Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Reciprocity ❯ Shaken But Not Stirred ( Chapter 7 )

Disclaimer: Sgt. Frog reads Gundam fan fic and complains about the unmotivated love scenes. I'm just happy I have the right to write fan fiction.

_____Shaken, But Not Stirred

“Be quiet, woman, they'll hear you! How did I get stuck with the biggest loud mouth this side of the galaxy?” Vegeta muttered distastefully, bristling.

“Because you put fuel in the ship, idiot,” she mumbled, rolling her eyes and crossing her arms as she turned from him, imitating his own stiff demeanor unknowingly.

“I won't tell you again. The market is neutral space, but the rest of the people of this world are a bunch of behind the times backwater nomads who believe aggressively in the INVISIBILITY and SILENCE of women!”

“That's barbaric!”

“It is what it is. Try talking them out of it and we'll see how long it takes for your head to roll!”

Bulma let out a huff and kicked at the sand in front of them. “What do you suggest we do then?”

They stood at the rim of what Bulma had quickly coined a “parking garage for flying saucers” (a moniker which seemed to rankle the Saiyan Prince), where grated metal met a blanket of white sand that stretched endlessly around them. They were buffeted by the dry, hot wind as they surveyed the landscape in front of them. A few miles off, she could make out the bazaar, or “Tent City,” sprawled across the expanse of desert in front of them. It was as massive as a small city, teeming and pulsing even at this distance with people in the business of living. Vegeta had informed her that ships weren't allowed within three miles of Tent City, so these “parking garages” accommodated interstellar travelers. Towering, spiral installations, they protruded from the sand like sleek, mechanized conch shells hovering warily around Tent City. Their spiked peaks pointed accusingly at the opalescent, powder blue sky. The nomads, or Eeyuris, had allowed visitors on the condition that business and crime were to be contained. The Eeyuris were able to convince potential entrepreneurs of this by force: their heads on pikes for the next wave of prospectors to take as a cautionary tale. Wayfaring and without “civilization,” perhaps, but savagely protective of their uncultivated, barren home.

Bulma, a little petulantly, disagreed with their values.

“Whose pride is too big to be contained now, woman,” he grumbled as they waited in line for the Eeyuris pack animals--a large, spindly, reptile-like creature that Bulma couldn't look at lest she wrinkle her face by deeply wincing in horror--to be saddled by some robed Eeyuris.

“Not as big as your hair,” she grit out.

Their week and a half of traveling at light speed towards M183 had gone smoothly enough. Vegeta, for the most part, hadn't left the upper floor except to eat and use the bathroom, which Bulma took in stride. She knew they both needed time to adjust to new feelings and the new turn of events. Bulma had tried keeping herself occupied, given that she hadn't brought anything along with her except her briefcase, loaded solely with paperwork and a few crumbs, and the clothes on her back, which were becoming quite uncomfortable. She had tried to wash them, at least, in the sink, but the air conditioning keeping the humidity bearable was making it nearly impossible for them to dry. So Bulma had marched ingenuously up the stairs in her underwear clutching the damp office attire, and laid them flat on the console, seating herself in the captain's chair as she waited for the heat of the controls to dry her only clothes.

Vegeta had only raised an eyebrow, to which Bulma snarled, “What are you looking at?”

Even if a truce had been called, the tedium was keeping them both a little on edge.

Except...before landfall, she had come up the stairs after she had heard the toneless, feminine voice chime “One hour to landfall,” only to find Vegeta leaning uncharacteristically pensive against the front wall of windows. She had gripped his arm in camaraderie and watched the universe expand around them in the empty silence of the ship, until he had turned his head to her, ghosted her a glance, and relaxed fractionally into her. She hadn't expected huge strides to be made between them so quickly, but she found herself a little pleasantly surprised that he would show her such small, but profound, affection. Their relationship was a little like rehabilitating a wild animal; she would nurse the distance, knowing a man this wild couldn't be kept.

The Eeyuris made a motion at them, and Vegeta led her toward him and the creature. Unexpectedly, he offered her a hand up.

“Please get yourself some real clothes when we get there,” she heard him growl from behind her as she settled into the leathered saddle. He seated himself fluidly behind her, and the animal lurched forward. Bulma quickly gripped the pommel as the Eeyuris led them across the expanse.

“And what, may I ask, are real clothes?” She snapped.

“Clothes that allow for some motility.”

“Oh, like my swimsuit?” She smiled. She could almost feel the Prince stiffen behind her. “I'll keep your preference in mind when we get home.”

“That's not what I meant.” She could feel him gesture to her high waisted pencil skirt. “I'm surprised you haven't fallen down, unable to get up.” She snorted. “It's unsafe to wear restrictive clothing, and while we are out in space, we need to be prepared.”

“Would you rather me without it?” She turned back to him, smiling deviously at his exasperated blush, which he followed with a smirk that heated her through.

“Only if you're in the kitchen making me dinner.”

Bulma growled and settled for watching Tent City get nearer, like a heap of coins glinting and rusting in the baking hot sunlight, dropped by some drunk, rustic god and held together by its own ugly, stubborn will to live.

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Vegeta led her through alley after alley, through several passageways draped with beautiful, clay-hued rugs, some framed with long fringe, others braided with a motley of precious stones. Earth huts and tents dyed a burnt umber lined the street, sheltering sellers hawking wares. The myriad people that made up Tent City were overwhelming. Bulma began making up names for them as Vegeta pulled her forward through the crowd. There was Hammy, a stalwart, pig-nosed fellow with tentacles selling doodads; Burrows, a roach peddling whats-a-ma-call-its that looked suspiciously like bug traps; and a bulbous purple creature she christened Sweet Potato, because his thing-a-lings looked like mason jars packed with spiced yams. Just as Bulma began to question her sanity, Vegeta stopped her in front of a large woven tent. She glanced over his shoulder and had to clamp her mouth on a whoop of joy.

“Tech. Yes,” Vegeta inserted wryly, his hand tightening on her arm. “You brought some capsules, right?” She nodded enthusiastically. Her father had thought well to add some empty capsules to the first aid kit. “Five things. Got it? That's it. Find yourself five pieces of tech that can outlast your curiosity, because I am not dragging you out here again. Find us a new motherboard. Capsulize it all.”

She nodded again, eagerly, and she saw amusement glint his eyes.

“Get out of here,” he commanded.

As she ran her hands over parts and gadgets, Bulma thought maybe she had died in space and gone to Heaven.

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Bulma tugged at the tops of her soft thigh high boots and picked at the tight tube jumpsuit that fit a little too snugly over her lady parts.

“Are space women built like sticks?! Is this really fashionable in this part of the galaxy? I'm channeling Lara Croft, here. Or Jane Fonda. Maybe a space pirate. I just need a peg leg or something--”

“Are you done playing with your décolletage? I'm hungry.” Vegeta interrupted, his back towards her. Trying on clothes wasn't his thing, obviously.

“Of course you are. I just feel a little...exposed,” Bulma complained, threading her capsule case strap onto her right thigh. Lara Croft it was.

“Says the woman whose idea of an appropriate amount of modesty is negligible.”

She was sure he was whining now. Despite his menacing stance and his grumpy, harrowed expression, she leaned in and purred, “It's just, I'm not wearing any underwear.”

His eyes widened. “Where did it go?”

“It was two weeks old and crusty! Jeez! I threw it in the garbage over there.” She gestured towards the bin near the dressing rooms.

Vegeta bit down on a smile and managed to look chagrined. “Onna, you've just made some sad alien's day. Now let's go!”

As they churned through the crowd, the smell of body odor and dust began to be replaced by the savory smell of roasted meat.

“Now what?” She plaintively asked, on his heels.

“We eat. We buy groceries. We get off this mudball. I paid the Eeyuris to refuel our ship. After food is taken care of, our business is done here.”

“How have you been paying for all of this? And why are you so eager to leave this place? Let's have some fun while we're out in space!”

“I have credit.”

“That card you've been using? Like, a debit card?”

“It's crystarium. It's linked to an account I kept secret from Frieza. I imagine the account he held for me has been liquidated, by now.” He leveled a quick frown at her. “I may seem like a `mooch' on Earth, as Kakarot's harpy calls me. But out in space,” he grinned devilishly, “I'm quite rich.”

“Oh.” Bulma replied stupidly. She had no idea. “How did you make your money?”

He glanced back at her, again pulling her through the crowd. “Killing.”

Bulma stalled, and then hopped the few steps to catch back up to him.

“What a brute,” she muttered.

He yanked her to the edge of the street and twirled her into his arms, crashing his lips against hers in a searing kiss and leaning her against a vendor's mud hut. His hands raked through her hair, curved around the ball of her shoulder, and lingered over her breasts. She shivered.

“It turns you on when I call you names, does it?” She giggled.

“I'm a beast,” he whispered against her lips. He grabbed her hips and pulled her close. “A monster.”

“It's criminal,” she breathed.

“I am that, too.”

“With a bounty on his head worth more crystarium than an empire,” breezed a voice from beside them.

Vegeta cocked his head toward it, disaffected.

“What a surprise. I should have known you'd rise from the grave just to pester me,” he drawled. He leaned on his arm next to her head, blocking her view of the stranger.

“Don't flatter yourself, Vegeta. I'm not here to pester you.”

A smirk tugged upward at Vegeta's lips. “Then why are you here, wasting my time? Run along and play.”

“I'm not here to pester you. I'm here to collect on you.”

And, with that, Vegeta's body seized violently in front of her, his eyes widening and rolling back into his head as he crumpled to the ground, his limbs sticking out awkwardly behind him.

Horror shot through her and she reached out to him, crying his name, as she looked up into the eyes of the man to blame.

“Hello,” he said congenially. “We've already met.” He flicked his braid over his shoulder and smirked.

“I'm Zarbon. And you're dead.”

There was a hard crack to her temple, and Bulma's world went black.

__________________________________________________________

Bulma became aware of a stuffiness in her head and a loud ringing in her ears first as she surfaced from the fog of unconsciousness. Blinking through heavy eyelids, the spinning world slowly pieced together into focus. When she saw Vegeta lying prone on his side in front of her, her heart started hammering. She quickly assessed their surroundings.

Her hands and feet were bound. She wiggled them, but they were too tight to budge. The floor felt rough, like untreated wood. She could hear a steady, gritty sound. They must be moving, over sand. She glanced upwards. It looked as if they were in a covered cart. She could just make out Vegeta's tied hands through dim light of dusk.

She wriggled toward him, inching desperately, slowly towards him. “Vegeta,” she whispered. He moaned and twitched. “Vegeta!” She pressed her head against her shoulder blade, nudging him with her head. “Wake up, you stubborn, infuriating man,” she pled into his shirt.

Very slowly, Vegeta's head turned upwards. “What's going on,” he managed hoarsely.

“We've been captured. Zarbon knocked us out. He's taking us somewhere. Are you going to be okay?” She hadn't expected the Prince of Saiyans to fall like that; and, she suspected, neither had he. Her brow furrowed with concern.

He didn't reply. She was about to nudge him again when his body was wracked with shaking. Bulma watched his body contort and listened painfully as he threw up the meager contents of his belly. She rested her forehead on his shoulder blade supportively. After the dry heaves had subsided, he managed to roll heavily onto his back.

“Cut it out in there,” someone hollered, giving the cart a good whack. The concussion shook Bulma's brain and vision, but she fought through it.

“Vegeta,” she pled softly.

“There are four of them,” he announced roughly, startling her. “Two driving the cart. One riding alongside. Another...flying.”

“Zarbon,” she muttered darkly. “How do you know?”

“I can hear them.” Even though he was responding to her questioning, Vegeta didn't seem lucid at all. His eyes were half-mast and his raspy speech was slurred.

“What's wrong with you?” She took him in, dread pooling in her belly.

“Ki...suppressors. Make me...sick.”

“You and me both, buddy....Hey! You mean...Oh. Well, I'm glad that's all it is. What are we going to do? You're not capable of fighting right now, I'm cuffed, and I'm not worth squat in a fight!”

“Just...talk their heads off or something.” He let out a few wracking laughs and then curled back onto his side, moaning.

“Oh, Vegeta,” she lamented, her lips brushing against his shirt. “This isn't good.” She trembled quietly. If only there was something she could do. Vegeta certainly wasn't offering up any advice.

The cart came jerking to a stop, and she heard the hum of voices a ways off.

“Nine more. He's...selling us,” he mumbled.

“What?!” She began frantically pulling at her binds. “What can I do?”

“They're...Eeyuris...Keep a low profile.”

“You got it,” she promised.

A look of determination settled firmly over Bulma's dusty, swollen face. She'd have to be smart. She wouldn't be able to fight or resist a single one of them. If she could endure until she could outsmart them--which was simply a test of time--that's what it took to keep her and Vegeta alive. Vegeta was an asset. She needed him to make a getaway. She was going to have to find some way to deactivate whatever tech was wreaking havoc on his system and restraining his power, so that he could lend a hand. Until then, she was marooned.

Footsteps approached the cart and the cover was whipped off. Several hooded faces peered down at them. Bulma tried to steady her rapidly beating heart.

“I told you she's exotic,” Zarbon chimed, beaming down at her.

Bulma's blood ran cold.

“Sixty thousand crystarium and no more. We can't even breed the woman, and the man is just short of a liability.”

“You'll come to no harm by him,” Zarbon assured them. “The ki suppressors have complete control. Sixty thousand is nothing to gain Zojeerma-Yarowmeen's favor.”

The Eeyuris seemed to mull it over. Finally, one gave a sharp nod and called out for two men to take control of the cart.

As the Eeyuris busied themselves with preparing their pack animal for the cart, Zarbon glided up to them with a syrupy smile.

“Why?” Bulma dared, her voice cracking as terror coursed through her.

“Vegeta owes me this.” His smile contorted and deformed into a deep scowl. “He took my life from me, my lover, my career, my wealth. Without...his Lordship...I am nothing,” he whispered madly. “I've had to scrape just to survive,” he snarled. “Bounty hunting just to survive. Now the little monkey, that thorn in my side,” he screeched, “will meet his end. But not before he sinks as low as he can go.” He shuddered. “Tell him I look forward to it. With the money earned off your corpses, I'm finally getting out of this hell so I can live how I deserve to live. In splendor!”

“You deserve this hell, Zarbon,” Bulma spat. “For once you're free of that ugly lizard's expectations, and you can't even stop crying! Vegeta is a hundred times more of a man than you are,” she declared harshly.

Zarbon's eyes dulled as he caressed his braid. “I killed the Monkey Prince and his mate. I've avenged you. Please forgive me,” he prayed softly.

“You couldn't even bring Vegeta down without ki suppressors,” she fumed.

Zarbon struck her hard enough that she slid across the cart, spilling against the back wall and knocking her head against the wood hard enough to fall into darkness, but not before she heard Vegeta's rough, unhinged laughter.

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A/N: Hey, erry body! I hope everyone is doing well! I know this is another short chapter, but is that so bad? And now you have something to read while you're avoiding doing the dishes.

Thank you so much for the reviews and well wishes! For those of you who comment faithfully after every chapter, I just want to take you out to dinner, get a little tipsy with you, and giggle about all the bad hair in DBZ. Thank you to those readers who have stuck with me. This is my first fan fic ever, and the first time I've written anything that isn't academic in years. I feel like I'm getting a little better with each chapter, and I hope it shows.

I also just want to credit author Caprice 6 for inventing “crystallite” as a means of exchange in the BxV universe.

Ciao, for now!