Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ The Colours Within ❯ Bar Meetings and Retreats ( Chapter 6 )

A/N: Heck yes for the end of exams! And so starts summer courses and work… :S Anyway, sorry about the wait, could've been longer though. Thanks for all the reviews, too, I'm glad that that everyone seemed to enjoy the argument scene ;) This chapter is somewhat shorter than some of the others, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless.

 

A side note on Japanese names: In Japan, first names aren't used as loosely as they are in North America. People will refer to each other by last name until they become closer with the person, and then they'll begin to use first names. Also, last names come before first names (probably for this reason).

 

six. bar meetings and retreats.

 

“Hey, sexy. Can I buy you a drink?”

 

Narumi shifted her eyes to the side and looked at the newcomer from under lowered lashes. “I don't know,” she replied. “Can you?”

 

The man seemed unsure how to reply to this as he hesitated for a brief moment before replying, “I hope so….”

 

She flashed a smile at him. “I don't let strange men buy me drinks. Sorry.”

 

“Gouhara Giichi,” he said, extending his hand. “You are?”

 

“Fujihara.”

 

He paused, waiting for her to continue. When she didn't, he prompted, “Your first name?”

 

“Is for me to know,” Narumi shot back. “How about that beer?”

 

Giichi frowned slightly but waved down the bartender, slapping a twenty on the table. He turned back to Narumi. “Our last names are similar,” he said.

 

She lifted her eyebrows briefly in a slight agreement. “Observant.”

 

“Er… well, yeah.” He sat down on the stool beside her and looked extremely uncomfortable. He'd spotted her from across the bar, and from her tiny skirt and revealing top he had concluded that she would be a good choice to take home with him for the night. Despite the clothing and initial flirtatious conversation, however, she wasn't acting very sleazy or interested in having sex.

 

“So what do you do, Gouhara?” she asked.

 

He looked up, startled. “What do I do?”

 

She rolled her eyes. “Your job.”

 

“Oh!” He flushed crimson. “I'm in marketing. I work for the Capsule Corporation.”

 

“Oh?” She leaned in a bit closer, the initial interest rekindling in her eyes. “You may know my brother, then. Fujihara Takeshi.”

 

Giichi pondered for a moment, then shook his head. “No, the name's not familiar. I've probably seen him though. Is he also in marketing?”

 

“No, he's one of the scientists.” Narumi waved her hand, indicating that this wasn't important. “I'm assuming that you must have seen Briefs-san's houseguest, though.”

 

“Who, Vegeta?”

 

Narumi paused as the bartender returned with the drinks. She took a gulp, then turned back to Giichi. “Yes, that's him. Taki says he's horrible.”

 

Giichi nodded violently. “He's such an arrogant bastard. He thinks he can boss everyone around. He doesn't even work for the company.”

 

“How do you find Bulma Briefs?”

 

He smiled. “I think she's really nice. She's good at what she does - she listens to the employees but doesn't take anyone's shit. She's absolutely brilliant. And pretty, too.”

 

Narumi shrugged, taking another swig of beer. “What did you say your first name was? Genchi?”

 

“Giichi, actually,” he corrected as more colour rose to his face.

 

“Sorry, Giichi,” she said. “Do you have any plans for tonight?”

 

“No, not yet.”

 

“Me neither. My name's Narumi.”

 

Giichi glanced over at her skeptically and saw her smiling at him flirtatiously again. Catching his gaze, the corner of her mouth pulled further upward and she raised an eyebrow.

 

“As a matter of fact,” she continued, “I don't have any plans for tomorrow morning, either.”

 

///

 

Bulma slept late, despite the brief interruption at dawn when the gravity room's rockets shook the entire building and jarred her from her sleep. Scrambling to the window, she had seen the training facility blast into the sky, shooting upwards past her window. The heat from the rockets was intense, Bulma breaking into a sweat immediately after she'd put her head out the window. She watched until the machine had disappeared from sight, and then paused as relief washed over her like a much awaited summer shower. And then she'd crawled back into bed and fell into one of the deepest sleeps she'd had since the news of the androids.

 

Now she was awake, stretching and allowing herself to wake slowly, instead of leaping out of bed at the first sound from her alarm, rushing to the bathroom and sitting in her office within an hour as she'd done every day after Vegeta had attacked her. Today she would go Christmas shopping, she decided, instead of leaving it until the following week, and then call Yamcha in the evening. She missed him. Surely he couldn't still be mad.

 

She sat up in bed and swung her legs over the side of the mattress, slipping her feet into her comfortable slippers. As she exited the room, she took her housecoat down from the hook on the back of her door - white, like her slippers. She tugged it on and tied the sash tightly as she made her way down the stairs. For once she didn't worry about the bruising on her neck.

 

In the kitchen she fixed herself a breakfast of fried eggs on toast, and despite the fact that her egg was a sickening brown colour due to the butter she'd burnt in the pan, and the fact that both her pieces of toast had begun to smoke in the toaster, she found that it wasn't that bad as long as she added some ketchup.

 

Bulma heard the front door open and felt a bitter wind drift in from the outside. A few moments later her father tramped in, stomping his feet to bring some of the blood back to his toes. His nose and ears were bright red from the cold, and he was breathing into his hands.

 

“Cold?” Bulma asked, giving a small smile.

 

“Frozen,” he corrected. “Where's Vegeta?”

 

“He left,” Bulma said, frowning. “Didn't you hear him this morning?”

 

Dr. Briefs shook his head. “No. Where did he go?”

 

“I don't know exactly,” Bulma said. “Somewhere in space. I can't believe you didn't wake up - the entire house shook.”

 

 

“I wouldn't have even realized that he was gone except all the snow in the back yard melted. Must've been from the heat from the rockets.”

 

“You wouldn't have noticed that the G.R. itself was gone?” Bulma asked skeptically.

 

“Of course I would have, but I would've thought you had collapsed it and brought it inside for something. Vegeta hadn't even mentioned to me that he was interested in leaving for space so soon. When did he decide this?”

 

Bulma shrugged. “He told me yesterday that he would be leaving this morning.”

 

“And you didn't tell me?”

 

“I figured you knew! Does it really matter anyway?”

 

“I would've wanted to perform a full system scan of the internal computer,” Dr. Briefs said, “and have one of the robots scan the foundations of the facility to make sure everything was sturdy and secure.”

 

“I'm sure everything's fine,” Bulma said around a mouthful of toast and egg.

 

Dr. Briefs frowned at her. “You think so? Vegeta isn't exactly cautious about the way he takes care of things. The machine's walls are probably wearing thin from the inside out, and he's obviously going to continue to train while in space. I wish I could've made him a new machine before he left, with denser alloy in the walls so that it wouldn't blow up as easily. What if it explodes in the middle of space?”

 

“I'm sure he'll be fine,” Bulma said peevishly. She really didn't care how Vegeta fared in space. If the gravity room blew up during his travels, it would be his own fault.

 

“I'm going to see if I can reach him,” Dr. Briefs said. “He hasn't gone out of the area of the satellites' capabilities, but he may have turned off his communications.” He shuffled out of the kitchen, worry etched onto his face.

 

“I wouldn't waste my time,” Bulma called after him, but he either didn't hear or chose to ignore her.

 

Bulma shoved the last of her breakfast into her mouth and almost spat it back out. Suddenly no amount of ketchup could make the burnt toast and burnt-butter-fried egg edible. She dumped her plate into the dishwasher but was detained in the kitchen by the sound of the phone ringing. She reached for the phone on the wall by the fridge, putting the cordless receiver to her ear.

 

“Hello?”

 

“Bulma?” The voice was slightly panicked.

 

“Goku? What happened?” she asked, worry creeping into her own voice.

 

“Where's Vegeta?” he demanded. “Did something happen? I can't sense his Ki anywhere.”

 

Bulma paused, and then breathed a sigh of relief. “He went into space in his gravity room.”

 

“What?”

 

A frown crossed Bulma's face at Goku's tone. “What?” she asked, confused.

 

“He went into space,” he echoed slowly.

 

“Yes, in his gravity room. It's like the one you took to go to Namek.”

 

“Why would he do that?”

 

“I have no idea,” Bulma replied honestly. “I don't think he's very happy on Earth.”

 

“Why?”

 

“I don't know. Why is this important? The androids aren't supposed to come for over two years,” she said.

 

“I know but…” he trailed off, but continued after a brief pause. “I guess I was just worried that something had happened. We need his help.”

 

“Everything's fine. I don't know when he's supposed to be back, but it'll be soon. He doesn't have that many supplies to last for two years, and the gas tank isn't that large.”

 

“Why will he need gas in space?”

 

“For the engine thrusters,” Bulma began to explain, but decided that it would be better to just leave it at that.

 

“Oh. Well then… he should be back soon?”

 

“In about six months, I'm guessing.”

 

There was silence as Goku considered this. “Okay,” he said at last, and his characteristic cheerfulness came back into his voice. “Sorry to bug you Bulma. I was just kinda worried.”

 

“Don't worry about it. Do you want me to call and let you know when he comes back?”

 

“No, I'll be able to sense his Ki. Thanks, Bulma!” And without waiting for her to say her own goodbyes, he hung up the phone.

 

Bulma shook her head, smiling, as she exited the kitchen. Goku had too good of a heart, she thought. He was so concerned for Vegeta, though the older Saiya-jin had no respect for him. It was almost cute, she realized, the way Goku considered him a friend and looked out for him. If Vegeta knew that, there would be hell to pay.

 

That evening, Bulma returned from the mall laden with bags - Christmas presents for her family, Aiko, and Aiko's family, whom she bought gifts for every year. She also had a gift for Yamcha, though she hadn't called him yet. In the store, as she stood looking at the Rolexes, she decided that she would purchase one for Yamcha and give it to him even if things weren't patched up. She could send it through FedEx.

 

She walked into the living room and, at the other end of the room, through the door and down the short set of stairs to the slightly sunken den, she saw that the Christmas tree was already up. She grinned happily - her father must've set it up with the help of some of the robots. She was eager to wrap her purchases and begin putting them under the tree, but that would have to wait until tomorrow. Now she had a phone call to make.

 

She lugged her purchases up the stairs, wishing she had thought to capsulate them, and put them in her large closet, hidden amongst her clothes and some boxes filled with childhood items. Then Bulma collapsed on her bed, grabbing her phone from her night table as she did so. She pushed the number one, Yamcha's speed dial number, and listened as it rang once, twice, thrice—

 

“Hello?”

 

She paused for a brief moment before beginning. “Hi, Yamcha. It's Bulma.”

 

///

 

Vegeta, meanwhile, was not training as one might've thought. Instead he was cooking Kraft Dinner on the stove in the kitchen below the training room, his stomach growling. He was not in a good mood. Not only had he been unable to work the oven to cook the chicken he'd wanted, but also Dr. Briefs had interrupted his training earlier that day to lecture him, of all things. This had driven Vegeta to blow up the communications system, something he now regretted. Not only that, but he had discovered, upon entering his room, that his bed was completely devoid of sheets, and that there were none to be found in the entire ship. He hadn't thought to bring any - he'd assumed they would have already been provided.

 

His UPS - Universal Positioning System - informed him that within the next fifteen hours he would be upon a trade planet, and he decided that he would land there and get some blankets and pillows, some extra food and water, and some more training equipment, such as weights. He wouldn't trade for it, of course. Not only did he have nothing that he was willing to trade, but he knew that he would be able to get what he wanted through stealing and threatening and deception. Deception was the most fun, as he and Nappa had learned through the years, but often required two or more people to make the lies realistic and believable. It was also the most time-consuming method, and Vegeta wasn't interested in wasting time. He would steal what he could, and persuade people to give up what he couldn't. Merchants rarely noticed a few missing items, and those who did hadn't the faintest idea who could have taken them amongst boisterous crowd. And if Vegeta was to get caught there was nothing a mere merchant could do, who at the most would be armed with a low-powered Ki blast gun, and likely unsure as to how to use it properly.

 

For that night, though, Vegeta, miserable, went to sleep on a bare mattress, using a towel he'd brought as a blanket and a sweatshirt as a pillow. His final thought that night before he went to sleep was that of his childhood, an image of him at the age of twelve, curled up on a rug on the floor, huddled beneath a towel he'd stolen from the public showers, a bag the only thing to cushion his head.

 

Perhaps he'd been a little hasty in his retreat from Earth.