Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Accidental Redemption ❯ BREAKDOWN ( Chapter 10 )

I know, I suck for making you guys wait so long for this update >_< Hopefully it was worth it. Praises go to Shen Long, Kyra Fable and Meliza Mac for beta-ing ~ I've said it before, but you guys really, truly are the best ~ as well as Citali and Gie for lending a helping hand ^_~ This chapter is dedicated to my sister, who recently broke up with her boyfriend of two years. May she find her prince soon!

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ACCIDENTAL REDEMPTION

By Evil Saint

X. BREAKDOWN

*Simple living is my desperate cry

Been trading love with indifference

Yeah it suits me just fine

I try to hold on but I'm callused to the bone

Maybe that's why I feel alone

Maybe that's why I feel so alone

Vegeta inhaled deeply, breathing in the clean scents of soap and water as he closed his eyes and braced his palms against the cool tiles. A light tremor rippled through him when the first drops of the shower's chilly spray flowed over his drowsy frame, shocking his muscles into red alert for the day's training that lay ahead. The woman had been crying most of the night again and for some unfathomable reason her sobbing was robbing him of rest. He'd spent his life on battlefields and military bases, constantly subjected to the most grating cacophony of noises imaginable. Explosions, screams and drunken brawls were his lullabies as a child, yet the woman's mewling seemed to tug on the very edges of his awareness, making the already difficult task of relaxing enough to fall asleep a complete impossibility for his high-strung self.

"Just when I thought this warped hellhole couldn't fuck me up any further…" He chuckled, the thought made amusing by his lack of sleep. Under normal circumstances, Saiyans could go for weeks without rest and not suffer any impairment whatsoever, but training in 400 Gs for an average of twelve hours a day was enough to dent even Vegeta's iron endurance. His body demanded more rest than usual and he needed a few hours' shuteye each night to keep functioning properly ~ which he wasn't getting of late and exhaustion was starting take its toll on the prince.

It all started that night after his failed meditation attempt in the Himalayas…

~*~*~*~

Vegeta returned to the dome shortly after sunset and was waiting in the living room for Bulma to come home from work, intending to corner her about his training machines, but the guise she wore as she entered the house instantly crumbled his conviction and left him too stunned to utter a word. She looked as he'd never seen her before, like a ghost who'd just been turned away from the Pearly Gates, sentenced to an eternity in purgatory, and it struck him like a punch in the gut. She rushed past him without any words of acknowledgement, practically running up the stairs and he heard the door to her room slam shut a few moments later.

He was curious to know why she seemed so upset, but the only method he knew of dealing with distraught females ~ a swift snap of the neck ~ wouldn't exactly suffice under the present circumstances. The woman's moods were as fickle as the weather in any event, turbulent one instant and temperate the next, and so he decided it best to simply stay the hell out of her way until this new storm blew over and she was back to her old self…

Days went by, turning into a week, yet her capricious nature failed to intervene. Albeit, they hadn't really spoken in that time, it didn't even take a full twenty-four hours for Vegeta to learn the cause of his housemate's distress. The Saiyan didn't get out much, but with every tabloid, gossip column and cheesy celebrity show on Japanese television blaring out the news like it was a matter of public importance, he'd have to be comatose not to know that the recreant baseball player had called off their courtship. He knew humans didn't Bond the same way Saiyans did, made obvious by the ease with which the scared bastard disposed of his long-time mate, but it had also become sickeningly evident that Bulma was going through some sort of withdrawal and Vegeta had no idea how to handle it.

She'd worked overtime on and off over the past two months, but since Yamcha rejected her, the exception was fast becoming the rule. When she was home, the woman rarely ventured beyond her bedroom, and when she did, she walked around in a zombie-like trance with her shoulders hunched and eyes cast down as if she'd lost the will to face the world. Vegeta was getting the feeling that she was neglecting her health as well, not eating anything substantial and not sleeping well at night, and to his vexation he was beginning to worry about her faculties.

On Friday she locked herself in her parents' den and her fluctuating life-force drew him there the following morning. The prince received no answer when he called to her and finally forced the door open, finding her passed out in the old doctor's high back chair, cradling a half empty bottle of scotch and reeking of the contents. Once he'd established that she wouldn't die of alcohol poisoning, he was momentarily torn between leaving her where she was and taking her to her room to sleep it off. After some deliberation he opted for the latter, fearing that she might fall and get herself killed if she awoke and tried to make it down the stairs on her own.

Somewhat awkwardly he carried her to her room, thankful when she didn't stir, and deposited her on the large, unmade bed. It was the first time he'd entered her sleeping quarters and he arched a brow at the disarray. She hadn't programmed the servo-bots to tidy up in a few days and clothes were strewn everywhere ~ on the floor, across the furniture and even flung over the doors of her walk-in wardrobe. Used Kleenexes littered the bed and carpet, while a picture frame lay face down next to the nightstand, surrounded by small shards of glass from the shattered cover. An assortment of knickknacks, photo albums and what seemed to be the remains of a decapitated fake animal lay in a heap against the far wall, apparently having borne the brunt of the woman's anger at her erstwhile mate. In the middle of the room sat her Capsule Corp. briefcase, a silent witness to the events that brought about the reigning chaos.

Judging from her meticulous work sheds, Vegeta had assumed that Bulma's room would be equally neat, but clearly the woman wasn't quite as organised when it came to her personal affairs. Thankfully the door to her in-suite bathroom was closed. He didn't even want to see what abominations were brooding in there! And he was suddenly glad that she did have a washroom all her own and thus hardly ever used the one down the hall. Sharing a bathroom with a female ~ a messy one at that ~ was one kind of horror he definitely didn't need to experience!

The object of his musings mumbled something incoherent and shifted in her sleep, redirecting Vegeta's attention from the chaotic surroundings to the equally dishevelled female before him. What a pathetic image she presented sprawled across the tangled sheets, snoring softly with her eyes swollen and crusty, her nose red and chafing in sharp contrast to the ashen colour of her tearstained cheeks. She looked… broken. There was no trace of the fiery, almost Saiyan-like woman he'd grudgingly grown to respect and the prince's features hardened into cold disgust as he looked her over ~ though even he wasn't entirely sure if the emotion was directed at his hostess or the craven prick responsible for her piteous condition.

Glass crunched beneath Vegeta's sneakers as he turned to leave and drew his attention to the upturned frame on the floor. Acting on impulse, he stooped and picked it up, turning it over to reveal the photo encased inside. It was an old picture of Bulma and Yamcha taken in a park somewhere, judging from the verdant vegetation in the background. She was wearing a white, lace-up blouse with a crown of small white flowers adorning her hair, the warmth of summer reflected in her ruby red smile. She was pressed up close to the smirking male beside her, her arms entwined fondly around his neck and jubilation shining in her vibrant azure eyes.

Vegeta frowned, finding it hard to believe that the same person who brought her such joy in the picture was also the source of her current depression. Carefully he pulled the picture from its casing, holding it between his thumb and forefinger as he channelled a small amount of energy into his hand. He watched with malicious delight as the glowing heat enfolded the photo in his grasp, making the human's grinning visage contort and writhe as if in pain, slowly shrivelling into a tiny black ball to be ground to dust in the Saiyan's fist. When the picture was thoroughly destroyed, Vegeta stood and stole a last glance at the woman on the bed. For a fleeting second he toyed with the idea of actually hunting down the man responsible for her tears and awarding him with a one way trip to the Next Dimension, before walking out and shutting the door on both his bloodthirsty thoughts and the sleeping female that inspired them…

Bulma didn't set foot outside her room for the rest of the weekend and by Sunday evening Vegeta's small scrap of patience had worn thin. Mustering his annoyance, he rapped on her door to insist that she drag her "lazy ass" out of bed and upgrade the pod's maximum to 450 Gs as he'd planned to do several days earlier. He desperately wanted to up the stakes and get stronger, but his long-awaited set of new and improved combat drones had yet to be assembled and with the woman in the state she was in, it was frustratingly clear that the enhanced models weren't going to be built anytime soon. In the meantime he could at least use some extra gravity to increase the efficiency of his workouts. He also needed a full night's sleep for once and with a bit of luck, the upgrade would take her mind off her dead romance and stave off her bawling long enough for him to achieve that, thereby killing two birds with one stone.

He hammered incessantly on her door and bellowed orders, but it was only after he threatened to tear the house down around her that he got a reaction. Silence had lingered for several seconds and he was on the verge of ramming a fist through her bedroom wall, when a muffled sniffle and the creaking of bedsprings met his ears, followed by soft footfalls over plush carpeting coming toward the door. An instant later the wood swung open and the woman pushed past him wordlessly. She was wearing the exact same T-shirt and shorts she'd been sporting two days prior and the Saiyan's nose immediately informed him that the outfit was well overdue for some airing out. He was going to comment on it, but held his tongue at the last second. She was out of her room at the very least and he didn't want to jeopardize what little progress had been made by sending her back in there to change.

It had taken her an abnormally long time to complete the upgrade, toiling into the wee hours of the morning before retiring indoors. Vegeta was just about to hit the hay himself ~ after spending hours of mind numbing boredom counting pushups on the lawn to see how many he could do in normal gravity before breaking a sweat ~ when he heard her trudging into the dome. If the Saiyan was tired then the human had to be exhausted, yet she still managed to stay awake for the better part of the night, weeping her eyes out over that weakling and keeping Vegeta up right along with her.

He dozed off just before sunrise, only to be roused less than an hour later by the irksome little feline yowling in supplication outside his bedroom. Bulma had probably forgotten to fill the creature's food dish the night before, indicating that Vegeta wasn't the only male in the household paying for another man's crime. It was going to be a sweltering day, likely the last of the season, and the first rays of dawn had already warmed his room. The warrior was used to getting up at first light and it was force of habit more than anything else that made him abandon any further attempt at slumber and steered him to seek the harsh revival of a cold shower first thing in the morning…

~*~*~*~

If things carried on this way, he was going to have to start sleeping in the GT-pod.

"You're acting like a complete idiot! What would your father think if he knew you were tossing and turning over some snivelling Earthling?!" Vegeta chided himself at the prospect of having to exchange his nice comfy bed for the hard bunk in the ship, scrubbing his skin raw in a subconscious effort to literally wash the woman out of his system.

Reasoning that he was alert enough, the prince turned the hot water on full blast, shuddering with delight as the icy jets turned deliciously warm against his skin. He allowed himself to revel in the liquid's soothing heat for several minutes after he'd finished washing, feeling the knots in his muscles untangle under the pummelling pressure. It was a glorious sensation and he would've basked in it all day if he could, but before long the call of duty became too loud to ignore. With a slightly pained sigh the warrior relinquished his small indulgence and turned the water off, spirals of steam rising from his naked form as he stepped out of the cubicle. With a towel riding low on his hips, Vegeta strutted back to his room and donned his training gear before heading downstairs, straight into the kitchen to appease his growling stomach.

With the exception of the microwave, Vegeta had never taken the time to familiarise himself with the intricate workings of the cooking appliances. He wouldn't turn down a cooked meal if it was offered to him, but most foods tasted better raw in his opinion. The only thing remotely enjoyable about his rut-driven hunting trips was the salty tang of fresh kill. No gourmet dish in the Universe could compare to meat, straight off a carcass with the still warm blood washing over his palate ~ a partiality shared by all his kind.

Water was a rare commodity on Planet Vegeta and for centuries Saiyans had to rely almost exclusively on the bodily fluids of their prey to stay hydrated. Of course that all changed once space travel became commonplace in their sector of the Universe. It didn't take long for interstellar trade to form an integral part of Vegetan economy and water was one of the major imports from conquered worlds, providing a steady supply for the entire populous. The Saiyans' survival instincts were fiercely keen however, and the thirst for blood was irreversibly branded onto the primitive, animalistic part of their brains, turning a once crucial nutritional need into a compulsive craving ~ a lot like humans' desire for sugar. Training was Vegeta's first and last priority though, affording him no time for recreational hunting and so enjoyment of this simple delicacy had pretty much become a non-occurrence in his daily routine. Usually his breakfast was comprised of whatever took the least time to prepare, like leftovers of the previous night's dinner or, more recently, the pre-prepared meals that Bulma liked to keep in stock. On this particular morning though, he was in serious need of an energy boost, aggravating his already crappy mood, and he had to fuel up on something a little more sustaining than the processed atrocities he normally choked down if he was going to test himself thoroughly against the gravity pod's new settings.

"Perhaps this will be it; the day you transcend your limits and prove yourself worthy of what was foretold…" The Golden Power whispered from within, purring in his veins like a teasing lover and his tail twitched around his waist, the velvety fur standing on end as a primal growl rumbled from his very soul, answering the challenge of his blood.

He crouched down and started foraging through the refrigerator's contents, following his nose until he found what he was seeking. The half dozen sirloin steaks Bulma's mother had bought before leaving for Africa was the closest thing to Saiyan comfort food he could hope for without actually stalking after prey and the animal protein would go a long way toward upping his strength for the bone bruising workout he had planned. Vegeta had sensed Bulma's energy moving about in her quarters as he came downstairs, indicating that she'd also given up on the quest for sleep. From what he knew of Earthling customs, he suspected that the woman wouldn't be very understanding if she entered the kitchen to find him mauling on a heap of uncooked cattle, but he was far from bothered. Most human sensibilities about food were ridiculous as far as he was concerned and if she wanted to deplete his energy by keeping him awake with her persistent whimpering, then she would just have to deal with the gory consequences.

He deftly removed the stiffly frozen steaks from the airtight packaging, stacked all six pieces on a large plate and shoved the whole pile into the microwave to defrost. However, after twelve minutes of waiting he became impatient and pulled the plate from the oven to implement his energy instead. Six small zaps and a few seconds later, he plopped down at the table with a pile of steaming, extremely rare sirloin and started tearing into his meal. The blood was a little watery from the melted ice, but the meat was tender and quite tasty otherwise, all and all providing a nice change from his regular menu of instant ramen and cold chicken domburi.

"Wonder where the little pest ran off too." Vegeta pondered disinterestedly, savouring the morsel in his mouth as he glanced at the corner where Scratch's food and water bowls resided. The cat's howling had ceased the second the Saiyan entered the hall, replaced by the sound of clawed paws scrambling frantically across the carpet to avoid the warrior's wrath. Quite shrewd for its size, the tenuous animal had learned right off the cuff that the alien prince was nothing like the doting bipeds it was accustomed to and aside from daring the occasional sniff when Vegeta was dining, the feline normally kept a wise distance from the royal elite…

The soft click of a door handle turning on the second level pulled Vegeta from his idle musings over the Briefs family pet, his acute hearing picking up the rustle of footsteps moving through the hallway and across the landing. He listened as his housemate climbed down the stairwell, stopping briefly when she touched down in the living room to be joined by the pitter-patter of padded feet ~ answering the question of the cat's whereabouts. She came traipsing into the kitchen a minute later with the critter meandering about her legs, making curt mewling noises in a tone that sounded like it was scolding her for her oversight. She made no effort to greet the Saiyan and he responded in kind, grimacing as he watched her slouch to the pantry to replenish the insistent animal's food supply. Her turquoise tresses had lost their lustre, clinging dully to her features and Vegeta couldn't help but wonder when last she'd washed her hair. Her bloodshot eyes were sunken, bearing deep shadows underneath and the effects of her recent poor eating habits were visible in the way the skirt of her business suit sagged off her hips. Her blouse was noticeably loose as well, creating an overall picture of despondent vulnerability rather than the confident corporate tycoon she was supposed to portray.

The paradox was appalling and Vegeta swiftly returned his attention to his succulent steaks, lest he loose his appetite. The prince had certainly broken bread around far more repugnant beings while in Frieza's employ, but in Bulma's case, her derelict appearance was testimony to her ongoing infatuation with the human fighter and that inflating his disgust. Vegeta knew the resilience of her feisty persona. He'd seen her triumph in the face of great adversity and falling to pieces now, merely because some loser had realised his inadequacies and withdrew his affection, was a disgrace on her part and downright repulsive to witness.

"I wish she'd snap out of it already!" He thought, vexed with his ineptitude at resolving the situation. He tore off a portion of meat between his fingers, stuffing it in his mouth like a savage to restrain an agitated growl as a hushed sigh escaped the pantry where the woman was putting away the cat pellets. There was no room for what Earthlings deemed "love" in Frieza's legions, hence no one ever mourned its loss. If a soldier did fall into an emotional slump, they'd simply be tortured by whoever possessed the powerlevel to do so until they either died or returned to their senses. Even in his father's court there was no tolerance for open shows of weakness. King Vegeta was well aware of the horrors that transpired in the Frost Emperor's purging squads, but as the crown prince and future leader of the Saiyan people, he expected his son to weather his trials and remain strong, projecting the pride and power of his station at all times regardless of whatever turmoil he was enduring on the inside. Vegeta wanted to grab the woman by the shoulders and shake her. He wanted to scream at her that her behaviour was unacceptable for someone of her standing, but he had a hunch that that would only make matters worse, leaving him no choice but to sit passively and look on as everything he'd come to appreciate about her slowly faded away.

Unbeknownst to the Saiyan though, Bulma was shamefully aware of his contempt for her emotional breakdown as she shoved the bag of Meow Mixâ"¢ back onto a shelf. It was unmistakably evident from the unsympathetic way he'd coerced her from her room the previous evening, but the shock of her abrupt split with Yamcha was still too fresh and her heart too raw to put up a brave front solely for Vegeta's benefit. It was awfully disconcerting when she stepped downstairs to be greeted by the telltale fluttering in her belly, making her hackles bristle as his life-force entwined with her own. She wasn't accustomed to getting up with the sun. Vegeta was usually training by the time she came down for breakfast and she'd cursed herself for not taking a quick peek out her window to see if the GT-pod was indeed in use before leaving the safe, non-judgemental haven of her sleeping quarters.

She'd dawdled at the bottom of the stairs, seriously contemplating a retreat back to the second story and barricading herself in her room until the familiar humming from the gravity simulator notified her that it was safe to come out. Unfortunately, Scratch chose that moment to appear from the den, negating all her plans of escape with one look at the accusation reflected in his glowing eyes. Her conscience flared instantaneously upon seeing the cat's discontentment and her guilt for neglecting her father's favourite fur ball overrode some of her qualms at being in the same room as the Saiyan Prince. She knew Vegeta had already sensed her in any case, and not wanting him to add cowardice to her list of shortcomings, Bulma squared her shoulders as best she could and walked into the kitchen. She couldn't bear to look at him though, fearing the disdain bound to be reflected in every nuance of his demeanour, and so she pretended to ignore him as she moved almost mechanically around the room.

It wasn't until Scratch was crunching happily by his bowl and she herself was standing against the counter with a nice hot mug of java in hand that Bulma snuck a peek at the Saiyan by the table, her eyes widening as she noticed for the first time what he was consuming. By then Vegeta was once again engrossed in his food and didn't realise that he was being watched until she spoke up.

"Um… is that… raw?" The woman inquired tentatively, her eyebrows knitted in disbelief. The Saiyan looked up from his plate and a wicked glint sparked in his onyx irises as he deliberately sank his canines into a particularly juicy cut. He ripped off a large bite, eating with slow relish while looking her straight in the eye, silently daring her to comment. Bulma held his gaze with intrigued abhorrence, her complexion becoming closer to Piccolo's with every movement of his jaw. He finished chewing and swallowed, watching her throat contract to push down bile as he licked the blood from his fingers.

He nearly laughed at that. She was so easily shocked.

"Yes it is. Would you like some?" He answered at leisure, his tone neutral as he lifted a dripping steak from his plate and held it out to her.

"Ugh! You're disgusting." Bulma groused and spun around, drinking her coffee with her back to him.

Vegeta's countenance was carefully guarded as he huffed and set about devouring the remainder of his breakfast, but in truth he was disappointed and a little frustrated that his taunt hadn't gotten more of a rise out of her. He'd baited the woman on purpose in a rather crude effort to instigate one of the verbal face-offs that had become somewhat of a game between them, but she clearly wasn't playing along. An argument would've been comforting though, giving some semblance of normalcy to their dealings. It had been quite a while since their last showdown and Bulma's current indifference was affecting him like a human child whose favourite plaything had been stolen away. His mind drifted back in time to revisit the subtle intimacy of their conversations in the den and something strikingly similar to dismay lanced through him at the possibility that it might be lost forever.

Vegeta frowned as his pride mocked him for his un-warrior-like thoughts. He wasn't this fretful when Raditz ~ his council and battle-kin of seventeen years ~ was murdered, so why in the Legend's name was he so bothered by the apathy of an alien female he'd only known briefly by comparison?

The Saiyan squirmed slightly in discomfiture, angry with the whole situation, and promptly shrugged off the unwanted emotions. He stared pensively into his plate as he ate while the woman drank her coffee, both lost in their own thoughts. When she finished, Bulma placed her mug in the dishwasher and proceeded to the control panel on the opposite wall to program the servo-bots for an overall cleaning of the house.

"About time." Vegeta thought to himself, recalling the mess in her chambers, but he was less impressed when she left the kitchen immediately after instructing the drones. He'd expected her to have some breakfast at least. The prince had often marvelled at how little Earth beings could sustain themselves on ~ probably the only benefit of having such minuscule energy signatures ~ but she'd eaten hardly anything the entire weekend and she had to be hungry by now. It couldn't be good for her working the hours she was with nothing but a measly cup of black liquid to sustain her.

"Where're you going?" He called after her before he could stop himself, anticipating the answer.

"To work." Her voice rose sourly from the living room. She'd found her purse on the coffee table and was rifling through it in search of the capsule containing her car.

"Why, you've never gone this early before?" If his interest surprised her, she didn't reveal it in her reply.

"I wanna beat traffic."

Vegeta still felt besieged to say something to her, but the scene was strange to his frame of reference and words failed him; the everyday sounds of items shifting in Bulma's purse, Scratch's avid chewing and the bleeping of awakening servo-bots becoming loud in the loaded silence that ensued. After a few minutes' digging, Bulma located her vehicle and left, the only hint to her departure being the fall of her footsteps as she walked from the living room, through the foyer and out the front door.

Vegeta listened dispassionately to the small explosion emanating from the driveway as she decapsulated her car and sped off to oversee her father's empire, refocusing his thoughts on the legacy his own sire had passed onto him. He made short work of the remaining steaks, washed the meat down with a carton of milk, and marched purposefully to the spherical spacecraft on the lawn, determination bright in his dark eyes as it shone from the very deepest reaches of his soul.

Inside the pod, he headed to the controls and decided to warm up with a few rounds of mid-air shadowboxing at 405 times the Earth's gravity, striving to go up to 415 by the end of the day. His energy spiked with the increasing pull when the simulation was engaged, tendrils of lapis lazuli blasting from his body as he levitated off the floor in defiance of the titanic resistance. He gnashed his teeth, preparing for the extra five Gs, but just as the machine reached the 400 mark, sparks blitzed inside the control console and the next second all hell broke loose: The gravity became erratic, plummeting to 29 Gs before jumping almost instantaneously to 376, dropping once more to 114… Vegeta was caught off guard and the counter force of his energy ~ which was adjusted to 400 Gs ~ nearly catapulted him through the ceiling as the gravity lowered. He hastily tried to adjust his equilibrium accordingly, only to be yanked violently to the ground when the G-force hiked up again. Warning lights blinked frantically while the computer's deadpan voice repeated the phrases *Simulator Malfunction* and *Emergency Shutdown: Immanent* over and over until the voice hitched to a high, squeaky pitch and finally lowered into a deep slurring before silencing completely. The gravity abruptly returned to normal and the lights went dead, darkening the pod as thick swirls of black smoke billowed from the control unit, filling the chamber and almost smothering the aggravated occupant. Vegeta hauled himself up, coughing spasmodically to clear his lungs and navigated a path through the opaque clouds toward the controls. Once there, he bent down, feeling heat radiating from the central computer and upped his energy as a precautionary measure in case of an explosion, using his shirt to further insulate his hands as he removed a side panel to determine the extent of the damage.

"Ai'et gazan." He swore under his breath, fanning the smoke away from his face with one hand while palming his sore hip and shoulder with the other as his eyes traversed the mess of spitting wires and singed circuits that used to be the GT-pod's mainframe.

This was the last straw!

The pod had been working fine the day before, so obviously the woman had done something horrendously wrong during the alleged upgrade. Bulma could spend the rest of her life sulking over that moron for all Vegeta cared, but he was a whole lot less accommodating when her pining got in the way of his progress to Super Saiyan. She'd only just left for work and probably wouldn't return until late that night, but Vegeta had no intention of wasting a whole day's training time waiting for her. No, the woman was supposed to upgrade his pod and by Kami, that was precisely what she was going to do, even if he had to drag her to the estate by her hair!

Peeved beyond words, Vegeta stormed back to the mansion to change into Earthling apparel, the lone outfit in the pod being somewhat inaccessible behind the pungent acridity filling the spaceship's interior. He was rather overwhelmed when he took in the sheer volume of clothes lining the walk-in closet in his room, feeling strongly tempted to remain in his training clothes. Sadly however, that wasn't a viable option if he wanted to blend inconspicuously into human society. The formfitting blue shorts and tank top weren't exactly commonplace as street wear in West Capitol, nor did it have any room to obscure his tail. With a roll of his eyes and a hateful grunt the prince surrendered to the inevitable and began the arduous task of sorting through the mountain of clothes for something suitable to wear. Some of the garments he found ~ a sheer, shimmering purple shirt and a cheetah-pattern thong among others ~ gave him serious pause about the elder Briefs woman's sanity. Not wanting to suffer a repeat of the "Bad Man" incident, it took him nearly forty-five minutes to piece together an outfit that wasn't too frilly or lurid, finally settling on blue jeans, black trainers and an army camouflage T-shirt that neatly covered his trademark Saiyan appendage.

Satisfied with his appearance, Vegeta leapt from the balcony and took to the sky, honing in on the towering buildings peeking over the horizon. The warrior reigned in his haste as he flew, carefully monitoring his pace, lest the shockwave of his speed cause havoc on the terrain and draw unnecessary attention to him and his unusual, to Earthlings, mode of travel.

Near the city Vegeta dropped altitude until he was only a few metres off the ground, avoiding the heavy air traffic that buzzed about the metropolis like insects around a rotting corpse. Flying low, he covered the last few kilometres in a matter of seconds, bringing him to the city limits where he rested his feet soundlessly upon the cracked asphalt of a deserted warehouse district to assess his surroundings.

Not being much of a crowd person, Vegeta had steered clear of Earth's major settlements in the past and this was the first time he'd really gotten a good look at a human metropolis. It wasn't all that different form the thousands of its ilk he'd left in ruins under Frieza's orders. The stench of burnt fossil fuel laced the air and the low murmur of traffic was clearly audible from the heavily used network of roads leading into Japan's Western Capitol. Many skyscrapers sprung from the heart of the city, but even at a distance the Capsule Corp. tower was unmistakable. The building was an architectural masterpiece of sleek symmetry ~ its two-hundred odd stories reaching heights unparalleled in the rest of the world. The colossal CC trademark crowned the majestic structure at its summit, scraping the skyline like a royal banner and leaving no doubt as to whom resided at the top of this concrete jungle's food chain.

Vegeta regarded the sight with a baleful sneer and shoved his hands in his pockets before wandering toward the inner-city, fuming inwardly as he joined the thousands of pedestrians bustling along the sidewalks en route to the capitol's centre of commerce…

~*~*~*~

Bulma swivelled to and fro in her father's armchair, peering aimlessly across the magnificent view from a large corner office in the mighty Capsule Corp. tower ~ the penthouse reserved specifically for the company president. After Yamcha had dumped her, this office became her sanctuary. It was devoid of anything that reminded her of her former beau and it was also the one place where she was free of her housemate's caustic scrutiny. While she was there, she could devote her mind and energy to perfunctory duties and impersonal banter with people who had no clue or care about her broken heart, simply functioning on autopilot, immersed in the numb sublimity of non-feeling. She'd buried herself in paperwork, coming in early and leaving late, but now the young executive was facing an unprecedented dilemma. She'd been slaving like a robot and managed to burn through her entire administrative workload for the next fortnight in a couple of days without even realising it. Her hands were tied until the various department heads reported back to her, meaning that she found herself with a bare desk.

Her dejection was manageable when she had some or other arbitrary chore to complete, but it was times like these, when she was alone with nothing to distract her from the gnawing emptiness in her soul, that her whole world came crashing down around her.

Bulma's vision clouded with a fresh onslaught of moisture as Yamcha's face, filled with enmity and derision, flashed through her mind. She sucked in a hard breath, spinning her chair to face her desk and buried her head in her folded arms. Her skull throbbed down to her teeth, her eyes were sore from crying all night and her every muscle fibre seemed be aching individually. Minding her mascara, she pressed her lids against the sleeve of her jacket to absorb the tears pooling upon her lashes, wishing that she could just flick a switch in her brain and shut down the procession of agonising memories running tirelessly through her thoughts. If only she could forget about everything she'd shared with Yamcha, both good and bad, the painful spasm in her chest might ease and she'd be able to breathe again.

"I'm so tired. I wish Hiroe would hurry up with the coffee." Bulma had scarcely finished the thought when an ominously familiar sensation feathered her awareness. It unfurled in the pit of her stomach and prickled up her spine, sending a wave of goose bumps rippling over her skin and she righted herself with a start ~ just in time to see the office door fly open without so much as a knock. Of the roughly six billion sentient beings on the planet, the shuttered countenance scowling at her from across the room was the last she wanted to see at that moment. She didn't know what had possessed him to travel all the way to the corporate district of inner West City, but she was willing to wager her family's fortune that cheering her up wasn't high on his to-do-list.

"… Dear Kami, give me strength." She prayed before addressing the visitor.

"Is the compound burning down?" Bulma questioned flatly, not even caring how he got past the building's tight security. Vegeta's eyes narrowed at her unconventional greeting and she swiftly carried on before he could vocalise the mordant comeback he was undoubtedly formulating.

"… If not, then I suggest…" She didn't get a chance to finish the sentence as her assistant appeared in doorway next to the warrior. She was clutching the espresso Bulma had sent her to fetch from the ground floor café, seeing as the company's tearoom wouldn't open until eleven. Hiroe had been a godsend over the past week, curbing the flood of phone calls from the tabloid jackals, carting refreshments up to Bulma's office and running errands for her when she herself lacked the fortitude to confront the ever present paparazzi, but at that precise instant her timing couldn't be more off. Stumbling upon two riled grizzlies in the middle of a territorial feud was never a good thing, and intruding on Bulma and Vegeta when their already volatile tempers were frazzled due to sleep deprivation was even worse…

Vegeta was on the verge of rebuking the anticipated dismissal when a slender female of about Bulma's age materialised beside him. She had straight, shoulder length black hair and her eyes, looking out from behind old-fashioned horn rimmed glasses, were only a few shades lighter than his own. She probably presumed him to be an acquaintance of the cyan-haired heiress' and smiled politely as she pushed into the office, careful not to spill anything from the plastic container in her grasp, but paused in mid stride as her gaze fell on his face. Her brows quirked a fraction and she did a quick double take up and down his physique before hurrying inside and handing the container to her superior. Bulma rose to her feet to take the beverage and thanked the other woman with a wan smile. The girl bowed courteously before coming back to the door, her eyes flicking between the floor and Vegeta as she walked. When she reached the portal, she turned to address her boss, though her attention was firmly trained on the man standing next to her.

"Is there anything else I can get for you, Miss Briefs?"

"Not right now, thank you, Hiroe." Bulma dismissed her assistant in a businesslike tone, but the girl was so busy drooling over Vegeta that an earthquake could've been shaking the building apart and she wouldn't have noticed. Sensing the woman's growing ire at the other Earthling's obvious interest in him, Vegeta let his eyes roam lecherously from her feet to her face, smirking lustily as he met her gaze. It wasn't in his character to be flirtatious and on any other occasion he would've simply ignored the female, but the look of outrage on Bulma's features was priceless and he was dying for a glimpse of her old fire.

Hiroe stood entranced, unconsciously holding her breath while the hottest guy she'd ever seen looked her over like a tasty treat. Her dark brown eyes grew round and she all but gasped as his smouldering charcoal gaze met her own. When his firm lips twisted into a sinfully salacious grin she blushed, snickering like a schoolgirl with her first crush and Bulma had to clench her jaw to keep from cursing at her.

"That'll be all, Miss Mishima!" The CEO commanded through gritted teeth, her palms resting flat on her desk with her fingers curling into claws, her nails scraping murderously across the smooth cherry wood. Logically, Bulma knew she had no cause for jealousy. Vegeta wasn't hers. He was free to leer at whoever he damn well pleased, yet watching the Saiyan flirt with her assistant made her want to gouge the poor girl's eyes out.

"Huh?" Hiroe asked lamely, slowly breaking her stare away from the sex god before her to lock with her employer's death glare. She jolted as if only just realising that Bulma was there and started babbling like an imbecile.

"Oh yeah… of course… I'm going…right now…" She ranted, gesturing haphazardly in the direction of her desk. Unfortunately the still grinning Saiyan re-entered Hiroe's field of vision as she turned to leave and it took a loud throat clearing from Bulma to remind her that leg movement was a prerequisite for walking.

"Sorry." Hiroe squeaked, her face flaming in mortification and scurried back to her desk, her gait betraying her desire for the ground to open and swallow her whole.

"I sincerely hope you didn't come all this way just to terrorise my staff!" Bulma bit out, glowering coolly at the imposing Saiyan.

"Oh I assure you, Woman, there was no terror in her scent." Vegeta drawled, looking very pleased with himself as he pushed off the doorframe and sashayed to her desk with conceited ease, resting his palms on the surface to mirror her pose.

"Ew." Bulma stated loftily and retook her seat, linking her fingers in front of her as she would when interviewing a client. This was her domain, the throne room from which she ruled a global business empire, and she'd be damned if she was going to let him intimidate her here.

"… So what the fuck do you want?"

"The pod's busted."

"What did you do, asshole?"

"Nothing, bitch…" He shot back without missing a beat "…you're the one who fucked up when you were supposed to be upgrading the Kami-damned thing."

"What are you talking about?"

"A minute after I turned the simulator on it damn near exploded. The computer's totally fried and you have to fix it. I can't lose a whole day's training because of your sloppiness."

"I have to work Vegeta. I can't just take off!" Bulma lied tartly. She'd rather spend the day alone in her office wallowing in self-pity, than at the compound putting up with King Attitude.

"Sure you can Boss, with all the extra hours you put in last week we're way ahead of schedule and you don't have any appointments lined up for today. Go ahead. I'll cover for you if need be." Hiroe's enthusiastic voice suddenly sounded from the intercom on Bulma's desk and the heiress had to fight the urge to grab the device and hurl it at Vegeta upon seeing his mouth curve into a complacent half smirk.

"Look, Woman, I'm not leaving without you. You can come quietly or under duress. It makes no never mind to me, but I doubt you'd enjoy being dragged out of here in plain view of your ever so charming employees." He quipped with an infuriatingly nonchalant shrug, his timbre dripping with condescension.

Vegeta had her cornered and Bulma knew better than to expect mercy, but that didn't mean she had to be nice about it.

"Fine!" She spewed venomously and rose from her chair, her bearing every bit as threatening as that of a black mamba readying to strike. She grabbed her briefcase and stormed past the prince, the coveted espresso forgotten on her desk as she made sure to glare daggers at her secretary before turning into the corridor leading to the elevators. Vegeta trailed behind her, relief at her show of temper temporarily outweighing his anger at the fumbled upgrade as he boarded the lift alongside her.

"Heavy traffic…" He intimated with a raised index finger upon seeing the woman's nonplussed expression, explaining why he wasn't taking the high road back to the Briefs estate. Bulma nodded in comprehension before adhering automatically to the unspoken elevator etiquette of staring blankly up at the declining green digits in the upper left corner as the lift lowered. Three elevator changes and an escalator ride later, the pair walked through a couple of large plate-glass doors into the company's vast underground parking area. Even with capsule technology to store employees' cars during office hours, it wouldn't do to simply launch an automobile into the in lane during rush-hour and this lot provided people with a safe place to decapsulate their vehicles at the end of the day before taking to the roads.

"Get back here!" Bulma hissed as she exited the double doors with a speedy sideway motion, stepping behind one of the thick concrete support columns that flanked the entrance to the main building. She grabbed the Saiyan by the shirt and pulled him with her, his start at her brusque antics alone enabling her to manoeuvre him. She looked around nervously, checking for photographers. The underground car park was for use by Capsule Corp. workers only and the security staff was supposed to prevent anyone else from entering, but Bulma had learned long ago just how slippery a tabloid reporter could be when he was after a scoop. The last thing she needed was her and Vegeta's faces smeared all over tomorrow's society pages, with tawdry headlines and cheap speculation about her involvement with the "mysterious dark stranger" or whatever banal description they'd use to sensationalise the whole thing.

Oh how she loathed the media!

When she was sure the coast was clear, Bulma decapsulated her car in the nearest open spot, darted from behind the pillar and hopped in, nearly cracking the window as she hastily slammed the door. Vegeta followed suit, albeit with a great deal more grace than Bulma could manage in her pumps and confining skirt. Inside the car, she fiddled with her seatbelt and started the engine before checking on her passenger, whom she found gaping at her with a rare expression of unnerved befuddlement.

"What's with the feeble attempt at stealth, Woman?" He queried, looking at her as though she'd gone completely off the deep end. Bulma blinked at him, feeling her cheeks warm with embarrassment as she realised how irrational her conduct must seem from his perspective.

"Dodging the paparazzi." She muttered with as much dignity as she could salvage, being deliberately terse to avoid getting into a conversation with him that would inevitably lead to the touchy subject of her break-up with Yamcha. She could practically hear the internal battle his pride was waging with his curiosity. It was unlikely he knew what "paparazzi" meant, but revealing his ignorance about anything was like admitting a weakness and, in all likelihood, physically painful for him to do. As she'd hoped, his arrogance won in the end and they drove off in silence…

Upon arrival at the complex, Bulma hurried up to her room and donned her overalls before joining Vegeta outside the broken-down spacecraft and following him inside. Most of the smoke had vented out the hatchway the Saiyan had left open during his brief sojourn to the city, making the air breathable again. The power supply seemed to have failed completely however, leaving only the sunlight streaming through the small portholes to illuminate the interior. The woman crouched next to the console with the prince at her back, surveying the ruined controls from behind a veil of clinical detachment, but on the inside she was cringing in self-reproach.

"What if Vegeta had been injured… or worse?" She chastised herself, straining her retinas in the half-darkness while endeavouring to sort through the mangle of scorched metal, silicone and plastic that was still a fully working computer the night before. Figuring out what needed to be fixed or replaced would be simple enough, but uncovering the cause of the malfunction was a horse of a different colour. It was near impossible to tell from the destroyed components what had gone awry and Bulma couldn't for the life of her recall what she might have done wrong the night before. She couldn't remember what she'd done right either for that matter. She'd been too weary and mentally drained to pay prudent attention to what she was doing and she feared that her current condition wasn't much of an improvement; though one glance at the morose warrior behind her, made it clear that napping for a few hours before remedying the error was out of the question. Utilising Vegeta's sardonic rendition of the malfunction and her own cursory observations, Bulma compiled a list of tools and parts needed for repairs and after a brisk trip to her work shed to gather the required equipment, she was ready to begin ~ despite the antsy Saiyan still hovering over her like an irritating wasp!

"How long `till it's fixed?" Vegeta barked, trying in vain to stay oblivious to the woman's prone, spread legged posture as she slithered through the opened panel into the belly of the central computer. He really was losing his mind. Normally, it took something truly spectacular to arouse him outside a rut, yet here he was, salivating like a rabid canine just from watching the nuisance of a wench squirming on the floor in what was possibly the least beguiling outfit known to mankind.

"I don't know. Just go inside and watch TV or something. I'll call you when it's ready." Her voice echoed from inside the control unit's metal casing as she fumbled with one of the bendable, optical fibre rods she'd clamped to the side of the cavity for a light source.

"I'm not going anywhere, Woman! The last time I left you alone in here you caused a fucking meltdown." He growled, disturbed at the feint reediness infecting his baritone. Perhaps hanging around while she was in that position wasn't the soundest course of action after all…

"I'll be careful, OK?" She snapped shrilly, scooting out from under the console to look at him.

"…You peering over my shoulder, second-guessing every little thing I do, isn't going to help any. I'll work a lot faster on my own so go away and amuse yourself for a while. Do you think you can manage that?!"

He scoffed rudely, but did as she bade ~ much to Bulma's surprised relief.

"Kami help you if you screw up again, Woman." He warned gruffly from the doorway before sauntering out.

Bulma only rolled her eyes, stifled a yawn and set to work. By now the pod's mainframe was as tediously familiar to her as the back of her right hand and it didn't take long for her mind to start wandering, finally setting on her cataclysmic love life.

"Even his death wasn't this hard to take." She reasoned bitterly while pressing a new circuit board into its ruined predecessor's slot. At least when Yamcha had died she still had hope ~ a chance to bring him back and regain his love ~ but now all she had was a hollow heart and the dour certainty that the all-star would not be the man to fill that void. She'd been with him since she was only a girl. They'd grown up together and he knew her, probably better than anyone else. Yet, after everything they'd withstood, she still wasn't precious enough in his eyes to dissuade him from trampling on her heart; her dignity; to humiliate her as harshly as he could, merely to avenge his masculine ego!

He had cared for her once upon a time and she'd naively believed that that would suffice. Time, however, is as much a corroder as a healer and clearly love was only one of many pillars needed to steel a relationship against its flow. Their affection had become rusted and worn through the years and when the winds of chance came sweeping, their bond was simply too brittle to withstand the gale.

A doleful ache speared through her at the remembrance of the contempt in his eyes when he looked at her the last time. Kami, how dreadful was she if even her wealth and beauty weren't powerful enough incentives to keep a man interested? In all honesty she didn't like the idea of buying companionship, but even the semblance of love had to be preferable to the utter desolation she felt at that moment…

She bit down on her lower lip, fighting back a new tide of tears as a dry sob rattled from her throat. Her body went limp and she closed her eyes, waiting for her breathing to steady, and it was then that she noticed for the first time how ravenous she was. Strangely though, she didn't feel much like eating, but she would have to in order to keep her immune system up and running. Between Vegeta's demands and her responsibilities at CC she couldn't afford the luxury of getting sick. She sighed miserably and got back to the task at hand. The sooner she finished the repairs the sooner she could grab a bite to eat without having to listen to Vegeta whine that she was slacking off. Thankfully, the simulator's core was mostly unscathed and everything else was relatively easy to fix or replace.

She worked systematically, reattaching chips to boards, welding broken circuits closed and mending burnt wires. Fatigue was starting to get the better of her, but she laboured diligently on, serving the masochistic tendencies she'd developed since taking the Prince of Saiyans under her wing. She did some troubleshooting as she worked, trying to determine what had triggered the power surge, but she was still perplexed by the time she'd rebuilt three quarters of the mainframe. Perhaps it was a software glitch that was to blame. She'd been too desperate for a shower and a bed the previous night to wait for the computer to finish a diagnostic scan of the alterations and it could be that the novel protocols weren't wholly compatible with the existing command codes used to regulate the gravity. She'd just have to do a full system evaluation to make sure when she was done fussing with the hardware.

She clicked the last of the relays in place and hoisted her sore figure out from under the controls, grabbed a spare power cable and hooked the newly repaired computer up to the still intact auxiliary generator. The lights blinked on and Bulma wiped the sweat from her forehead, glad to have the climate controls restored as well. She pushed down the large red knob that activated the simulator's mainframe, keeping her fingers crossed, and a broad smile spread on her face as she heard the zing of the hard drive spinning to life followed by the hum of the computer booting up. The large overhead view screen flashed into action and Bulma raised her eyes, expecting to see the Capsule Corp. logo and then the command interface appear, but her smile turned to a perplexed frown as she instead found herself staring at strings of incomprehensible machine script streaming madly across the screen. She backed up from the console, trying to read the symbols zooming about on the monitor as a means of figuring out what the computer was processing, but the text was moving too fast for her to decipher. Suddenly the codes stilled, becoming stagnant on the screen except for a last command prompt flashing in the bottom left corner:

gsim/X400/status/:executing…

Bulma's eyes widened to saucers, ice-cold panic gripping her as the artificial lighting turned an angry shade of red. Time slowed and she reeled in a frantic attempt to sprint for the exit, only to be met by the dull thud of the hydraulic safety hatch closing and hissing as it compressed, sealing off her only means of escape. She veered instantly, trying to dash for the power cable and rip it free, but the Gs were already rising and she didn't even take a full stride before the force gripped her, viciously dragging her down with only inactive combat drones looking on as her slight frame was flattened against the metal floor… ______________________________________________________________________

`Weathered" by Creed

Next Chapter: ???

I've been wanting to do a cliffy for a while now and here it is >:-) Yeah, I know I'm evil, hence the penname, but I promise I'll do my best to get the next instalment out as soon as humanly possible ^_~ Just for the record, Yamcha dumped Bulma in chpater8 already so he did not cheat on her. I know the poor guy wasn't exactly portrayed in the most flattering light in this chapter, but please keep in mind that this was told from Bulma and Veggie's perspectives. I'm really trying to be fair to the former bandit, but I've never heard anyone go "oh, my feelings are hurt and all, but I'm sure he had a good reason to do what he did" right after ending a long-term relationship O_o

Thanks for reading and please, please, please don't forget to review!