up on me."

Unruffled, Bulma said, "I didn't sneak up on you. I called your
name twice but you didn't answer."

His only response was a snort and he went back to studying the
waves.

"It's really beautiful here, isn't it? The only thing that's
missing is a full moon. That would be just the final romantic touch."

"Yes, there's nothing more romantic than a bare-assed Oozaru
stamping about squashing naked senior citizens," the Saiyan said and
actually coughed out a brief laugh at the thought.

Bulma rolled her eyes in exasperation. At times like this it was
always a refresher that the man she had married wasn't from this world.
She sat down in the sand and tugged on his arm. When he relented and sat
down beside her, she crawled into his lap.

"What preoccupation do you have with always using me as your
chair?" he asked, trying to sound indignant even as her body settled
easily against his own. It was a weak protest and they both knew it.

"It's the best seat in the house," she purred and wrapped her arms
possessively around his neck.

They shared a deep kiss and he relished the yielding pliancy of
her lips and the strong shape of her teeth under them. He reached for
her breast with his hand and cupped that full warmth. As he stroked the
nipple with his thumb, it raised its head, grew hard, and began to
tingle. She uttered a small, moaning sigh directly into his mouth and he
tasted the fragrance of her breath, letting it awaken a hunger that
demanded it be sated.

They made love right there on the beach near the shoreline; skin-
to-skin and breath-to-breath their bodies rocked slowly together in the
soft sand. It was gentle, this act, with no words spoken aloud between
the two lovers. When it was over, they drifted asleep in each other's
arms.

>>>>>

Bulma came groggily awake as the sky began to brighten in the
east, squinting around at her surroundings. Voices had woken her up but
she couldn't figure out where they were coming from. Some early risers
from the resort, perhaps. When she tried to sit up she discovered that
Vegeta was holding onto her with a death grip. "Vegeta-"

"Huzzuz," came the response.

"You're holding me too tight."

"Huzzuz," he said again, not waking up.

"Damn it." She squirmed around in his muscular arms and acutely
regretted where they had chosen to bed down. "Aw great. Now I've got
sand in my p-"

"Holy cow! It's really them!" a male voice shouted from the tree
line.

Before she could react, a throng of photographers erupted out of
the foliage in a dazzling array of flashbulbs, camera lights, and
spotlights. There were at least twenty of them approaching at a frenzied
sprint with more pelting down the beach on either side, boxing the
couple in. Bulma realized with dismay that someone at the resort must
have recognized her and leaked her whereabouts to the media.

"Vegeta, wake up!" she screamed.

He muttered something similar to "not now" and released her so he
could settle into a more comfortable position. Having no time to
question what was wrong with him, she shouted directly into his ear:
"We're under attack!"

He jolted awake as if she had shocked him with a cattle prod to
the privates. Leaping to his feet like a cat, he crouched down
protectively near his bride and blinked in stunned amazement at the
swarm of humans who were advancing. His hand immediately shot out in
that all-too familiar palm-up gesture that she knew was a precursor to a
Big Bang attack. She leapt on his arm and brought it down with her body
weight (with effort). "No killing! Just get us back to the cabana!"

"Ms. Briefs! Is it true that you've gotten married?!"

"Can we have a few words with your husband?"

"What's his name? Where did you meet him? Sir! What do you-"

Gathering Bulma up in his arms, Vegeta bowled through the crowd
like a pro linebacker on his way to a touchdown, not caring who he
knocked over. His reflexes were still muddled by the muscle-relaxants
but he managed to get them into the small shelter and lock the door in
record time.

"What the fuck was that all about?" he asked in confusion, resting
his back against the door.

"Somebody must have leaked it to the press that we're on our
honeymoon!" Bulma fumed, running around the room and pulling the
curtains closed as the paparazzi closed in.

"Who the hell would have-" his mouth closed with a snap and he
didn't bother saying anything more. He didn't have to.

Matching his furious glare, Bulma nodded once. "Dorothy," they
mouthed together.

Stamping into the bedroom to get dressed, the Saiyan snarled, "I'm
gonna kill that bitch once and for all-" he recoiled as a multitude of
flashbulbs went off directly in his face, blinding him.

Grinning with victory, an amateur photographer exclaimed,
"Fantastic! Playgirl is going to pay me a fortune for these!" she dove
out of the open bedroom window just as Bulma was racing towards her. She
actually had the audacity to flip the heiress a thumbs-up as she ran
away. "You're a lucky lady, Ms. Briefs! A VERY lucky lady, if you catch
my d-" Bulma slammed the window shut, cutting off her words.

Rubbing the spots from his eyes, Vegeta squinted around blindly
looking as close to frantic as Bulma had ever seen him. She could
understand the confusion; he was entirely out of his depth in this
situation. His missions in life had involved subterfuge and carnage,
certainly never recognition or celebration. Her heart ached a little for
what he would have to go through now that the cat was out of the bag.
Like it or not, the rest of their honeymoon was going to be swept up in
a media frenzy and Vegeta was now the focal point of the show.

It didn't help when there was the thudding sound of rotors and a
helicopter hovered over the small building like the world's biggest
dragonfly. "Why are they acting like this? I don't get it!" Vegeta
shouted over the sound of the chopper.

"This is why I tried to keep it secret until we got back to
Capsule Corporation," she hollered back as she began collecting their
discarded clothes. "The world's richest woman has finally gotten
married. It's huge news and now, sweetheart, so are you. Like it or not,
you're famous."

He definitely did NOT like it, that much was plain on his face.
"What if someone clues in that I tried to destroy the earth? If I
remember correctly, that was your biggest fear right from the start."

Once it had been but that concern no longer plagued her. "You
don't look near the same from that day. You're taller, more muscular,
even your hairstyle is different-" At that he ruffled his still too-
short hair and scowled. "When you're dressed in street clothes, no one
would think twice that you're anything other than an earthman."

"Brr." He shivered in revulsion at the suggestion.

"Our little secret," she tipped him a wink.

He didn't return it. "So... what are we supposed to tell them?"

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," she said and started
to get dressed.

Hours later, they were flying over the Atlantic in Bulma's
hoverjet while she talked with her mother on the phone and he had her
laptop sitting on the console. It had been their poor luck it was a slow
news day and the announcement of their marriage was on the home page of
every newspaper and television station that had a website on the
Internet. Pictures taken from the resort had been downloaded and posted
in record speed and at every website he trolled, Vegeta saw the two of
them huddled together on the beach, with strategic black bars placed
over their privates. He was shaking his head in a constant side-to-side
motion that was almost an involuntary twitch.

"- little is known of the mysterious man often seen in company
with the elusive heiress. Several unconfirmed sources state that he
serves as her bodyguard while others report that he is an employee of
Capsule Corporation. Whatever the circumstances of his background, it's
plain that his love for Bulma Briefs holds no bounds-"

"Oh crap," he said weakly, clicking helplessly onto the next site.

"IS HE THE FATHER?" was a dramatic marquee on CNN's home page.
There was a close-up of Trunks and him side-by-side and only a blind man
couldn't see the resemblance. Wolf Blitzer's column had this to say:
"Ever since his birth, the paternity of Trunks Vegeta Briefs has been
constantly called into question by the media. Although she had garnered
some scorn for the choice of having the child out of wedlock, it is now
clear that Ms. Briefs has finally decided to relent to her critics'
advice and get married. Now for this hour's poll: Who do you think is
the baby's father? The man she just married, Mr. Satan, Yamcha of the
Earth's Special Forces, Cell, or was it from some one-night stand?
Results will be posted at-"

"Aw crap," by now Vegeta was almost whining. It didn't help
overhearing Bulma as she said beside him; "-No, mom, I mean it. Don't
say one word. Yes, I know he has a great ass but that doesn't mean you
have to brag about it. That's my job. If anyone is going to praise
Vegeta's ass it's going to be me-"

"Hang up," he growled at her.

"-No, not that either-" she started giggling.

"Hang up the damned phone NOW!" he roared.

"Gottagotheprinceispissed," she said and folded the phone. Calmly,
she turned to look at him, eyebrows raised in polite query.

"What are you going to do about this mess?"

"There's not much I can do. We'll have to let it run its course."

"That's a piss-poor strategy and you know it!"

"The only strategy here is patience," she explained. "Eventually,
something else will come along and the paparazzi will follow after it.
They're like wolves and right now it's our scent they're fixed on."

He continued to glower at her. The vertical line between his brows
looked as deep as a trench. "So in a day, this will be all over?"

"Uhm..."

"A week?"

"Ahh..."

"A month?"

"...If we're lucky."

He slumped in his seat and went back to browsing the Internet. One
search engine was already boasting over a dozen listings for "Bulma's
Mystery Man Nude PicXXX". By tomorrow it would be over a hundred.

"I'm in hell," he said matter-of-factly.

"Oh, it isn't so bad-"

""Click here for pictures of Bulma's well-hung mate! 'What a lucky
lady!' claims Playgirl editor.""

She started laughing. "Well, I can't even sue them for lying in
that case."

She could have sworn that she saw his lips twitch in amusement but
wasn't sure. The issue was a sensitive one and she didn't want to push
her luck. Setting the hoverjet on autopilot, she pulled out her
Dragonball radar and regarded the display. "Collecting a Dragonball will
get our minds off of this circus for a little while. Let's see...
according to this, we'll find the next one on the west coast of Europe.
It looks like it's on an island-"

"Great Britain," Vegeta piped up.

After a moment of studying the data, she nodded. "That's right.
It's in Southern England, right around -"

"London."

She whirled around in shock. "How do you know all this?"

His face carefully guarded, Vegeta turned the laptop around and
let her read the display. He had accidentally surfed over to a BBC news
site where there was a picture of the one-star Dragonball resting on a
velvet cushion. "Mystic Relics and Ancient Artifacts," the headline
proclaimed. "The British Museum is featuring an exclusive grand opening
tonight of their new wing devoted to its unique collection of rare
archaeological treasures. In its first ever appearance to the public is
the mystic Dragonball, rumored to possess extraordinary supernatural
attributes. In attendance will be several members of the Royal family,
as well as dignitaries, various social elite, and the media-"

"Hnh," she said, sitting back in her seat. She became lost in
thought and Vegeta knew from past experience that when she went silent
it was never a good thing. It was another of those qualities that they
shared. "What's on your mind?" he asked warily.

"I was thinking that we might be able to kill two birds with one
stone."

He brightened a little with the thought of getting away with some
killing but figured (correctly) that it was just damnable human slang.
"How?"

He didn't get the answer he was hoping for when she turned to him
and asked, "Did you pack your tuxedo?"

>>>>>

Oh yeah, I'm definitely in hell, Vegeta thought gloomily as he
considered his reflection in the hotel room's mirror. He was
immaculately decked out in a brand new double-breasted tuxedo complete
with dark blue cummerbund and silk bow tie. From the disgusted
expression on his face he might as well have been wearing a
straightjacket; it would have felt about the same way to him:
Restrictive. He didn't even know when Bulma had bought the damned thing,
more proof that she had packed everything but the kitchen sink for their
honeymoon. Heck, there was probably one or two of them stored away in a
capsule somewhere, too.

"I'm almost ready!" Bulma called from the bathroom.

He grunted and went back to glaring at himself. As an
afterthought, he pulled out a comb and ran it through his thick hair,
trying to coax it into a shape that didn't look like he'd stuck his
finger in a light socket. Not for the first time he was wondering why he
was even going along with this charade. At first Bulma's plan seemed
simple enough; show themselves to the media, and steal the Dragonball
all in one night. Bulma's logic was that the paparazzi would back off a
little if they didn't play so hard to get and answer a few simple
questions. As ever, the Saiyan was coming to terms that his mate really
didn't understand the concept of logic any more than he did. And maybe,
just maybe, she didn't understand her fellow earthlings as well as she
thought she did either.

One simple phone call to the curator of the British Museum had
been all it took. Their attendance at the supposedly by-invitation-only
affair was made immediately. A limo was arranged to pick them up at
eight o'clock on the dot and take them directly to the Opening. Glancing
at the grandfather clock in the hallway, Vegeta saw that it was ten to
eight. "Speed it up, woman. You're going to make us-"

"I'm ready," she announced.

Snapping his head around, he saw that she was standing in the
hallway. Their eyes met; brilliant blue against raven black and the
charge was almost electric in its intensity. Vegeta actually took a
wandering step back in amazement before he collected himself. Wearing a
full-length red satin dress with matching elbow length gloves, she
drifted down the corridor towards him. She had her hair carefully done
up in a stylish coif and was wearing a pair of teardrop earrings and a
pearl necklace. There was a calm smile on her perfectly made-up face and
the two simply regarded one another in silence before Bulma offered,
"You look wonderful."

"Thanks."

She waited patiently for a similar compliment and when it didn't
come, she pulled a wrap around her shoulders and moved towards the door,
muttering, "Well, I guess we'd better get going. Wouldn't want to be
late."

Completely oblivious of his slight, Vegeta went along with her
willingly enough. They had barely stepped outside of the door, that the
doorman was holding open for them, when a deep black limousine pulled up
to the curb. The side door opened up like a crow's wing, exposing a
sumptuous cabin interior of dark burgundy. There was no one behind the
wheel and the Saiyan hesitated even as Bulma climbed inside. "It's sent
from the Museum on automatic pick-up," she explained when it appeared as
if he wasn't going to join her. "No flying tonight. We're going to this
Opening in style. If you don't get in, we're going to be late."

With clear reluctance, he got inside the spacious interior and sat
self-consciously beside her. The door pulled itself closed and the
limousine rose on its cushion of air and left the hotel. For most of the
way Bulma sat still in her seat while Vegeta turned all of his attention
to the side window, watching the sites as they drove down Great Russell
Street. He said nothing despite her repeated attempts to draw him out.
He had been largely silent ever since they had checked into the
Guildhall Arms Hotel and she began rifling through the capsules for
their formal clothes. Their brush with the media had bothered him, that
much was true and even understandable, but she knew the alien well
enough to tell when his quiet periods were spent brooding, scheming, or
being just plain anxious. She had to find out for sure what mode he was
currently stuck in. "Vegeta-"

"Did you really mean that?" he spoke up in a rough voice. "About
my being taller?"

Momentarily baffled by the odd question, Bulma could only stare at
him in confusion.

"Is that important to you?" he persisted, turning to look at her.

"Important to me? No, it's not important-"

He snorted. "Bah. I know what you're used to."

"Yamcha? Is that what you're bothered about?" she asked with
dismay. She remembered how he had reacted to the criticism of his height
by the man at the rest stop on the first day of their honeymoon. She had
suspected then that there was more behind his over-reaction than just
wounded pride but she had miscalculated that shame had any part to play.
Until now, she had never even known it existed. "He was an unfaithful,
skirt-chasing fraud who had a dick the width of a pencil-" she thought
that Vegeta's left eyebrow twitched in amusement at this but couldn't be
sure. "Sure he was tall, and it gave me a sore neck every damn time we
kissed."

His eyes narrowed suspiciously, searching for any trace of lie in
her words. "It's the truth, Vegeta. You and I are a perfect fit. It
shouldn't even matter to you... but it obviously does. Why?"

"Most worlds associate height with respectability and this planet
is no exception," he told her grudgingly. "I could turn the earth
inside-out a hundred times over but all that anyone seems to care about
is that I have to jump to reach the top shelf in a grocery store."

She shrugged. "You think you're alone?"

"I think it's unfair. Kami showed me the truth in his hall of
mirrors those few years back. I saw how I was supposed to be if Frieza
had never intruded into my life and r-... ruined me. I was actually King
of the Saiyan Empire," he paused as he relished that grand title and its
implications, before adding in a harsher voice, "and I was tall."

Not for the first time, Bulma cursed Kami's reasoning behind
showing Vegeta his dark future, and what a limited time that he had to
actually enjoy it. She hadn't been aware that there had been other
things thrown into the mix and none of them appeared to be good. "What
happened?"

Frieza happened! he thought with terrible venom, squeezing his
eyes shut. The vein on his temple pulsed with the force of his rapid
heartbeat. It's always Frieza! "It doesn't matter anymore," he managed
to say instead, forcing himself to calm down. "Just... forget about it."

"I honestly don't know where all this is coming from. Krillin and
the others have made fun of you and you've never reacted to it."

"I'll tolerate it from them. They've paid their dues but I won't
allow it from powerless morons. I didn't put my life on the line and
battle Cell to be ridiculed by humans." He glowered down at his feet and
added in a voice so low that she barely heard the words, "Especially not
in front of you."

There it is, Bulma thought even as her heart gave one fluttering
thump in her chest. He doesn't want me to be embarrassed by him- or even
worse; for him. And over such a silly thing as height! Oh Vegeta, you're
not so far removed from us 'powerless morons' as you like to think. Deep
down you're very human and far more vulnerable than I ever suspected. If
I ever had any lingering doubts that you care for me, they're gone right
this instant.

While she tried to find the right words to say, he drifted back
into his thoughts. He was thinking about all of the political functions
that Frieza had forced him to attend, and always with Radditz and Nappa
in tow; a deliberate display of true specimens of Saiyan height and
build. His own royal blood and power had seemed to mean nothing to the
dignitaries who always regarded him with amusement and scorn and -
perhaps worst of all- a little pity; the dwarf prince who came waist-
high to his two bodyguards. It was considered something of private joke
and his keen ears always caught every word, every insult, every laugh-
filing that information away for a time when the diplomacy would finally
end and the assassinations could start. In the end, he got the last
laugh but the damage had been done. He was short, he always would be,
and no matter how high the body count grew, nothing was ever going to
change that.

Nothing.

"How many will be at that Opening?" he asked in an odd voice.

"Uhm? Oh, two maybe three hundred people. It's hard to say. Why?"

All those humans looking at him. Judging him. Studying him. It
would be like reliving Installation 15 all over again but this would be
far worse. This time, Bulma was here to witness it. Her friends and
family would follow it in the newspapers and television reports. He
imagined them getting out of the limousine and one person (in his
increasing fear, he envisioned this person to look like Zarbon) would
point at him and call out, "Look! It's a little monkey! Isn't it
adorable?" The laughter would start, it would be contagious, and Bulma
would be beside him sharing his complete humiliation.

"No," he whispered.

"What?"

"No. I'm not doing this. Stop the limo."

She was staring at him in complete confusion. "Vegeta-"

"I'm leaving! Make this fucking thing stop RIGHT NOW!" he roared
so loudly that the volume actually made her wince.

He's panicking, Bulma had time to think. Of all of the revelations
I've seen this evening, this has to go to the top of the list. "Calm
down," she said in a level voice.

"Dendedammit- I said-"

"We are NOT stopping!" she yelled directly into his face. "You
aren't going to run away and hide just because you've suddenly got cold
feet. We are a couple and we're going to handle this together. Now you
SNAP OUT OF IT!"

He recoiled from her verbal barrage as if he had been slapped. She
figured that no female had ever once in his life addressed him in such a
brusque manner before. It was precisely the feat that she was hoping to
accomplish: snap him back to reality before he became permanently
camera-shy.

She pointed a stern finger at him and pressed on, "I'm not going
to tolerate any of your Saiyan superiority bullshit, Vegeta. Not
tonight. You ARE going to escort me to that Opening as if you have no
other purpose in your life, and you ARE going to be on your best
behaviour. You're a prince. At least, that's what you're always ramming
down everyone's throat! It's high time you started acting like one. Have
I made myself clear?"

"..."

"I didn't hear you. Was that a yes?"

Unable to even formulate words in his fury, Vegeta gave a motion
of his head that could have been a nod or the beginning of a seizure.

Ignoring the thunderstruck outrage on his flushed face, she sat
back and busied herself by smoothening out the wrinkles on her dress.
"When we pull up to the curb and the door opens, you will get out first
and wait for me. When I get out, you'll take my arm and escort me inside
the Museum. After that I don't care what you do; go sulk in corner, go
hide in a broom closet for all I care. Just understand one thing: We
came as a couple and we'll leave as one. I'll tell you when it's time to
leave and not the other way around. Got it?"

That slack-jawed expression was still on his face but it was
getting gradually darker, like thunderheads snuffing out the sun. It
came as a relief to Bulma when they pulled up along side of the sidewalk
in front of the British Museum. There was a gigantic throng of
spectators held back on either side of the red carpet by rope
barricades. Photographers began taking pictures as the limousine pulled
to a stop, flashbulbs popping like miniature bolts of lightening.

The door on Vegeta's side opened but he didn't react to it. He was
staring at her with concentrated hatred.

"What's it going to be?" she challenged in a level voice,
narrowing her eyes the slightest bit. Inside, she was scared to death.
Was he going to give in or was he going to explode and wipe out
everything standing within a five-kilometer radius? The shouting crowd
(as well as the city of London) had absolutely no idea how close death
came that night as Vegeta carefully weighed her words.

He finally looked away and got out of the limo and stood beside
the door, staring back at the throng and paparazzi and enduring their
flashbulbs without flinching. When she extended her hand, he guided her
out and stood beside her, his arm entwined around hers.

"Look! It's Bulma Briefs and- Ohmigod, is that her husband?!"

"Hey gorgeous, will you give me your autograph? Pleeeeeeze?"

"Ms. Briefs- Just a brief word with your husband-"

Bulma only offered them a light-hearted wave as she and Vegeta
climbed the steps to the entrance of the huge Museum. All eyes followed
them with single-minded curiosity, pointing at them for emphasis (a
couple following behind them was largely ignored). Bulma's status as an
heiress to Capsule Corporation, a multi-billion zeni empire, was always
a topic of interest in the society papers. It was chiefly the reason she
preferred to keep a low profile by hanging around with Gokou and the
other Z Warriors rather than associating with people more fitting her
status. Aside from one dalliance to an Opera close to a year ago (with
the ever-boring Phillip Mitchell Anderson the Third in attendance), the
last time she had attended such a hugely publicized event was when she
had still been dating Yamcha. He had escorted her to a movie premiere
wearing an old puke-brown threadbare suit he had bought at a flea
market. The jacket had been at least one size too small on his oversized
frame, the cuffs of his pants had been about three inches above his
ankles, and the whole thing had reeked of cat urine. The tabloids had a
field day over that sight and none of it had added to Yamcha's constant
low self-esteem.

Looking sidelong at the man beside her, Bulma could understand why
everyone was ogling him with such obvious curiosity. Despite his size,
the Saiyan had a presence about him that immediately caught one's
attention and demanded respect. The features beneath his dark skin were
fine-boned and exotic and he had even managed to style his alien mane
into a respectable fashion. The tuxedo he wore was immaculate right down
to the shoes. There was even the glitter of diamond in his cufflinks.
Bulma felt her heart skip a beat when he glanced back at her, his
expression guarded but, thankfully, calm. She thought she had never seen
anyone so handsome in all of her life and almost stumbled on a step when
his strong arms steadied her.

"Thank you Vegeta," she said breathlessly when they reached the
entrance.

"I just did what you told me to do. Nothing more," was all he had
to say. He disengaged her arm and walked into the chaos of the foyer
where people were making introductions, reporters were mingling, and the
sight of flashing sequins on dresses was enough to blind the
uninitiated.

I guess I deserved that, Bulma mused without surprise. Still, they
had walked the red carpet without incident. Vegeta had been too outraged
by her reprimand to dwell on the insecurities that had plagued him and
if that caused a rift between them- well, that was too darned bad.

Still, she looked around for him as she walked inside,
deliberately avoiding the reporters for now. The huge building was one
of Britain's architectural landmarks, housing a collection that was one
of the finest in existence, spanning two million years of human history.
European Old Master paintings were on this first floor, with rare books
and manuscripts, sculptures, and royal collections occupying the other
three. Looking up, she could see the guardrails of the darkened sections
that had been closed off for this evening's celebration. Just as she
started to turn away, she caught sight of a swift blur vaulting over the
railing of the second level and disappear into the darkness. Sparing a
swift glance around, she was relieved to see that no one had seen what
she did. Vegeta had gone off to do what he did best, sulk and she had to
submerge a pang of anger. She was on her own after all.

>>>>>

Pelting down the corridor at a run, Vegeta's feet almost came out
from underneath of him when he skidded to a stop, spotting a restroom
sign. He burst through the door and went straight to the sink and turned
on the tap with shaking hands. After splashing his face with a few
handfuls of cold water, he felt a little better. Not much, but at least
it didn't feel like he was going to vomit.

He had spent many years traveling in space pods where the close
confines and sensory deprivation would have turned anyone else into
stark-raving lunatics were it not for the stasis gas. He had never
minded that mode of travel. There was something tranquil to the
experience; having the comfort of his own thoughts, undisturbed by
others. He was a loner by nature and design, and it had taken a long
time before he could permit himself to become a pair by allowing Bulma
into his life. Perhaps even a trio, with Trunks included.

But this Opening! Bulma had absolutely no idea what this was like
for him. Too many humans in too small a space; colognes, perfumes,
shampoos; that was just the smells not even including the mustiness of
the Museum itself. There were too many sounds of conflicting voices
trying to rise above each other. The lighting was dim with constant
camera flashes bothering his sensitive eyes. As a result of it all, the
lobby, huge by usual standards, was actually claustrophobic. It was all
just too much!

Reconsidering it brought the nausea back and he ended up being
sick after all. He hadn't had much to eat all day and only managed a few
dry-heaves over the sink before controlling his gorge by indomitable
self-will. Splashing water back on his face, he wasn't even aware that
he had company until someone in the stall behind him flushed the toilet.

Oh great, he thought and his pale cheeks flushed with
embarrassment.

A security guard stepped out of the stall, buckling his belt and
cast Vegeta a shrewd gaze as he went to the sink. "Buddy, I'm not going
to even try to rail on you for being in an off-limits area. You look
like you have your own troubles," he said, washing his hands.

Swallowing back bile, Vegeta ignored him and just stared down at
the running water.

"What is it? Food poisoning? I heard that the Beluga caviar might
be past its date. It looked slimier than normal."

Vegeta went pale again, thinking: If you don't shut the hell up
I'm going to have to kill you. Then I'll puke on you. I'd call that
poetic justice.

The guard noticed his shaking hands. "Oh, I get it! It's that
circus down there. Probably one of your first Openings, am I right?"

"What do you know of it?" Vegeta snapped.

"You think you're the only one to hate crowds?" he released a
hearty gale of laughter as he dried his hands on a towel. "Bloody hell,
everybody hates those damned things! Everybody who's normal, anyway.
Half of the Museum staff got blitzed on the champagne even before the
doors opened. The other half- 'ey, just a minute! I might have something
for you."

While the guard rummaged through his pockets, Vegeta began to calm
down a little. Part of it had to do with the understanding that he
wasn't alone in how he felt, and the other was the possibility that
maybe it was Bulma who was damaged here and not him after all. The human
spoke true- who in their right mind would willingly attend one of these
functions?

"Yeah, thought I had them," he said and pulled out a small bottle
of pills. "Before you give me the look, these are legal. Just normal
Valium tabs. Trust me, mate, if you knew the Curator who was in charge
here you'd understand why the staff keep refilling their prescriptions!
Maybe taking one might take your edge off, you know?"

Vegeta didn't even hesitate. "I'll take three," he said, holding
out his hand.

>>>>>

When she accepted the fact that Vegeta wasn't returning anytime
soon, Bulma began to walk around the outskirts of the gathered throng,
evaluating the artwork. The new wing was still cordoned off and the
ribbon cutting ceremony wouldn't start for at least another hour.
Waiters flitted in an out among the various cliques, offering rich
canapés on silver platters as well as fluted crystal glasses of
champagne. Bulma accepted a glass and sipped it slowly, viewing a
painting with polite interest, nothing more. Most of the works were
post-Impressionist and they really weren't her fancy although she could
appreciate the historic significance. She probably would have enjoyed
herself more if she'd had someone to share comments with. She could well
imagine Vegeta's reactions to what he saw; ... Ugly shit. Bad shit. More
shit... Perhaps it was for the best he had gone into hiding, but she had
to smile at the thought.

"Bulma!"

She turned and saw a couple weave their way around several groups
in a direct route towards her. She recognized the woman immediately and
fought to maintain the look of poise. Her name was Sally Masters whose
father owned several metal fabrication plants her own father often did
business with. She was also the gossiping bitch Bulma had overheard
badmouthing her and Trunks in a washroom during an intermission at the
last Opera she had attended. As if nothing had ever happened between
them, Sally lightly grabbed her shoulders and pantomimed kissing her
left and right cheek before pulling back and regarding her- every single
inch, from hairline to shoes. The tall man beside her was her husband
Phillip, a well-known Tennis player.

Sally made an exaggerated gesture at Bulma's dress and declared,
"You look absolutely beautiful, Bulma! That dress is just to DIE for!"

"Thanks. Yours looks great too." In actuality, Sally's dress was a
bright pink monstrosity with gay ruffles that made her look like an
explosion in a cotton candy factory.

"Well, it should! It's a Marcus Target original from Italy. Daddy
had it flown up on his private jet just so I could wear it this
evening."

"Is that so? Well, it certainly looks good on you, Sally. It has a
nice... cut to it."

The blonde woman tittered in delight. "You Briefs always did have
a sense for fashion. Tell me, does your mother still wear ballroom gowns
when she serves afternoon tea?"

Bulma finished her drink to keep her mouth from making any rude
comments and wished a waiter would show up for a refill. Meanwhile,
Sally had snatched onto another couple as they were passing. During all
of this, her trophy husband just stared vacantly at a piece of artwork,
letting his wife do all of the talking. As bad luck would have it, it
was Sally's co-conspirator Nancy Peterson.

All we need now is the third bitch to make this a real party,
Bulma thought grimly, looking around for an attendant with a drink tray.

"Well, hello Bulma!" Nancy said, not quite having the brazen
courage to kiss her greeting as her friend had done earlier. "This is my
husband Edgar."

The man, clearly thirty years the woman's senior, took Bulma's
hand and kissed it. She had never been so grateful for her gloves in all
of her life. Edgar's lips looked like two pieces of raw liver. "My
extreme pleasure," he said smoothly.

"Edgar is a lawyer at the head of his own firm; Peterson, Deschain
& Allgood, perhaps you've heard of it?"

"Uh, no- I can't say-"

"-He comes from old money. Very old money. Why, he's traced his
lineage back to a half-cousin of Queen Victoria herself! We just bought
a quaint little manor house out by Queenborough near Rochester. It was
only half a million pounds, mind you, but Edgar's family has roots there
so we thought..."

Bulma eyes were slowly glazing over. So were Sally's because no
one was including her in the conversation. "I was just commenting to
Bulma on her mother's tea parties," she interrupted brightly.

"Does she still have them?" Nancy asked with a condescending
smile. "I'll have to make it a point to drop by some time and make my
introductions."

Suuuure, you will, Bulma thought, knowing full well that her
mother was laughed at behind her back by her circle of so-called
friends. It hurt her to see her mother made fun of simply because she
was an extremely open and trusting person. "That'd be nice, Nancy. She'd
like to meet you," she said instead with a broad smile that looked as
fake as it felt.

All at once, Edgar seized her hand and slipped a business card
between her fingers. "I wouldn't mind meeting your father myself, Ms.
Briefs. Do you happen to know who is currently representing the
interests of Capsule Corporation?"

"Oh poo, Edgar! This isn't the time or place to discuss business,"
Sally huffed, meaning that the topic bored her. "I must say, Bulma, I'm
pleased to see that you no longer have that hideous perm. Your current
cut flatters your face very nicely. Not many women could get away with
that garish color either. How DO you manage to pull that combination
off?"

Starting to do a slow burn, Bulma said from between tight lips, "I
have a talented hairdresser."

"Why yes, it could be that," Nancy said, adding a distracted wave.
"I could loan you my personal stylist for a weekend if you'd like. He
has the most talented hands."

"Well, enough with all of this small talk! Where is he Bulma?"
Sally said eagerly, eyes dancing. "I want to meet him."

"Where is- Oh! You mean my husband." That's a good question, Bulma
thought forlornly. Where WAS Vegeta?

"And that ring!" Sally snatched her left hand and brought it
closer where she could eye it like a curious raven. "What a-a creative
setting. Is that one carat in silver?"

"The setting is platinum and it's two carats, actually."

"Only two?" Nancy drawled extending her left hand and exposing a
ring that was so huge and garish that there was no way it could be a
fake. "Edgar slipped this on my finger on our wedding day; isn't it
lovely? It's three carats and cost over a million zeni."

Bulma nodded once. "I'd wear the original diamond if I could but
at over 130 carats it's a little heavy." The looks that she got back
from both couples were priceless and the heiress submerged her amusement
with difficulty. Point for me, she thought with a mental grin.

"Please tell me you didn't marry that terribly shy fellow in that
disgusting suit," Sally cut in, changing the subject entirely while
Nancy tried to recover. "Tell me that it wasn't him." The gloating look
on her face was plainly hoping that the answer was yes.

"Actually, I-" There was a light nudge on Bulma's right arm and a
glass of champagne was offered to her. She recognized those cufflinks
immediately and turned with a smile of true relief. Vegeta was beside
her as if he had been standing there all along and the look on his face
was one of passive neutrality. Not annoyance, but not cheerfulness
either. Anyone who didn't know him would have just thought that he
looked bored with the whole affair. "Everyone, I'd like you to meet my
husband, Vegeta. Vegeta, I'd like you to meet Sally and Phillip Masters
and Nancy and Edgar Peterson.

Both Edgar and Phillip immediately extended their hands. Nursing
his own drink, Vegeta kept his free hand in the pocket of his pants and
stated coldly, "I don't shake hands."

Edgar immediately frowned in annoyance. "Vegeta... hm, that's very
unusual. Is that your first name or your second?"

"My second."

"... and your first?" he asked in exasperation.

"Prince, and it's considered a title. You'd best remember that the
next time you address me in polite conversation."

Sally's eyes widened (and hers weren't the only ones). "You're an
honest-to-gosh Prince? How wonderful!" Her eyes immediately flicked down
to his crotch and back to his face again, her cheeks were high spots of
excited color. While checking her e-mail before the big event, she had
followed the Playgirl editor's advice and 'Clicked here for pictures of
Bulma's well-hung mate!' She hadn't been disappointed by what she saw
and concluded that Bulma was indeed a 'lucky lady'.

"Indeed," Nancy drawled under her breath. She was clearly NOT
happy.

"Which country are you from, Prince Vegeta?"

For one moment, Bulma feared that he was going to launch into his
long-winded Saiyan speech until he improvised with; "A small Arabic
state in the Middle East. You wouldn't know it. Trust me. I doubt that
you could even spell it," he flashed Bulma a teasing little smirk. The
lie was short and believable and Bulma offered him a grateful smile in
return.

"You two make a... perfectly matched couple," Nancy managed to get
out. Edgar had deliberately drifted away from their little circle and
began impatiently waiting for her to finish with the small talk. He had
been outclassed and hadn't liked it one little bit. "We'll talk some
more later on in the evening."

"Oh, I can't wait," Bulma said coolly.

Flashing her an irritated little glance, Nancy extended her hand
towards Vegeta as she said, "And it was a pleasure to meet you, Prince
Vegeta."

The Saiyan regarded the outstretched hand as one might a
distasteful snake and continued drinking without taking it. His coal-
black eyes drilled into her brown ones with a look that could have
withered solid steel and she took the hint. With an intake of breath,
Nancy hurried over to her husband's side and quickly led him away.

Turning slightly on his heel, Vegeta then settled his
condescending gaze onto Sally who, at that moment, suddenly appeared to
realize that there were other people at this gathering who might be more
interested in her and in what she had to say. She took possessive hold
of her husband's arm and passed both Bulma and Vegeta a quick nod before
searching elsewhere for easier prey.

Vegeta slowly shook his head. "Air headed bimbos."

"For once, you and I are in agreement there, Prince," Bulma
clicked her glass against his and proceeded to catch up on her drinking.
This was going to be a loooong night. After several moments, she eyed
him shrewdly and admitted, "I really didn't think that you would be
coming back."

"I just had to use the bathroom. The next time I go you can hold
my hand," his smirk had deepened until it almost resembled a smile. That
was when she realized things were going to be okay for the night and he
was going to behave himself. Hell, he actually fit in better with this
superficial crowd than she did and the irony was not lost on her.

She noticed that several of the reporters were standing a
respectable distance away. It was clear that they wanted to talk to them
but were under strict orders by the organizers of the Opening not to be
intrusive. "Well, do you think you're up for some interviews?"

The Saiyan watched as more newshounds began to catch their scent
and gather. "Do I have a choice?" he grumbled.

"Just stick to the story and the attitude and you'll do just
fine," she said sincerely, taking his hand. He didn't fight the hold, or
even try to ignore it. Squeezing it back, the pair approached the
reporters with their cameras, video reorders, and questions. Their
endless, mind numbingly tedious questions.

>>>>>

For the next hour Vegeta remained extremely calm whenever a
reporter approached them. When he spoke, he used a soft and conciliating
tone that was very similar to the voice he used when he was in bed with
Bulma. It captivated the invasive reporters, particularly the female
ones, and Bulma was actually surprised to feel a vague prickle of
jealously whenever she watched the Saiyan turn on the charm. This
tactful behaviour was entirely unlike him and the heiress was at a loss
of words on what to say, it was so unusual. He allowed photographs to be
taken of them and, in a complete turnabout of events, was often the one
to whisper under his breath at her; "Smile, you look as though you're
attending a funeral."

There was an undercurrent of murmurs as the other attendees of the
Opening watched them; some with interest, others with acute jealousy.
Nancy Peterson looked like she was ready to explode while Sally Masters
kept a respectable distance; she was struggling with a perplexing sense
of terror and lust for the inscrutable Prince. This reaction of hushed
respect, even envy, from her peers was new to Bulma. With Yamcha, she
had accepted the condescension and disapproval his presence had created,
not really minding. Hell, she had loved the guy. The impression that
Vegeta made on these pompous snobs, however, took her completely by
surprise. There were going to be no veiled barbs at her expense this
time and she gave his arm a grateful squeeze while smiling
affectionately at him.

The time finally came for the Opening of the British Museum's new
wing. The Curator stepped up to an elaborate podium and pontificated for
the next twenty minutes about the effects of fantastical lore upon
modern culture. Finally, Camilla Parker Bowles cut the ribbon with a
pair of 24-carat gold scissors. There was a brief pause for photographs
before everyone filed inside. The new wing intensified the gothic
architecture of the main building with its stone and intricate masonry
design. There was an extensive statue exhibit that represented both
Greek and Roman mythology and while the Curator gave a brief explanation
of the origin and significance of each piece, Vegeta strayed from
Bulma's side for the second time that evening, drawn to a statue that
was in the corner.

Its marble surface pitted and flaked from centuries of erosion,
the sculpture depicted a solitary man in heavy armor and a cape. The
serious expression on the man's bearded face appeared to be calm
expectation of a looming war, devoid of fear. A memory tugged at
Vegeta's mind, one he had thought long-buried, and he flinched when a
gentle hand brushed against his sleeve.

"You're thinking of your father, aren't you?" Bulma asked as she
rejoined him.

"How would you know?" he retorted gruffly.

"I can tell how your face tightens up. What were you thinking?"

At first she figured that he wouldn't tell her and angrily stalk
away but that odd complacence remained and he only went back to looking
at the sculpture. "His face had looked like that, when he sent me off
with Nappa to become Frieza's pet. I think he realized that planet
Vegeta was going to be destroyed no matter what he did. He had given up
on his people, on me, and I'll always hate him for that."

"He saved your life."

He stared down at the polished slate floor and muttered, "For what
I went through, I would have preferred to have died with the planet."

She touched his face, forcing him to look at her. She was actually
smiling a little when she said, "I, for one, am very grateful to your
father. If he hadn't sent you away, I never would have gotten the chance
to fall in love with you, Vegeta."

"Bulma..." He was at a rare loss for words and she moved in to
take advantage of that indecision and kiss him. Just as their lips met,
there was a sudden flash beside them and a photographer called out,
"Perfect shot! Thanks you two!"

"Sonovabitch," the couple echoed together as the man busily
mingled among the patrons and guests, who were all staring at them. The
Curator flashed them a brief contemptuous glare and coughed into his
fist to redirect everyone's attention, "Now ladies and gentlemen, let me
present the jewel of this entire exhibit. The rare Dragonball of
legend!"

Protected by a glass case cordoned off by rope barricades, two
guards stood impassively beside the display. Seated on its cushion, the
one-star Dragonball was pulsating in deep red and orange hues like a
round heart. For the first time that evening, Vegeta and Bulma were left
alone as the paparazzi swarmed the exhibit and the couple deliberately
hung back, strategizing.

"I wasn't counting on the guards," Bulma said under her breath.
She glanced up at the ceiling and scanned the walls. "Security cameras,
too. I also see motion sensors but they would have to be shut off for
this event. There's just too many witnesses, Vegeta. We'll have to come
back for it later."

He shook his head. "We came to do a job and we're not leaving it
behind."

"This isn't a mission."

"Yes, it is," he told her levelly. "All we need is a diversion. I
can faze in and steal it before anybody clues in."

Now she was the one shaking her head. "No one is going to create a
scene here tonight- especially not you!"

He had his arms crossed and only regarded her blandly. "Then I
guess we'll just see how the night goes," he responded in a composed
tone and walked over to join in the rest of the tour, leaving her to
gape after him.

For the rest of the evening, the Saiyan never strayed far from her
sight. He would drift away when she began talking to someone and come
back when she gave off that invisible cue that signaled she was getting
impatient with the conversation and wanted to get away. A few clipped
words from him was usually all it took to free her. For the most part,
he trolled the extensive buffet and took advantage of what it offered.
He was never seen without either a drink or plate in hand but at least
he was subtle about it. Gokou would have taken one look at the huge
spread and done a face-dive in the smoked salmon platter.

Keeping a close eye on him, Bulma wondered what was going through
the shrewd alien's mind. The longer this odd behaviour lingered, the
more concerned she became- it was all so unlike him. She couldn't help
but wonder when he was going to create his diversion and how it was
going to be accomplished.

Sally Masters had overcome her fear and on several occasions
drifted over to talk to him whenever Bulma was engaged in conversation
with someone else. Her acute jealousy returned every time she saw the
two together. The emotion was completely unjustified. Vegeta barely
responded to the woman's presence, offering only monosyllabic responses
if he bothered to speak at all. To keep her sharp tongue in check, Bulma
made sure that she always had a glass of champagne handy to sip on. She
had lost track of how much she'd had to drink so far this evening and
was unaware that she was becoming quite drunk. Every time she saw Vegeta
near that blonde, she finished her current drink and reached for
another.

By eleven o'clock, the crowd was beginning to thin as couples
began to file out of the entrance to where their limousines waited at
the curb. Bulma singled out the Saiyan by the buffet table and clutched
his sleeve, this time more for balance than encouragement. "I told you
that we were going to leave when I said so," she said, her voice thick
with the sweet aroma of sparkling wine.

Wiping his mouth with a napkin, he nodded politely. "I remember
you saying that."

"Well, the time is now."

"That's fine," he said, setting his plate down. He suddenly
scrutinized her carefully, so much so that she self-consciously wiped
the sides of her mouth. "What? Do I have food on my face?"

"Your make-up is smudged," he observed casually. "You should do
some touching up before we have to endure another barrage of
photographers when we leave."

"Fine," she huffed, stamping off towards the bathroom. "I'll only
be a few minutes. Don't you move."

"Yes dear," he said in a low voice, his patient smile broadening
into a devilish grin. It was a look that Bulma would have immediately
recognized if she had looked over her shoulder at that instant. It
transformed his tolerant, composed facade into one that looked slightly
insane. For the first time this evening, Vegeta's 'badman' persona
finally surfaced with a vengeance. He hadn't forgotten how she had
spoken to him in the limo and she was about to discover that payback, in
this case, wasn't a bitch: It was a pissed-off Saiyan.

The instant she disappeared into the ladies room, he walked
briskly over Sally Masters and took her hand. "It was a pleasure meeting
you this evening. For what a limited time I had to enjoy it, that is."

The blonde's face fell. "Oh, you're leaving?"

"It's Bulma's idea. She thinks that you're an opportunistic slut
who's trying to steal me away from her. Ridiculous really, don't you
think?"

Sally's face paled dramatically before two bright spots of color
appeared on each of her cheeks. "Where is she?" she managed to squeak
out.

"Bathroom," was all he had to say and the incensed rich woman
marched off in the same direction that the heiress had gone.

Grinning wickedly, Vegeta sought out Nancy Peterson next. It took
only a few words before that woman stalked across the huge room, her
delicate hands squeezed into tight fists of fury.

Settling beside the entrance to the new wing, Vegeta crossed his
arms and waited for his diversion to start, still smiling that malicious
smirk of a born troublemaker. This should be good, he thought and
started to chuckle.

In less than a minute, he could hear the words "slut", "bitch",
and "whore" reverberate throughout the expansive lobby and people were
beginning to drift over to the direction of the ladies washroom.
Clusters of photographers and camera crews began to catch a whiff of a
potential story and headed that way until all that remained behind were
Vegeta and the two guards.

Forcing a look of concern on his face (it was difficult, for the
first time this night he was actually enjoying himself), Vegeta ran
inside the exhibit and yelled at the two guards, "You have to come
quick! Somebody's being attacked!"

One of the guard's glanced at the other. "Finally something
interesting! Bullocks to this stupid ball!"

As they sprinted out, the Saiyan hung back. He glanced sidelong at
the glass display case, fazed out of sight, and reappeared a few
second's later. "Too easy," he said as he tucked the Dragonball under
his jacket, and burst out laughing.

>>>>>

"I think I'm gonna throw up," Bulma moaned.

"Keep your head down, then. I don't want any stains on my tux."

The pair was sitting on the roof of the Museum. Once he had
secured the Dragonball, Vegeta forced his way through the crowd and
entered the bathroom. It was an interesting sight that greeted him.
Bulma was straddling Nancy Peterson while Sally Masters was on the
heiresses back trying to execute a full nelson. All three were hissing
and spitting like cats in heat and it took a few seconds before Vegeta,
oddly turned-on by the spectacle, to move in and successively pull his
bride free. Her hair and dress in a shambles, she clung to the Saiyan as
he forced his way through the ogling throng. He released a mild
electromagnetic pulse that erased any film or digital images of the
brawl. The minute he took her around a corner and momentarily out of
sight of the crowd, he flew them to the second level and out a back
exit, heading for the roof.

"It was just like that Opera all over again," Bulma was whining.
"The three of us in a bathroom at the same time- What are the odds of
that?"

Struggling to keep a straight face, Vegeta pulled out the
Dragonball instead and offered it to her. "It doesn't matter. We got
what we came for."

She considered her reflection in the mystic orb. Sally had pounced
on her just when she had been putting on her lipstick and she had a
streak of crimson that zigzagged up her right cheek. Her hair was in
complete disarray and her dress was ripped under her left arm. Adding
the raccoon circles around her eyes from smeared mascara and it was
enough to make her want to weep. "I'm a mess," she said, handing the
Dragonball back to him.

Vegeta got up and extended his hand, pulling her to her feet and
holding her when she started to sway. He considered her rumpled
appearance and actually betrayed a slight smile. "You look beautiful-"

"Oh, Vegeta-"

"-Almost as good-looking as me."

She wrapped her arms around his neck, too spent to argue.
Compliments from the Saiyan were rare and she didn't want to break the
mood. Letting her collect her bearings, Vegeta reached into his pants
pocket and looked at what laid in his palm.

Three small, white pills.

It would have been easy to take what the security guard had
offered and fall back to coping with the stress of the Opening while on
the drug. He had to accept that this high-profile life was the price to
pay for being married to Bulma. The effects of the menstrual muscle-
relaxants had been enough to slow his reflexes this morning. He didn't
want to rely on that crutch. From now on he resolved it was going to be
up to his own wits to endure that future, and it wouldn't be
accomplished by taking pills. All things considered, the evening had
gone by just as he had hoped it would. At long, long last, the fears and
insecurities of his past finally retreated into the archives of his
memory and allowed themselves to be buried once and for all, permitting
him to face the future. It was about damned time.

"What's that?" Bulma asked in a slurred voice, squinting at his
hand.

"Just lint," he responded and casually threw the pills away.
Gathering her in his arms, the couple returned to their hotel.

>>>>>

The next morning found Bulma's mother to be in seventh heaven. Dr.
Briefs found her in the living room with an enormous stack of newspapers
and she was going through each and every one, cutting out articles that
related to their daughter and new son-in-law. She was pasting each one
into a scrapbook that she was going to give to the couple when they
returned. Sitting on the floor beside her, Trunks was playing with the
glue and scraps of newsprint were stuck to his face and purple hair.

"Enjoying yourself, dear?" he asked, lighting a cigarette with
practiced ease and picking up a paper that hadn't been mutilated yet.

"Oh! This is sooo much fun!" the blonde squealed happily. "I know
that Bulma didn't want the press to find out so soon. She wasn't sure
how poor Vegeta would react to all of the exposure, but look at them
together! Don't they make a wonderful couple?"

"Yes, they do," Dr. Briefs admitted, opening the paper to the
entertainment section and seeing a photograph of the newlyweds standing
together, smiling into the camera. Bulma was wearing an exquisite dress
and the Saiyan was in a tuxedo. The scientist didn't know what function
they were attending, but he realized that the pair complemented one
another perfectly. "They most certainly do."

>>>>>

Treating herself to a day of shopping, Chi Chi Son walked down the
clean sidewalk of the Western Capital's market square, pushing Goten in
his stroller. The baby was sucking down his third bottle of the morning
and was already winding up to start demanding his fourth. The child was
turning into a bottomless pit, just like his father. Sadly enough, he
seemed about as bright.

Buying a coffee from a vender, the brunette took small sips as she
took turns babbling to the boy while they window-shopped. "So many
pretty things!" she remarked to the baby. "Don't you think so, Goten?
You don't see stuff like this in the country. Heavens no! This is your
first time in the Capital since you were born."

She faltered a bit and looked back the way they had come. The
headquarters building of Capsule Corporation was less than five blocks
away. She and Bulma had not parted on good terms and the widow felt some
degree of guilt for not visiting sooner. "Goten, would you like to visit
a friend? She has a small boy who's only a little older than you are.
He's a bit rough, and not nearly as gentle in nature as you. That comes
from his father. But his mother is a kind woman, if a bit spoiled."

In response, Goten released a burp that turned heads and grinned
toothlessly up at his mother.

Taking that as agreement, Chi Chi turned the stroller around. "I
doubt that Vegeta is still sticking around, truth to tell. I imagine
that he's headed back out into space, turning helpless planets into ash.
When you're older I'll tell you all about him. A horrible man. Just
despicable. Why, I imagine that he's broken poor Bulma's heart. Again!
Not that I didn't warn her."

She was still going on with her tirade when they came to a
magazine stand. Blown up to gigantic proportions was the picture of
Bulma and Vegeta sharing a kiss in the Museum exhibit. The caption
beneath the poster read: "The Capital's Newest Newlyweds: The Heiress
and Her Prince!"

Chi Chi spit out a mouthful of coffee halfway across the sidewalk
in shock.

>>>>>

Nursing a hangover, Yamcha was sitting at his kitchen table in his
boxers when he heard the slam of the newspaper against the front door of
his apartment. He went to retrieve it, almost groaning when he had to
bend down, and went into the living room to catch up on the day's
events. He knew he was in for a rough day when he opened up the paper to
the society pages and caught sight of Bulma and Vegeta attending some
Museum opening.

"Man, I just can't catch a freaking break!" he groaned, balling up
the paper and throwing it across the room.

He went back to bed and pulled the covers over his head and stayed
there for most of the day.

>>>>>

Nobody was smiling at Master Roshi's home, either. Android 18 was
chasing Krillin around the small house while swatting him with a rolled-
up newspaper. "130 carats! Vegeta -of all people- gave Bulma a 130 carat
diamond!" she was yelling over and over. "All you gave me was this one
carat pebble! I thought you loved me!"

"B-buh-but honeybunch, I love you with all my heart! I DO!" the
small monk protested, trying to protect himself from his enraged
fiancée.

-SWAT- "Then you get out" –SWAT- "And get me" –SWAT- "A diamond
that shows" –SWAT- "You mean that!" 18 hollered. Her blue eyes were
blazing so brightly that her gaze felt hot on his skin. "Right NOW!"

"Yuh-yes sweetcheeks. Y-you bet. Right away," Krillin said meekly.
He approached the android to give her a kiss, saw the livid glare on her
face, and thought better of it. Without another word he left the small
island in search of something worthy to present to her.

Standing at the doorway with her arms crossed, 18's sensors
reacted to scrutiny and she sneered at Master Roshi who was looking in
through the open window. "Don't you have anything better to do than
stare at me, old man?"

"Why, no, not real-" the old pervert started to say but the turtle
grabbed hold of one of his black socks and dragged him out of sight.

>>>>>

Seeking refuge from a fierce Himalayan blizzard, Tien and Chiaotzu
staggered into a small building that turned out to be a temporary ski
lodge for a group of extreme skiers and snowboarders. They were welcomed
quite openly and the little telepath remained close to the fireplace
while Tien sat at a corner table, sipping a hot chocolate. One of the
athlete's had a laptop sitting beside him and the fighter asked, "Do you
mind if I look around a bit? I'd like to do some catching up."

"Be my guest," he said, and slid the computer over to him.

For the next hour, Tien consulted weather sites and did a little
research on mountain climbing. After that he surfed the Web for a bit.
It didn't take him long to discover that Vegeta and Bulma had gotten
married. It came as a surprise but nothing to write home about. Both
people were hot-tempered and puerile and the fighter figured that they
deserved one another. His third eye blinked with interest when he came
across the link: "Click here for pictures of Bulma's well-hung mate!
'What a lucky lady!' claims Playgirl editor."

Tien glanced around for Chiaotzu and saw his companion still
shivering by the fire. After a moment of deliberation, he hit the link.

The pictures loaded and Tien took his time regarding the Saiyan's
'assets'.

"Hmmm," he said with a vague smile.



**************************************************

Chapter Six: It's off to the Great White North (and no, I'm NOT talking
about CANADA!)