Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ A DRAGONBALL HONEYMOON ❯ Blind Luck ( Chapter 7 )

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

>>>>>
A DRAGONBALL HONEYMOON © 2004 Darke Angelus
Chapter Seven ~ Blind Luck

The tiger clock with the wagging tail and rolling eyes claimed it
was ten to five in the morning.

Trunks' eyes snapped open and did a quick scan of his new bedroom,
as was usual. He had been moved out of the nursery into his very own
"big boy's bed" a month before his parents marriage, even though he was
barely a year and a half old. The logic of him continuing to sleep in a
crib was ludicrous. That became clear when he not only demonstrated his
ability to easily jump out when the mood suited him, but to also break
through the flimsy wooden bars when he really wanted to make a point. He
was developing fast for his age, with arcane reflexes and coordination
skills that a five-year-old human child would envy. But that was the
whole crux of the present dilemma; Trunks was only half human and that
half was being quickly swamped by his other side that was fast becoming
the dominant one. The one that was alien, and adversarial to any change
in his routine, no matter how minute.

He was not responding well to his parents' absence. He didn't
understand the explanations that his increasingly harried grandmother
was trying to offer him as his irritation grew; words of "honeymoon",
"Dragonballs", and "private time" were meaningless. All that he knew was
that it was six fingers' worth of days (he could already count to
fifteen) that his parents had gone off without him. And, in true Saiyan
fashion, so much like his father-

-he was getting royally pissed off.

He slid out of bed and navigated the inky blackness of the room
easily (no nightlight for him, Saiyan boys learned to accept darkness as
an ally early in their lives), heading for the door. The furnishings
were alarmingly Spartan for a boy of his age. Against the far was a
small desk where Trunks did his coloring and its legs, like that of the
matching chair, were riddled with teeth marks. Mercifully, the boy's
period of rabid teething seemed to be nearing an end. There were no
stuffed animals that survived more than a week of his roughhousing
without ending up a pile of tattered stuffing. The few battered
survivors; a poorly re-stitched Eeyore, an Elmo missing one arm, and an
earless raccoon, watched his progress from their shelf, almost seeming
to cringe.

His room was across the hall from his parents and his bright blue
eyes sparkled with hope when he went to their door and opened it.

"Daddy? Momma?" he squeaked, craning his small head inside of the
dark room. He sniffed the air curiously and the scents (or lack of them)
confirmed what his eyes already noticed when they flicked to the king-
sized bed. Everything was undisturbed. His parents were still missing.
They had left him behind. They had... forgotten about him?

Angry tears welled in his eyes and he sniffed them back, proudly
straightening his spine. Little princes didn't resort to immature tears,
his father told him so. Little princes could scream until their lungs
burst, smash anything within reach, and behave atrociously to anyone
they saw- but they didn't cry. Not EVER.

Taking a deep breath, he let it out in a huff and approached the
bed, clutching the thick comforter with angry fingers. He pulled all of
the bedding to the floor and tramped on it, jumping up and down and
making angry snorts until he literally exhausted himself. Collapsing
into the rumbled sheets and blankets, he drew them around and around his
small form until it resembled a cocoon and he fell asleep that way,
comforted by the faint smell of both parents that enveloped him.

Bulma's father found him that way late that same morning. The boy
hadn't been in his room and Mrs. Briefs had gone on a hysterical search
of the headquarters building looking for the boy. A little more
methodical then his wife (but still eccentric as hell), Dr. Briefs
calmly walked across the hall and into his daughter and son-in-law's
room and found his grandson curled up on the floor amid a littler of
bedding, still sleeping away.

>>>>>

"So he is all right?" Bulma confirmed with relief, staring at her
mother on the video display built into the console of her small
hoverjet. It was a redundant question, really. She could hear the small
boy arguing with his grandfather in the background.

"He's just fine, dear-" Mrs. Briefs chirped pleasantly.

As if in denial, Trunks was screaming "Nonono!" It sounded as if
he was having a Grand Mal temper tantrum in the living room.

"-Just entering the Terrible Two's a little early is all. He's
such a precocious child," she tittered with delight.

Bulma heard something fragile break followed by a staccato of
small fists and feet thrumming the carpet in frustrated fury. A rivulet
of nervous sweat ran down the small of her back. "Mom, if things are
getting too much out of control, we can cut our Honeymoon short-"

Behind her, in the small lounge area where Vegeta was helping
himself to a snack, she heard the Saiyan release an irritated growl.

"Nonsense!" the blonde chirped. "Everything is completely under
control-"

In the background she could hear her father yelling, "Trunks!
Don't you dare-!" followed by a crash of glass.

"-No problem," Mrs. Briefs finished serenely. "So, where are you
two lovebirds headed now?"

"Uh..." Bulma called up a readout on the GPS system. "Africa, from
the looks of it."

"Oh! Excellent!" the older woman squeaked in excitement. "Could
you pick me up a Vegeta while you're down there?"

The Saiyan appeared over Bulma's right shoulder and glared down
into the monitor. "Woman, if you'd open your eyes for just once in your
life, you would plainly see that I'm right here, and I'm one of a kind."

"Oh, I know that, you silly, silly man!"

His eyes bulged in sudden fury. "What did you-" Bulma raised a
hand in his face before he exploded.

"A Dietes Vegeta is an African Iris, a Butterfly flower," Mrs.
Briefs explained cheerfully. "It would be a beautiful addition to the
Capsule Corp. grounds, don't you think?"

"Hear that, Vegeta? You have a flower named after you. You're
famous!" Bulma teased.

"Of all of the humiliations..." he grumbled under his breath.

Mrs. Briefs was still smiling pleasantly. "Can you do that for me,
sweetie?"

"Sure, mom. No prob-"

Unable to endure any more delays, Trunks bodily shoved his
grandmother to one side and pressed his flushed, screwed-up face into
the monitor. He wasn't crying, but he was very close. "Want'chu home!
Want'chu home mommy! Right NOW!"

Vegeta had finally had enough of this bullshit. "Trunks-" he cut
in, or tried to.

"Now! Now! RIGHT NOW!"

"Trunks!" he shouted, making Bulma shield her right ear and glare
at him. What was it about Saiyans always having to scream? "How many
days have we been gone?"

Without hesitation, the little boy held up six fingers.

"We won't be back for another-" Vegeta showed him eight fingers.

Alarm registered on his son's face. "But-"

"No 'but''s. I have a mission for you: I want you to learn to
count to one hundred by the time we get back. It's very important."

A mission! Trunks' blue eyes, dulled by anger and loss,
immediately brightened with purpose. He nodded excitedly, "'Kay, daddy!
A hunnert fingers for you!" he held up both hands and waved them into
the monitor. He reached for the cut-off button just as Bulma was saying,
"Good bye, baby. I love-" She slapped her hand to her forehead. Every
damn time... She looked over at the Saiyan who was looking unusually
smug. "Since when has he been able to count?"

"He picked it up when I started teaching him a kata. He's learned
fifteen stances so far."

Blinking in surprise, Bulma felt a surge a maternal pride in their
son's accomplishment. "That's wonderful! But... what's so important
about him learning to count to a hundred?"

Straight-faced, he responded, "Absolutely nothing."

"Excuse me?"

"The boy needs something to occupy that hyper mind of his."

"Vegeta! He's only a year and a half!"

"And a product of both our genes. Neither of us are exactly under-
privileged in the brain department and our brat appears to be following
the same track. Whether he accomplishes the 'mission' is
inconsequential. It'll keep him occupied to try and learn his numbers
until we get back, and hopefully it'll keep him out of trouble."

Considering this, Bulma asked, "Do you think he will? Learn to
count that high, that is. Not the trouble part. Being our son, that's
inevitable."

"I have no doubt," he wearily answered, to both parts.

She flashed him an adoring smile. "You're a really good father,
you know that?"

Suddenly feeling self-conscious, he shifted his weight in his
seat. Accepting praise should come as second nature to him but he always
suspected it was meant as thinly veiled sarcasm; justified paranoia left
over from his days serving Frieza and his lieutenants. "I'm not doing
anything that wasn't done to me," he muttered.

"So you could already count that high?"

"Silly woman. By that age I knew eighty stances and was fluent in
Saiyajin and Galactic Standard. I'm just going easy on him out of pity
for the human taint in his blood."

"Wow, that's pretty impress-" Her eyes bulged when it dawned on
her what he said, "'Human taint'? Hey! That was uncalled for, Vegeta!
And completely untrue! I was taking apart my baby monitor and rewiring
it when I was just two years old! I was dismantling anything I could get
my little hands on-" she caught a glimpse of the smirk on his face just
before he turned to look out of the passenger side window and let her
outburst trail off. He had baited her and, like a sucker, she fell for
it hook, line, and sinker. "You asshole," she grumbled, slouching in her
seat.

After several minutes of tense silence, Vegeta decided that enough
was enough and piped up, "The boy's intelligence is impressive."

Bulma said nothing.

A few more minutes ticked by until he added, "Interesting hair
color,
too."

Sometime later, he tried again: "And those unique blue eyes-"

"You can try and butter me up all you want to!" she finally yelled
back at him. "It won't work."

"It got you talking, didn't it?" he grinned.

She released an exasperated snort. "I've never met anyone who
could get under my skin like you do. If I didn't love you so much, I'd
slug you."

He rolled his eyes. "As if a weak, little, non-powered human
female like you posed any kind of a threat-"

"Agh! That's IT!" She unbuckled herself from her seat and launched
herself at him. He didn't bother himself with the silliness of chair
restraints and they fell to the floor of the cockpit in a mass of
splayed arms and legs. Although he could have ended the fracas in less
than a second, Vegeta enjoyed the feel of Bulma writhing on top of him
and fended off her half-hearted blows with practiced ease. He could feel
his groin begin to stir. It didn't take much. The woman could simply
breathe on him and start an erection happening.

"I don't like it when you make fun of me, Vegeta," she fretted,
trying to pull her arms free. He had his hands around both of her wrists
and the grip, though loose, was as strong as iron shackles. "Just once,
I'd like to hear a compliment come out of your mouth instead of your
usual bullshit."

"I've already said you were smart. What more do you want?"

"I want to be told I'm beautiful-"

"Uh huh."

"With a fantastic figure-"

"Uhm."

"And gorgeous eyes-"

"It sounds like all you need is a mirror. Not me."

"Bastard!" She brought her forehead down and purposely collided it
with his. She had seen the fighters do that move on several occasions,
and it seemed to be quite affective in getting away from another
opponent. What no one had warned her was how badly it could stun the
instigator. It simply caused Vegeta to wince, but Bulma saw an explosion
of stars take over her vision. Dimly, through the ringing in her ears,
she heard him remark in a dry tone, "So, do you feel better now?"

"Let me go," she said and tumbled off of him when he released her.
They sat side-by-side on the cockpit floor while she tried to shake off
the effects of the blow. To his credit, he kept his witticisms to
himself at this particular moment. He didn't have a whole lot of choice
in the matter. Their little wrestling match had started his groin
countdown and he figured if he was going to get any chance for 'take-
off', he had best shelve the taunts.

For now, anyway.

"Ow. I don't know how you guys can do that move," she said,
massaging her aching forehead. "All right, go ahead. I'm waiting."

"For what?"

"For another one of your infamous put-downs about my pathetic
fighting skills. Let's hear it."

He appeared to consider it for a moment and then gave a brief
shake of his head. "No."

"'No'?" she parroted, eyes narrowing slightly.

"What's the point? You're a builder. That's your skill. I'm a
fighter and that's mine. I've had to accept that both Kakarrot and his
brat are stronger than I am. Who are you second or third to?"

She blinked in surprise at the unexpected question, hesitating,
and he answered for her: "No one. You are at the top of your game,
woman. How much more of a compliment can I give you than that?"

It pained him to admit it; she could see that vulnerability deep
in the ebony depths of his alien gaze. When he started to look away, she
placed a hand on his jaw and kissed him.

The sensual taste of her, mingled in that kiss, lessened his
resentment of her abilities; ones he admired from a distance and mocked
when they were close together, and the kiss went deeper. Her hands sent
curling fingers through his thick hair, moving softly down over the
curves of his shoulders. As tongue met tongue their hands entwined, and
he moved from her warm mouth, his lips softly searching along her jaw
line, sliding sensuously down her neck, to nibble and kiss the softness
of her skin.

"We can't-" she gasped. "The ship... it's on autopilot b-but-" A
low moan escaped her when he lowered his head and flicked his tongue
over one pert nipple. "Oh, screw it."

"No," he growled. "You're going to screw me."

And she did.

>>>>>

Sometime later, each were back in their seats and the jet was
still cruising easily towards its southbound destination, completely
oblivious to the break in human supervision. Bulma was quietly typing
into her laptop and trying to find out more details of where they could
find the African Iris for her mother. In a rare display of contentment,
Vegeta was lounging in his seat with his feet up on the dash, ankles
crossed, hands behind his head. Once in a while, his foot would move in
time with a particular beat of music that was playing low on the stereo
system.

Over the course of their traveling, Bulma tried to introduce the
Saiyan to different types of music to figure out his preferences. He had
absolutely no patience with the radio with its inconsistent music
choices constantly interrupted by commercials and the idle banter of
announcers. Remembering the "The Sound of Music" disk she found in his
DVD player, she popped the musical CD into his jeep's stereo when they
left the compound right after their wedding. After one chorus of "The
Hills Are Alive", the disk became a Frisbee as Vegeta pulled it out of
the CD player and hurled it out of the vehicle. So much for that.

The same thing happened when she attempted to play Ravel's
"Boléro" while they were making love. Mentally, she crossed Classical
music off of her list and figured that perhaps this "music to tame the
savage beast" approach wasn't going to work. She put away her Zamfir,
Yanni, and John Tesh CDs and tried another approach. Given his rough
nature, she wondered if he could be a headbanger in disguise and tried
playing some Heavy Metal. Halfway into Klank's "Downside", he accused
her of trying to cut their honeymoon short by rendering him insane.

So much for THAT.

At a loss, she went back to the radio again, idly changing
channels when he started to fidget into his seat. She flicked across one
band that was playing John Fogerty singing "Run Through the Jungle" and
was about to move on when he caught her wrist. "Leave it there," he
said.

As it turned out, it was the simple chords and lyrics of Creedence
Clearwater Revival that he tolerated. Saiyans hadn't been musically
inclined (and still weren't) and had only evolved far enough to pummel
crude drums. As long as the tune was simple, with a good beat, and kept
at a low volume, Vegeta could listen to it all day. And that's precisely
what he was doing now: relaxing to "I Heard It Through The Grapevine".

When she looked over at him, smiling, she saw there was an odd
expression on his face. It appeared to be an unusual mix of amusement
and confusion and it prompted her to ask, "What's wrong?"

He glanced over at her with half-lidded eyes. "Nothing. I was just
thinking about Trunks and what he did with our bed, that's all."

"It was a little strange," she admitted.

"Not so strange. The boy made himself a hrasa'an."

"A what?"

"A hrasa'an. It's a..." He scowled and briefly shook his head,
"The English translation is 'nest', but that's not accurate. It's where
Saiyans slept."

Bulma nodded politely all the while grappling with a sudden batch
of questions. Over the course of their traveling together, she was
discovering how his mind worked; if she launched what he would view as
an interrogation, he would automatically clam up. If she appeared only
marginally interested, it prompted him to speak his thoughts out loud.
"That's very interesting."

He nodded in distracted agreement. Staring out of the cockpit
window, he mused, "In the early days, long before the Saiyans defeated
the Tuffles, a hrasa'an was considered a communal area where the entire
tribe slept together. The Royal family would occupy the center, Elites
would sleep in a circle around them, and different classes would spiral
out until the lowest ranks were exiled to the outer fringe, often
sleeping on the stone floor. It was out of protection, our numbers were
few back then, and also for warmth. Nights out in the 'Barrens were said
to get extremely cold."

"What were they made out of?" she asked in as neutral a voice as
possible.

"Leathers, rough hides, pelts; basically anything that was soft
enough to sleep on, I suppose. Mine was made of-"

This time she lost her hold on her act and turned around in her
seat to look at him. "Yours? You had one?"

He scowled at her and she had time to think, Idiot! He was doing
so well and you just had to blow it! until he actually responded with;
"We all had one. It was where we slept," he said, as if speaking to a
child. "In my time, they were reserved for individual use. Being
royalty, mine was huge. It occupied a circular depression in my quarters
that was about three feet deep and fifteen feet across and filled to
overflowing with cured furs, silks, and other rich fabrics. It was like
sleeping in a cloud. When I didn't want to train, I would burrow into
the bottom of it so that Nappa wouldn't find me."

She stared at him with feigned astonishment. "You? Not wanting to
train?"

"I had my moments. I was very young. And stupid," he growled.

"I'm just teasing."

"Frieza's warship introduced the concept of a mattress to me and I
hated them. They were too small, very hard, and uncomfortable. I
couldn't sleep so I used to tear them apart and make a hrasa'an out of
the bedding and sleep on the floor."

"Just like Trunks did with our bed!"

He made one curt nod. "I got away with it for awhile but
ultimately I learned to ...adapt."

Bulma didn't ask him what he meant by his sudden acceptance. She
had a pretty good idea who had motivated the change and didn't want to
hazard so much as a guess as to how it had been accomplished. She didn't
want to know. In an attempt to keep the mood light, she commented, "That
concept of a-a ...harashen?"

He shrugged. It was close enough.

"It actually sounds rather comfortable. Your version, not what
your ancestors had. They didn't have much privacy, sleeping like that."

"Early Saiyans were gregarious creatures and sexually
promiscuous," he responded wanly, as if the topic had run its course and
was now boring him. "I doubt that screwing out in the open was much of a
deterrent."

"Ew," she muttered and had to remind herself that they had been
caught in an alleyway doing precisely the same thing until a disgusted
cop broke it up. Her cheeks felt warm on her face at the memory, not all
of it from embarrassment. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised. I have to
keep reminding myself that you're from another world."

He released a dry snort. "You just got lucky with me, that's all.
You wouldn't have been compatible with anything else out there."

"Excuse me?" she asked sharply.

"I thought that you had gotten a suitable taste of different alien
species on Namek," he said, almost as a sigh.

"What do you mean, Vegeta?"

"Nameks are asexual; they breed by creating plant pods in the
earth. Zarbon's race contained traits of both genders. Dodoria could
change his sex at will-" He made a disgusted face at some memory and
shook his head to try and escape it. "I'm not even going to get into
what the Ginyu Force were all about. What I'm trying to say is that
gender lines among other 'civilized' worlds aren't as cut and dry as
they are here on earth. What you would consider a male may have
female... attributes, and visa versa. Or something else that was
entirely incompatible. It used to get damned confusing at times."

"I find that hard to believe. Look at you- you're perfectly
normal," she said, waving a hand in the general direction of his crotch.

"You're forgetting that I had a tail," he grumbled peevishly. "It
was a very long, VERY malleable appendage that allowed for some...
variety during sex." He leaned towards her and added as a suggestive
purr, "I know that you would have definitely liked mine. I could make it
soft enough to tickle or hard enough to thrust. Woman, I knew how to use
it."

She felt her arms break out in excited gooseflesh and had to
submerge a shiver. Clearing her throat with difficulty, she managed to
ask, "So... how did you know for sure? Which alien was which, I mean."

"Me?" he betrayed a raunchy grin. "I just selected the creature
that had the biggest tits and made sure that the lights were off when we
screwed." He threw his head back and laughed out loud.

He was the ONLY one laughing.

When he broke off, he saw that Bulma was glaring daggers at him
and he did an amazing thing before her angry gaze. For no clear reason
that she could fathom, a sudden dramatic flush suffused his dark
features; it went from his hairline and disappeared into the collar of
his shirt. His exposed ears turned a bright crimson. He actually
swallowed.

Just as he opened his mouth to say something (what could possibly
top THAT little tidbit, Bulma had no idea), the hoverjet lurched and he
tumbled out of his seat onto the floor. He immediately looked around in
indignant rage, "What the hell happened?"

Grateful for her seatbelt (as well as the diversion), she regarded
the console with concern. "We've just lost our port engine!" she said,
grabbing the yoke only to have it jerk out of her hands. "You have to
help me pull it up before we crash!"

He leaned in behind her and grabbed the flailing steering device
with strong hands while she was trying to steady the aft rudder. "Not
too much pressure or you'll snap off our tail," she scolded. "This jet
is delicate! You can't be so rigid or you'll' break-"

"Do you want me to hold the damn thing or not?" he shouted in
exasperation.

"Okay, okay," she muttered, trying to get a read-out from the
onboard computer. In front of them, the flat expanse of African
grassland was coming in much too fast. "I can't get any details that
explains why that engine went off-line. The sensors are dead-"

"So are we if you don't find some way to slow us down," Vegeta
muttered, glancing at the side door. He was wondering if he had enough
time to pull the door off and fly out and correct their descent but
there was no time for such heroics. The ground was a rapidly approaching
blur and damned if herds of peculiar striped beasts were just peacefully
grazing in their path, oblivious to what was about to happen. "Woman!"

"I've cut out the starboard engine. We're gliding now."

"It's still too fast. How can you brake this thing?"

"Well, I can pop the aft parachute," she said, gesturing to a
yellow button next to the accelerator. "But you're not strapped in-"

"No time!" he snapped and brought his fist down hard on the
button.

A bright yellow parachute exploded from the back of the hoverjet.
It immediately caught the rush of air and deployed to its full size,
slowing the jet with such sudden force that Vegeta was thrown off of his
feet and out of the cockpit in a spray of reinforced glass. In less than
a second he disappeared out of Bulma's sight.

Shielding her face against the hail of glass, Bulma chanced a
glance and saw only the gaping hole in the cockpit, and the rapidly
approaching ground. "!!VEGETA!!" she screamed over the howling wind.

There was no sign of the Saiyan and she had no time to run to the
back of the jet and look out of a porthole. The jet had slowed, thanks
to the parachute, but something told her that it was either fouled up
somehow, or some straps had broken off. The jet had flipped over and was
plummeting upside-down towards the earth, not even allowing her the
option of using the ejector seat from this position. The yoke was a dead
stick and she released a sick moan as the flat ground became a swiftly
approaching blur. Helplessly ducking into a tucked crash position, she
waited for the impact that would leave her a red stain across the
grasslands.

It never came.

There was a sickening lurch that made her grateful for her
restraints, but otherwise no bone-breaking crash. The jet righted itself
and then settled easily on the ground as if it had floated there. Bulma
was absorbing this miracle with unusual shock, guessing that the
parachute must have finally deployed after all. She was still dwelling
on the miracle when Vegeta stepped around the front of the jet, cursing
a blue streak: "...stupid, useless, piece-of-human shit, pile of
garbage, motherfucker..." he disappeared from her sight, hardly sparing
her a glance.

That was when it dawned on her that Vegeta had saved her; not the
parachute. He had crashed out of the cockpit, recovered in midair, and
captured the jet in a span of seconds. She unbuckled herself with
shaking hands and rushed outside to find him standing beside the port
engine, studying it. His shirt was in tatters and his hair was a
windblown tangle but otherwise he looked all right. She almost knocked
him down with a full body tackle and covered his face with kisses.
"Thank you, Vegeta! You saved my life! Thank you-thank you- thank y-"

He tolerated that for all of ten seconds and then pushed her away,
grumbling; "That's why I let Mirai Trunks save you that first time: You
would have made a similar embarrassing scene in front of everyone."

She pulled back. "Always the tough guy," she sighed but eyed him
with true relief. There didn't look to be so much as a scratch on him.
As she continued her loving inspection he nodded to the engine. "What
does that look like to you?"

Startled, she looked down and saw a perfect circular hole was
punched through the turbine. It was only as big around as her finger and
the edges of the metal were melted. "A ...laser?" she asked, looking
down through the smoldering circle and easily seeing the ground through
the hole. "Did someone shoot at us?"

"Looks like it," Vegeta muttered, turning to look across the flat
grassland towards the sparse tree line. She could feel the heavy throb
of his thoughts and knew that he was flaring out his ki, searching the
territory with his mind. Remaining silent beside him, Bulma suddenly
felt exposed and vulnerable. It was probably how a lone antelope felt
when it knew that it was surrounded by a pride of lions, knowing they
could pounce from some unseen hiding space.

"I'm not sensing anything," he finally admitted, frowning with
true agitation. The short spikes at the base of his neck prickled and
rose like the hackles of a dog. It was one thing for him to be stalked
by an enemy, but quite another for his new mate to be included as a
target as well. He had never felt this protective of her before and was
bewildered by how strong that emotion ran. It was just another damnable
indication of the domestication he had confessed to Dorothy Pereaux.
What other explanation was there?

"What does that mean?" she asked.

"It could be someone simply hiding their ki, or it could be some
...thing."

"An android?" she whispered.

He offered an indifferent shrug but the set of his face said
something else entirely. "I can level the area with a Final Flash-"

"No."

"-It'll char anything human and expose anything that isn't," he
finished.

Bulma glared at him. "Didn't you hear me? I said, 'No'."

He glared right back. "I'm not asking for your permission, woman.
I'm just thinking out loud."

"You aren't killing anything until we rule out that it was an
accident."

"An accident!" he shouted. "If that laser had punched up under
your seat, we wouldn't even be having this conversation!"

My seat, Bulma thought with amazement. He said 'my seat'. It
didn't even dawn on him to worry about himself. She didn't have time to
dwell on his concern. With a grunt, his blue aura burst around him and
he was starting to power up. Steeling herself, she reached out and
touched his arm expecting to get burnt. Her skin tingled as his ki
prickled at her flesh but it didn't hurt. It was like receiving a mild
static shock. "Calm down, dammit! We don't know what we're up against!

"You are NOT my keeper!" he shouted directly into her face.
Without another word, he whirled and released a blast that ran parallel
along the ground and exploded into the gnarled trees of the Serengeti
Plain. It wasn't a Final Flash, he hadn't had the time to power up, nor
was it a Galactic Gun. It was a standard shot meant for non-powered
targets and it was sufficient to level the area and reduce it to
smoldering cinders. Gradually lowering his arms, Vegeta surveyed the
damage with his trademark smirk while Bulma fumed on the sidelines.
"Nice shot, Mister Wizard-"

"Thanks."

"-And just how did you know our supposed enemy was over there?"

He glowered at her, not understanding what she was getting at when
all of a sudden another laser punched soundlessly through the hoverjet,
going right between his legs. It missed his groin by about two inches.
All he had time to utter was one outraged, "Shit!" before diving for the
ground. Bulma was huddled beside him, unsuccessfully trying to submerge
her shrill giggles. The look on his face from his near-castration was
one of absolute horror. It was an expression so out of place on his
usually guarded features that the contrast had her laughing.

"Now is NOT the time for your hysterics," he hissed at her.

"Can't ...help it," she wheezed, ducking her head into her sleeve.

He picked her up by the waist as if she were a bag of potatoes. He
was back to cursing again, "...inconsiderate witch, I fuck-near got
gelded and you're laughing your fool ass off..." Which, of course, only
made her laugh even harder. Moving with a burst of supernatural speed,
he flew them further out into the grassland, disturbing a large herd of
agitated zebras that burst apart and galloped away into nervous little
clusters. Keeping low to the ground, Vegeta crawled along on his hands
and knees in between the straw-like vegetation, trying to look
everywhere at once. "Do you see anything?" he called back to Bulma.

The brevity of the situation was beginning to dawn on her at long
last. She crawled up along side of him. "I don't know where to look,"
she whispered breathlessly. "Isn't this exciting?"

He flashed her an uncomprehending glance. She was breathing very
quickly and her color was high, her eyes were two sparkling sapphires.
"I'll be damned," he said in amazement. "You're actually getting off on
this."

"It's just been so long since I've been on a real adventure," she
said, flashing him a wide grin. "I feel like a teenager again. This is
great!"

He continued to stare at her, frankly disbelieving. How long had
it been since he'd last had a companion he could share some fun with?
Mirai Trunks? No, too damn serious for his young age. Radditz? Nappa?
Perhaps it didn't take a Saiyan breed to revel in some cat and mouse
diversions after all. Bulma was unique even among her own kind; a
genius, a rebel, a woman who didn't take shit from anybody.

And she's all mine, he thought with deep satisfaction. That
thought served to relax him a little. "I'll take to the air and draw
fire. We'll both try to see where it's coming from."

"Be careful," she said seriously.

"Feh," he dismissed and shot up into the air like a rocket.

He leveled out at a height of about three hundred feet directly
above her. Crossing his arms across his chest, he slowly revolved around
in a 360-degree circuit, his dark eyes scanning the terrain sprawled out
below him. Saiyan farsightedness was designed for thorough
reconnaissance like this; as sharp as a hawk's, he was searching for the
glint of glass, a snatch of glaring color, any movement that didn't look
natural all the while keeping his mental sense on guard for rogue ki's.

He had been hunted before, this was nothing new to him, but he was
acutely aware of a new vulnerability he'd never previously known. One in
the form of a brilliant, albeit powerless, heiress who was crouching in
the dirt below him. It limited his admittedly few options: An attack
could hurt her, a retreat would hurt him. Neither was an acceptable
strategy and his mind whirled with other possibilities; testing some
plans, immediately rejecting others. This second-guessing was opposite
of his alien nature that just wanted to fight first and sort out the
bodies later. It was a distraction that, although he didn't know it,
left him more vulnerable than Bulma.

As the seconds crossed over into tension-filled minutes, she
continued to pop her head up at irregular intervals and scan the
horizon. Like Vegeta, she had been hunted before too, and she was
experienced enough to know that something felt wrong about this attack.
Even more, it felt eerily familiar. Shielding her eyes from the sun, she
spared a glance up at the Saiyan and was shocked and dismayed to see him
staring down at her. She recognized what was wrong right off the bat: He
can't concentrate as long as he thinks I'm in danger! Shit! What am I
going to do? She noticed a speck of movement directly over his shoulder
and pointed, screaming; "Behind you! It's not on the ground- it's in the
air! Look out!"

"Wha-?" He turned too late and received the full assault of laser
batteries directly into the face and chest. A small robotic craft with a
red bowtie logo on its side slammed into him and drove them both down
into the hardpan. They collided with the ground with enough force to
make it shudder. Bulma feared the worse when she heard a muffled
explosion and saw a small mushroom cloud rise into the air. "VEGETA!"
she screamed as hard as she could, leaping to her feet.

When she began sprinting to the crater, something wound around her
feet and she fell hard, sliding across the dirt on her chest. Sputtering
on a mouthful of dust, she looked back and saw someone walking towards
her, barely discernible in the heat haze that rose from the ground.
Working at the tangle of ropes from a bolo that was wrapped around her
ankles, she saw that the person had drawn close enough to reveal their
features and that person wasn't alone.

"You-" she shouted in a mixture of amazement and dismay.

>>>>>

An unknown length of time passed before Vegeta's eyes snapped open
and he saw that it was pitch black out. Sonovabitch! he thought with
impotent fury. I've been out of it for a whole stinking day!? His entire
body ached but when he experimentally flexed his muscles, he didn't feel
a rebelling pull of anything dislocated or broken. It was too dark to
tell if he was bleeding but he didn't think he had anything more serious
than a few shallow cuts. The attack had been designed to take him out
with minimum fuss and it had sure as hell had done that!

He continued to lie there dazed and sweating in the heat. Even
though it was nighttime, it was still as hot as hell and he could swear
that he could feel the sun baking into his exposed skin. Of course that
was obviously impossible. He didn't have time to dwell on the anomaly,
or his discomfort however. There were far more pressing concerns, the
most prevalent being-

-Bulma! he projected as hard as he could. Where are you? BULMA!

He strained his mind to be as receptive as possible and got
nothing back. There wasn't any wall in his way that would be indicative
of her being unconscious (or worse). He was relatively certain that his
mind was reaching her but it was very likely that she just didn't have
the ability to project her thoughts back. She was neither a telepath nor
a Saiyan and unless she was very close to him, he found maintaining
their rapport extremely difficult. He got the impression that she was
very far away.

Not for very much longer.

There was twisted wreckage wrapped all around him and he kicked
away a piece that was lying across his legs and released a blast that
knocked off the remains of the engine block sitting on his chest. Right
away he knew that something was terribly wrong. Sitting up, he stared at
his hand, or tried to, and waved it briefly across his face. He conjured
up a ki ball and played it between his knuckles. He could feel the
tingling pulse of energy and knew it was there.

He just couldn't see it.

He was blind.

"Fuck," he said in disgust.

>>>>>

Bulma whirled in her seat the instant she heard Vegeta calling her
name in her head. On her end, it had felt as if he were standing right
behind her. -Here! I'm here, Vegeta! Are you all right?

She got no response and tried again, concentrating as hard as the
bumpy progress across the terrain would allow her. What she received
back was a perplexing sense of rage and frustration. Usually she also
got images; surroundings from his perspective, but all she saw in his
mind was confusing darkness. She didn't know what it meant and received
nothing more even though she tried projecting her thoughts until her
head started to ache.

The person who was riding shotgun in the moving jeep swiveled
around to look at her and said mildly, "Your alien body-guard is out for
the count, Bulma. He won't be joining us anytime soon. I had that war-
drone packed with explosives and primed to detonate on impact."

Casting her abductor a sour look, Bulma snapped back, "Why the
hell are you doing this? I thought we were friends!"

Arching one blonde eyebrow, Lunch regarded her with wary
tolerance; nothing more, nothing less. "You and my ...alter-ego were
friends. I've always just seen you as a means to an end."

"As in..." Bulma prompted when the other woman fell silent.

"As in being a rich, spoiled brat with a powerful circle of
friends who always had more luck than brains," she drawled, her catlike
eyes flashing mad green fire. Her once dazzling blonde mane was now dull
and streaked with dark grey hair the color of steel wool. That red scarf
was still in there, a tattered, ragged ruin- much like the woman's face,
which was a blend of wrinkles and scars. Lunch lived hard and played
hard and the past years had taken their toll on the professional thief.

Sitting beside her, the driver glanced over his shoulder and
sneered at Bulma once before turning his attention back to the uneven
trail of road ruts. He was an immense black man with a shaved head,
exposing a startling white skull-and-crossbones tattoo that stared back
at Bulma even while the giant looked ahead. He was wearing an old
patched uniform jacket of the Red Ribbon army and seeing that red
bowtie-shaped insignia roused a surprising burst of anger in the
heiress. "You're hanging out with soldiers of the Red Ribbon army?"

"There is no Red Ribbon army. Not any more," said the driver in an
amazing bass rumble that wasn't so much as heard as felt. "Your pet
monkey, Gokou, saw to that."

"I call it a support group," Lunch said with a crooked smile.
"There's a bunch more waiting for us back at base camp. I'm betting that
they can't wait to see you."

"Laying odds?" her partner asked.

"Five to one."

"You're on," he said, fishing a fifty-zeni bill out of one trouser
pocket and slapping it into her palm. Holding it up under Bulma's nose,
the older woman cackled with insane glee.

>>>>>

Vegeta got slowly to his feet and stood with his head down,
keeping his stinging eyes shut. He didn't panic. Aside from betraying
the odd lapse of anxiety once or thrice in his life, it could be said
that he was incapable of retreating into a state of all-out terror.
Reacting to the situation with his usual methodical manner, he tried to
collect his bearings while he figured out a way to cope with this new
liability.

He had been blinded on a mission once before; He had been twenty-
one at the time, happily tromping on villages in his Oozaru form and
reveling in his power under a full moon. Dawn had risen in sudden,
unannounced fashion with absolutely no warning in the form of a
brilliant solar flare. He had been caught out in the open with no
protection. His uniform had flash-fried leaving his exposed skin to
suffer third-degree radiation burns. His sensitive retinas had been
charred to ash in an instant. Nappa and Radditz had been in the main
city shielded by skyscrapers at the time. They were spared anything
other than a shift back to human state that was rendered painful from
the sudden appearance of the sunlight. Vegeta had just been at the wrong
place at the worst possible time.

Story of my life, he thought grudgingly.

He raised his head into the wind and took an experimental sniff of
air. It didn't reveal anything more than what he had just endured first
hand; smoldering metal, melted rubble, and the stink of burnt oil. It
made him sneeze twice. He wanted to reach out to Bulma again and
immediately reined his thoughts self-consciously back. No, he didn't
want her to be on the receiving end of what he was presently feeling. He
wasn't in a panic, but he was about as close to it as he got.

No Nappa, no Radditz, he fretted. If not for those two, he would
have just stayed on that damn planet, screaming in agony while clawing
at what remained of his eyes. One of them had knocked him out, Nappa
probably, and sent him back to one of Frieza's throne worlds for
immediate immersion into a regeneration tank. It had taken two full
cycles for the burns to heal and his eyesight to come back, and things
had still been blurry for a fortnight afterwards (not that anyone had
suspected that anything was wrong. Vegeta had kept that problem to
himself, privately worrying that if the damage was permanent, Frieza
would find him useless and put him down for good). Only Radditz had
suspected anything was still wrong but, thankfully, his terror of his
prince had been complete. He had voiced his suspicions to no one,
silently watching as Vegeta waved his tail around far more than was
normal; brushing it up against nearby objects, snapping in front of him
when he walked, using it for balance...

And I don't even have that anymore, either, he brooded, rubbing
the base of his spine with a pained scowl. He missed that wonderful
extension of himself, just as any amputee would miss a limb. His mind
strayed to the unresolved second wish that the Dragonballs would grant
and had to shelve that train of thought for another time. It would sure
come in handy right now! When his sight had been bad, it had helped him
around objects and gauge distances. He hadn't needed to rely on it on
training or battle because-

He snapped his head up in surprise. It was a longshot and he
hadn't done it in ages but it just might work, just like before...

>>>>>

Lunch leaned over and pulled out an object from under her seat.
Not surprisingly, it was the two-star Dragonball. "You see?" the blonde
said smugly, "One of the soldier-of-fortune guys I chat online with
found this while he was smuggling diamonds across the border. He didn't
know what it was." Her bland smile widened when she said, "But I did. I
knew that you would come hunting for them sooner or later. Especially
when I heard about that little theft at the London museum three nights
ago. Nice work, by the way. I just sat back and waited."

"How did you know the hoverjet you fired on was ours?" Bulma
asked. She was brimming over with indignant rage at how easily her
former friend had laid in wait for her.

"Oh, come on! How could I miss a bright yellow jet with the
Capsule Corporation logo painted on the side?" she laughed out loud.
"Seriously, I just concocted a radar detector of my own to detect your
radar detector. It can't home in on the Dragonballs, but it sensed your
radio frequency perfectly. After that, it was just a matter of launching
the drone and sitting back until you were left alone and vulnerable.
Your alien husband caused me some concern, but he's not as tough as Tien
made him out to be." She burst out laughing again.

"Tien... told you about Vegeta?"

All of the false humor immediately dried up on the other woman's
face. It became deadly serious and more than a little threatening. Oh
yeah, Tien had told her all right. "He tried to destroy this planet.
He's responsible for Tien's death. He's killed thousands, maybe millions
of innocent lives in his lifetime. Instead of being punished for his
sins, he's shacked up with you. He should be hung!"

"He IS," Bulma shot back. "That's why I'm with him."

Lunch recoiled in shock and the huge driver arched a surprised
eyebrow. The pair exchanged a comical glance. Of all of the answers
Lunch had been expecting, it sure as hell hadn't been THAT one.

"...You've changed," she admitted at last, studying the heiress
seriously. Gone was that immature, mouthy bravado that had characterized
Bulma's personality when they had been younger. The heiress had always
been a spoiled rotten, loud-mouthed, moody brat but now there was
something else that Lunch hadn't counted on. Bulma was calm, amazingly
so, handling this abduction as a matter of course and actually having
the nerve for back talk even when she knew that she didn't have one of
her precious fighters within running distance. "You've gotten a backbone
over the years, Bulma. I'm impressed, not that it cuts any slack with
me." She extended her hand, "Give me the rest of the Dragonballs you've
collected so far. And the radar, too."

Bulma didn't budge. "What are you going to do with them?"

"It's pretty damn obvious: I'm going to collect the last two
Dragonballs and make my wish." Lunch's jade-green eyes dulled and she
looked away, her profile was distant and sad when she said in a softer
voice, "Nothing was the same after your alien lunatic invaded the earth.
Tien died, and when he came back he was... different. He didn't love me
any more. I'm going to change that."

"It's a bad idea, Lunch," she said sadly.

"Shenron can do anything!"

"You can't make a wish that will change someone's feelings for
you!" Bulma snapped. "That's not how they work!"

"Fine," the other woman said coldly, eyeing her with brilliant
resentment. "But they can change time, can't they?"

Bulma felt her body grow cold with dawning realization. "No..."

Lunch nodded, her mind suddenly made up. "If I can't change my
Tien then I'll change time. I'm going to make the Saiyan invasion never
happen by wishing your man dead. How's that sound, you bitch?"

Shaking her head, Bulma could only come up with a weak denial.
Trying to explain the consequences of that disastrous wish would be
fruitless, the newfound resolve was clear on the woman's face. No
Vegeta, no Trunks- no advance warning for the Z Fighters to prepare
themselves against an enemy that made the Saiyans look like pushovers.
If Bulma tried to elaborate on the tale of Mirai Trunks and the Androids
taking over the earth, Lunch would look at her as if she were crazy. And
rightly so. If not for her own firsthand experiences, Bulma would have
been the exact same way. "You can't do that," was all she could think of
saying. It came out sounding like a petulant whine.

"Watch me," came the cold response. Lunch was through screwing
around. She replaced the Dragonball under her seat and pulled out her
favorite Uzi. "Now hand everything over. I'll let you go once I've
finished what I started, I can promise you that much. How many broken
bones and bruises you'll have by then depends on how cooperative you'll
be."

"All I have is the radar," Bulma admitted, fishing the oversized
stopwatch-styled device out of her pocket and giving it to her.

"A likely story," Lunch sneered. "You hoard those damn things as
if you created them yourself."

"No, seriously! Vegeta has the capsule containing the Dragonballs
we've collected tucked away in his front pocket. You like to call him my
'alien bodyguard' and, in a way, that's what he is. There's no safer
place for them."

The pair locked eyes for one long spiteful moment and, of the two,
Lunch ended up blinking first. She wondered if the heiress had managed
to become a convincing liar in addition to becoming braver and decided
against it; no one changed THAT much.

She turned to her driver and barked out two simple words that
filled Bulma (who, indeed, HAD been lying) with a sense of
unimpressionable relief;

"Turn around."

>>>>>

Sweating and cursing, Vegeta stumbled and tripped his way through
thick sagebrush and prickly thorn bushes. He was deliberately following
the scent of jeep exhaust, and that meant that he couldn't chance flying
without risking the possibility of losing that scent trail. He was also
noticeably limping.

During his hike, he had stepped directly into a meercat burrow and
nearly broken his ankle. The area where he had fallen was now a charred
ruin and far behind him. If Bulma had insight into his present mindset,
she would be far more worried than she was. For every minute that
passed, his fury was steadily growing- building deep within him like
floodwaters attacking a defective dam. That rage didn't show on the
rigid set of his intense features and that was alarming enough; when he
played what Bulma called "his poker face" it meant that he was preparing
for the worst.

After collecting his bearings, he had managed to back track and
find his way to the hoverjet. Fumbling around the cramped interior, he
had cleaned himself up in the small bathroom, drank about a gallon of
water, and- operating at the height of vanity- even changed his burnt
and ripped clothes, hoping against hope that his wife hadn't slipped in
some of those brightly colored rags she was so fond of into his wardrobe
when he hadn't been looking. It was her style. The thought of him
stumbling across the Serengeti dressed in lime green pants and a pink
shirt (again!) made him cringe. He had a water-soaked bandage wrapped
around his eyes and a baseball cap pulled down low on his face,
shielding him from any more sun exposure. He was sure that Bulma had a
few senzu beans packed away in her luggage somewhere but was clueless
where they could be. It would be up to her to find them when they were
reunited. Thankfully, he wasn't in much pain. His injuries would have to
be far worse to even register as anything more than an annoyance. It was
the loss of his sight that was posing the biggest problem but, already,
he was coming to terms with it.

Every so often he stopped and released a low pulse of ki that
radiated outwards in a circle from his still form to a distance of about
two hundred feet. In his mind, a picture came up of the local
topography, showing him where that force had brushed up a tree, rock or
bush. It was a crude form of radar and it was surprisingly effective. He
was able to sidestep an obstacle without running into it. Back when his
sight had still been bad, he had encased himself in this aura during
training. That, and his own well-honed fighting sense, hadn't made
anyone the wiser that anything was wrong. Unfortunately, such control
was extremely draining and it wasn't much good at detecting burrows,
either...

Sweating profusely in the hot, cloying air, he considered what his
latest pulse revealed of the local terrain. His dark brows furrowed in
concentration. To his right, just as the leading edge of his power
release had dissipated, he had registered something large over there. He
turned towards it, hands held low and ready to stop any brush that might
spring up and nail him in the crotch (it had already happened twice).
Mentally counting his steps, he stopped after fifty and released another
pulse.

Yes, there was something there. It was very large and roughly
rectangular in shape. Was it a jeep? Was someone parked there watching
him in silence?

-Bulma? he sent, frowning that the uneasy note contained in his
mental voice. "Who's over there?" he called out. "Answer me!"

He heard a rough snort and faced it, widening his stance and
clenching his fists. "Whoever you are, you're going to regret pissing me
off!"

Regarding him with bewildered animosity, a large bull rhino
stamped its foot in the ground and snorted again in warning. It squinted
myopically at the screaming intruder and flapped its ears, lowering its
head and exposing a horn that was roughly three-feet long and sharp as a
spear. The rhino was pretty pissed off, too. It was mating season and he
was horny as hell with no females in sight. If this raving intruder
wanted a challenge, so be it.

Another pulse of ki revealed that the jeep was moving towards him,
but for some reason its engine sounded like the thudding of massive
hooves. Too late Vegeta realized his opponent wasn't human. He had time
to release two power blasts, both woefully off target, before an
enraged, heavily armored mammal weighing nearly a full ton slammed into
him head-on.

>>>>>

Vegeta! Bulma jerked upright in her seat as her mind was assaulted
with what resembled fireworks for a brief instant. It was the same
lightshow she had endured when she had knocked skulls with the Saiyan
earlier. - Where are you? What's going on?

His voice came back to her, distorted from the distance between
them but still audible -... not ...good time ...busy...- It faded back
out but hearing it filled her with relief. He was all right. She
released a breath of air that she'd been holding in for quite awhile.

Lunch carefully eyeballed the woman while her face twisted up into
a pained rictus of rage and jealousy. She had always been envious of the
odd hair-colored twit and her carefree way of falling ass-backwards into
the most ludicrous luck imaginable. It just wasn't fair! She was rich
beyond belief, a friggin' genius, and a magnet for men. Now she was
married to an alien prince who had enough power to make her beloved Tien
look like a weakling. It had to end and it had to end right now!

Baring her teeth, she slid the lever back and cocked the gun into
semi-automatic mode, pointing it at Bulma. The sudden terrified
awareness on the other woman's face filled Lunch with a sense of
indescribable joy. "End of the line for you. No lucky rescue this time-"

"AHH! Holy shit-!" the driver screamed as a rhino fell out of the
sky and landed directly in their path. He wrenched the steering wheel
hard to the right and the jeep bucked up on its side wheels and fell
over on its side, skidding in the grass. Bulma dove out, tumbled head
over heels for a moment, and tried to collect her bearings. She was
certain that Vegeta was nearby because, the last she'd heard, rhinos
hadn't yet mastered the ability to fly. "Vegeta, where are you?" she
yelled.

She thought that she could see a bright spot of color charging
through the dense undergrowth. It had to be him. For some reason he
seemed to be running in the wrong direction. "I'm here! Where are YOU?"
he shouted back.

"HERE!" she screamed.

- You're going to have to be more specific! he said directly into
her mind.

"What-?" a hand gripped her ankle and she saw that Lunch had a
firm hold of her and was pawing for the Uzi where she had dropped it.
Barely thinking, she threw a handful of dirt into the blonde's face.
Lunch sputtered, trying to wipe the irritation away from her nose, but
it was too late.

She sneezed.

A second later, the brassy thief was replaced by a bewildered,
purple-haired woman who immediately recognized Bulma with her wide,
beautiful eyes. "Bulma? Bulma Briefs? Hi there! Long time no see!"

"Hi Lunch," Bulma muttered, pulling herself up into a sitting
position. Her right hand was squeezed into a fist and she had to
submerge the impulse to clobber her. This side of the woman's split
personality was a complete opposite to the other dominant, crazed part
of her psyche. All that this lady wanted to do was bake cookies and sew
doilies. She was no threat and, reluctantly, Bulma lowered her hand.

Still wiping the dirt from her nose, Lunch sneezed again. It was
like some strange warped gift from the gods. Those slanted cat eyes
zeroed in on Bulma with complete hatred. "You-" she whipped her left arm
back.

"Psycho bitch!" Bulma screamed and plowed her fist directly into
the woman's face at the same time that Lunch's fist collided with her
jaw. The both of them keeled over in the dirt, sprawling atop one
another, out cold.

Well, that's just great, Vegeta was thinking to himself, having
seen most it through his wife's eyes. Now she was unconscious and he was
back to being as blind as a bat. Just fucking great!

"Little man," a bass rumble sounded from nearby.

Instinctively releasing a ki pulse, Vegeta zeroed in on the ex-
soldier with ridiculous ease, turning to face him. He could sense the
barest hint of fighting ki radiating from the human and it was all that
he needed to stay focused on his target. It was like a beacon standing
out in the darkness of his mind.

Jake, the ex-soldier-tuned-mercenary, eyed the younger man with an
experienced eye and took note of the injuries he saw right off the bat.
The bandaged eyes, the slight limp, and a darkening bruise on his left
cheek (from his rhino collision) that was bleeding. This was the
threatening alien that Lunch had been warning them about? He was barely
five feet tall, injured, and ...what the hell was it with that
ridiculous hat he was wearing?

Shrugging to himself, he moved in quickly with the intent to get
this over and done with. He punched out directly, not bothering with the
usual leg work and finesse, and was shocked to see the small man duck
easily under it. Vegeta feinted to the side and then dropped down into a
crouch, doing a low sideswipe with his left leg and knocking the larger
man off his feet. A quick elbow strike into the diaphragm, and it was
all over. It took all of six seconds.

If I'd had my sight, it would only have taken two, Vegeta thought,
getting slowly to his feet. He wandered away, trying to get a fix on
where Bulma was lying, not bothering to make sure if the ex-soldier was
down for good. It was a potentially fatal error. Underneath of his
battered army jacket, Jake was wearing his flak vest and it had saved
him from the worst of the chest blow. He rolled over onto his belly and
forced himself to his hands and knees, getting ready to tackle the
little creep who had made the mistake of turning his back to him. Here I
come, little man, he thought.

Lying a few feet away, the rhino released a dazed grunt and raised
its immense head, giving it a few brisk shakes. He stared blearily
around, blinking dumbly, and then saw something large, and on all fours,
within charging distance. His amorous instincts immediately took over.
Clambering to his feet, the bull released a trumpeting love call and
trotted happily over to poor Jake.

The ex-soldier saw that huge hulk of armor with the three-foot
horn lumbering towards him and gave up all ambitions for battle. He had
also caught sight of something else that the rhino possessed that was
just as long as his horn and knew that he wanted no part of THAT either.
Screaming at the top of his lungs, Jake sprinted off across the
grasslands as fast as he could, chased by the love-struck rhino.

To Vegeta's ears, it all sounded potentially entertaining but he
was hot, sore, and tired. He tuned out the excitement and tried to focus
in on Bulma's thoughts. She was slowly coming to and he took his time
closing the distance between then until he stumbled over her legs and
fell sprawling. No ki, he reminded himself, struggling with his fierce
temper. The woman has absolutely no ki at all. "Bulma, shake it off.
Wake up!"

"...uhm? Ow! My face hurts!" Bulma said in a fuzzy voice, pawing
at her jawline where a bruise was rising.

-Welcome to the club, Vegeta thought tiredly and stiffened when he
felt the metal barrel of a gun press up against his left temple. Someone
else without a ki presence had managed to sneak up on him. Things being
as they were, he supposed it really wasn't all that hard to do. "And who
the hell are you?" he asked, almost as a sigh.

"Old family friend, Pinky," Lunch said, wiping blood away from her
split lip. "Bulma and I go way back."

"Put the gun down!" he heard Bulma holler. She was finally awake
now. It was about damned time.

- Keep your eyes focused on us, Vegeta told her directly. - Don't
look around.

She noticed his face for the first time. Her gaze sharpened on the
dirty bandage wrapped around his face and refused to budge from there.
-Woman! he barked directly into her stunned mind. -Focus on us both! I
need to see through your eyes!

God, he looks like hell, he caught flashing through her stunned
mind but she did as he asked. Looking out through her own perfect sight,
he clearly saw where the woman, a blonde, was sitting on his right
holding an ugly, snub-nosed gun against his head. His initial irritation
at being caught so easily deepened into a serious rage. Images from
Installation 15 flashed across his mind, shared by Bulma who had never
been told exactly what he had gone through while a prisoner there. Right
now, this very instant, she finally understood precisely how he had
received the bullet wounds on his back; It had been a desperate escape
attempt that had gone terribly wrong. He felt her recoil from the scene
in horror.

You -you never told me! her shocked mental voice rasped.

- It just went downhill from there, was all he offered her and
closed his mind with renewed control, leaving behind only that rabid
hatred of projectile weapons.

His hand was blur and seized the cold metal of the weapon's snout,
clamping down and compressing the barrel and metal casing together under
strong fingers. Lunch tried to pull the trigger but the barrel was
warped and the trigger wouldn't budge. He wrenched the weapon away from
her and threw it out into the grass. Using Bulma's eyes as his guide, he
wrapped those same fingers around the woman's throat and pulled her in
close, inhaling her scent. He expected the usual odors of sweat and
deodorant but was surprised by the lack of fear. There wasn't so much as
one hint of it. "Who are you?" he asked in bewilderment.

Lunch was trying to dig her claws into the Saiyan's arm but he was
slightly powered up and all she managed to do was break several nails.
She hissed and sputtered in rage, trying to pull away from his firm
grip, but didn't betray one single word.

"Her name is Lunch," Bulma said sadly. "She is... was a friend of
mine from way back. She's Tien's girlfriend."

"Girlfriend? I thought that three-eyed freak was gay?"

"That's a lie!" Lunch screamed and spat in his face.

Wiping away the slick moisture with a low snarl of disgust, he
slammed her down into the ground and began choking the life out of her.
She gargled and clawed at her neck as her face turned blue, releasing
gagging, cawing noises. Despite it all, her green eyes only radiated
hatred and fury. If he could have seen it with his own eyes, Vegeta
would have been impressed.

Bulma actually hesitated in calling him off. The betrayal she felt
was still raw and stinging, compromised by a fear she always had of this
dangerous side of the woman's split personality. With a regretful sigh,
she grabbed a blade of grass while tugging gently on her husband's arm.
"Let her go. I know what to do."

Frowning in annoyance, he looked through her eyes again for some
explanation and was confused when she began using the grass to tickle
under the barely-conscious woman's nose. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Just watch. You'll see."

Lunch sneezed and her appearance immediately changed into a woman
with thick purple-hair. It was the first time that Vegeta had ever seen
her and he was struck dumb. She looked a decade younger, her skin was
paler, and that athletic body had given way to one that was slightly
plump and out-of-shape. Only that puffy hairstyle was the same,
otherwise it was a completely different person he was holding down.
"Damn, woman!' he said in amazement. "You have the most fucked-up
friends I've ever seen!"

"Yah, you're one to talk," Bulma shot back, but she was smiling.

Lunch coughed painfully and looked up at Vegeta's face. She
blinked twice and attempted a smile. "Oh, hello there!"

Shaking his head in confusion, he backed away and let the tension
ease out of his sore muscles as he listened to the exchange going on in
front of him.

Surveying the damage, Lunch was overheard to say in a grave,
fretful tone, "Oh no. Is this all my fault?"

Followed by Bulma's voice, "Indirectly, yes."

"And I was doing so good! I'm sorry, Bulma. I just have no control
over her. I don't know what to do!"

They got up and wandered off, talking in low, urgent tones. Vegeta
rubbed the wound on his swollen cheek and brooded: -Go ahead. Just leave
the blind, injured Saiyan sitting all alone in the dirt. Doesn't matter
that I saved your ass or anything like that. Go on, help your crazy
friend. See if I give a sh-

-It'll only be for a minute! God! Bulma huffed into his mind. He
had been unaware that he was still projecting his thoughts and he
swiftly closed that mental door shut, flushing deeply from anger and
embarrassment. He crossed his arms and retreated into a sulk while the
women continued their talk.

An unknown length of time later, Bulma returned to his side and
placed a gentle hand against his raw face. "Can you get up?"

"A better question is if I want to," he responded morosely, his
face still turned to the ground.

"I need your help getting the jeep back up on its wheels. Lunch is
leaving. She's going to try and get some treatment for her ...condition
in the nearest city."

"And the next time she sneezes? In a couple of minutes, she just
might use that vehicle to run us over."

"We found some super glue in the glove compartment. It's keeping
her nostrils shut. When we were younger, she used a clothespin to
prevent the changes and it worked. For awhile anyway."

"That's a comforting thought."

"Vegeta, please?"

After several more seconds of pouting, he got reluctantly to his
feet. The sooner he did what she wanted, the sooner they could get rid
of the freak and get on with their lives. It was turning out to be a
very long day and all that the Saiyan wanted to do was lie down and
catch up on some much-needed sleep. All of these stupid misadventures
were finally beginning to take their toll on him. Vegeta was not a man
who handled ambiguity very well; he was a creature of staunch routine
and habit that resented things that fell outside of his sphere of
control. This strange honeymoon was only into its sixth day and things
were getting weirder by the second. His nerves were just about shot.
"Where is it?" he grumbled.

"Over here, I'll guide you," she said, taking his hand while
eyeing him with deep concern. The exposed lower half of his face was
beet red from laser burns and the wound on his cheek was trickling a
small rivulet of blood. His clothes were dusty and torn in several
places. He looked exhausted and almost all used up. Still, he hoisted
the jeep back onto all four tires with relative ease and was still cocky
enough to flash Lunch the finger as the woman drove away.

Alone at last, Bulma returned her radar into her coat pocket and
carefully set down the two-star Dragonball. She focused all of her
attention on the battered Saiyan and unwound the dirty bandages from his
face. Both of his eyes were completely swollen closed. "Are- are you in
much pain?" she dared to ask.

He wouldn't admit it even if he was and they both knew it. All he
said as his answer was, "Tell me that you packed some senzu beans."

"I have plenty. They're in my make-up bag." She shielded her eyes
with one hand and scanned the horizon. "I don't have the capsule with
me. We'll have to walk back to the jet. Do you think you can make it?"

"Sure," he said, pulling out a capsule from his back pocket and
depressing the switch with his thumb. He flung it casually over his
shoulder a far enough distance to detonate and Bulma saw it was their
damaged hoverjet. "You actually packed it?!"

"I wasn't going to leave it behind. It has all our gear and a full
water tank. Tracking you was thirsty work." He almost sounded smug.

She regarded him in amazement, unable to believing how methodical
he was. He had been blinded, his wife had been abducted, and still he
had the clarity of mind to search for the encapsulation switch behind
the jet and bring it along with him. If their situation had been
reversed, she would still be sitting out in the Serengeti bawling her
eyes out. "You really are quite amazing, you know that?"

"Yes," came the expected answer.

Rolling her eyes, she led him over to the hatchway and for some
reason pulled him to a stop. "Are you really sure that you're not in too
much pain?"

"I'm sure. Why?" he asked warily.

"Just stay right there. I'll be right back," she said and he heard
her run up the ramp and enter the jet. He figured that she had just gone
looking for the senzu beans and leaned casually against the side of the
aircraft. In a few minutes she was back and appeared to be setting up
something a few feet away from him. "Woman?" That cautious note had
returned to his voice again.

She was back, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. "Say
'cheese'."

"Wha-?"

There was a quick click from what she had set up earlier. Vegeta
knew from bitter experience that it was from her damned camera. The
woman was determined to take pictures of every humiliating thing he got
himself into and the last straw had been when she had parted his hair in
the middle (and taken pictures of it, no less!) up in Siberia. "Woman!"

"I had to, honey," she said, pulling off his baseball cap and
giving him a quick peck on his unmarked cheek. "You'll understand when
you see the picture. Honest."

"Oh, screw it," he mumbled and sat down in the grass to resume his
moping. He heard Bulma gather her gear and return to the jet where she
started searching through her luggage for her make-up bag. After a
couple of minutes she returned to his side and poked a familiar bean
between his tense lips. He accepted it without hesitation, crunching it
between his teeth and swallowing. The darkness and exhaustion instantly
lifted from his body like a heavy curtain. His abrasions disappeared,
his burns healed, and he relaxed at long last as his surroundings came
into view with perfect color and clarity.

"What a relief," he whispered, raising his eyes gratefully to the
sky.

Sitting down beside him, she leaned up against his shoulder and
knocked one knuckle against the metal of the jet. "Well, I guess the
only thing to do is pack this crate up and head on over to the nearest
city ourselves. I'll see if we can't get it fixed or buy a replacement."

"You don't have a back-up?"

"This was our back-up. I left all my traveling capsules at home by
mistake, remember? I suppose we could drive across the African badlands
on Daisy, if you'd like-"

He flashed her a sullen glare and she had to laugh. "It'll give us
an opportunity to rest our head for a few days, too. There's only two
Dragonballs to go and we have plenty of time. I'd like to wake up in the
same place more than one day in a row. Truth to tell, Vegeta, all this
globetrotting is wearing me out."

She was echoing his secret desire to perfection. With a rare smile
on his face, he got quickly to his feet. "Then let's not waste any more
time and get going," he said with true relief, pulling her up.

>>>>>

Three days later, a postcard arrived at the Capsule Corporation
headquarters building. The postman had enjoyed a good laugh when he
delivered it to the front desk. Shortly after, everyone from Research
and Development and the rest of the offices were crowded around the
reception desk passing it back and forth, sharing a good-natured chuckle
at the picture.

When Mrs. Briefs found them all standing around and laughing, she
scolded them, but only half-heartedly. She took the card down to her
husband's office and announced merrily, "You owe me a backrub, dear!"

Looking up from a device he was working on, the scientist's eyes
widened in surprise. "Bulma actually got him to wear it?" he asked in
disbelief.

"See for your self!" she said, slapping the postcard down on his
desk.

As a fun bridal gift, Mrs. Briefs had given her daughter a pair of
baseball caps. One was bright pink with the letters "BRIDE" stitched in
blue on the front, and the other was dark blue, with white lettering
saying, "GROOM". The original bet had been for Bulma to get the Saiyan
to wear the groom hat in an actual picture. Some how, in some unknown
way, Bulma had managed the impossible:

Posing together in the photo, Bulma was happily wearing the blue
groom hat while the Saiyan, obviously in a pout, was sporting the bright
pink cap that said "BRIDE".



>>>>>>>>>>

If you want to be on the Mailing List, write to me:
darkeangelus666@yahoo.com
Or visit my website at: www.darkeside.com
>>>>>>>>>>

Chapter Eight: It's off to the land "Down Under", mate.