Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ FROM BAD TO WORSE... ❯ Safe Haven ( Chapter 12 )

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

Last Chapter: Seeking refuge in the house of Dorothy Pereaux, Vegeta is forced
to pay the price for Bulma's whereabouts with the last of his physical and
mental reserves. Reunited with the heiress at last, he collapses at her feet.
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FROM BAD TO WORSE...
Chapter Twelve

With the cab drivers help, Bulma managed to get the unconscious Saiyan
into the backseat where she settled in beside him, cradling his head in her lap.
He was burning up with fever and shivering in his wet clothes.

The cab driver observed her distress from the front seat. "Capital City
Hospital is only a couple of blocks away. Do you want me to take you there?"

"Vegeta?" Bulma soothed the mussed hair away from his perspiring brow.
"Vegeta, do you hear me?"

He made one low moan of acknowledgement and resumed his helpless shaking.
It hurt her beyond words to see him reduced to this sorry state while she had
spent the last two weeks living it up in a rich suite. The pang of guilt she
felt was unreasonable, she had been looking for him. It was apparent she hadn't
tried hard enough.

"Miss?" the cabbie interjected. "The guy needs a doctor."

Bulma remembered that the Hammorski kept a doctor on retainer to help keep
those embarrassing little drug over-doses and out of control spousal arguments
out of the local tabloids. The Plaza had a reputation of being utterly scandal-
free but it wasn't because of the stability of its guest-list. "Take me back to
the hotel."

"But-"

"Do it!" she snapped.

Grumbling, the cab driver pulled away from the curb and drove swiftly back
into the middle of the Capital. When they reached the front of the Plaza Bulma
explained the situation to the doorman who immediately rushed inside to inform
the night manager. Well aware of the status of the Briefs, the manager himself
came out in the rain and helped her with the Saiyan's limp form, the both of
them looping one of his arms around their necks and carrying him inside. Bulma
was grateful for the late hour. Aside from a few porters and security guards,
their passage to the elevator went largely unnoticed.

"I must say, Miss Briefs. Quite the impressive company that you've elected
to bring back," the manager quipped as they rode up to the fifty-eighth floor
where her suite lied.

"He may not look like it right now but this man is a prince. If he were
awake he'd kick your ass for the tone you're using," Bulma told him in a cold
voice.

Visibly paling, the manager amended in a more humble tone, "I meant no
offense. I was only attempting to lighten the mood-"

"Can it. The last thing I want to hear is your ass-kissing. What's the
word on the doctor?"

"Fortunately, he's all ready in the building responding to
another...crisis. My staff is paging him as we speak. He should arrive at your
suite within the hour."

Bulma absorbed the news with one curt nod and the man took the hint and
kept his own mouth shut. When they arrived at her suite, the pair settled Vegeta
into the bedroom and the manager wisely took his leave, not bothering to wait
around for a tip.

Alone together Bulma tried again to rouse the Saiyan to no avail. He was
still shivering and she decided to get him out of his wet clothes and under some
warm blankets. She removed his jacket first, examining the faded bloodstains and
tears in the fabric with disbelief. The coat had been practically brand new
before Vegeta had left Capsule Corp. and now looked ready for the garbage bin.
From the looks of the rest of his tattered clothes it appeared as if he had been
living in them for quite awhile. When she unbuttoned his shirt, she winced at
how much weight he had lost in only two weeks. At the height of his training he
had gained an impressive amount of muscle but now he was back to that lanky
resilient form he'd had on Namek. She could see faint bruises on his face and on
various spots on his body and couldn't submerge the thought that it looked as if
he had been mugged. The way he had been seeking refuge in the tree as he had
waited for her was the action of a man desperately trying to hide. It wasn't an
observation that gave her any assurance.

She pulled off his shoes and socks and, after a moment's deliberation,
decided that the damp jeans had to go. At any other time Bulma probably would
have looked forward to the act but the circumstances were too grim to play the
voyeur. Getting him under the covers, she unbuttoned his jeans by touch alone,
not surprised as her inquiring fingers connected with his bare hip and she
pulled them off by the cuffs. Vegeta didn't bother himself with that
boxer/briefs scenario and chose to go commando, an entertaining tidbit of
information the Capsule Corp. nurse had gifted her with in the aftermath of the
gravity simulator explosion. Bulma was actually wearing an odd smile on her face
as she stared down at him before her roving thoughts (and eyes) were interrupted
by a knock at the front door.

When she opened it she found a middle-aged, disheveled, stubble-faced
doctor who looked as if he wanted to be anywhere else on earth than here. He
nodded in greeting and immediately asked about the ailing patient, not in the
mood for any small talk. Bulma led him into the bedroom and sat nervously on the
far side of the bed watching as the man began his examination.

She knew she was going to be in for a rough time of it when the doctor
pulled out the blood pressure cuff and wrapped it around the Saiyan's upper
right arm and promptly exclaimed, "Holy SHIT!" when he looked at the read-out.

Straight-faced, Bulma calmly asked, "What's it say?"

"230 over 120! That can't be right!"

"Actually, that's low for him," she remarked and at the doctor's
incredulous expression she added, "Trust me, it gets weirder."

Vegeta's temperature was 116 degrees F and his heart rate was a mere
twenty-nine beats a minute in his rested state. Bulma knew from check-ups after
the gravity simulator incident that his normal temperature hovered around 112
degrees so it proved that something was wrong. They just had to figure out what.

Stepping back, the doctor fixed her with a helpless glance. "I don't know
what I'm supposed to be looking for. By all rights this man should be dead with
symptoms like these. He needs to be admitted in a hospital immediately."

"I'm telling you that everything except the temperature is normal for him.
He collapsed earlier, I want to find out why."

Exasperated, the other man asked, "Do you at least have a theory I can
start with?"

"He has a history of neglecting himself when he's pre-occupied. I've seen
him go six days without food or water and this time he went missing for two
weeks. I think he was in a fight. Work with that," she instructed.

It was clear from her manner that he wasn't going to get out of this suite
until he gave her some manner of assurance on her strange companion and, truth
be told, the physician's interest was piqued. He rummaged in his bag and then
lifted Vegeta's left eyelid and shone his flashlight in a brief pass before
moving onto the next. "Normal retinal reaction, that's good. There doesn't
appear to be any concussion." He opened the Saiyan's mouth and shone the light
inside. After a pause he remarked, "Your friend must have been involved in some
manner of confrontation. One molar was knocked out. Fairly recent by the look."

Alarm lit Bulma's features. "Really?"

"I wouldn't worry, it appears to be growing back," he said, casting her
one enigmatic look before resuming his inspection. With careful fingers he felt
his way along the Saiyan's midriff and when he pushed against the stomach he was
rewarded by a noticeable flinch. Gingerly, he pressed around the site until
Vegeta stirred under his touch, his features contorted in discomfort. A new look
dawned on the middle-aged man's face that finally replaced his perpetual
expression of displeasure.

"What's wrong with him?" Bulma felt prompted to ask.

"The diagnosis is difficult with your friends...unique physiology," he
said, pulling down one of Vegeta's lower eyelids and seeing the sickly yellow of
the bottom half of the cornea. "The neuropathy is similar to malnutrition and a
vitamin deficiency. Has there been any cramping or delusions?"

"I-I don't know."

"You said that he collapsed earlier."

"His legs gave out on him when he tried to move away-"

The doctor was nodding. "Muscle weakness in the lower extremities is
common to a severe B-complex deficiency. His tongue is off-color and the corneal
jaundice is indicative of anemia. I can't be certain without some blood work-"

"I'll take your word for it, doctor," Bulma assured him. "Is this
serious?"

"If left unchecked he could die just from thiamine deficiency alone. I'm
amazed with that blood pressure reading he hasn't suffered an ischemic stroke!"

"He's pretty tough," was all she could say on the matter.

He uttered a noncommittal grunt as he pulled out a prescription pad and
began to scrawl on it. "I'm recommending parenteral B-complex supplements and
thiamine capsules. I'm also adding an antihypertensive prescription for
nitroglycerin tablets, more for my own peace of mind than yours. Despite all of
this he appears in excellent physical shape so my advice would be to get him out
of bed and have him walk around as soon as he's able."

"I don't think that's going to be a problem," she told him honestly,
accepting the prescription paper from him and glancing at it. There were five
different medications written on it in the man's illegible script.

Packing up his few belongings, the older physician instructed her, "You
can give him aspirin for the fever and liquids but what he needs most is
adequate nutrition. Start him off with broths, as much as he can tolerate and as
he gets stronger, adjust the menu accordingly. If you don't see any improvement
in four or five days have the front desk page me."

"Thank you, doctor." Bulma was picking up her purse but he shook his head
at what she was about to offer and actually betrayed a thin-lipped smile as she
opened the door for him.

"This was a far cry from treating some over-the-hill actors' suicide
attempt or someone's drug overdose. Miss, you and your companion there have made
my night," he told her and left the suite in suitably better spirits then when
he arrived.

>>>>>
By the next evening Vegeta was still in a deep, unresponsive sleep and
Bulma's worry intensified. She had room service send up a bowl of chicken soup
and a couple of roast beef sandwiches and carried them on a tray and set them on
the nightstand beside the bed. She was going to get the Saiyan to eat even if
she had to force feed him to do it, the irony of that particular scenario was
not lost on her but she was too worried to dwell on it. Leaving the room for one
fortifying cigarette out on the balcony, she took a couple of deep breaths and
returned to the bedroom.

She found the Saiyan sitting up and drinking the last of the hot soup
straight from the bowl. The sandwiches were long gone. "Vegeta?" she asked, the
first smile in days easing the lines that had only recently cut themselves into
her face.

Slurping down the last of the contents, he held the bowl out to her.
"More," he demanded.

Four more bowls and seven sandwiches later he appeared to finally be
snapping out of his desperate hunger and actually taking the time to chew his
eighth sandwich as he looked around the bedroom. His eyes fell on Bulma who was
sitting beside him on the bed. "Where am I?" he asked gruffly.

"You're in my hotel suite at the Hammorski Plaza."

"Why aren't you back home?"

Pursing her lips at the mention of Capsule Corp. she said, "I still
haven't talked to dad over the way he treated you."

"That was..." He tried counting backwards through all of the blank periods
in his recent memory.

"Fourteen days ago," she told him.

"And you're still pissed?"

Crossing her arms, she awarded him with her profile. "You aren't the only
person who can hold a grudge, y'know."

Looking at her in surprise he finally released a snort of amusement and
she flashed him one of her brilliant smiles in return. He was astonished to
realize how much he had missed her and that realization was completely
unexpected. He was about to say something when a lance of pain galvanized him
and he curled into a contorted ball as his stomach rebelled to his large meal.
Struggling to keep those precious calories down he actually grayed out for a few
moments. When he slowly pulled out of the debilitating spell he was aware of
Bulma pressed up beside him, running a gentle hand through his hair as if he was
an ailing pet.

"What's wrong with you, Vegeta?" she dared to ask.

Wiping the sweat out of his eyes with a shaking hand, he rasped out,
"V'Nhar."

"...Vehnear?"

He scowled at her mutilation of such a simple two-syllable word. "It
translates to mean; the Hunger. A Saiyan's system can turn in on itself when he
fails to eat enough to sustain it. The ki becomes consumed instead."

"Does that mean you're powerless?"

He rewarded her question with one of his distrustful glares and she had to
sigh at the mere sight of it. "Okay, it's none of my business. I can take a
hint. Honestly, Vegeta! I thought you were finally starting to trust me on that
day in the drafting department."

"A lot has happened in a short time," he said in a low voice.

Nodding in agreement, she placed a hand on his forehead as she asked, "Why
did you let yourself get so run down?"

He quickly pulled away from her touch. "I was busy."

"Hm. One track mind as always," she said without surprise. She rose and
began collecting the dishes off of the bed and nightstand. "You still have a
fever, so don't nod off on me. I have some pills I want you to take."

That dour expression was back on his face. "What kind of pills?"

"Aspirin, vitamin supplements and the like. I had a doctor take a look at
you last night. He said you were malnourished, if you can believe that."

Vegeta made no comment. "Who else knows I'm here?"

She had been in the process of leaving the room and now backed up several
steps. "I haven't talked to anybody yet. Why?"

"Keep a lid on it."

"Why?" Alarm lit her face. "What did you do, Vegeta?!"

"Don't yell at me. I didn't do anything wrong. That old prick father of
yours recruited your loser friends to hunt me down. I had to spend a day
sleeping in the bushes like a bum so they wouldn't find me. Shit, if it hadn't
been for that three-eyed freak I wouldn't have had to-to-" He realized he had
almost told her what had happened with Dorothy Pereaux and shut his mouth as he
reined in his temper. "I don't want you to tell anyone I'm here," he finished.

Bulma was openly gaping at him. "My dad wouldn't...he-he would never-"

"-Fire my ass? Forbid me to see you? I mean it, woman. Keep quiet on this
or I'll leave right now."

Her mouth worked but no sound came out. There was no lie that she could
see in the ebon depths of his eyes and she certainly couldn't ignore the sorry
state he was in. Remembering back how he had been hiding in the tree as he
waited for her, she knew that whatever the real reason behind her father's
actions, he believed it to be true. "You have my word, Vegeta. I won't tell a
soul."

He stared at her for a long moment and then dropped his eyes and offered
her a nod, visibly relaxing. She went into the living room and replaced the
dishes on the cart and wheeled it outside of the suite for the porter to
retrieve later, hardly aware of what she was doing. Could her father have done
what he told her? Was he still that angry? she thought worriedly. If it wasn't
such a late hour she would call her mother right now and try and get some
insight into what was happening. She debated doing it anyway when Vegeta came
sauntering into the living room and that got her mind back on track.

"I can see I'm going to have to invest in some duct tape to see that you
stay in bed," she said crossly.

Ignoring her, he resumed his inspection of the plush surroundings and
stopped when he reached the closed doors of the balcony. "I didn't know we were
this high up," he commented, intrigued by the view. The Capital was far more
appealing from this vantagepoint then from an alley. Heights were always a
comfort to him; it allowed some distance for rumination and offered the
isolation that he required to recover.

He looked over at Bulma who was opening various pill bottles and carefully
reading their labels. This was the third time that she had come to his aid now
in his pathetically short time on Earth. This time she had left her home and
alienated her family and apparently had done it just for him.

Why?

"Here, take these," she said, offering him a handful of pills and a glass
of water. She was expecting a prolonged debate or even a sarcastic response
about archaic human medicines. Instead he took them from her and swallowed them
without argument and went back to looking at the view.

Flattered by the gesture of trust, she stood beside him and, after a
period of meditative quiet, remarked, "It's really a pretty sight, isn't it?"

His lips twitched. "I keep expecting to see explosions or bon-fires. This
peacefulness is...unnerving. I'm supposed to destroy cities, not live in one."

"That part of your life is over, Vegeta. You're living on Earth now," she
told him as gently as she could.

He dropped his eyes to the floor and said nothing. In the back of his mind
he could hear Radditz growling, 'You're a failure in everything you've ever
done. The reason you're at the mercy of this mudball is because you were too
weak to conquer it.'

Sensing his indecision she attempted to make him feel better with; "It's
going to take some time to learn to adjust to living here with all of its
strange customs and ideals. I'm here for you and I'm not going anywhere. We can
make this work together."

"Why do you even give a damn?" he asked bluntly. "You used to hate me like
all of the others. What changed?"

Without hesitation, she answered, "You did."

"Me?"

Nodding, she betrayed a small smile as she explained it further. "You're
not the same megalomaniac who tried to destroy the earth. You aren't that mean-
spirited shit who tried to get the Dragonballs on Namek either-" A muscle jumped
in his jaw at the mention of those magical orbs but she didn't notice. "All of
those malicious traits died when you did. I believe in second chances and new
beginnings and that's what you've been given. Don't you see that?"

Anger began to replace the doubt and confusion on his face. He turned away
from her and began to restlessly pace the room. "This is supposed to be an
improvement to my life? I've gone from one scenario where everyone feared me to
the exact opposite where I'm now on the run!"

"This is just a temporary thing-"

"The last person who tried to reassure me with that bullshit was my father
when he handed me over to Frieza. And THAT ended up lasting the next twenty
years!"

"I'm not your father," Bulma insisted. "I'm not going to turn my back on
you."

"Sure you will," he sneered back. "Because I'll end up either driving you
away or killing you. That's how this game is played. That's how it's always
been."

Visibly controlling her temper she considered his words thoughtfully,
reading between the lines and sensing his hurt and betrayal over past actions
that had left him wary and spiteful of any benevolent offer. "Trying to shake
twenty years of distrusting everyone isn't going to happen over night. I realize
that. Despite your threats I intend to stick around."

He was studying her very carefully. "You're offering me food, medicine and
shelter. What's in it for you? I've learned the hard way that nobody does
anything without a price tag attached."

Caught off guard, Bulma wasn't sure of what kind of answer he was fishing
for. "I-I just want to see you get healthy again-"

"Bah! All of you human's have ulterior motives," he spat at her. He dug
into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out the rumpled bills, throwing them on
the coffee table. "This is all I've got. Somehow, someway, I'll repay you back
for what you're doing."

Struggling with indignant tears, she said in a wounded voice. "I don't
want your money!"

For no good reason she could fathom, he shot back with; "I don't want it
either. Believe me."

He stamped back into the bedroom and found the adjoining bathroom and went
inside, shutting the door. Leaning over the sink he splashed cold water on his
flushed face and suddenly doubled over as another cramp seized him, bringing him
to his knees. He managed to move over to the edge of the bathtub and sat there
until the spell passed. The pain was brutal reminder that he couldn't pull one
of his infamous disappearing acts and expect to survive it this time. Like it or
not, he was stuck here. With her. It was disgusting just how truly vulnerable he
had become without Nappa nagging after him like an old nursemaid. Once he had
gotten out on his own he just hadn't seemed able to do anything right.

Radditz was back, whispering in his left ear. 'You murdered your own
bodyguard when he was too injured to defend himself. Now you're alone and it's
all your fault!'

"Fuck off," he told the empty room but the voice kept plaguing him,
eroding his self-confidence. He left the room to concentrate solely on going
back to sleep and found Bulma waiting outside of the door with an excited
expression on her face.

"What?" he grumbled.

"She found you!" Bulma was holding up the piece of paper that he had
discarded with the money. "Why didn't you tell me that she found you?"

He gave an irritated shake of his head. "Woman, what ARE you babbling
about?"

"This!" She unfolded the crumpled paper with her address on it,
practically shoving it into his face. "I gave this to Dorothy Pereaux yesterday-
"

"You-You-" he choked.

"-She told me not to get my hopes up high and yet she must have found you
soon after. I don't believe the luck! I mean, what are the odds that- Vegeta?
What's wrong? Vegeta!"

Struggling to breathe, the Saiyan dropped to the floor and gripped the
carpet with spasming fingers. His lungs felt closed off and uncooperative, as if
he were drowning and he fell writhing just as Bulma started screaming in his
ear.

Huh. For once her ear-shattering pitch of voice didn't hurt...

>>>>>
...Wake up, Chibi no Ouji, that gruff voice wheezed in his ear.

Vegeta snapped awake with a gasp and thrashed against the darkness that
enveloped him on all sides. He had died this time, he was certain of it but he
was damned if he was going to surrender to his fate without a fight.

There were garments around him (not chains?) and he tore them apart in his
haste to be free. Falling to the soft floor (not hot coals?) he continued his
frenzied struggles until a light came on revealing a richly furnished bedroom in
calming burgundy hues (where are the bloodstains?). A woman's voice was calling
his name over and over (where were the screams of agony?) and it finally dawned
on him that he wasn't in Hell after all.

"Where-" he forced a ragged breath into his lungs. "-am I?"

A woman appeared beside him and he scrambled away until his back was up
against the wall. He immediately raised his right hand with the palm up in an
instinctive gesture that was second nature to him. The woman pounced on him and
forced his arm down before he could summon up the ragged remains of his ki for a
blast. "Damn it, Vegeta!" she was yelling into his face. "It's me! Bulma! BUL-
MA!"

The face came into better focus and became recognizable. As realization
dawned he could only blink at her in puzzlement. Finally, it all came back in a
rush; the V'Nhar, no money, being on the run, the Pereaux woman-

"oh Christ," he rasped, taking his face in hands. Bulma was trying to pull
him up to the bed and he pushed her away. "Leave me alone."

"This has something to do with Dorothy Pereaux, doesn't it? Did she say
something to you? Was it something she did-" Bulma felt her body go cold as her
intuition began whispering its own suspicions. He had gone into a seizure at the
mere mention of the actress and she was relatively certain that insults weren't
part of the problem. In as level a voice as she could manage, she asked,
"Vegeta, what did Dorothy Pereaux do to you?"

Shaking his head he tried to get away from her but his back was up against
the wall, both literally and figuratively. There was no way out of this
situation but the one way that she was asking.

"Please, Vegeta," she whispered.

He couldn't even look in her direction so great was his shame. Grabbing
one of the discarded blankets he pulled it around himself to ward off the chill
that seemed to gnaw at his very bones. "She told me that getting her address
cost her a lot of money. I lost my wallet. There was only one way she would let
me..." He squeezed his eyes shut at the memory. "...pay for it." He braced
himself for the explosion to follow the terrible admittance. As that disquieting
silence stretched on he dared himself to look up at her and felt no relief when
he caught sight of the tears in her beautiful blue eyes. "Bulma...I-"

"You...did that to get my address?" she managed to get out.

"There was no enjoyment in the act for me," he told her roughly. "My
motivations were not the same as that cheating ex-lover of yours. So don't you
start comparing me to that-"

She rushed into his arms and held him in a suffocating embrace as she laid
her face against his shoulder and sobbed. Vegeta kept his arms limp beside him,
not know what was an appropriate response for what she was doing or even why she
was doing it. With his usual methodical manner of tearing all miniscule things
to pieces he could only reach one conclusion for her odd behavior: I
disappointed her. Just as he was about to launch into one of his tirades about
how he wasn't her property she pulled away from him and laid her hands on either
side of his face. She was actually smiling.

"I can't believe you did that for me."

He was opening his mouth to ask her what she was talking about when she
kissed him. Just as quickly as he felt her lips they were gone and she was
hauling him back up to the bed. "You're practically burning up! You have to get
back in bed right now. I'll go get some aspirin. I wonder when the pharmacy
opens, maybe they have a toll-free number-" she exited the room in a flurry of
anxiety leaving Vegeta staring after her in complete bewilderment.

"What the hell just happened?" he asked the empty room.

>>>>>
Less than an hour later, Bulma managed to get the Saiyan settled and he
fell back into a fitful sleep. She was sitting up beside him running her hand
gently along his stiff hair in a soothing caress. She really didn't understand
why Frieza and other enemies of the Saiyan's called the race space monkeys. They
were more like big cats to her; aloof, dangerous, unfathomable. Their forms were
deliberately agile, containing that quiet ferocity that could erupt at any
moment. This lone prince was the embodiment of all of those qualities. Even his
soft snoring came out sounding more like a purr.

He made that odd sound now as he shifted position and moved in closer to
her. The look of worry on her face eased a bit at the innocuous sound. The
expression returned when she looked at the rumpled address in her left hand.

She had willingly given this information to the Pereaux woman who had been
vindictive enough to use it to force Vegeta to sleep with her. Bulma knew she
was as much to blame here as anyone, having given the woman the ammunition she
needed to take advantage of someone unfamiliar of the customs of this world and
too sick and desperate to pursue any other course of action. She could not fault
him for doing it and realized that he had actually forfeited his pride in the
act just to be reunited with her. That gesture alone spoke volumes to Bulma. She
knew she would never hold it against him.

However, there was still a score to settle.

>>>>>
Early the next morning the doorbell rang at an affluent townhouse in the
Western Capital's wealthy north quarter. Upstairs, Dorothy was standing nude on
the bathroom scale staring that the read-out with an expression of complete
horror. "How the hell did I gain two pounds? What the f-?" The doorbell rang
again and she yelled after her housekeeper, "Carmilla! Would you do your damn
job for once and answer the bloody door?!"

There was no answering yell back and the actress resolved to fire her lazy
ass the next time the immigrant came out of whatever hidey-hole she had crawled
into. Pulling on her robe and tying it around her waist, Dorothy was still
cursing the scale as she went downstairs where the doorbell had been abandoned
in favor of a steady pounding.

"Water retention," she muttered to herself. "That's what it is. An hour in
the sauna should fix things right up."

She undid the locks to the door, too preoccupied to check the peephole
first. When she opened it she was unprepared for the fist that connected
squarely with her face.

Stumbling backwards, Dorothy held her mouth and ran into the backrest of a
chair, holding onto it for support. Calmly entering the house and closing the
door, Bulma advanced on her with a look of barely contained rage on her face.
"How's it feel to be hurt when your guard is down?" she hissed menacingly.

"You BITCH!" Dorothy shrieked. She touched her bottom lip and when she saw
the blood on her fingertips her eyes practically bulged out in shock. "I'm going
to sue your ass off for this!"

"Fine. You go get your little lawyer and I'll sic the entire Capsule Corp.
legal department on you. By the time they're done with you the only thing you'll
be starring in will be dogfood commercials."

Dorothy swallowed. When it came to real wealth or power she was a mere
pauper against the other woman and she at least had the intelligence to know it.
"What do you want?"

"Why did you lie to me?" Bulma shot back.

Even under these tense circumstances, the tall actress was unable to
suppress her triumphant grin of accomplishment. "So, the little man went
crawling to you after all. I'll be damned," she actually shook her head and
laughed. "Tell me, did he use the money I paid him and buy you a gift like I
told him to?"

Deliberately ignoring her, Bulma asked, "How could you take advantage of
him like that? He was down on his luck and sick as a dog-"

"He was sick? Damn." Bulma actually thought the woman was remorseful until
Dorothy added smugly, "If he was capable of that extra-ordinary performance
while he was sick I guess I should have kept him around awhile longer."

"You SLUT!" Bulma launched herself at the taller woman and the pair went
tumbling over the furniture and landed in a writhing ball in the middle of the
floor. Clumps of hair, both blue and black, drifted across ceramic tile like
miniature tumbleweeds, followed by Dorothy's robe. Spitting and hissing like a
pair of cats, the irate women tousled against one another with fingernails
bared. They didn't come to their senses until the housekeeper was back from
finishing her joint in the backyard and began hitting Bulma with the broom.

"Get her out of here!" Dorothy yelled at Carmilla, hastily retrieving her
robe. She had a couple of scratches from Bulma's nails but, thankfully, nowhere
near her precious face. "You'll get the bill from my plastic surgeon, you blue-
haired whore!"

"Who's the whore here? You tricked a man into screwing you because you
knew he'd never touch you any other way!" Bulma had to hold the front of her
blouse closed with one hand, having lost most of the buttons in the brawl. Her
left eye was watering and starting to close up. "It must make you feel really
superior to know he only did that so he could be with ME," she finished. This
time she was the only one of the two who was smiling.

Dorothy fell into a sullen silence at what she said and looked away in
disgust...and something more.

The housekeeper gave Bulma an urgent tug on her sleeve and she allowed
herself to be escorted to the door without argument. As she was walking down the
steps she was halted by; "Bulma."

Turning expectantly, she saw the disheveled actress standing in the
doorway looking a far cry from her usual immaculate public appearance. "What is
it?" she asked warily.

Dorothy appeared to consider the young heiress for a moment before she
spoke. "If it's any consolation...it was your name I heard him whisper at the
end. Not mine."

Bulma was still staring at the door long after the other woman had slammed
it shut.



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NEXT CHAPTER TO BE POSTED SATURDAY, OCTOBER 27, 2001 (!!Happy Halloween!!). If
you would like to be on the mailing list to receive notification of when new
chapters of this story are posted, please e-mail your request to:
darke_angelus@hotmail.com
------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------
Chapter Thirteen: Prepare to pucker up! Here's that 'Lemon' some of you have
been begging for! Of course, if you know me at all by now, do you HONESTLY think
that everything is going to go smoothly between Bulma and Vegeta? HAH!