Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Decoding the Saiyan ❯ Comfort ( Chapter 6 )

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

Disclaimer: I don't own Dragonball Z.

A/N: The prompt for this chapter was 'comfort' from the Intimacy Challenge.

Comfort

"I'm sorry. You're a great guy, really, but…" but you're not the homicidal maniac I've been dreaming about for the last few months… "…but you're just not my type. I hang around with a whole bunch of martial artists and -"

"And you'd rather have a man with muscles. Got it."

"No! I mean, you're perfect, but you're so clean," Bulma replied, gesturing across the table at the handsome, blue-eyed blonde, his hair slicked neatly back and his suit still crisp, even after a full day's work. "I'm just used to a different kind of guy. I'm sorry."

The man snorted as she paid the waitress for her coffee. "If I knew you wanted dirty I would have just taken you straight to bed."

"Ugh, jerk," she muttered, though she was more upset with her girlfriends who had organised the blind coffee date than with the rejected man in front of her. Not wishing to make a scene- lest some desperate paparazzo think her newsworthy- she grabbed her purse, and left the coffee house quickly.

She didn't look back.

She managed to drive halfway home before the first phone calls from her group of girlfriends started coming in. She ignored them and turned the radio up louder, switching her cell phone onto silent.

"Fuck," she muttered to herself, rubbing her forehead. She should never have said yes to the blind date in the first place, but her friends had pestered her about her dead sex life and the fact that the split between her and Yamcha seemed permanent this time. "You two have been separated for seven months now! You said it was for good, so find another man already!" she mimicked in a nasal voice, screwing her face up as she did so. "Bitches," she huffed, switching on her windscreen wipers as it began to rain.

No doubt they'd be upset with her, now. She could imagine what they were all dying to say. "Jack is a great guy! He's a partner in a law firm! He's perfect! Why don't you want him?" They wouldn't understand- they never had understood- her attraction to gruff, fighting men. They didn't have the same sense of adventure that she had, they hadn't been to other planets, they hadn't flown through the air in nothing but a man's arms, and they certainly hadn't spent months during their childhood searching for magical balls that could grant wishes.

She sighed, pulling into the Capsule Corp. driveway. She really couldn't blame her old college friends for their lack of understanding, since it was her own damn fault for keeping things a secret. They had no idea about Namek or Frieza or the dragonballs. They didn't know that men could fly, because like most people, they believed that the televised martial arts tournaments involved a bunch of semi-fake fights that, although still gruelling, did not require supernatural skills like ki manipulation. She and Yamcha and had made the decision to keep certain things a secret a long time ago, and for good reason. Human greed had caused too much trouble with the dragonballs in the past- she still shuddered when she thought about the Red Ribbon Army- and it was far easier to not talk about ki and flying and aliens that turned into giant apes, than to explain it all.

It made explaining her break-up with Yamcha difficult, too. She couldn't tell her girlfriends about the pressure that the impending Android doom put on her and her ex, she couldn't explain why it made so much sense that Yamcha go off to train in the desert, away from the distractions of city life, and she couldn't explain about the jealousy her ex harboured towards a certain alien. None of her friends knew of the boy from the future, nor did they know that the Androids were being built in some secret lab at this very moment. They didn't even know that Vegeta existed, or that she had, up until three months ago, spent a great deal of her time and energy designing and building military-style training bots for the Saiyan.

Bulma opened her car door and shivered as the icy autumn wind hit her, wishing that she could just forget about her failed relationship and her lack of a sex life. She ran from her car to the front door, heels clacking loudly against the ground as she dove for cover. She was mortified, to say the least, about her afternoon coffee date. She hated being put in awkward situations, and she hated turning down decent men. Jack-the-lawyer would be perfect for most women, but for her…

He just wasn't enough.

Inside the door, she slipped off her black heels and carried them in her left hand, her purse still hanging from her right. She padded in stockinged feet across the plush carpet and up the stairs that led to the upper living areas, her head turning as she passed the kitchen and lounge, looking for her mother. With no one in sight she shrugged and continued on, up another flight of stairs and down the hall to her own spacious bedroom. She pushed open the door with her elbow, threw her shoes in the nearest corner, and kicked the door closed behind her with a sigh, dropping her handbag where she stood. She was exhausted from the day's work, and utterly mortified about her disastrous date.

She took off her suit jacket, leaving that on the floor, too, and strolled across the room to pull her curtains closed. The dim light left in her room matched her dull mood, and she slumped into her vanity chair, staring dejectedly at her reflection in the vanity mirror. She was beautiful- stunning, even- but that didn't automatically mean that Prince Charming was going to come strolling into her life. She snorted, thinking about the only real-life Prince she had ever met. He was many things, but charming was not one of them.

They've all ruined me completely, she thought, her martial arts friends on her mind. After Yamcha, no ordinary man would satisfy her, but the requirement that a man be super-humanly strong and have the ability to fly limited her list of potential bed mates down to only a select few.

That was probably the real reason she was crushing after Vegeta, she told herself. The man had a penis, a hot body, and raw physical power, and after spending her entire adult life around men with super-strength, it was no wonder that she had been brainwashed into thinking those three attributes equalled 'The Perfect Man'.

But Vegeta was the worst kind of man to be lusting after- a murderer of billions, and someone who had vowed to kill Son Goku, no less. He didn't even want to be on the planet, let alone in her bed. She felt the blush rising on her cheeks as she thought once more about the incident that had occurred three months before, the last time she had seen Vegeta before his disappearance. She had stood on her balcony like an idiot, practically naked in her see-through negligee, with a very big part of her wishing that he'd just take her right there and then. For a moment she had even thought that was exactly what was going happen, until the Saiyan had snarled at her and blasted away into the air.

Vegeta had even gone a step further, and had left Capsule Corporation entirely, blasting off into space as soon as her father had completed some gravity simulator repairs. To Bulma, it was obvious that this was his way of saying 'I'm not interested'.

She didn't even understand why she was attracted to such a sour, angry man. Yes, he was handsome, but so were so many other guys out there. Her thoughts, however, drifted to the moments that she had seen behind his angry mask- to the time he lay injured in the infirmary, plagued by nightmares, and to the time she had come across him staring out the window in the darkened lounge, his eyes trained on the stars above. That night there had been an air of vulnerability about him, and she had witnessed the full extent of his loneliness. He had no one- no friends, no family- and watching him stare at the stars from which he came had pulled at her heart strings and made a lump form in her throat. She had wanted nothing more than to comfort him that night, but he had risen from his seat without a word and glared at her as if she were intruding, despite the fact that it was her house.

She snorted at the memory, brushing a stray tear from her eye. "You are an idiot," she told her reflection. It was silly to worry about Vegeta. As if he would accept comfort from her, anyway.

"I couldn't agree more," a deep, husky voice spoke from behind her, and she whirled out of her chair, screaming in fright.