Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Event Horizon ❯ Back In The Saddle ( Chapter 6 )

Event Horizon: Chapter Six

Disclaimer: I do not own DB Z/GT ect, nor the characters themselves save for the few that will be introduced in the upcoming chapters. The minor OC 'Kit Karr' is mine, as is 'Ms. Inka Jet'

_______________________________________________________________ _________

Capsule Corporation, the Briefs' Estate...

Months idly marched on in a droning, endless procession. Bulma found herself caught up into the dictations of her father's large corporation, just as Dr. Briefs urged her to do. She was to take up the business one day as the CEO, and therefore her father made sure to it that she understood every in and out that there was to know. By now her sprain had healed itself, and she was no longer inept from showing off her technical wizardry to anyone with a pair of eyes. Ms. Jet no longer came to visit her, but Bulma often found her standing off to one side when her father worked in his lab. She would offer him advice when he asked for it, and he in turn would commend her for her attention to detail. In a way, it made Bulma jealous. Years ago, that had been herself at her father's side, piping up with keen observations now and again while he praised her for her quick mind.

Now it seemed more and more that she had been replaced, stuck in the role of some press attractant for Capsule Corp. while her father messed around with an adopted daughter... who was certainly old enough to be just that!

If this was the end to her troubles, then she was sorely mistaken. There weren't just the new burdens of taking up more of her father's duties as a future CEO, no, there was Vegeta as well. His behavior was worrying her to no end. It was like living with a ticking explosive, knowing each space between seconds could very well be your last. The past five months had seemed to pacify him somewhat, at least in respects to how he treated others. No longer did he stalk about the house, demanding this and that. When he wanted something, he was sure to bring it to the Briefs' attention, especially Bulma's, but... something had changed.

Perhaps she should have been thankful. Vegeta hadn't threatened anyone with a stray ki blast in all that time. In fact, he had been pretty reclusive, ever since 'warning' her in front of the television all those nights ago. Genius that she was, she still didn't have the slightest idea of what he had been talking about. Even so, if this was the result...

...Who was she to complain?

Then again, it brought back the idea of a ticking time bomb back to the forefront. Vegeta had begun to wear off on her a little, unfortunately. She was now paranoid, scrutinizing every single action he took in her presence and waiting for the inevitable blowout. This observation would take place at such mundane times, even if she was merely seated in the kitchen and enjoying a meal when he walked in to retrieve some edible ration from the bulging fridge. Her spine would stiffen, causing all of the vertebrae in her back to stack up in a perfect, vertical line. She would keep a guarded watch on him through the corner of her eye, chewing slowly. As soon as he grumbled about the lack of good nourishment and left the kitchen in a huff, she would happily relax. This was becoming a constant event whenever she saw him or happened to be in the same room as him. Frankly, it was developing into an obscene tradition.

She was definitely growing weary of it.

Much later in the day, Bulma found herself resigned to the very place she had last held that ambiguous discussion with Vegeta. Beyond and outside the windows that linked a picturesque view of the Capsule Corp. yard, the glowing orange ball known as the sun was beginning to sink below the horizon. The rays hit the glass, dispersing several glaring beams that struck in just the right place on the large television set.

'Of course', she thought bitterly, 'It just had to hit there, didn't it? My life just can't get much worse.'

Grumbling to herself, she eased up out of the deeply cushioned sofa beneath her. The cushions sprang up with a sense of relief as her weight lifted, and she made her way over to the windows to draw the shades. She had just settled herself there moments before, and looked forward with an evening with her favorite soap. Her television was currently portraying the correct channel, but the sun's glare was making it impossible for any real observing to be done. The usually dark and debonair Ricardo was as doughy-faced as an albino, and his eyes even appeared to glow red... when she could make them out.

Primetime television, in her opinion.

As she struggled briefly with the barricade that never really seemed to do much for blocking the light anyways, her eyes passed over the once-injured hand that had by now healed. She was glad to be back to work several months before, and had leapt into it with a passion that nearly bordered on obsessive desperation. It was as if she were frantically trying to make up for the time that had been wasted, and everyone around her was quite dumbfounded. Her parents really kept their mouths closed around her on the subject of her frenzied work pace, save for the occasional question about her well being, one that she casually waved off. They would simply nod, worry lining their faces before turning away. They knew better than to press her, and with her father's new assistant and her mother's own love for cooking, they were rarely around in the first place.

And now, after all that time of hard labor, she was feeling the burn. It was time to slow down; she had caught up and was able to squander a few moments of relaxation for herself.

With a last jerk to the window shades that made sure of their aligned placement over the large windows just behind them, she gave a resolute nod and turned back to the couch. It was time for some peace and quiet. Time for some...

'Pro-Wrestling? Huh?'

Several silent images flickered across the screen, one second showing a man dropping a much smaller one onto the blue mat, and in the next moment the larger brute was preparing to pile-drive him.

Even more disturbing, she got the sudden feeling she was no longer alone.

Her eyes leant her an immediate display of the culprit, sitting there like a space age Troll doll where she should have been sitting.

"Hey!" she exclaimed, frustration welling up into her face.

Vegeta was seated and resting his head against the back of the couch, now boredly sifting through different octaves of volume with the remote. One moment the volume would be so low that Bulma had to strain to hear it, but soon it would rise so high she felt the need to flinch and clap her hands over her ears. The process would then repeat itself. For Kami's sake , what the hell was wrong with him? Had he completely lost it? The Saiyan was almost slumped against sofa, but then again he held a certain royal air to the pose that somehow an ordinary human wouldn't be able to emulate. It was easy to understand that she wouldn't hear him enter the room, but now it just made plain sense on why she hadn't heard the television blaring while she worked on blocking out the irksome sun. The bastard had put the thing on mute before switching channels on her.

"What the hell do you think you are doing, Vegeta?" She stalked up to him, hands on her slender waist. Her face was contorted into a scowl, one that demanded an explanation. All these months, and she would be on her way to a record for the amount of words spoken towards him within such a small timeframe.

He didn't wager a look towards her, of course. Yes, she often forgot how insignificant she was to him, and it never failed to privately infuriate her. Why, she was the most influential woman on the planet, or damn close to it. If she had a rival, she didn't know of them. Still, he sat there for all the world like she was nothing but a lowly peon, unworthy of even the smallest hint of recognition on his part.

Putting her personal frustrations aside, she tried a third time for his attention. "VEGETA!" she screeched, "PUT THAT damn thing down so I can watch my show."

How... odd. She could swear she was still screaming at the top of her lungs, but then it dawned on her that the asshole had used the remote and the announcer's voice to completely drown out her entire tirade. The nerve of that... alien! No more Miss Nice Bulma.

The paranoia, the frustration of standing there while she heaved with unspent anger and clenched and unclenched bloodless, white fists... it all came to a head. She stormed forward, her eyebrows drawn dangerously low and together. Her left hand reached out to extract the remote from Vegeta's loose yet large grip. As soon as she had it from him, she was going to hit him over the head with it. Repeatedly. After that, she was going to stuff it up his ass and then laugh before she was incinerated...!

Ok, the ultimate punishment of such rash actions suddenly claimed her raging mind all too late. She regretted it sorely.

As she made contact with his hand in an attempt to grab the device of her grievance, he looked up at her. It was nearly shocking to see him do so after he had all but done his best to ignore her that whole while. Black eyes met blue, and his scowl mirrored her own save for the sadistic and cruel aspect of it that had always been present.

Bulma hung on a second of stagnant air, balancing herself in a posture that was upsetting her balance. She couldn't continue to keep it, bent over at the waist with all of her weight forward and set on one foot while she hovered over Vegeta. The blue-haired scientist began to wobble, but she also waited for the world to end at the same time. With the murderous look on his face that said all too well that she had come to close, entered his personal space and dared to threaten him when he had made it all too clear that her presence was unwanted, she knew it wouldn't be long before she was a smoking carpet burn.

He continued to stare at her, but for some reason he didn't fall through on the intent of violence his expression promised.

It was simply shocking when he let go of the remote, stood up in the blink of an eye, and stood beside her. Her focus on anything else slipped, and so did her balance at the same time. As she fell forward, he grabbed an upper arm bruisingly and studied her as hard as he had before.

'Did he just stop me from falling on my face? He would have loved that! Ok, this is really creeping me out. Was it something he ate at lunch, maybe? I gotta talk with mom...'

"You can have the damned box if you want to watch more simpering fools like yourself sob over meaningless dalliances in their equally meaningless lives," he spat. "That sport you call wrestling is an even larger joke. You call that fighting? If I but raised a finger, I could..."

"You could what, blow them up? Send them into the next dimension? Oh, spare me," she interrupted with a roll of her eyes. In all honesty, his sudden speech took her aback even more. Just when she thought he wouldn't utter a word to her, too. In a way she was grateful they were on shouting terms again, it relaxed her paranoia in the most twisted of ways imaginable.

"Shut up, baka!" The grip on her arm tightened, and she yelped as pain signals shot through her body like ice in the veins. It was his turn to appear surprised when she emitted this sound, but the expression was only temporary before it was filtered out by his usual black look. The grip on her arm lessened, but still remained firm as he raised her arm. It was the same arm that had harbored the sprained hand, which was of course no longer sprained. He grazed his line of vision over it, and then raises his ebony eyes to hers. Then, with no apparent reason, he dropped her arm completely and took several steps back in what could only be described in the blink of an eye to her.

As she absently rubbed the throbbing flesh where his hand had latched on seconds prior, she winced and muttered. "Damn you, Vegeta. I just don't get you."

"You're healed." It was all he said.

"Yeah, I was a couple of months ago. Didn't notice? I'm not surprised."

He had no answer for that.

"Get the hell out of here, Vegeta. Leave me alone. Go train or eat or do whatever the hell you have to do. Just leave me alone." Right then, she meant it. She didn't want to see him again anytime that night, or even all week. Perhaps she would be quite happy without him at all. The ache in her arm was becoming a dull one. The silence between them lengthened, and then dispersed as his clouded expression intensified.

"Gladly," he said, all at once gone with a rush of air.

Bulma stood in the living room, once again alone. Something was different with him, and she couldn't put her finger on it. Why did he seem so... changed? She got away with another confrontation, much like their last in this very room. The only difference was that now she was the proud owner of a ringed bruise that was yet to make a true appearance, not a sudden sprain. Did this mean Vegeta was getting soft? Not likely, although she was apt to begin to believe that he was actually easing up on her somewhat after that last incident. Thank Kami.

Despite this, she sat down and turned off the television set with her hard-earned trophy in hand. After that was done, the remote was dropped down on the cushion next to her. She forgot completely about her soap and sat for several long hours into the night, thinking on things yet to come.

_______________________________________________________________________ _______

A/N: Hee. Here I bet you thought I disappeared completely off the face of this earth. Nope! I'm sorry to update almost exactly a year later, but.. I went through a lot of school, work, and changes. I wanna get this fic done, and I never planned to give up on it. It'll get done, trust me! Sorry about the short chapter, and still there is no mention of stuff with Kit Karr and those other guys.. have no fear! I'll get to them in the next chapter, which will be longer. Ciao for now and thanks for still sticking with me (if you have)!