Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Reciprocity ❯ Gimme Space ( Chapter 5 )

Disclaimer: I don't own it.

____Gimme Space

Another stack of papers dropped onto her desk.

“Well, that's all of them,” the intern sighed, brushing her hands off against each other.

Bulma smiled weakly. “Thanks, Mindy.”

“No problem, Ms. Briefs. It's six o'clock on a Friday night. Don't you have somewhere better to be?” She laughed, walking out Bulma's office door and grabbing her coat and purse at her desk before calling goodbye to the remaining staff.

“Nope. Not really,” Bulma deadpanned. She sighed. She could either get through her current stack of research proposals and equipment requests and be home by ten, or she could clear her desk and be home by 2 a.m. She had drunk enough coffee to stay up all night, all she needed was the patience. And as wiped out as she felt lately, she found it hard to have the patience for much of anything. Well, if she was going to be here all night, she needed a distraction. Bulma grabbed some quarters out of her desk drawer and weaved her way around the office and into the small vending room.

She was deciding between cookies or chips when she felt someone behind her. She glanced over her shoulder and smiled politely. “Hello.”

“Hey,” her coworker smiled bashfully, jingling the quarters in his hand. He smiled to himself as he inspected the vending machines. He held his briefcase in his other hand, his wool coat thrown over his arm.

“Leaving?” Bulma asked quietly, still smiling. She hadn't spoken to him much, or anyone for that matter, since she had been hired at the Capsule Corporation Headquarters months ago. He was a key figure in Research and Development, so she had sat through many meetings with him, but all she knew about him was that he was a bright guy with a shy, infectious smile.

“Oh, yeah.” He chuckled. “I, um, actually,” he looked down at his change, ”this is an alibi for me to come in here and talk with you.” He pocketed his quarters and shifted his coat and briefcase. “I was just, uh, wondering if you'd like to go get coffee sometime.”

Bulma smiled bittersweetly. “I'm sorry, I kind of just got out of a relationship.”

His face turned solemn, but he pressed on. “Oh, yeah, with that baseball player?”

Bulma's face fell.

“I'm sorry, I don't know what's wrong with me. I shouldn't have brought him up.” He looked up from under his messy, side parted hair and smiled once more. “Well, I did, too. Got out of a serious relationship, that is. But that's an even better reason to go, don't you think? We both need to get out and think about something else besides our personal lives. It would be good for us to have fun. It doesn't have to be anything more than that,” he reassured her, smiling and leaning against the vending machine. At Bulma's silence, he faltered. “I'm sorry, I'm being presumptuous--”

“No,” interrupted Bulma. “You are exactly right. I need to get out and talk to somebody new just for the pleasure of it. I'd be happy to have coffee with you. Are you free tomorrow night?

“Yeah! Yeah, I am.” He beamed at the ground.

She wanted to brush his hair out of his eyes. She wanted him to be brave enough to look her dead in the eyes when he asked her out. She wanted him to smirk darkly, press her up against the vending machine and call her “Onna.”

“Pick me up at 6:30 at the Capsule Corp home?”

He nodded, rewarding her with a smile. “See you then.”

She watched him walk out of the office and then turned back to the vending machines. She frowned.

“Cheetos it is,” she muttered distastefully.

“These fries are really something else.”

“Yeah. They fry them in peanut oil. That's what makes them so crispy or something.”

“Oh. Wow.”

Bulma bit into her burger with relish. He had brought her to a small but well liked bistro in the center of the sprawling West City metropolis for their second meet-up. A small, recessed candle glowed between them as snow fell silently outside their window.

“It's just so good! Ugh! Even their pickles are amazing!” She gushed, talking through a mouthful of haute American cuisine.

“They pickle them here and everything,” he agreed, wiping up the crumbs from his plate with his last bite. “I did good, then?”

She smiled sincerely at him. “You did fine. It's nice to be out and about. I can't remember the last time I did something like this.”

“I don't want to sound like a stalker,” he admitted, sipping his wine and leveling a quick smile at her, “but the media has always portrayed you as a socialite. Is that not true?”

“Well, I suppose it was, partly.” She wiped her hands on her thick cloth napkin and shifted her plate to the side of the table. She sipped her red wine and then placed her hands on her knees. “I used to be more of a social butterfly, I guess. More outgoing and affable. I guess I've just grown up.”

“I hope you don't mind me asking,” he began in his soft tenor, “but since we're on the topic of `growing up.' Why did you make your position at Capsule Corporation official? From what I understand, you already did a lot of under the table work that motivated big projects for our department to take on. And you're an heiress. You've got it `made,' right? There's no reason for you to work a 9 to 5.”

Bulma paused, considering how to keep the conversation light.

“Well, I have always been an armchair scientist.” She chuckled. “In the same way that there are armchair philosophers. I mean, I wasn't an amateur in the same way someone casually remarking on philosophy would be, but our levels of commitment are the same. Anyway. I helped my father with projects for the pleasure of it. I've always had a passion for science. And I guess it's true that I was enough of an heiress that I never considered the direction of my life or making a life for myself. I just kind of plowed right along.”

She stumbled over her next words, but he didn't seem to notice. “I was going through a rough time in my life. I was having that late twenties crisis,” she laughed hollowly. “And that's when I resolved to take my life into my own hands. So I asked my Father for a position at Capsule Corporation.” On condition. She no longer, under any circumstances, worked on the Gravity Room. And because he cared about his daughter's happiness, he had agreed to her terms.

“And did he welcome it?” He turned to exchange words with their waiter, pointing at their empty wine bottle, and then turned his attention back to Bulma.

She fluffed her hair, looking sightlessly over his shoulder. “Oh, well, my father's a little bit of an absent minded professor. He simply asked me what I wanted to do within the company, to which I replied something like, `Anything, so long as it gets me out of here.' He thought Research and Development would be a good fit for me. Naturally, I would be an asset, with my gift for engineering. He only insisted I work from the ground up, to get a taste of the business world, before plunging right in. Which he knows I'm apt to do. Which was fair.”

“You have greater ambitions?” He smiled slyly. “I'm not sure pushing papers is what I want to do with my life.”

She managed to smile before her mouth could tighten into a thin line. “Yes. I have great expectations,” she enunciated loftily, smirking. “I would like to see Capsule Corp transformed from a think tank into an industrial giant. And I'd like to see that the Briefs remain more than just a figurehead.”

“So that's why you're always working so late,” he laughed, plucking his cigarette pack out of his pocket and shaking one loose. “Would you like one?”

“Um, sure. I haven't smoked for a long time,” she remarked quietly as she leaned in close to him so he could light the cigarette that hung between her lips. “My father and I used to smoke while we were working on big projects together.”

She leaned back, her expression solemn. “I love engineering and I love the department,” she continued, “but I do have corporate aspirations. I'm sure my dad could get me the job if I asked, but I wanted the reward of working my way to the top.” The contours of her face softened. “And the extra work to take up my spare time. I'm a bit of a masochist, here.”

“Deliberately asking for more work? I would say so,” he laughed. “Nah, you're just a go getter. I”m sorry if this sounds presumptuous, but...well, it just seems like you're on top of the world. Your family is sitting on a fortune, you're extremely bright, and you're a world class beauty. Why would you even deign to lower yourself to a bunch of low brow intellectuals like the RD department?” He chuckled, snuffing out his cigarette in the ashtray.

“I would hardly call myself an intellectual,” she dismissed. His compliments made her uncomfortable. It wasn't that they were insincere, but after the blowout with Yamcha and Vegeta....She wasn't just seeking her own worth in order to prove to them she didn't need them. She was, rather, convinced their abandonment of her was an indication that she wasn't worth sticking around for. Her self esteem had suffered, and here was this face in the crowd, telling her she was everything worth desiring.

“Sometimes it helps get to get out and bounce your emotions off of people,” she remarked to herself.

“Well, since this conversation is already heavy, why don't we get our breakups out of the way. I'll go first,” he offered, straightening in his chair.

Bulma's lips thinned. “Okay,” she agreed finally.

“My ex let me know one night after a long day at work that she found me boring and unattractive and she had found another man who wasn't. She packed up her clothes, took our cats and walked out on our life. It's safe to say I'm a little wary of women now,” he flashed her a small smile that Bulma couldn't help but think was chock full of self loathing.

“And yet you're here with me,” Bulma retorted, before she could stop herself.

“Yeah, but you're amazing. You're worth getting nervous over,” he smiled bashfully into his wine glass.

Bulma stared. “Oh. Well,” she cleared her throat.

“Now it's your turn. Don't you just want to get it off your chest?”

“Um.” Her mouth was dry and her hands fidgeted in her lap. “Sure. Well, Yamcha and I...we outgrew each other. We were the equivalent of high school sweethearts, I guess, except neither of us went to high school. We spent a lot of time together, and then we just slowly became...disengaged from each other's lives. Disinterested.” She shrugged. “It ended.”

“In a fiery blaze?” He asked, his eyes wide and comical as he wiggled his fingers dramatically.

She remembered blue fire licking steel. “Something like that.” She drew inward.

“Is that the tough time you were speaking of?” He asked gently, sensing her reluctance.

“Yes.” Her thoughts listed back and forth. She felt on edge, undecided. “No. I was--involved with someone else after him. He...It didn't end peaceably.”

Bulma hadn't spoken about Vegeta since the day she had proposed to her father that she be hired on the Research and Development team. She had stuffed it down deep inside and plowed forward in a new direction, giving it no thought, no quarter. Now it was like she was summoning it, a chimera of emotion and circumstance that threatened her self assurance. It burbled up inside her, and she couldn't stop from spewing the rotten reality out.

“I fell for a man who wasn't interested in putting me first. He had other obligations. He was very driven, obsessively so. His whole identity was wrapped up in his goal....I knew that, but I pursued him anyway. My mistake was investing my feelings in someone who couldn't reciprocate them. He considered them a nuisance. And he left me.” She brushed her hair back from her face. “And that's when I realized I should be my own priority. Pursue myself instead. I mean, I was an awfully shallow teenager. Not angsty at all.” She gave a small smile. “I've always been a little self interested. But when I met him, I learned to care for someone other than myself but ended up learning a hard lesson.”

“I'm sorry to hear that.”

She waved her hand dismissively. “It's water under the bridge. I'm much better off now. You said you had a robot collection? A robot building hobby?”

“Yeah! I like to build little robots. Like Roombas? Yeah, but ones that clean and cook for you. I even have one that I've programmed to sing. Makes for great karaoke!”

Bulma shut the front door and made her way to the kitchen, sidling up beside her mom, who was chopping carrots. She unwrapped the scarf from around her neck and popped a chunk of carrot into her mouth.

“Hi, Mom,” she greeted, crunching.

“Hi, dear. Did you spend the night at that nice man's house?”

Bulma blushed and stuttered. “Yes, but it wasn't like that. I really had no intention of staying over last night--”

“Isn't that how it usually happens, dear?”

“No! Look, he was telling me all about his robot collection and how he loves to experiment with different energy sources and it was fascinating and he offered to show me and he was even sweet enough to tell me he didn't expect me to stay afterward.” Phew. She took a deep breath. She had to remember there was nothing to apologize for. “But there I was, knee deep in his robots and we...kind of got carried away. We were up until 4 working on a bot until we both realized how late it was, so he offered me his couch to crash on. So that's what I did!” Her skittishness faded as she leaned forward against the counter, fiddling absently with a hunk of carrot. “There was nothing more to it then that, really. I'm not sure there will ever be. He's interesting and sweet and fun, but, I don't know, he's not...”

“He's not Vegeta, dear?”

Bulma flinched. “What? No, Mom, that's not what I was thinking at all.” Her hand dropped heavily on the counter.

“He came by to eat with us last night,” her mother disclosed, cheerfully.

Bulma paled. “Really? Why?” She tried for nonchalant, but got strained.

“I don't know,” her mother observed thoughtfully. “He sat down with us for dinner, we ate a nice meal, and then I told your father about your date. He likes that young man. Vegeta seemed a little concerned, though.”

“What?” Bulma shrieked. Mrs. Briefs smiled as she chopped celery, oblivious to her daughter's panic.

“He seemed a little upset you were with that nice young man. Folded his arms, glared at the wall, you know him! Your father really thinks your date is a nice, bright young man.”

Bulma's heart pounded as she stared ahead. Did he...did he still have feelings for her? No, it couldn't be. There were other factors, other variables at work. And even if he did still like her, he was making a horrible case for being with him. If he wasn't going to put out the effort to show he cared, then she certainly wasn't going to waste her time with him. She was done with men who had greater priorities than her. Resolved, Bulma grabbed the bag of onions.

“Hand me a knife, Mom. What's for dinner? Chicken soup?”

The snow fell in buckets on West City, silently churning under streetlights and landing softly on Bulma's face. The cold nipped at her cheeks and her boots crunched the snow against the sidewalk as she walked up her street. The night sky, thick with clouds, was lit scarlet by the Friday night lights of the city. She had insisted on walking home from her date, since the compound was only blocks away.

“I'm a big girl, I'll make it,” she had laughed as he teased her about getting lost in the snow.

She needed to quit going out with him, before she was guilty of stringing him along. She brushed the thought away. It was a beautiful night for introspection, but she didn't for the life of her want to go there tonight. She wanted to know only snow, and streetlights, and silence.

She let herself in the front door. The house was silent and murky dark. She stomped her feet at the door and hung up her coat and scarf, smoothing the melting snow out of her hair. She turned and plowed straight into someone's chest. She gasped as he gripped her waist and lowered his head to her neck. Bulma froze, taking shallow breaths. He inhaled deeply and let out a breath against her neck, raising his head to look her dead in the face.

“You haven't been fucking him,” Vegeta rumbled. “But you still smell like him,” he snarled.

Bulma's mouth hung open. Of all the things she had wanted him to say to her...he had to go and say that? What did she say to that?

“How is it any of your business?” She snapped.

He scowled at her but seemed reluctant to take back his hands. He seemed to finally notice her hair. He lifted one hand from her waist and ran a strand of her straight hair between his fingers. If Bulma had thought herself confused before, she was now even more so. Tangled up in feelings that she thought he'd snuffed out, it irritated her that those feelings were now betraying her. She had to get out of this before she found herself in dangerous waters.

“Why did you change it?” He questioned her, softly.

“Anything to erase the memory of you,” she whispered.

His hand stilled on her cheek, and he pulled away.

“Hn,” he grunted, glaring down his nose at her, his profile stenciled in the inky darkness.

Bulma watched him walk away, dismally.

The whole house reeked of cinnamon and fried dough. Bulma made her way down the stairs and into the kitchen, pushing back the sleeves of her oversized sweater.

“Hello, dear! How did it go last night?”

Bulma reminded herself that her mom knew nothing about her encounter with Vegeta. “It was fine. Went and saw an artsy movie at the indie cineplex and then went for a few beers. Making doughnuts?”

“Yes! Would you like to help?”

Bulma grabbed one of the little balls of dough sitting on wax paper and rolled it through a bowl of sugar and cinnamon.

“Not bad for a fourth date, then?”

“No,” she replied emptily, rolling the ball back and forth, back and forth.

“Have you heard from Vegeta, dear?”

“No! What makes you say that!” She replied, defensively.

“Just curious. You know, your father and I have to go out of town for the East City Pet Expo next weekend, so your father won't be around if something happens to the gravity simulator!”

Bulma's eyes bulged. “You wouldn't. How could you guys leave me alone with him!” She hissed.

“Bulma Briefs, I have never known you to be afraid of something that was in your best interest!” Her mother's normally saccharine pitch took on an even more annoying, dreamy quality.

“Vegeta is not in my best interest, Mother. I need to stay far, far away from that man. He's rude and obnoxious. He's bad for my skin,” she growled. “I'm done with him. He was a rebound. He was never even a blip in my radar!” She hollered, pounding a ball of dough into the dish of sugar.

“Oh, Bulma, honey, I'd say otherwise, given the amount of heat between you that night in your lab!”

“What?!” Bulma squawked.

“Don't you know your father keeps video surveillance of all rooms containing company property?”

“You guys--you guys saw that?!” The blood rushed to her face. “What--ugh--you guys--that's gross!”

“I'm sorry, dear, but your father got a call that the code had been hacked to the downstairs labs! Your father didn't stay to watch, but, oh, if I had a man that handsome break in to do those things to me...well, what am I saying! I'm a married woman!”

“Where do you guys keep these tapes!” Bulma's voice rang a few octaves higher than normal.

“Why, in your father's office dear--”

Bulma spun around and raced out of the house, towards the small dome that housed her parent's pets and her father's office. She zipped through the building, scattering wildlife as she went. Her father had abandoned his old labs to be near his pets, who had become like second children to them. Bulma hollered at a dinosaur who stood blocking her path and stomped past him as he shuffled into the flora. This is a perfect example why Capsule Corporation needs a CEO whose qualifications aren't simply chain smoking and zoo keeping!

She caught the frame of her father's office, panting. “Dad!”

“Yes, dear?” He didn't bother looking up as he puffed away on a cigarette and fiddled with a sheet of plexiglass.

“Mom wants you! She said it's very important! Hot oil, or something. By the way, where do you keep your surveillance tapes?”

“Well in that case, I will just take an early lunch break. Why, in that third drawer of my file cabinet, dear. Well, then.” Her father turned toward the door.

“Don't dilly dally, Dad!” She nudged her father out of the room. Her father meandered his way slowly through the domesticated jungle.

She paced over to the file cabinets and began tearing through tapes. They were dated by week, and she had to really search for it, but she held up the small tape in triumph. How could I ever forget this date. She scrambled around, looking for something to play it, cursing and kicking the cabinet when she came up short. Her father didn't even have a TV in there! Just piles of boxes and parts, a few of Vegeta's busted training bots smoking in the corner.

She tore back through the dome and across the lawn, down to the lower levels of the house. Her office smelled stale. She hadn't been down there in months. She pushed in the tape into her tape player and hit the power button on the TV violently, breathing shallowly. She fast forwarded, heart pounding. Much of the tape comprised her sitting at her desk, working. Her stomach clenched. Those were different days.

“Stop!” She yelled as she mashed down the button. There he was. She couldn't breathe. The proud set of his shoulders, his purposeful stride. She touched him lightly on the screen. She felt a hot tear splatter on her hand. She frowned at it and pulled her hand back. She took a deep breath and hit play.

It showed him walking down the corridor, posture rigid as he turned in the doorway. And then...he just stood there. Bulma blinked. But...but...why? She watched him as he watched her work torpidly on an engine model, her laptop blinking beside her, indicating the suit had been disabled. She never even glanced at it. Instead, the tape recorded her fooling around while he watched from the doorway for several minutes. Bulma's eyes watered again. “But why?” She croaked. “Oh, you stupid jerk, how could you lie to me like this?” She cried out, smacking the screen. “What am I so torn up over you?”

She dissolved into tears, burying her head in her hands, when she heard someone call her name.

Bulma lifted her head heavily and saw Puar's concerned face. Puar enveloped Bulma in a hug.

“Oh, Puar,” she sobbed. “What is wrong with me?” She balled into Puar's fur. As her crying jag tapered off, she rubbed her eyes with the balls of her hands and sniffled. “I'm sorry, Puar.”

“So it's true?” Puar asked gently.

Bulma nodded. “You probably have no sympathy for me, and I don't blame you. Ah!! Puar, close your eyes!” She blindfolded the shape changing cat with her hands, Puar squeaking in surprise. Bulma stared, absorbed in the events taking place on the monitor. She watched as Vegeta stripped her of her shorts and gulped as she watched him press his face between her legs.

“Oh my goodness,” she whispered. “I have a sex tape!”

Puar squeaked.

“It will be over in a minute, Puar,” she consoled her sadly. Sure enough, she watched as her body became contorted in pleasure, hips opened wide for Vegeta as her mouth began moving. My big fat mouth. She suppressed a shiver as Vegeta took his shirt off and pinned her to the wall only a moment before dropping her on the table. Bulma watched it in all its sensational horror. As the past Bulma scrambled after Vegeta to yell at him in the corridor, present Bulma hands slowly slid from Puar's eyes and drifted under her chin to hold her heavy head. “Oh, Puar,” she lamented, “did I just go wrong when I picked someone so emotionally unavailable? Or was he trying to start something with me, just in his own way? Either way, I screwed up.” She pushed stop on the two characters, wiped her eyes, and set her resolve.

“I'm sorry, Puar. I've been a bad friend. What did you want to talk to me about?” She smiled weakly. “It's been so long since I've seen anyone or anything besides paperwork.”

“I'm sorry, Bulma,” Puar confessed, “but that's what I came to talk to you about. I knew about Yamcha that night and I didn't tell you.”

“Puar, did he--no, I don't want to know. It doesn't matter anymore.”

“He didn't go there,” Puar stuttered. “He sure was trying to impress her, though.” She said sourly.

Bulma was relieved. Even though their relationship had its bumps, at least it hadn't ended so trashily. Close, though.

“I don't think less of you for leaving, Bulma. You will always be my friend.”

“Thank you.” She giggled. “Definitely a girls reunion, huh? Now that we're done crying on each other's shoulders, would you like to stay for dinner?”

“Sure! But, Bulma, are you...are you still seeing him?”

“No,” Bulma shook her head vigorously. “Not for months now...if ever. I'm kind of seeing someone else,” she said wistfully. “It's not serious.” Probably never will be, if my record with men proves accurate.

“Did he...did he hurt you?” Puar asked her, firmly.

“Vegeta?!” She howled. “No! Of course not! We just had our irreconcilable disagreements, is all. Now come on, I'm tired of crying into my proverbial soup. Let's go see if my mother's finished with those donuts.”

Puar nodded, but as she followed Bulma out of the room, she glanced back hatefully at the TV screen.

Bulma shuffled through the papers fanned out on her desk, which covered up more paperwork, which all needed reviewing. She rubbed her eyes and scribbled her signature once more. It was almost time to go, although Bulma figured she'd be staying late another Friday, like usual. She had dinner plans Saturday, but she had been chewing over canceling them all day. She wasn't interested in playing the field right now and was worried she was inadvertently stringing him along, but she didn't want to lose her tenuous hold on a social life outside her usual friends.

The hairs on her neck stood up and a shadow washed over her. There was a creak in front of her desk as someone settled into the chair.

She glanced up from her paperwork and went back to reading.

Vegeta reclined in the chair across from her, his head in his hand as he sent her a bored look. “The gravity room is broken,” he commented.

“That's right. My parents are out of town. It was only time until you'd come to fetch me. Since you can't seem to use the gravity room without abusing it.”

He sent her a small smirk from across the desk. “That's right.”

“I guess even the Prince of Saiyans has a limit to his restraint,” she mused, mockingly.

“I wouldn't challenge my restraint, if I were you.”

Her coworkers stole anxious glances at the pair as their comments drifted outside her cubicle.

“I'm surprised you didn't just wait for me to get home, seeing how you fail to be civil to even one person at a time. You can't even seem to manage tolerating yourself.”

Vegeta's smirk faded.

“Or Kame forbid you figure out how to pick up a phone,” she remarked, her pen punctuating the tense atmosphere with little scratchy sounds as she checked boxes.

Vegeta growled, but then waved his hand dismissively. “Go tell your boss you're leaving.”

Bulma dropped her pen and papers on her desk and let out a breath. “Fine. I'll just be a minute.” She felt his eyes on her as she stepped into her boss's office, letting him know she'd be leaving. By this time, everyone in the office was pulling on their coats and laughing as they wished each other to have a good weekend. Seething, she made her way back through the office to collect her briefcase and peacoat when she bumped into somebody.

Her date. “Are we still on for Saturday?” He grinned, and then scrutinized her pained expression. “Is something wrong?”

She felt Vegeta's presence at her elbow, who stared with deadly calm at her coworker.

Bulma grimaced. What's wrong, she thought, was very blatantly beside her. “No. I've just got to run home and take care of a problem, that's all.” She felt Vegeta grip her upper arm as though he were escorting her somewhere. She got the point.

She gave her date a small smile. “See you later.”

Vegeta held her briefcase and her coat in his other hand. She plucked her coat from his hand and tugged it on angrily, grabbed her briefcase, and stomped out of the office. Vegeta's hand was just as quickly around her arm again, and he steered her toward the elevator, holding her still while he pushed the button. Bulma was about to boil over. A few of her coworkers milled around them, glancing questioningly, but at his generous dark scowls, they held their tongues. The elevator dinged, and Vegeta led Bulma in. His grip on her arm wasn't rough, but it was firm. Bulma was acutely aware of how it made them look. She felt like a ticking time bomb, ready to explode. How dare he intrude on her sanctuary? How dare he? She held on to her dignity with barely restrained rage.

The doors were already opening in front of them. The elevator emptied out onto the first floor, a long, shallow lobby with high ceilings, towering panes of glass walls, and modernized chandeliers queued from one end to the other. Bulma tugged her coat collar up and matched Vegeta's pace as he led her through the throng of people. Every now and then, someone would call out to her. “Have a good evening, Bulma!” But it didn't put a damper on Vegeta's pace.

He pushed back the steel doors, and they were deposited outside, taxis honking and people clogging the sidewalks, rushing homeward or across town for the dinner hour. The sky was a dull, wooly gray, spitting out the occasional flurry.

Vegeta turned to her and grinned toothily. “I suppose this is the part where I ask you if you trust me?”

“What?” Bulma looked up at him, confused. He was only wearing a long sleeved, black t shirt and black trousers. Shouldn't he be shivering? The black looked really good against his bronzed skin, making the deep mahogany color of his eyes seem more intense. His thick, inky black hair she had once loved to comb her fingers through, his full lashes, his sharply angled features. He was having an unsettling effect on her, and she didn't like it one bit.

“Do you trust me, Onna?”

She flinched at his use of her pet name. Although it could hardly be called polite, it had been so long since she had heard it, and she was shocked by how hungry she was to hear it again.

Her brows settled into an intimidating frown. “No. Not at all. Why?”

Suddenly, his arms were around her. Without any hesitation, her world narrowed down to their embrace, their bodies pressed together as he smirked down at her.

And then he was scooping her up and rocketing them upwards, flying them up and over the office building in a beeline towards the Capsule Corp compound. She threw her arms around his neck instinctually and clung to him, her hair whipping behind her as she held on to her briefcase desperately. It was almost impossible to breathe. The air wasn't only thin, but it was freezing. She squirmed in his arms until her face was pressed into the crook of his neck, shielding her from the wind and allowing her to catch her breath. Vegeta slowed and dropped down, hovering safely over the brittle, yellowed grass outside the ship on her lawn. As his feet touched ground, he carefully lowered her legs, giving her a second to regain her bearings before letting go of her completely. She stood stiffly, her hair tangled and her scarf hanging limply and askew.

Vegeta strode up the ramp and pushed the door open. “Are you coming?” He didn't bother waiting for an answer.

She didn't even have time to consider what had just happened before she was marching up the ramp after him, her fists swinging at her sides.

“What's the big idea, you jerk? I don't even have my toolbox yet!”

He pointed at the floor, his back still to her as he grabbed a white towel and lopped it around his neck.

“Right there. The chrome tile next to the console. Your father installed a toolbox under the floor should I need to fix something simple.”

Bulma scoffed. “You? Fix Something? Since when did you do anything that made someone else's life easier?”

He glowered in her direction. “The gravity won't engage.”

Bulma let out a huff. She unwound her scarf and shrugged out of her coat, throwing them on the console. She tucked her hair back from her face and slid her fingers over the touch screen console. “This doesn't make sense.” Concerned, she bent and grabbed the handle of the unique tile and pulled up. She flipped the lid back and rummaged inside for a ratchet and a feeler gauge. As she bent down to check inside the gravity console, she saw Vegeta descend into his katas. She rolled her eyes and peered upward into the guts of the console. Just as she let out an exasperated breath, finding no cause for alarm, she heard the vid screen click on, followed by a string of high pitched, maniacal giggles.

She froze. “Huh?”

“Say your prayers, Vegeta! Now you won't be able to hurt anyone anymore.”

Bulma pushed her self carefully out from under the console and sat up, confused. She peered around the console and saw Vegeta turn toward the vid screen, where Puar's image scowled fiercely down at him. Puar laughed again and held up a small remote device with a single red button. Suddenly, the ship engines roared to life. Bulma's eyes got wide.

“See ya, wouldn't wanna be ya!” Puar screeched, bravely pushing the red button on the remote, as Vegeta bent into a defensive stance.

Bulma stood up as the shrill of the engine became an overpowering ringing in her ears. “Puar? What's going on?” She yelled over the noise.

Puar looked suddenly ill. “Bulma? Oh, no!”

The ship blasted upwards. Bulma gripped the console, her teeth clenched, as they thrust upward through the sky. “Puar,” she grit out. “What did you do?”

“I'm so sorry, Bulma! I didn't know you were on board!”

Bulma felt like the pressure was going to squash her into a pancake. She couldn't move if she wanted to. Her mind began chattering, in fear for her life, as they hurdled through the last of the Earth's atmosphere. As they ascended out of orbit, the pressure let off and the engine noise faded to nothing.

Unglued, Bulma raced over to a port hole. Outside the window, it was pitch black, except for small, immovable pin pricks of light from stars millions of light years away. Her heart leapt into her throat.

“Puar...” She strode over to the console, flipping through commands on the screen, growing increasingly agitated. She smacked her hand on the console and barked, “Puar, what did you just do?”

“I'm so sorry! I triggered lift off remotely after I set override coordinates and jammed the computer.” Puar was in tears. “That was what your father said, anyway, when I tricked him into telling me how to do it.”

Bulma finally turned toward Vegeta, who'd stood fuming in the same spot since liftoff.

“We can't go back. Not until we've reached our destination. The main computer is shot so I can't make a bit of difference!” She threw her hand towards the console, appealing to him fearfully. “Surely we don't even have enough fuel to make it there!”

Vegeta stood scowling at her, his expression unreadable, but his body language tense. “There's enough fuel.”

“What?! I'm surprised we made it beyond orbit, Vegeta! This ship has one use only--the gravity room! It's never even been into space!”

“It has fuel, so quit your shrieking.” Vegeta finally seemed to come back to life. “Where are we headed?” He asked Puar gruffly.

“I don't know! I just typed in random numbers!” She wailed.

“What numbers!” He barked, a vein popping out on his forehead.

“24-67-72-19!”

What is this, the lottery!” Bulma shrieked.

Vegeta glowered. “That's the Monoceros Stellar Stream. You've just sent us to Cold territory, you mangy cat.”

“What does it matter how cold it is when we won't have enough fuel to get there!” Bulma screamed, squaring off in front of him.

“We have enough fuel, damnet! I ordered your father to refuel the ship last week!”

Bulma stuttered, her mouth moving like a fish, her pointer finger drooping. “You...you were going to leave?”

He growled and crossed his arms, turning back towards the video projection of Puar, who was wringing her hands and shifting her gaze back and forth between them.

“There's a dwarf planet, M139, inside Monoceros that exists as an interstellar bizarre. We should be able to find the parts for the ship you're looking for so that we can return,” he told her curtly, turning away from them.

Without thinking, Bulma whispered defeatedly, “Why, so you can leave again?”

He didn't bother to respond, heading towards the stairs that would take him down into the living compartments.

Bulma turned morosely back to Puar's image.

“I'm sorry, Bulma,” Puar murmured.

Bulma nodded her head dully.

“Please stay safe,” Puar pled, and then signed off.

Bulma stood alone in the engulfing silence of the gravity room. Lost in the cold vastness of space, her personal belongings thrown over the controls were the only indication that she still existed.

“What am I going to do?” She whimpered.

She cocked a hip and crossed her arms. “And how am I supposed to do it in a pencil skirt! Ugh!” She pulled out a crate from under the console and sat down, staring listlessly down at the controls. She took a deep breath.

First, she wouldn't waste her time crying about something she couldn't change.

Second, she would find out exactly what's up with the ship.

And then, she was going downstairs to say a few things to a Saiyan that she should have said a long time ago.

______________________________________________

A/N: Hey, all! I tried very hard to write the OC who is pursuing Bulma without a name. Did you notice that? Did it work? I was going to give him a name--Stephen, Jim, or something Japanese, who knows--but I wanted to make sure that he stayed on the fringes of the story symbolically. I didn't want to drag in an OC and step on any toes. Especially one that comes between our favorite romance.

Also, I hope there wasn't too much angst or too much dialogue during the date scene for your tastes. I just wanted to make it clear what had happened in the interim, and that Bulma, despite being awfully unhappy, is (was) committed to living a life without the Saiyan Prince.

Which she's going to have a hard time doing, now that they're stuck on a ship together.