Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Too Close for Comfort ❯ Prologue

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

DISCLAIMER: Don't own DBZ.

SUMMARY: A/U, B/V; Bulma leaves Capsule Corp to prove she can live and work on her own. She expects immediate acceptance but instead finds that the real world is a cruel place with few comforts and nothing is ever what it seems, especially when Vegeta is your boss!


11/21/11: Revised, yet again, for continuity and quality. If you passed over this fic before, give it another chance!







Too Close For Comfort







Prologue




-26 floors up in the main building of Seiya Corp.-


"These files here are from the Stewart account, delivered from the head office. He wants the mistakes marked to be taken care of immediately. Goku asked me on the way in for you to check your e-mail, he said it was important. Here are some memos that were on your door, and here's your coffee!... Mr. Vegeta, sir?"

With a dismissive look, a man with wild jet black hair waved away his assistant. Wearing a well-fitted black pinstripe suit, he scanned his dark eyes over the papers the assistant had plopped down on his desk. He had been so distracted he didn't notice that the blonde-haired girl still stood there, staring at him intently. Almost as if he could feel the sudden burn of her gaze, he suddenly looked up and noticed her undivided attention was still directed at him and he gave her an indignant glare.

"Leave!" The man ordered fiercely. He watched with mild interest as the young woman scurried out of his office, looking back with a blush gracing her cheeks. As she pushed open the glass door to exit, another man, Goku, was just coming in, so she muttered a flustered "Excuse me...", squeezing past him and scampering off. Goku stood in the doorway, innocently watching her disappear around the corner. He shook his head with wonder and smiled.
 
"That's the new one, huh?" He laughed. Making himself comfortable in a chair opposite Vegeta's huge desk, he craned his neck back to see if the girl was still visible and shook his head again with amusement at how fast she managed to transport herself to the other side of the office just in a matter of seconds. The man opposite him nodded wordlessly, a grim look on his face.

Goku noticed that his cold glare was a bit more icy that usual, and decided to ask anyway even though he knew Vegeta was not fond of questions, and was notorious for his short temper. "What's up, Vegeta?"

The irritated man sitting behind the desk looked through the floor-to-ceiling windows that made up the wall facing the office. Briefly scanning the office and noticing nothing suspicious, and also noting that there was no one nearby, he muttered quietly, "I have to get her away from me."

"What?" Goku wore a confused frown.

Vegeta rolled his eyes at the prospect of having to continue his explanation, but went on regardless. "She never leaves me alone. She's constantly staring at me through the window and whenever I dismiss her she just stands there like an idiot."

Goku lifted an eyebrow doubtfully. "Really? That's it? That's why you don't like her?"

"It's creepy, Kakarott. I should have kept those damned shades." Vegeta spat with a disturbed look on his face, holding his head in a manner that made it look as if he were still shielding himself from her gaze from across the office.

"I guess it could be creepy..." Goku agreed, still a little doubtful of his friend's somewhat paranoid observations.

"...And her coffee sucks." Vegeta added, after thinking for a moment.

Goku sighed. "Vegeta, everyone gets that coffee. That's the break room coffee."

Vegeta's patience was wearing thin. "That's some defense. Does the fact that everyone gets it stop it from sucking? No. It tastes like shit." He growled.

"Well, we do deserve better coffee." Goku agreed. Vegeta knew that once he brought up evidence of  poorly made food or beverages made by his new assistant's hand, Kakarott was sure to be on his side in the matter.

"I think I'm going to replace her and get another one." Vegeta mumbled with indifference,  absently checking his watch and then comparing it with the atomic clock above his door.

Goku was alarmed. He had thought that Vegeta was just blowing off steam, but now it was getting serious. He was not looking forward to whatever conversation that would follow, but he lost his grip and had to speak his mind. "You can't just replace her, Vegeta! We just got her a month ago! The one before that didn't last that long, either. Poor girls..." Gears of realization were spinning in Goku's head. "Come to think of it, you've had six this year, so far, and---"

"Fucking...h Vegeta grumbled under his breath as his counterpart continued prattling on. He didn't need to hear the rest of Kakarott's particular train of thought, for he already knew he was being quite hard on his last few assistants. gKakarott! Who picks out your ties?" Vegeta expertly shifted Goku's attentions, which wasn't difficult as the easily distracted man looked down at his tie and then up at Vegeta bashfully.

"I do... And you know I've told you a zillion times not to call me that..."

"Christ, no wonder." Vegeta scoffed. "I'm--" He stopped. From the corner of his eye, he spotted a woman with long dark hair waving through the glass door. He raised his eyebrows signifying that she had gotten his attention and she mouthed something to him in response. Noticing Vegeta's strange behavior, Goku shifted around in his chair and watched the exchange with unexpected interest.

Vegeta clenched his teeth in irritation. He hated it when people tried to mouth words to him through the glass because it wasn't soundproof, and he could easily hear them if they just spoke loud enough. Not again...

With a stubborn sigh, he beckoned her in and she popped her head in, her mouth agape, about to speak, but he immediately put his hand up and interrupted her with a question that he found necessary to ask her every time she entered his office.

"Is it important?" The young woman nodded fervently, her eyes worried. He rolled his eyes with annoyance. "Kakarott, out." Goku bolted to the door and held it open for the woman. She walked in with purpose, wearing a white blouse and a black vest with a matching black skirt that fell to her knees. He stood frozen at the exit as the girl sat down in the squishy chair that he had just left vacant. As he stood transfixed, Vegeta shot him an expectant look with his hand out, and Goku zipped out in response.

Bracing himself, Vegeta reclined in his comfortably flexible rolly-chair and propped his feet on the top of his desk casually, looking at the black-haired woman. She didn't speak and instead looked at Goku walking back to his desk through the transparent walls.

"What is it, Chichi." It was less like a question and more like an exasperated statement, said so many times that he didn't bother to attach meaning to the words any longer.

Chichi quickly turned her head and glared directly at Vegeta, a feat that few women in the office could accomplish without being berated. "Don't say it like that. You act like I come into your office every day asking for something," A look of pure insult crossed her features.

'But you DO come in here every day asking me for something,' Vegeta thought, rubbing his forehead. May it be printer paper or a pen or asking to go get a snack, the woman never ceased to bother him for the most inane reasons. He felt the majority of her interruptions were unnecessary. He was sure that there was some method behind her frequent visits, but he had yet to discover the root of her never-ending problems, but he had plenty of suspicions. A blanket of silence enveloped the room and Chichi finally took it upon herself to end it, as one of Vegeta's most successful methods of torture was awkward silence.

"I need a favor, Vegeta." Chichi asked quietly. Vegeta immediately perked up.

"That's Prince Vegeta if you're going to go about asking for favors," He smirked. Chichi let out a huff.

"I'm serious! Hear me out, you wont regret it." Vegeta was definitely not convinced, but he said nothing, giving her the sign to keep talking. "A friend of mine needs a job. No wait, no wait, she's really good. Too good, even. She's extremely qualified for any job you're willing to give her. I know we're not exactly holding job fairs here and I understand that, but if you give her a chance you will definitely not regret it. I swear on my job." Chichi explained in complete seriousness.

Vegeta was certainly surprised. Chichi took her job quite seriously and wouldn't risk it on just anyone. As he thought, his face remained stony and unreadable, and to an untrained eye, his expression could be perceived as indifference.

"Who's your friend? How am I to know she is trustworthy?"

"Call her in for an interview. I could e-mail you her resume. You won't be disappointed." Chichi stated firmly with confidence. He was silent for awhile, just staring at her, then averting his eyes out towards the office for a moment, and then back to her.

"I'll think about it," He made a dismissive gesture with his hand. Chichi immediately lit up with excitement. If he didn't outright deny it, then she really had a chance!

"Thanks, Vegeta! You really wont regret it, seriously! I wont bother you anymore today, okay? I'll---"

"LEAVE." Vegeta snapped.

"Uh, ok." She scrambled out of his office, almost knocking over Nancy holding a stack of papers. Running and walking briskly were the most common exit methods employees had adopted since Vegeta became supervisor of the department. Sometimes the younger girls that were hired fresh out of college came out of his office sobbing, tears streaming down their faces as they tried to explain what had happened, but most of the time it was his silence and intimidating presence that had broken them down in the end. Few dared to cross him.

After flipping through the papers on his desk with distaste, he began typing up a report of his uneventful morning. As his fingers swiftly glided across the keyboard, he pondered Chichi's request. Annoying interruptions aside, she was good at what she did and because of her impressive proof-reading skills he had all reports clear through her first. Essentially, she was the second-in-command of his department, regardless of how much she irritated him. Anyone that came with her recommendation was probably worthwhile, yet could have the potential to be just as irritating if they happened to be friends.

Whoever this person was, she sounded promising, but her success in the department strongly depended on her overall ability to follow his orders to the letter and recognize his high expectations. Just where would he put her, though...?

Finishing up the report, Vegeta had tossed the idea around in his mind for awhile and decided to check out this person who came with such praise from one of his most diligent employees. He begrudgingly typed up his e-mail to Chichi asking for the resume.



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Not far from town, an apartment complex sat alone and pathetic, overshadowed by the neighboring hill that seemed to obliterate all sunshine from half the building, giving the complex a neglected look. Bulma accidentally neglected it a bit herself and drove straight past it, but she quickly forgave herself of the mistake as she saw that the hill had blocked it from the road and she had no way of seeing it.

She sighed with frustration. 'This had better be worth it,' she thought as she turned the car around with an irritated flick of her wrist.

The building itself was far from the descriptions placed in local property ads. Bulma immediately felt that the adjective 'secluded' was a severe understatement. The complex looked strange, like it was about to be swallowed by the immense hill. She raked her mind for a memory of whether or not the apartment she called about was high up enough to  face the town or not, because if it wasn't, she wouldn't get the expected view of the sprawling urban landscape and instead an eyeful of the hulking wall of grass.

She stopped in the parking lot and turned off the ignition. She took a deep breath and checked her makeup with a look in the rear-view mirror, and decided that it was gorgeous as always. She stepped out of the car and made her way to the entrance of the large building. After pressing the buzzer for the main office and waiting for a moment, she walked  back so she could look up at the complex and see it in its entirety. It had appeared so much smaller from the road and she was surprised by how large it was up close. Counting windows, she realized that the apartment she had inquired about was on the top floor. She only hoped that there were elevators. Did apartment complexes have penthouse suites? If so, she totally wanted in on that... Nothing but the best for Bulma Breifs!

A sharp buzz snapped her out of her contemplations and she ran back to the door so that it would not lock itself back before she opened it. She stepped in and a refreshing blast of cool air blew across her body.

The lobby, or entrance hallway more like, was bland and had little decoration besides some potted plants, but it served its purpose, she supposed. In the reflection of one of the elevators, she adjusted her skirt down a bit, out of nervous habit. She had never been in a place like this before and she was unsure of how to handle herself, but to her immediate relief an elevator door opened and a kind looking middle-aged man dressed in business casual stepped out. He approached her with a benevolent smile and an extended hand, and Bulma shook it with an equally practiced smile of her own.

"Ah, Ms. Bulma Briefs! A true pleasure to meet you. I'm Mark Collins."

"Oh, yes! We spoke on the phone earlier!" She answered, mentally filing away his name.

"We certainly did... You expressed an interest in one of our apartments?" Bulma confirmed his statement and she immediately began to talk business. To her surprise, the agent was fully willing to discuss every aspect of the complex, good and bad, and was glad that he hadn't tried to swindle her as she, in all honesty, didn't really know what she was doing. When she asked to see the apartment he beckoned her to the elevator, maintaining polite conversation.

Through her successful and productive experience as department head at Capsule Corp, Bulma had mastered the art of polite conversation and could keep it up with the minimum amount of attention required. Instead of listening to the agent's empty words she listened to the mind-numbing music and focused on the elevator buttons. Some were broken, or had different numbers written on in permanent marker. Not such a good sign. The ascending lights finally halted at the tenth floor, and with the sound of a bell, the agent stepped out. She stood there motionless, staring into space.

"We're here!" He said kindly, and Bulma woke from her daze, glad that the guy was nice enough not to wave his hand in front of her face like she was an idiot.

I'm way more out of it than I thought. She shook her head and gave him an appreciative smile, stepping out the lift. The moment that the doors closed behind her she felt a strange weight press down on her shoulders. The feeling of the place was a bit odd, but Bulma assumed that it was just her nerves getting to her.

As she followed the agent and took a look around, she sighed in disappointment, careful not to be heard. She knew that most apartment complexes looked like this and were usually not spacious or private at all, yet she couldn't help but feel isolated and out of place in the unfamiliar territory. She wrinkled her nose as she noticed that the hallways were open to the outside, almost like a motel, and the hallway itself managed to keep a dank quality that darkly contrasted with the vibrant weather. She was not pleased, but deep down she knew that at this point in her life she would have to learn to start accepting that she wouldn't be able to afford any better than the options now laid before her. I'll guess I'll have to forget about that penthouse suite...

As they walked she zoned out on the agent again, and remained staring down at the cemented floor as he talked about something or other.

She awoke from her daze once again as the sound of a slamming door shocked her senses, and a sudden movement caught her eye. She exhaled as she noticed that it was just someone exiting their apartment. A man carrying a briefcase locked his apartment door, then abruptly pivoted in their direction and walked past them. He did not glance at her, and she didn't pay much mind either as her attentions were drawn elsewhere.

"Here's the apartment," Mark, the agent, got out the key and jostled the door with some difficulty, finally having to ram his shoulder into it for it to open. After assuring her that they would definitely fix the door if she did happen to be interested (Bulma muttered an inaudible sarcastic remark in response), he invited her in with a sweeping arm movement as if she were being invited in to a mansion rather than a one-bedroom apartment.

She walked in and scanned the room, her cerulean eyes observing every detail. She walked around the whole place slowly, examining every cabinet, nook, closet and cranny. Bulma stopped in the living room by the balcony, noticing thankfully that she could see part of the town over the massive hill.

Having surveyed the entire place, she found it safe to say that there was absolutely nothing special or unique about it. Everything simply reeked of mediocrity, emanating the feel of the average lifestyle that Bulma had never experienced in her 26 years of living. As she was exempt from those experiences of hardship, rather than feeling fortunate for her cushy lifestyle, she recently started to feel left out. Others who had lived through entire lives of misfortune were inured to anything that life threw at them because they had already seen it all, and Bulma lacked this strength and would probably never be able to possess it fully for herself. She tended to use her pride as her shield instead, but she had learned that it could not protect her from those she had already let behind it.

She wanted to prove that she wasn't a spoiled brat, and not stuck-up either, even if she was a little vain. She wanted to earn her stars and discover what she had been blissfully ignorant of when she was young, even if she had to start from scratch.

This is my chance.

"Do you like it?" The agent inquired fervently after a long period of silence as he had watched her look around. He found it saddening that she wasn't bursting with questions because that would have been the telltale sign that she was interested.

Bulma said nothing for a moment, feeling the popcorn texture of the wall. Still peering around at the walls curiously, she asked, "When did the previous tenant move out?"

"About four or five months ago, but we haven't neglected the apartment in the least. It's all in working order and we have kept it very clean." The agent assured her. 'Yeah, except for the door,' they both thought simultaneously.

"You haven't been able to find another tenant?" She asked, becoming a little skeptical. The city was overcrowded, and leases were quickly snatched up by those eager to live near the city. All of the other apartments she had visited had been complete dumps because they were the properties that no one wanted. The agent was very kind and was obviously very experienced, so she put two and two together and figured that there must be something wrong with the property and wasn't afraid to ask.

"Oh, Ms. Breifs, it's nothing like what you're thinking. There's nothing broken in this apartment, besides the door, of course." She stifled a giggle at what she was sure they had both been  thinking, but only he had the sincerity to say it himself. "It's not like someone's been murdered in it. It's just a tough property.

gReally? No one? That's too bad.h Bulma said with a little laugh, happy that the agent had caught her joke and laughed as well.

gHey, maybe if someone had been murdered in it, I would have leased it already! You'd be surprised at what interests people."

"Well, I suppose the market has been declining lately..." She mused.

The agent cracked a smile. "I didn't want to say as much. Pessimism doesn't help me sell a thing, unless my client is a cynic."

"Who's to say I'm not? If that pessimism led you to murder, maybe you could make some money." Bulma joked darkly. The agent chuckled, and so did Bulma. It had been awhile since she had really laughed, even if it was something silly with someone she didn't know very well. She had been too busy and stressed to find something funny about anything, and was glad that some of her tension had lifted.

He nodded. "I figured you'd be a tough sell." Bulma somehow found herself finding that strangely funny and laughed. She knew that her more forward personality and professionalism could scare off almost anyone. "With all the pressure on you as the young heir of Capsule Corp, and all." Bulma's face fell for a moment but she managed to muster a small smile.

"It's tough work. Everyone expects so much of you..." She trailed off for a moment. The agent looked concerned for a moment, but as Bulma snapped herself out of her reverie and returned to her professional demeanor, he managed to change the subject.

"So, how do you like it?" He asked again, yet not in a pestering or impatient manner.

"I love it, actually. Too bad no one's been killed in it otherwise we'd be signing the contract already."

"That's great!" The agent chuckled almost incredulously. Maybe his luck was turning around. "How about we--"  

"I'll take it." She decided. She knew that this is what she wanted. What she needed to prove herself.

Bulma was desperate. If she didn't take the step now, she knew she never would.



~



Bulma capped the pen triumphantly with a smirk of self-satisfaction.

"Done?" Mark asked politely. She nodded and handed him the contract. She had looked over every little detail on it, not wanting to miss a single loophole. Everything looked to be in order, to her relief. She even found the rent to be pretty reasonable. He looked over the documents, and as everything was in order, he informed her that she could move in a couple of days and he would notify her. She thanked him again and shook his hand once again, and then waving goodbye.

She walked to her car, humming a song she didn't know the name of. She was elated. More happy than she had been since the day she left home, in fact, but that was a strange sort of happy. Getting in her car, she took off her high-heels and tossed them in the backseat. It was when she had backed up, pulled out of the parking lot and began driving down the road that a wave of guilt crashed down on her. She would be staying at Chichi's tonight. Again.

Bulma ground out a small sound of frustration. Chichi had been constantly reassuring her that staying with her was not a problem at all, but she felt like a fool moving out of her home just to crash at her best friend's house. 'Hypocrite,' she thought to herself. Wasn't this whole transition supposed to be about becoming independent? Learning to work for herself and live in the real world, unassisted by anyone? She would rather sleep in her car than feel the impending shame take her over from indulging in Chichi's assistance and being a hindrance.

Bulma continued to drive to Chichi's house with chagrin. Regardless of her pride, she realized that she truly did not have anywhere else to go. Except for home, which was not an option. She would have to stop by sometime in the next couple days to pick up a few things. She wanted to be able to sneak in when nobody was home to avoid any confrontation, but knowing her luck, she would run into her least favorite person there.


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A/N: Hope you liked it! Write a review if you feel like it, but I'll probably feel more encouraged to keep updating if I know that people are actually reading it. Please give me some feedback! The beginning is a bit slow and lacking some personality on Bulma and Chichi's part, but next chapter it'll pick up quite a bit.

Thanks for reading.



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