Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Reciprocity ❯ Science ( Chapter 3 )

_Science

Disclaimer: I don't own the rights. But if I did, I'd have the voice actors voice all my favorite fanfics.

"Putting some pants on should be your first order of business."

Bulma looked down at herself dumbly. "Oh, yeah." She winked at him. "Funny, Vegeta, I didn't pin you for a prude."

He snorted. "Well, I didn't think you were offering."

"I am NOT that kind of girl! I'm a classy lady. Only the best for the best," she called out lightheartedly as she headed towards the stairs.

After shrugging into a t-shirt and skirt, her long night forgotten, she opened the door and found Vegeta leaning against the inside wall of the hallway with his arms crossed.

"What next?"

"Do you still have the suit you wore on Namek?"

He looked at her suspiciously. "Why do you want it?"

"I'd like to analyze the fibers of your old suit to see how I can retrofit them into Earth textiles. Surely that makes sense to you. I should be able to trust you of all people to be tech literate," she scolded him, putting her hands on her hips.

He glowered at her sass but gave her a nod, pulling off the wall and leading her down the hall. He left the bedroom door open and made his way into the closet. Bulma gave his room a once over while she ambled in after him. *It's so bare! He hasn't even tried to personalize it.* She imagined that the atmosphere of the room was more of a reflection of his character than anything decorative would be. Only his immediate surroundings were populated with the things that were meaningful to him-the kitchen, the gravity room-and not many of them were trinkets. It was also an indication that the man had never possessed anything of his own in his life. The thought made her sad.

He slipped the suit off its hanger and threw it to her. She looked down at the black material lying limply in her hand and ran her thumb over it gently.

"Let's head to my lab," she murmured. She led him back to the living room and down a hall hidden under the living room stairs, which emptied out into a fluorescent lit hallway. Although her home was technically the seat of Capsule Corporation, the only real places of professionalism were the labs on the lower level, where Bulma kept an office that had once been her father's. The very office, in fact, where he had created dynocaps. Business now operated out of a building downtown, although many of Capsule Corporation's creations still originated at the Briefs' home.

They turned at the end of the hallway and entered a small lab with room for a few tables and a desk in the corner. Books, blueprints, machine parts, and more than a few gossip magazines cluttered it. She rummaged through a drawer.

"Aha!" She held up a measuring tape. Vegeta's eyebrow raised.

Bulma blushed. "I need your measurements, if you want to avoid a tailor, Vegeta."

"Then what are you waiting for," he asked, clipped.

Bulma cleared her throat and measured his height quietly without being intrusive. It seemed unreal how suddenly she was so close to him. She could see his chest expand and fall under his black t-shirt. She tried getting a good look at him without him noticing, although she was sure he was monitoring her every movement. She could smell bar soap on him, her mother's laundry detergent, and a headier musk that came solely from a hardworking man. Her mother was right on that front. Before she could swoon, she bent determinedly and measured his inseam, feeling self conscious, and jotted down numbers on the nearest notepad.

She regretted that this suit wouldn't have the ability to expand and retract for his Oozaru form or have a hole to accommodate his tail. What am I thinking? If he had his tail he'd be stomping all over me right now. She stretched the tape around his hips and her heart gave a little jump. As she leaned in to measure his chest, he raised his arms to help her, and she glanced up at him nervously. Was it simply disinterest, or did she spy a flicker of amusement as he glanced down at her?

She waved the all clear as she scribbled the rest of the numbers down. Vegeta took a seat on the rolling chair beside her, resting his arms behind his head and letting his momentum roll him backwards until lightly hitting her cabinets. Oh, Kame, the muscles on this man. C'mon, Briefs, get a grip! She hadn't lost her cool yet since he'd been strutting around Capsule Corporation and she wasn't planning on it any time soon.

"Now what," he asked drolly.

"Now I analyze your old suit, and hopefully I'm able to find some similarities between its fibers and fibers I have access to on Earth. The goal is to recreate your old suit, but with a few modifications-mostly, but not limited to, enabling ki control. With some time and effort, I should be able to make this suit a useful training tool that will help you harness and utilize your ki more efficiently. Which, in turn, allows more time to train and less effort and energy to be expended. It should optimize your training experience, at the least. There's almost no ceiling to the amount of power potentially conserved or room for power to be multiplied."

He regarded her gravely. "And the transformation to the Legendary. How will this effect it?"

She appealed to him earnestly. "Well, if that's your goal, I don't see how this can hurt."

"Then get on with it."

"It will require me to keep tabs on the balance between your energy expenditure and health," she warned him. "It means I'll have to monitor you up close our first attempt and we'll use diodes to track and report your progress as long as you're using the device."

"Hn. There better not be anymore to it then that, Onna."

"Why would I possibly want to sabotage your effort to save my world, Vegeta?"

"I'm not saving your world, woman. I'm not one of your Z Warriors. I'm satisfying my Saiyan need for a challenge and gaining strength and power on my way to knocking that fool Kakarot back to the next dimension."

"You're full of hot air, Vegeta."

"I'm deadly serious, Onna. Take care what you invest your tools in. It just might mean the end to your friendship with that third class clown."

Bulma narrowed her eyes at him.

"You may be opportunistic, but you helped Krillin and Gohan on Namek when you didn't have to," she argued, her tone suggesting he was completely dense. "You helped us think up a way to bring my friends back to Earth, even though you had nothing to gain from it. You just haven't been given a chance to relax or have friends, that's all."

"I'm a bastard, woman. I am not a charity case, let's be clear." He stood up and strode to the door. "When should I expect the suit to be done."

Bulma contemplated him, frustrated. "The materials have to be scrutinized, approved, ordered, woven, shipped. It may easily take a month or longer."

He stood with his back to her in the doorway, head cocked to the side. "Then you know where to find me once it arrives," he declared as he walked out.

*Common sense declares him a lost cause, she lamented. So why am I so intent on helping him?*

----------------------------------------------------------------- ---------

It took just short of two weeks for the suit to be produced. Bulma received it gleefully. Thanks to the prestige of CC, who owned a handful of unusual but influential patents, grants for projects like this one were plentiful and manufacturers were at each others throats to deliver.

She relished the fabric of the new suit as she made her way across the grounds of Capsule Corporation. She had had two suits made-one identical to the tattered tactical suit he wore in his fight against Frieza, and one certified, ki enhancing training suit. "Courtesy of yours truly," she congratulated herself.

Suits hanging at her elbow, laptop crooked in her arm, and tool box in her grip, Bulma juggled items until she could knock at the door. The gravity room powered down with a heavy whirr and the door popped ajar. Bulma breezed in. Vegeta stood aside, arms crossed and body cocked indifferently away. She sat her laptop and toolbox on the console as a grin broke out on her face, and she turned towards him, suit pinched between her outstretched hands.

"Behold, your new suit."

Vegeta took it from her and examined it. The strands of energy facilitating compounds woven into the light armor were almost impossible to detect.

"I replaced your old suit as well," she said, handing over the other suit. "You know, for nostalgia." She winked at him as he took the other suit from her without looking and threw them both over the console.

"Hey, what are you-Eep!" She swiftly turned around just as Vegeta stepped out of his shoes and dropped his training shorts.

"And you call me a prude," he said, flashing her a wolfish grin.

"Just tell me when you're done," she recovered angrily.

She peeked over her shoulder as she heard the tinny peal of the zipper and had to put a lid on her interest as he stood, muscles flexing and rippling as he tested the fabric. He's magnificent...and sooo dreamy. Why can't he be a charmer to boot?

"I don't get it. What's the big deal?"

Point proven.

"Well, this is where we test it's capabilities," she explained. She reached into her toolbox.

One eyebrow raised. "How's that?" He asked flatly.

"I'm going to need you to power up for me. To a quarter of your power, to half power, to three quarter power, and finally, to full power. I'm going to have to stand beside you, inside your ki. I'll hold this gauge against your chest, like a stethoscope, which will measure your power level and your vitals. I'll need you to hold your ki steady for about a minute before you power up to the next level."

Ghosts of blue ki began fluttering at her feet and lightly tossing her hair.

"Ready?"

Bulma swallowed and stepped closer to Vegeta, placing the gauge delicately on his chest. She had never been this up close and personal with something so powerful and lethal as ki energy before. She lifted her eyes to his, searching for certainty. His black gaze bore down on her, questioning her once more. She couldn't tear her eyes away. She nodded.

Blue ki began billowing around her feet, racing up her calves and skittering along her arms. Bulma's eyes widened and she glanced at the blue haze that now separated her and the rest of the world. Mesmerized, it took her a moment to realize the pressure and whine had reached an even pitch. She frowned resolutely at her gauge as its green light flickered erratically, sending data to her laptop in streams. It flickered orange and Bulma urged, "Half power."

The surging ki picked up and pawed at the edges of her skirt and danced up and over the nape of her neck, making her shiver. She could feel it trying to lift her off her feet. The mounting pressure again plateaued, and the energy swallowed her voice as she ordered, "Three quarters power."

Ki began ripping at her. She inhaled sharply as she stumbled into Vegeta's chest. Her eyes jerked up apologetically and she met his stare. It was much calmer even this much closer to him. Feeling suddenly serene, she reached around him languidly and gripped his shoulder blade, steadying herself against the storm of ki, and breathed, "Full power." He complied, closing his eyelids and throwing his head back, the muscles in his neck bunching. The light on the gauge batted weakly against the brilliancy of his ki as his heart beat beneath her hand. His chest tightened and he gave a roar, vibrating Bulma's core and sending a spiral of blue ki tripping across the floor. She pressed herself defensively against him, project forgotten, and closed her eyes as the hurricane of ki flared around her, rushing up, up, up, attempting to set on fire and consume everything around them. Bulma's world narrowed down to a singularity, indigo light blazing resplendently around them, pulsing like a heart beat, and whipping their hair. Bulma opened her eyes and met Vegeta's scrutinizing gaze. Ki reflected and darted off the metal walls, glancing off the auburn in Vegeta's hair as his full lashes lowered. Had their lips always been this close? The fit of her body against his seemed so familiar. Blue fire licked the walls and tempted the ceiling while another fire ignited in her belly as the pair was swallowed by a thick vortex of ki energy.

Faintly, there was the sound of pounding and hollering from outside the ship, nearly incomprehensible.

"Bulma? You in there? I need to speak with you!"

Vegeta extinguished his ki indolently, releasing her from the vacuum of its pressure as he absorbed it. He stepped away from her slowly, and she watched her arm distantly as it fell limply back to her side.

The banging continued. "Bulma? You okay?"

A deep frown settled on her face. She marched over to the door, tugging at her shirt hem, and whipped it open. "I'm busy," she announced.

Yamcha glanced behind Bulma, flickering with unease. "We need to talk."

"By all means," Vegeta mocked them as he stepped around them, chuckling his way down the ramp and towards the house even as the door closed behind him.

"You told him?" Yamcha squealed.

Bulma crossed her arms and turned her body away. "Why not? I had to tell somebody what a prick you are, and since I haven't seen hide nor hair of you or anybody else for weeks, who else could I have confided in!"

"I understand. Your mad. But let me explain."

"You can't explain that capsule away, Yamcha!"

"Just listen to me for a moment! Yes, that wasn't your capsule. Yes, it was full of...stuff...that was meant for the, um, bedroom. But the contents of that capsule were never used on me-err, in me-in my presence!" He stuttered lamely. Bulma scoffed, but Yamcha continued. "Please believe me, B, it's true! I didn't cheat on you. Yes, I brought a girl back to my house. But that was the end of it. She didn't even stay the night. But then I found that capsule the next morning and I thought, 'Cool! It's the dynocap Bulma's been looking for!' And I pushed the trigger and the next thing I know Puar and I are covered in leather lingerie and that...thing...is hanging from my ceiling fan."

Bulma winced. "Even if that's the case, Yamcha..."

He grimaced and ran his hand through his hair. "She just looked like a pretty girl at a bar. How was I supposed to know? Girls should come with a set of directions pinned to them or something."

He took her hands in his bigger, rougher ones. "I didn't cheat on you, Bulma. I've just been in a funk lately. I just don't know what's right or wrong anymore. Please forgive me."

"You brought her back to your place, Yamcha, and a man doesn't do that without intention," she snapped.

His expression darkened. "I wasn't the one who left her boyfriend at his own party!"

Bulma slipped her hands out of his and placed them on her hips. "I wasn't the one making muscles for girls while his girlfriend sat alone at the bar! You say that you invited her to your apartment so cavalierly. You know what, it honestly doesn't even matter. I think you're being genuine. Although you have had a bad attitude these last five months, I'll believe that she didn't wear that lingerie for you and you weren't excited by her phony domination act! But where did our own passion go? We've spent over ten years together and what do we have to show for it?"

"What-what are you saying, Bul-"

"These last few weeks, since I found that...capsule...I've had time to reevaluate and reflect on our relationship. And when I thought about our future together...I came up short. I don't think we're right for each other, Yamcha. I think that if we're honest with each other, that we would call it quits-"

"This isn't fair, Bulma! I had no idea you felt this way." "-although I am mad as hell that you would betray my friendship and trust like that, inviting a woman to your home the least of my frustrations with you, shutting me out of your life after you were revived-"

"You're just blowing off steam. Now who's the one being dishonest! You're just trying to punish me! Nothing unusual there!"

"I'm saying that I don't think we're compatible, Yamcha, and I think our relationship history repeatedly confirms that! I am not the girl for you! I make a crappy girlfriend to you! But I value our past, and I feel like refusing to let go would be immature of us. You can't tell me that you don't feel the same way, not when you've been acting like you don't even care if I exist!"

"I think that this is just like you, Bulma. Everything between us has had to be your way, even how we end it!"

"I never wanted it to be this way! It still needed to be said."

As the defeat creeped into his expression, she realized he had agreed on some level to her terms. It seemed totally quick and surreal, but it didn't feel wrong.

"Goodbye, Yamcha."

----------------------------------------------------------------- -

It all went wrong after Bulma had eight shots too many. The things right in front of her began to blur into meaningless shapes, and she was certain that her little black bikini was riding up too high somewhere, but she kept forgetting to check. Stars blanketed the sky thickly, spinning slowly. Although the city generated a lot of light pollution, the stars were still lustrous and she ran her fingers over them.

"If I had just one wish, I'd wish the moon back," Bulma sighed.

"You could gather the dragon balls and wish it back," a deep baritone rolled through the darkness. Bulma paused to consider. Piccolo floated a few yards in front of her, his cape billowing gently in the warm breeze that ruffled the pool water and bullied the trees into making hushing sounds as their leaves rubbed against each other.

"That's an idea," Bulma agreed.

"Go ahead and give her an idea like that. In the state she's in, she may never come back."

Bulma's head lolled to the side to face the newest intrusion.

"You guys are bickering like you're the angel and devil on my shoulder," she noted. "Piccolo would be the devil. Because he's the Demon King." She hiccuped. "That would make Vegeta my angel."

She thought she heard Piccolo snort somewhere.

"I'm here to inquire about Vegeta's power up today."

"It's none of your business, Namek."

"I make it my business to know your motives, regardless of your masquerading as an ally."

"If Kame could see you now," quipped Bulma, head lazing on her crossed arms.

Piccolo's eyes glanced her way and then locked onto Vegeta's.

"I refuse to play this game," he snapped.

"It's only a game if both participants are capable of being players."

"He was powering up for me," Bulma interjected through a thick tongue. "I made him these clothes that he looks so good in. I was making him try them on, and he was showing me how strong he is."

Someone choked somewhere. "That is not what happened at all."

"Have it your way."

"It was personal, then."

"It was nothing of the sort!"

"It was for my experiment. I made him do it. For my experiment. He was just obeying orders." She pumped her arm sarcastically. "That's all."

"I don't take orders from you."

"I'm trying to save your ass here!"

"I don't need to be saved!"

"There's no reason to be alarmed, then."

"No, Piccolo," she assured him choppily, sounding his name out. "It was just a test. And, boy, did he pass. With flying colors."

"That is enough, woman!"

"I see."

"It won't be happening again."

Bulma sat up abruptly and immediately regretted it. "Don't say that. What we had-ohhh, boy-what we had in there was special." She drifted forward, waiting for the sickness that was wreaking havoc to fade. When it became manageable, she stood up, wobbling and leaning against the chaise for support.

"Bulma, maybe you should let me find someone to help you into bed."

"Are you too chicken shit to do it yourself, Namek?"

Piccolo cast him a dirty look that Bulma was trying too hard not to fall down to see.

"No one invited you guys to this pity party, anyway," she complained.

"Why on Earth are you wearing heels?" Vegeta sounded closer.

Bulma straightened, ran her hair through her unruly blue mane and then balled her fists. "I just wanted to desirable!" She yelled at no one in particular.

"That was your cue, Prince."

Bulma rounded on them angrily. "I am tired of everyone thinking I need to be saved. I don't need you to treat me like I'm some princess in need of rescuing! I can save me by myself!" She waggled her finger furiously in what she thought was their direction. "I don't need help from you," she pointed at Piccolo's profile. "You," she pointed at the shadowed form of the Prince, his hands in his pockets. That casual mannerism was so rare from him that she had to look twice. "Or you!" The last one looked suspiciously like a bush.

"Let Vegeta help you, Bulma."

"Now I'm babysitting? Won't you let me keep even a scrap of pride?"

"Don't be afraid of him, Bulma. He's going to make sure you reach your room safely."

"He doesn't scare me," she retorted haughtily, sticking her tongue out in Vegeta's surprised face and listing sideways. "Maybe I should go lay down."

----------------------------------------------------------

"I'm not mortified," Bulma reasoned with herself the next day. She was sipping her third cup of coffee, which was doing wonders for her hangover, as she hid from any flame haired or green antenna having aliens in her office. She opened the file that contained the data from yesterday's ki and vitals test. It feels like days ago. She wasn't sure if she should ask what happened after she blacked out. Although she had insisted on walking to her room on her own, she wasn't sure if she had made it there or not. All she knew is she had woken up in a cocoon of blankets with her bikini scrunched in all the wrong places. Real mature. If she hadn't dreamed them. It all seemed so fuzzy.

Her laptop compiled the results as she considered the uncertain direction her life was taking. She wasn't usually this concerned with her future, but she was nearing 30 with no career or significant other in sight. She was just totally confused by her role in life. Who was she supposed to be? What was she supposed to be doing?

This wasn't anyone else's problem but her own. She sighed. She had consistently shirked responsibility and discipline from her childhood on. Her parents, while doting, raised her liberally and bordering on negligent. She had never gone to school; instead, she spent her free time roaming the city and working on Capsule Corp projects with her father, who was content to share his fascination with science with his daughter. At best, she was a prodigy. At worst, she was a delinquent. After she had discovered the legend of the dragon balls from a book in her father's dusty library, she crafted the dragon ball radar and took off to scour the world, encountering a slew of strange places and new faces. It didn't take long until she was surrounded by martial artists, and for her life to revolve around their life experiences. She was entrenched. If she had nothing to proudly call her own, well, that was her fault.

The chirp from her laptop snapped her out of her reverie. She skimmed the numbers.

"It worked," she breathed, eyes scanning the rows of data. "It worked!" She jumped out of her chair, snatching hot papers out of the printer tray as they were spit out. She yanked out the final one before it had even been ejected and ran out the door.

"It worked!" She called as she ran across the lawn toward the GR, skipping every few strides. "It worked!" She hollered as she leapt up the walkway and pounded on the door. She was still pounding when it was jerked open, a very sweaty, grumpy Saiyan glaring at her.

"It worked!" She shrieked, shoving the papers in his face. "Woohoo!" She twirled around as he glanced at the data.

"What am I looked at," he groused, staring uncomprehending at the sheets of paper.

"The suit, you dweeb!" Vegeta growled at her but she didn't seem to notice, a grin splitting her face. She leaned over his arm, pointing at each set of data. "Your vitals were unaffected. I have to admit, I was a little worried they couldn't take the heat, but you Saiyans are really built like power houses. And now I have a loose average to reference if these numbers change."

"But that's not the best part," she rushed, flipping through papers over his forearms without realizing that she was pressed up against him as she searched the stack. He handed her the papers and took a step back, folding his arms over his chest.

She licked her fingers and flipped through each paper until she yanked one out of the stack, slamming it on top of the others. "There," she pointed.

His eyes searched the numbers briefly and he snapped, "What?"

"Your power level. It jumped 7,000 points."

Vegeta's face went slack. "What?

"The suit works with your energy to direct, enhance and even recycle energy as its created. Ki is usually sloppily used, until you channel it purposefully into an attack. Until you're holding a fully formed Galick Gun, Vegeta, a lot of the particles of energy you create, even when you power up or fly, just dissipate, for all you can tell disappearing unused. While you fight, each and every particle created taxes your system, used or not. All of these impossibly small particles and you're suddenly feeling tired and losing energy in mass amounts that could have been been harnessed during battle."

Vegeta's mind was whirling and it showed. He frowned down at the paper with discerning absorption.

"The suit works a little bit like a turbo does on a car. As you power up, you're building energy pressure that's contained by the fibers of this armor. Once maximum build up has occurred-at 25, 50, 75, and 100 percent, in this case-the suit releases the pressure for you to use. Only instead of it just pouring out of you, out of control, the suit checks it, allowing each and every particle to be used at will. That is, if my design holds up. Meaning you tire less quickly and can form bigger and better attacks."

Vegeta glanced up at her, scowling in consideration, although his face was unusually open. "But I'll be useless without the suit. Out of the training room, this does nothing for me."

"Not true. If you're smart, you will be able to pick up on the sensation of conserving your energy and train yourself to control and manipulate it incisively. That insight will increase your power level at a more rapid rate than physical exercise alone. And it's totally natural, Vegeta," she followed, softly. "This suit simply controls energy at the particle level. The rest of the work and reward is yours."

He stared at the papers in front of her until she began to grow uncertain. "How much can you estimate my power level to rise?"

"It's limitless, Vegeta. There is no ceiling. All we can do is see how far we can push it."

Vegeta wasn't familiar with acknowledging someone's kindness towards him or even comfortable with acknowledging his own emotions. So he chewed over his words until he issued solemnly, "I look forward to rising to the challenge."

Bulma could only agree.

----------------------------------------------------------------- ----

Author's Note: Normally, I'm not a big fan of the whole making-a-monster-out of-Yamcha-while-martyring-Bulma thing. I think it's a useful device-definitely abundant-but I think it can be cheap, too. And let's all be honest-our girl Bulma can't be the easiest girlfriend to have. That's why we all like her, right? After careful consideration, I decided to leave Yamcha's "fickleness," as Toriyama put it, open ended. Whether or not Yamcha's guilty is up to you, but his guilt isn't the point; rather, Bulma's awakening is. I think it's just dandy that each Three Year Period author can bring their own interpretation to the table. Toriyama has, for better or worse, left a space big enough to fit all possibilities. And to be clear, I'm not interested in writing canon. My intent is to bring real life and real problems in to complicate and make real the DBZ landscape, and I tried to explore Bulma and Yamcha's dissolution fairly and in a way many of us can relate to.

Also, there had to be a really embarrassing, incriminating sex toy discovery. Leaving comedy out of their break up was out of the question. If it's not fun for me to write, how will it be fun for you to read?