Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Reciprocity ❯ Two Weaknesses ( Chapter 1 )

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, but I do own the content.

The wind whipped at Bulma's hair and she almost pitched forward, her heels slipping on some unknown on the floor of the outdoor bar and grill. She chuffed indignantly, except the clink and clatter of dishes and the din of Saturday night laughter quickly absorbed it.

"A Long Island, please!" She hollered down to the bartender, who seemed to register her request without acknowledging that she was there. With glass in hand, she took a sip and grimaced. "Stiff," she muttered, beginning to make her way back towards the table.

Yamcha's baseball team had made it to the playoffs, and all of their friends had been invited to celebrate. Not unexpectedly, the only ones that bothered to show up were Puar, Krillin, his blockheaded girlfriend Maron, Oolong, Roshi, and herself. She didn't miss the others-Tien, Piccolo, and Vegeta were party poopers anyway-but she was upset that Goku hadn't managed to drop by. Bulma suspected it had to do with his wife. Her eyes narrowed and she sipped angrily at her drink. Unfortunately, she didn't seem to be in the mood for fun tonight herself.

Bulma slid into the booth beside Krillin. "Where is everyone?" she asked, taking in the empty table.

Krillin, who appeared to have drunk enough to mistake the leather seat for a hammock, pointed towards the pool tables. She could barely make out Roshi and Oolong as they hovered outside a sloppily drunk cat fight. She scanned the crowd and located Yamcha, who was laughing and patting one of his teammates on the back as they racked pool balls. Puar was hovering in line for the bathrooms, casting anxious gazes at Yamcha.

Which brought her back to her displeasure with Goku's absence tonight. She understood that he was now a married man raising a family, training vigorously for the Android threat...but she resented ChiChi for chaining her normally free spirited, outgoing and oldest friend to Mt. Paozu. And although she wasn't ready to admit it, marriage, children, and isolation were distant and strange concepts that she was more than happy to avoid for the time being.

Whether or not they were overlooked, the transformations in Goku's life were impacting her as surely as the changes in her relationship with Yamcha. She sighed, watching Yamcha line up the cue ball and laugh in an exchange between a teammate and a group of girls that she was both literally and figuratively removed from. Things had changed between them. Since being revived, Yamcha was content spending all of his time on his baseball career, his friendships with his teammates, and his casual martial arts training. They were a couple by default these last few months since his revival, and it seemed like he had every intention of seeing their life continue in this manner. Sure, she had tried knocking him down a peg or two, but he was quickly defensive and easily frightened away from the discussion. He seemed totally unconcerned in addressing the way she was stewing like a pot left to boil over. Ever since the Saiyans...The Saiyans changed everything.

"I think I'm going to get going," Bulma heard herself say distantly.

Krillin turned toward her with a look of surprise. While she was submerged in thought, Puar had returned, and she looked at Bulma with concern.

"Tell Yamcha congratulations for me," Bulma requested impartially, as she scooted out of the booth.

It wasn't until she had stepped out onto the sidewalk that she resurfaced from the tangle of her emotions and realized, with only a little guilt, that she had just abandoned her boyfriend at his own party. The surf roared distantly behind the bar and grill as it retreated from and overwhelmed the sand over and over again. The creak of the palms stiffly swaying in the breeze punctuated the conversations of the people who passed her as if she weren't there. It was noticeably cooler since the sun had set, although still balmy.

She fingered the capsule case tucked inside her garter. Was all this emotional malaise and loneliness just her adjusting to getting older? Or maybe she was refusing to grow up? She slipped a capsule out and threw it into an empty parking space. When the smoke cleared, she slid on to her motorbike, her dress hiking dangerously, inciting hot blooded glances her way from groups of bored university boys. She slicked back the stray hairs from her face. Sweat was beginning to pool in between her breasts and down her back, causing the satin to cling to her.

She wanted nothing more than to be home, heaping whip cream and strawberries onto shortcake, watching reruns, maybe harassing her houseguest until she passed out on the couch. Just home. Deep blue clouds skittered across the violet night sky as she raced through West City, streaking past block after city block of indulgent nightlife. Tears obscured her visibility, the indistinct scenery matching her gritty and displaced mood. Her mad dash across the city was as enflamed as her desire for something wild, something or someone who would make her feel hungered for once again.

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After drifting up the drive and killing the motor, she capsulated her bike and headed for the front door of her home at Capsule Corporation. As she cut through the room in the dark, she glanced over the breakfast bar that divided the living room and the kitchen. The light over the kitchen island glowed softly. Underneath stood a figure straight out of Grecian myth. Vegeta stood feasting over a large roasting pan, still wearing his training shorts and sneakers. The muscles in his forearms and chest jumped as he picked apart the bird, fixing her with a stare.

"What a surprise to see you here," Bulma said dryly as she set her capsule case on the bar.

"Look what the cat dragged in," Vegeta replied through a mouthful of rotisserie chicken. Given his normally impeccable manners, she assumed he really just couldn't help himself when it came to her. He had resided at Capsule Corp for months now and his dedication to testing her knew no limits. His chest rose and fell as he quietly devoured the bird under the soft glow.

Heels clicking on linoleum, Bulma sidled over, leaned over him and swiped a sliver of dark meat. She was surprised she didn't get her hand bitten off, though she felt his eyes on her.

"Just how many drinks have you had?"

"As if it's any of your business." Bulma crossed her arms and tossed her head back. "I've only had one drink tonight, and it was one sorry Long Island. Are we playing 20 Questions?"

"You smell like a saloon, that's all."

Bulma's tone changed abruptly. "Oh. Can you smell my new perfume? I forget, your Saiyan senses are more sensitive than ours."

Vegeta choked a little. "I can smell a variety of odors on you. None of them pleasant."

"Well, some people appreciate the way I smell!" Bulma growled. Changing tactics, she quickly grinned and winked over one round, milky shoulder as she began raiding the cabinets for snack food. "I am a highly sought after woman, you know."

"Which clears up why the gravity room is busted again." Seeing her confusion, he continued. "There's nothing between your ears but air and exaggerated self importance."

"Vegeta," she scolded, leveling a glare at him and ignoring his retort. "I've told you multiple times. You can't engage the new operating system above 150 Gs!" She threw her arms in the air. "We can't afford to keep patching up the GR every time you're having a bad day!"

He chucked the foil pan, now dispatched of meat, into the trashcan and turned to wash his hands. "Who's saying I'm having a bad day? One look at your hair and I can have a chuckle for the next decade." He smirked.

"That's the pot calling the kettle black. I would have figured you'd respect my perm a little bit more. After all, your hair is just as tall, and it's as obnoxious as you are. At least I'm not dependent on mine to ride roller coasters."

Bulma pivoted on her small heeled foot, striding back through the living room and towards the stairs that led to the second floor bedrooms. She could practically hear the steam whistling out of his ears behind her. *Rule #52 When Living With A Saiyan Prince: No One Insults The Prince's Hairdo.*

Vegeta's steps pounded up the stairs behind her. "Woman! We haven't even discussed the Gravity Simulator. I expect it will be in working order when I wake up," he ground out.

"Vegeta, it's two o' clock in the morning," she lectured as she strode down the hall to her bedroom. "The only thing I'm doing with any certainty is taking a bath and then sleeping 'til noon."

"You better be kidding, woman."

Bulma abruptly turned on her heel inside her doorway, nearly causing a collision as the Prince measured the distance between them.

"I am not kidding. If you think I'm waiting on you hand and foot while you stay at Capsule Corporation, then you've got another thing coming." Bulma promptly slammed the door on his face.

Vegeta's head spun as he stood dumbly at the door. His 25 years as a soldier in Frieza's massive intergalactic army did not prepare him for Bulma. It's not that he hadn't been disrespected before-life as one of Frieza's top henchmen was cutthroat. There existed a constant competition between them on the path to power through strength. Vegeta left vying for the lizard's affections to the truly vile and depraved, and although he usually counted himself among them, he did not suck up to the Ice-jinn bastard anymore than was necessary for his survival. Leading his elite squadron of Saiyans around the universe as carefully groomed chaos agents and enduring year after year of a ranked and severe martial system tended to snuff out any authenticity and altruism he had. The only times that he was able to revel in a show of personality was when he fought for glory and righteousness, his pride as he incinerated civilizations a demonstration of his stolen heritage...all of which left him sorely lacking in how to deal with a woman's simple refusal. Never mind that he had little experience with women as it was.

It was this pride, compounded by his confusion of the opposite sex, that took a direct hit, and it was this increasingly furious and dismayed bafflement that led Vegeta to twist open Bulma's bedroom doorknob and charge in. His eyes swept the empty room, but it only took him a second to find another door closed to him on the far side of the bed. Vegeta stalked across the room, this time his grip warping the door knob as he barged in.

"Any last words before I-"

Too late, Vegeta heard the water pounding into the bath tub as he was met with a wall of steam. Bulma's left foot was perched on the toilet lid as she hovered over her stiletto, her fingers stilling on the buckle. His eyes, with a rare lack of volition, followed the sweep of her calf up to the curve of her milky thigh as it met the scrap of cloth that left most of her round bottom exposed. Her middle made a tidy little hourglass, the top of which nearly spilled out of a strapless bra as she gaped at the Saiyan who stood blushing furiously before her. Before Bulma could think to fill her lungs up with air to shriek, he was gone.

When no angry Saiyans came crashing back in the room, Bulma tossed the rest of her clothing beside the hamper and slipped into the hot bath, her gawking surprise replaced by a broad grin as she slid farther into the bath. *It seems the superhuman Prince does have a weakness.*