Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Event Horizon ❯ Expectations ( Chapter 5 )

Event Horizon: Chapter Five

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' (Inka and Dr. Briefs now have a story pic, located at http://www.mediaminer.org/user_info.php?id=62164. Just scroll down and select the fanart title 'Dr. Briefs and Inka' from the list. Thanks!

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Capsule Corporation, Bulma's Laboratory...

"Stupid, stupid, stupid."

That same mental litany had repeated itself throughout Bulma's mind the past hour. It was only now that she voiced it, even though there was no one to hear her frustrations.

Stupid, Stupid, Stupid...!

"Arghh!" Bulma shot up, her spine righting itself into a vertical pole that held her entire body locked in place. Alright, so it had been a mistake to try to clamp a sheet of metal down to the edge of her workbench. No matter which way she struggled with it, the clamp would either ignore her weak attempts to open it enough to pin it to the metal, or else it would spring apart altogether like some inanimate leapfrog and end up somewhere on the floor. This left her bending over at the waist to retrieve it, often standing up and walking a few paces to the newest spot the flippant tool had taken a fancy to. She would then return to her chair, and the nauseating cycle would start up all over again.

Stupid thing! I didn't come here to do stomach crunches!

Her father had had a good point. She had gone from being nimbly dexterous to the comparable equivalent of someone giving a thread and needle to a chimp with rubber gloves on. It was the first time that she had even tried to work around her laboratory with the sprain woefully intact. Unfortunately, things just weren't going her way.

Working one-handed was a lot tougher than she could have ever realized, but she was far too stubborn to admit it to anyone. She was Bulma Briefs, and she had it all. Brains, beauty, money and fame. Why should she admit that she needed help in the one aspect that gave her a tremendous source of pride?

Sure, she wouldn't hesitate to call on Goku or Yamcha if she were being chased by a gigantic reptilian. Hell, she would probably do more than just call.

...But to ask them or anyone else for help in an area where her own technical genius came into play? No way. That was the one place where she stood out from the others. Without it, she would feel pretty close to nothing.

I mean, Kami, even Chi-Chi has some fighting ability! Without my inventions, what am I worth?

With that depressing thought, Bulma threw down the clamp she had been holding in her good hand. Her sprain was resting in her lap, worthless for what she expected of it.

Damn you, Vegeta. I wouldn't be in this position if you weren't around.

It was all his fault, of course. She would never forgive him, never in a million years. Even though the sprain would heal over a course of a month or so, Bulma would never find it in herself to forgive the action that led up to it. Telling him so to his face would no doubt give her a trail of mocking laughter, so therefore she contented herself to the fact that one day Vegeta would need help. It would be a certain help that only she could provide, and when that time came she wouldn't lift a finger for him. It wouldn't be something so frivolous like repairing the GR or keeping the fridge constantly stocked.

No, it would be something important to him. No matter what threats he might bestow upon her, she would make sure to refuse him. He was more than deserving of it, where as she was not.

Leaning back into the steel-framed chair parked in front of her favorite work bench, Bulma reveled in the sound of grinding metal as the chair protested her shift in weight by creaking for all it was worth. She ignored it, save for the slight mental note made about oiling the chair's joints later. All thoughts of Vegeta discreetly slipped from her mind as she once again focused upon the clamp laying forebodingly atop the metal workbench before her. It almost seemed to be goading her, daring her to pick it up yet again and clumsily attempt to join it and a small sheet of stiff metal that she needed for the side of a fuse box. The fuse box itself was to be a safety backup for a new generator she planned to install in the Gravity Room. It would keep a certain houseguest that happened to side with nasty tendencies from going on a killing spree should a blackout ever occur.

She reached out, her fingertips grazing the cool metal surface of the orange clamp. The metal was beginning to rust in a few spots, but it was generally a good tool. Bulma hated to throw out useful tools simply for the fact that they weren't pleasing to the eye. New ones were nice, but they just didn't contain the charm of an old one until they had aged through time and work.

"Need any help there?"

The feminine voice from behind caught her unaware. She swung around in one quick motion, the chair beneath her nearly squealing from the abuse provided by the sudden rotation. "Who's there?"

"Forgive me, I did not mean to frighten you..." It was Ms. Jet. Ms. Jet? Didn't she have a first name? It didn't matter just then, because just the sight of the woman brought back all of Bulma's feelings of inadequacy.

"What do you want?" Her voice was clipped and curt, even to her. She really hadn't meant it that way, but it was already out.

The raven-haired hireling of her father's stood there in the automated doorway to Bulma's lab, appearing unsure. She began to back out, ducking her head a bit like a dog might when displaying submissive behavior. "I didn't mean to intrude, but Dr. Briefs insisted I stop to check up on you."

The blue-eyed scientist's cheeks flushed red with anger. "When will he get it? I don't need any checkups or help whatsoever. I shouldn't have even told him about this..." She stuck up her bandaged wrist poignantly. She seemed to be doing that far too often for even her own liking.

"He is worried about you." Ms. Jet said succinctly, pausing before adding, "Even the best of scientists cannot do much physically with one hand." Her words were rational enough, but Bulma still refused to see the logic. It did make her hesitate, however.

"I know he is, but that doesn't give him any right to assign me an assistant. I would have asked if I wanted one."

"There is a large difference between needs and wants." There was no chastising tone in Ms. Jet's tenor, only bare truth. Without asking for an invitation, the woman finally worked up enough courage to step fully inside Bulma's sanctuary. She walked calmly over to the workbench, where Bulma sat. Gesturing idly to the clamp and sheet metal lying across the worktable, she inquired, "Have you had any luck in getting this set up yet?"

"No..." Bulma's answer did nothing to disguise the sudden wariness she felt for the woman.

Again without asking, Ms. Jet reached across Bulma and retrieved the items in question. "I can put them together for you, all you have to do is instruct me in..."

"No!" Her second 'no' was an outcry of righteous indignation this time around. With one mighty push, Bulma was on her feet with one hand on her hip. "I told you, I don't need..." The ire in her voice was quickly lopped off as Ms. Jet quietly secured the clamp upon the sheet metal, fastening it tightly to the edge of the work bench.

"There.." Ms. Jet straightened up, eyeing her accomplishment with a small hint of satisfaction chasing across her emerald eyes. She pushed aside a wave of ebony locks, canting her head to one side to redirect her gaze to Bulma. A small smile pushed its way upward along the line of her lips by means of a friendly gesture, as if hoping for Bulma's approval on the matter.

She was to be greatly disappointed.

Bulma rubbed her eyes with her good hand, sighing in exasperation. "What did I tell you...? Please, it would make me feel a lot better if you just left me to this." Before Ms. Jet could respond properly, Bulma had already made a hasty addendum to her first request, "I know it isn't reasonable to work in here with one hand, but if I take things slowly I can get a little done.."

"But what about the quality of your work? Your father instructed me to remain here and assist you with motor activity that can't be accomplished through the work of one hand. All you need to do is tell me what needs to get done."

Bulma had had enough. "Look, Ms. Jet..."

"Call me Inka if you wish." Ah, so that was her first name.

"Ok Inka, read my lips... I understand why you have to be here, but I don't need help. Got it?"

The woman had up to this point been polite and courteous, but something iced her over. Her green eyes narrowed, cutting like shards of malachite into Bulma's. In a manner that hinted at restrained anger, Inka nodded tersely and spun on her heel. Tight-lipped and quiet for a march of minutes, no words passed between the two women as they both regarded their options.

One was bound by duty, the other by pride. Both were formidable obstacles.

In the end, duty relented and pride conquered. "If you truly wish me to leave you to your own devices, then I shall abide by your insistence. On the other hand, I will not be responsible for the failure to comply with Dr. Briefs' wishes..."

"Aw, Dad knows how I can be. He will understand. If you are worried about getting in trouble, don't."

"Alright." Twisting around at the waist, Inka scowled minutely at Bulma and shook her head. In the next moment, her high-heeled shoes were tapping towards the automatic doorway.

"What was that for?"

Ms. Jet froze in mid-step, a smile curving at her lips. She spoke evenly without turning around. "You remind me of myself. Determined to have your way."

Huh?

Before Bulma could reply to that, Inka had turned the corner and the double doors were already beginning to swish shut.. The confusion she felt at the dark-haired woman's parting shot caused her to stand there for some time further with a pensive expression on her face. What had she meant by that? There was definitely something she didn't like about the way that woman had said it, just something in the context alone that left her with the chills.

Frowning, Bulma mentally shrugged off the feeling. She had far more pressing matters to concern herself with, rather than pick apart some offhand comment.

...And that was when the big joke rained down upon her; no, she really didn't have something much better to do.

Returning to her desk, Bulma reached for the readied clamp, now in place and holding the sheet metal to the edge of the wooden table. Halfway in-between this endeavor she stopped, deciding not to remove it after all. With all the luck she had been having lately, the damn thing would spring apart at a touch and fly right for her face.

She would just have to leave it for now and find something else to occupy her time. She could be stubborn, but when it came to inflicting herself with further injury, well... she simply wasn't that stupid or even that desperate. With a little sigh of temporary defeat, Bulma left her lab via the same route Ms. Jet had just taken.

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A Few Days Later, Somewhere in West City...

"Ah, yes. Ms. Karr. It is so nice to see you again."

"Cut the crap. You asked to see me?"

"Tsk, tsk. Do you always talk to everyone in this manner?"

"No, only you." Kit Karr stood with an erect posture before a rather large, Victorian desk. Behind it sat a man cloaked in shadow, as so often was his way of presenting himself. Running a hand through the shock of orange hair covering her scalp, the young woman awaited the large man's terms with subdued impatience.

"My, my. You are a mouthy one, aren't you? I'd hate to wash it out with soap." A contorted mixture of laughter accompanied by a contemptuous snort followed, leaving the man behind the desk to stroke his stomach. There was something very special inside, something only he and a few other unmentionables knew about...

Kit Karr's eyes flashed with livid heat. "Don't play with me. You asked me to be here, now what do you want?"

"It sure seems to me that your newfound lap of luxury has been more than kind to you. It has spoiled you, even." The man cocked his head to one side, much like an inquisitive dog. This was the only parallel, exempt from any names that he might be handed in association with dogs in general. The feral light in his black eyes shouldered up to the pearly brandishing of his front teeth. "Do you wish to return so quickly to where we first found you, Ms. Karr?"

Alarmed, the woman frantically shook her head. "No, sir." Her change in behavior was to be expected; the man knew which strings to pull and when. A few exchanged comments from the men standing guard over the ornate office doors behind Kit Karr caused her to fidget, her rage coming into play once more.

"At least now she knows her place," one chuffed.

"Eh, they all do and should," the other remarked snidely, "Barefoot and pregnant, or pawns for us men!" Both laughed.

"SILENCE!" The traded commentary behind Kit Karr was effectively quelled, leaving both guards with an ashen pallor and stricken faces.

Kit Karr swallowed, the sound engulfing her eardrums and ricocheting within her head. It had become nauseatingly silent. The man behind the desk finally stood, taking slow hobbles around the right side of the sprawling desk. "You will not make such foolish remarks in my presence about such a... precious state." Once again, his burly hand passed over the distinct bulge of his stomach; drawing horrified eyes down to the place his extremity glided across with loving ease.

Kit Karr fought the urge to spill her lunch, as hard as she would if she were fighting an opponent. She had no idea that things had proceeded this far, or if that it was even possible. The guards behind her could be heard, just barely. Their sharp intakes of breath and muddled, broken phrases of shock were not beyond notice. The young woman was beginning to feel the first pangs of a deep queasiness at the base of her gut. Gripping her stomach violently, Kit Karr turned away from the sight of her superior.

...Who was currently very, very pregnant.

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Capsule Corporation, The Briefs' Estate...

It was nearing the end of the day again, and Bulma Briefs had just finished reminding her father exactly how much she had appreciated Ms. Jet's presence in her lab. Or at least failed to.

Their argument had ended in a drawn out silence, to the point that Bulma had turned around and left. Ms. Jet had thankfully gone home hours before, so there was no chancing that she might walk in upon a feud contesting whether she stayed or went. To tell the truth, Bulma wasn't sure who had won their little fight. Her kind father, whom she looked up to more than anyone else on Earth, had actually raised his voice to her. He had been worried, he said. She had rebuked this notion by mentioning her status as an adult, yet he bore on that she was never too old to be 'his little girl'. Whatever.

Plopping herself down upon the sofa in the living room with a large lack of grace, Bulma sprawled out so that her arms lined up along the back of the couch on either side of her body. Her chin tipped back, and she stared blankly up at the ceiling for several minutes while mulling over what there was left to do. Her mother was in the kitchen, preparing supper. Her father was still in his lab, most likely in some bad huff like she was. And Vegeta...

Vegeta was just walking in. The sound of a door swinging open in the foyer and then shutting firmly first alerted her to this fact, but she hadn't paid it much attention. Now he was there, crossing over into the living room. Stopping adjacent to the coffee table, the Saiyan bent down to swipe up the remote control to the big screen television set. This action alone caught Bulma's full attention. Vegeta wasn't one to watch television much, but when he did it was interesting to see what he liked to view.

Vegeta hit power, bringing the television to life in a roar of static fuzz. He flinched, causing Bulma to smirk. Swiftly changing channels, Vegeta continued to behave like he was the only person in the room. Never once did he give a passing glance down to the teal-haired woman with the puffed perm on the couch. In a way this annoyed her, but she could easily recall her solemn vow to stay out of Vegeta's way, no matter what the cost. He seemed intent on keeping his end of the bargain, too.

So the two stayed like that, Bulma observing Vegeta sift through the hundreds of television channels. This went on for about five or so minutes, and at the end of this time Vegeta seemed convinced that nothing suited his interest. He muttered something unintelligible about 'primitive human entertainment' and tossed the remote control to Bulma.

Unfortunately, she would never be able to tell if he meant to hit her in the forehead with it or not.

She was leaning towards 'meant to'.

"Owww!" She rubbed her temple recklessly, trying to soothe the hollow ache that resounded there. "Vegeta!" The remote had rebounded off her skull, landing neatly in her lap.

"What?" A smirk twitched into place, leaving him appearing amused by her outburst.

"You damn well know what!" Bulma snapped, eyeing him angrily. "What the hell was that for?"

"What do you think? It was an accident, just like all of your 'accidents' prior to this one."

"Like hell it was!" She raised a fist, causing him to bellow with laughter.

"Why sit in front of a T.V. when all the real entertainment is here?"

Bulma scowled, now taking the time to massage her forehead in small circles. She had feared getting knocked in the head from the spring clamp back in her lab... it just figured that she would take a hit one way or another. "You have some real problems, Vegeta. Those really were accidents. What you did just now isn't!"

He quieted a bit, but that infuriating smirk never faded. "You humans have a phrase you use... an 'eye for an eye', I think?"

There was an unexpected calm that descended upon them then, the stillness only interrupted by the constant ticking of a grandfather clock located to one side of the sofa. At long last, it was Bulma who broke it first. "If you see it that way, you should have all of your ki removed for six weeks. Then you will know how it feels."

He seemed completely perplexed by the odd remark. "What are you mumbling about now, woman?" His hands went to his hips while he towered over her, still standing. It seemed he was preparing himself for another long, verbal spar with her.

"My sprain.. my.." She pulled her injured wrist off the back of the couch, dropping it into her lap. Two pairs of eyes followed the movement, both of black and blue coloration.

Much like her wrist.

"Spit it out, woman! I don't have all day for your insipid mumbling."

"You sprained my wrist, remember?" Her soft voice floated up around them, oddly calm and collected for once. "I can't even work in my lab anymore without... help." She spat out the word, disgusted by it. "...And I don't want any, either."

"Good. Your point?"

She stared up at him bleakly. Oh, why the hell was she even trying!? Why was she even trying to make him understand? She had sworn against doing just that. All she would have to do was bide her time and then... but wait. Was she really that type of person? She had been mad back in her laboratory, and therefore she was not thinking clearly. But now her answer was as translucent as a window.

No, she was not one to wait and strike like some traitorous cobra. She would tell him now, should he care or not. She was counting on the latter, anyhow.

"You don't get it. If I don't have help, I can't work in there at all. I can't do anything that requires attention to detail with one hand, which most of it does. You took that away from me."

He didn't respond, in fact, he looked vaguely detached from his very self within the room. Without looking at her, he turned a gaze out to the front windows, which gave a nice view of the Capsule Corp. front yard. As though it was hard for him to do so, he stated, "So you can't repair the GR if it breaks down?"

"Not for awhile. Dad can probably do it for you, but he is pretty busy as it is. Just be careful with it for the next month or so, ok?"

His gaze returned to her, and then dipped to review a previous observation of her hand. She returned his study, curious about his behavior. For Vegeta, he was acting really, really weird. It was giving her the creeps. Raising her good hand, she rose off the couch and waved it in his line of vision. "Earth to Vegeta..."

In the split second she had done that, he snapped up one his own hands to encompass the good one she was motioning in front of his face. "Do not even think to get near me, woman." No smirk played upon his face now. It was just the hard drill of his eyes on hers, with the heat of his hand offsetting the poor circulation of her own. They stayed like that for far longer than necessary, as if searching each other's eyes for something they could not find.

Bulma tugged at her hand, still held in place between their chests. Vegeta's strange behavior brought back the fear that he might indeed do something heinous to the one hand she still had left, leaving her sorely disabled for sure. "Uh, Vegeta? Let me go." She gave one last, sharp tug. He released her at the same time, shoving her back a few steps.

"Take that as a warning, woman. Do not cross me." In a whip of artificially created wind and a fuzz of quick motion, he was gone. Bulma raised her eyebrows, knitting them together.

Take what as a warning? Her sprain? Something else? The way he looked at her... oh, Kami. It wasn't for the first time that she noticed just how attractive Vegeta was. Anyone would have to be a fool not to see his physical appeal.

It was too bad that didn't matter much in the bigger scope of things. Even a kitten was cute until it showed its claws. Vegeta was no kitten, but he sure knew how to use the proverbial claws. Bulma scowled daggers into the carpet until her eyes burned and watered around the edges.

Damn him.

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A/N: Well, there is Chapter 5. As I said in the disclaimer above, I drew a picture of Inka and Dr. Briefs, in the scene of Chapter 4 where Dr. Briefs introduces Ms. Jet to Bulma. Hope you guys like it! R&R, as always! I kind of like knowing if people still want to follow this story. Thanks! : )

~Bura/Burah