Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Two Sides to a Story ❯ Sihskar ( Chapter 16 )

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

Two Sides To A Story
Chapter Sixteen

**CAUTION!**
THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS ADULT CONTENT WITH MATURE SITUATIONS. If you are
underage or sensitive to this type of material then do NOT read it.
*****************************************************


It was very late when Bulma returned to Capsule Corporation.
Clutched to her chest for the entire trip was the manila envelope that
she had found on Vegeta's bed. When she had examined the contents she
hadn't been in any shape to pilot the hoverjet and spent the next
several hours encapsulating the contents of the apartment, her thoughts
stunned and amazed. It was all right there drawn on sheets of paper:
The only way that he could tell Bulma how much he cared for her,
communicated in the only method that he knew she would understand.

Landing in the courtyard, she ran into the Headquarters building
intent on rushing into Vegeta's room. During the voyage home she had
rehearsed a speech over and over, one that would forgive all past
transgressions and settle their feud once and for all. She was going to
apologize, ask for his forgiveness, and go to his bed; intent on
letting her body complete the task her words would start.

She knew something was wrong when she entered the living room and
saw that all of the lights were still on. Her father was sitting in his
bathrobe and slippers watching the news on television. When he noticed
her, his face broke out into a relieved smile. "I was starting to get
worried, it's getting so late-"

"Is everything alright?" Bulma asked quickly. "Trunks-?"

"Oh, he's just fine. Sleeping like an angel."

"And Vegeta-?"

This time an answer wasn't so quick. Just as she turned to the
staircase, her father told her. "He's not there, Bulma."

She brought her fist down in frustration and was about to start
screaming when Dr. Briefs quickly added, "He just stepped out for the
evening saying that he needed to get some fresh air."

The tension immediately left her shoulders. "Were you waiting up
for me or for him?" she asked with a knowing smile.

Her father offered her a guilty shrug. "For the police, actually.
He wasn't in a very good mood when he left."

"And that's a surprise?" Bulma saw the worry etched in her
father's wrinkled face and knew a way to take his mind off of his
concern. "Dad, I found this at Vegeta's apartment. I want you to look
at it."

Hesitantly, he took the envelope from her and pulled out one of
the sheets of paper. He took one look at what was drawn on it and
collapsed backwards into his chair. The expression on his face was like
a child who had unwrapped his desired gift on Christmas day. "How...
how many...?" He couldn't form the words to finish the sentence.

Smiling knowingly, Bulma told him, "Seven, with one more that's
incomplete."

"Dear, sweet god," Dr. Briefs whispered. Like his daughter before
him, he hugged the envelope to his scrawny chest and didn't want to let
it go.

>>>>>

"I've noticed you looking at me," Ms. Kipfer said in a soft,
husky voice.

Gohan snapped his head up from his schoolwork and stared at his
homeroom teacher with an expression of pure terror. "You have?! I-I'm
sorry, ma'am, I-I didn't mean...I-"

"Shh, it's alright. I've been looking at you, too," she said,
rising from behind her desk and walking towards him. She was wearing
one of her trademark tight skirts, and before the boy's eyes she began
unbuttoning her blouse.

Looking around quickly, Gohan saw that all of the other seats in
his class were empty. Swallowing nervously, he turned back and found
the woman sitting on his desk. Her shirt was open exposing a black lace
bra that barely managed to contain her ample bosom. "You can touch
them, if you'd like."

"Ohh, I'd like," the boy moaned, caressing the sheer fabric with
a trembling hand. "Ms. Kipfer, I have this dream about you all the
time."

"I know, Gohan."

"And-and I know it's wrong but-but-"

"Gohan."

"-I'd... I'd really like to-to kiss you-"

"GOHAN!"

Jerking awake, Gohan rolled over and saw Bulma kneeling beside
his bed. Her face was only inches from his own and he recoiled in
shock. "Bulma! What the heck-?"

She turned on the bedside lamp. "I'm sorry, Gohan. I know it's
late but I really need your help."

"Why? What's wrong?" the boy asked with a marked lack of
enthusiasm. He was gathering handfuls of his blanket to cover the
source of his discomfort, which only seemed to be getting harder as it
registered an actual flesh-and-blood woman in close proximity. He had
never noticed how attractive Bulma was as the light played off of the
angles of her face. Unconsciously, his eyes slipped down to search for
a hint of cleavage.

Vegeta would skin me alive if he knew what I was thinking, Gohan
realized and with that thought, the fear helped to lessen his
discomfiture.

"I need you to help me find Vegeta," Bulma said, oblivious of the
boy's predicament. "It's late and he hasn't come home yet. I want to
make sure that he's alright."

Gohan, eager to return to his erotic dream, wanted to reassure
her by saying that this was Vegeta she was talking about: A powerful
alien who had been on his own practically since he had been a boy.
Recent events swayed the logic and he began reading the fear behind
Bulma's words. Humans had captured him once and look what happened.
Despite fervent assurances to the contrary, he knew that the Saiyan
hadn't completely recovered from his ordeals. "I'll get dressed right
away," he said, all thoughts of Ms. Kipfer finally forgotten.

Barely ten minutes later, the pair was soaring over the Western
Capital. There was a distant thunderstorm over the ocean, its
lightening spearing down to the black waters. The view was breathtaking
but Bulma kept her comments to herself as Gohan reached out with his ki
to detect the elusive Saiyan. "He is in the city, Bulma," he announced
at last. "He's not powered up or anything. I think he's okay."

"Can you home in on him? I want to see for myself."

"Sure."

The boy took them to the Capital's lower west side which was
about as poor as the affluent city got. There was a slight difference
in the condition of the buildings and townhouses but there didn't
appear to be any obvious illegal activities going on. The area just
seemed to have a knack for attracting a distinctly less credible
clientele. Gohan and Bulma landed outside of a bar and glanced at one
another in disbelief before looking at the building. Loud, riotous
music was blaring from the open doors and parked in front were several
motorcycles.

"I must be wrong. Vegeta wouldn't go in there," Gohan said.

A body was thrown through the window in a spray of glass. The
music paused and there was a barrage of cruel laughter before the heavy
metal beat started up again, louder than ever. The biker on the
sidewalk released a groan and staggered to his feet, brushing off
shards of glass. Once he collected his bearings, he went back inside.

"You weren't wrong," Bulma said with a sigh.

Gohan wanted to accompany her but she knew he wouldn't be allowed
in the bar. He relented to sitting on a roof across the street and keep
a close eye on the place just in case she got into trouble. Bulma tried
to tell him that she was used to being on her own and had been getting
into adventures long before he had ever been born. It was odd, really.
She had let Gokou tag along as her bodyguard then, and here was his son
doing the same thing eighteen years later. It made her feel comforted
but it also made her feel old.

Taking a deep breath, she walked inside and was immediately aware
of the stares that she received from the surly patrons. A gang of
bikers sitting near the window had been arguing with the one who had
been thrown out until they noticed her. A woman wearing a dark purple
leather coat glared at her with acidic hatred as the wolf whistles
started.

Keeping her head high, Bulma walked to the bar and waved over the
bartender. Yelling above the music, she said, "I'm looking for a
friend. My height, short spiky hair. Have you seen him?"

The man, nearly deaf by years of bad music, could only shake his
head in irritation. He went back to drawing beers for several men at
the bar. They were all talking about her, their words as clear as the
leers on their faces and Bulma wasn't looking forward to having to walk
deeper into this pit of testosterone. She realized she had no choice
and pushed herself away from the bar to begin her search.

A hand closed around her upper arm and pulled her roughly back.
"Hey, baby. Let me buy you a drink," drawled a younger man dressed in a
denim coat and tight jeans. There was a bandaide over his left eyebrow
and when he smiled, it exposed gaps where teeth had been knocked out in
past brawls.

"I'll pass," she said aloofly, trying to pull her arm free.

"Ah c'mon, one little beer," he said, exhaling in her face. His
breath stank of stale beer and whiskey. "It won't hurt'cha any to sit a
spell, would it?"

"Let me go," she said, trying to keep the fear out of her voice.
"You're hurting me."

The false benevolence went out of the drunk's face. "You think
you're too good to drink with me? You uptight, cock-teasing little bit-
"

A hand grabbed him by the back of the head and propelled his face
down into the hard surface of the bar. There was the sound of bone
breaking and the drunk released a howl of pain and released his hold on
Bulma's arm to cup his now-broken nose. Kneeling on the opposite stool,
Vegeta took a handful of the man's greasy hair and threw him
effortlessly backwards where the drunk collided with the far wall and
slid to the floor. Several people had to dive out of the way but no one
came to his defense. Not one single person. They eyed Vegeta warily and
went about their own business, avoiding him like the plague.

"Vegeta-"

"Refill," Vegeta interrupted her, turning to the bartender.

"Same thing?" the man asked him.

"No. Something stronger."

Looking nervous, the older man regarded all of the bottles behind
the counter and finally made a selection. "Try this," he said, picking
up a shot glass and filling it, sliding it over.

Up-ending the glass without hesitation, Vegeta swallowed the
contents and appeared to consider the taste for a few seconds before he
nodded. "It'll do," he said shortly, slapping a handful of crumpled
zeni bills on the counter. He grabbed the bottle and left the bar
without a word or look to Bulma.

"Damn, that was Tequila and he never even flinched," the
bartender muttered.

"How much has he had so far?" Bulma asked.

"You wouldn't believe it, lady-"

"I'm asking you a question!"

"That's his forth bottle," the man admitted. "The first was rum,
the second was vodka and after that he tried scotch. I'd cut him off
but until now, he was quiet and minded his own business. Barry deserved
what he got, though, so I won't fault him for what just happened.
Still, any normal person would be out cold by now."

"He isn't any normal person," Bulma muttered and walked further
into the bar without quarrel. Word had already spread of Barry's fate
and everyone left her alone. She found Vegeta sitting in one dark
corner, as far away from the music and commotion as possible. He was
leaning back in his chair with his feet propped up on a small table,
drinking out of the bottle and watching the television that was bolted
to the nearby wall.

Pulling over a free chair, Bulma sat down beside him and was
about to start talking when he spoke up first, "I don't want to hear
any shit from you tonight."

"I just want to talk."

"I don't. I just want to be left alone."

"If I have a drink with you, will you let me stay?" Bulma asked.

He regarded her for one long moment, his dark eyes narrowing into
slits obviously trying to figure out what her intensions were. "Get
your own," he relented, turning back to the muted TV.

The pair sat in tense silence as each nursed their own beverage.
Bulma bought a weak gin and tonic but she had no interest in it and
only took bird-like sips as she kept a sharp eye on the person beside
her. Vegeta appeared to forget she was even there as he finished off
the bottle and kept his eyes glued to the television. It was
broadcasting a wrestling match between Mr. Satan and some other fighter
and the pair was doing more prancing in the ring then anything else.
During the mock battle, Vegeta shook his head and got to his feet and
left without a word to go to the bathroom.

The bartender noticed his absence and hurried over. "It's almost
two o'clock, miss. I gotta start closing up."

Glancing at her watch, Bulma could hardly believe how quick the
time had passed. She could sense that Vegeta wasn't willing to leave
just yet and began rummaging in her purse. "How much will you take to
extend the hours a bit?"

"You don't have enough money-" the bartender's eyes bulged when
she pulled out her wallet and began counting out hundred-zeni bills.
"Will a thousand be enough for another hour?" she asked, offering him
the money.

"Lady, I'll stay open 'til dawn if you're footing the bill. I'll
even-"

Vegeta stepped out of the men's room and zeroed in on him.
"Refill!" he barked and the man rushed off to find him another
beverage. He came back with whiskey and Vegeta paid him with the last
bit of cash that he had. He started counting his change when he sat
back down at the table, squinting at the quarters in his hand and
wondering if he had enough for another bottle.

"I really think you've had enough," Bulma suggested.

"Opinion noted and ignored," he shot back, pocketing the change.
Obviously, he was going to have to make this bottle last. It was the
only money he'd had when he had first tried to leave the Capital and
now he was completely broke. He thought about the bitter irony of it;
the Prince reduced to a pauper. Without warning, he threw his head back
and laughed out loud almost making Bulma spill her drink.

"Vegeta?" she asked warily.

"Nothing," he said when the laughter had tapered off to the odd
snicker. He took a long draught from the bottle and wiped his mouth on
the sleeve of his jacket.

She noticed the bandage on his right hand and felt acute remorse
about their stupid argument outside of the simulator. "I want to tell
you how sorry I am for saying-"

"-I miss him," Vegeta cut in.

She faltered. "Who? Do you mean G-"

"Nappa," he said sadly. His face had lost its toughness and when
he glanced at her, his strange eyes were dark and distant. "I killed
him like he was nothing to me. How could I do that?"

"Nappa was awful! He killed Yamcha and Tien and-"

"You weren't even there!" Vegeta shouted at her. "I knew him as
far back as I can remember. Him and Radditz both! We were the only
Saiyans left and we traveled together for over twenty years. How the
hell could you understand what it was like for us?" He flashed her a
glare that told her she didn't dare make another comment and gulped
down some more whiskey. "Kakarrot killed his own brother, I slaughtered
the only friend I ever knew. What a fucked-up race," he grumbled.

Bulma was beginning to get more than a little worried by the mood
swings he was exhibiting. "We really should get going-"

She was interrupted by a sudden chuckle and then Vegeta flashed
her a lopsided smile. "I remember this one time when Nappa, Radditz and
I went on shore leave and went into this tavern off base. We drank the
place dry. Radditz started coming up with limericks that had us in
stitches. What was that one about Frieza? Oh yeah...

'Lord Frieza was this purple prick,
Who had a tail but lacked a dick.
He had thick lips,
And girly hips,
And an ass that Zarbon like to lick.'"

He slapped his hand down on the table and started laughing again
but it quickly tapered off. The humor left his face when he looked at
Bulma and confessed in a softer voice, "Of course, Frieza did have a
dick. A pale, skinny thing that had a retractable barb on the end that
he liked to use to rip and tear and-and-"

She reached for his hand but at the mere contact he recoiled and
fell off of his chair. It finally dawned on her that Vegeta was drunk,
very much so. Just because he didn't stumble or slur his words didn't
make the reality any less. She knelt down beside him and was going to
try and help him up when he said bleakly; "Nappa and Radditz are dead.
The Androids are neutralized. Cell is destroyed. Kakarott is ashes.
There's nothing left for me here."

"You have a family that needs you," she assured him.

He dropped his head and said nothing.

"Let's go home, Vegeta."

"I haven't had a home for almost thirty years," he told her.
"Capsule Corp. is your home, I have no claim to it. Why should I bother
going back? So that I can wait around for the next time we fight and
have you tell me to leave?"

"We're always going to fight. The both of us are hot-tempered and
strong-willed. We're an even match. That's why I love you."

He looked at her with obvious doubt. "Still?"

"I've never stopped," she confessed. "I was livid with you for
leaving me. I should have realized that I didn't have all of the facts.
I didn't know you had come to the hospital and saw Trucks without his
tail. I should have known that there was more to your avoiding me than
just wounded pride."

Nodding slowly to himself, Vegeta became lost in thought. When the
silence stretched on, Bulma gently inquired, "What are you thinking
about?"

When she didn't think she was going to get an answer, he finally
spoke up. "I'm just wondering if you and the boy aren't better off with
me out of the picture," he told her honestly. "I don't know anything
about how to help raise a family."

"You're the only person left in the galaxy who knows what to
expect from Trunks as he gets older. I haven't got a clue."

"You should have thought of that before you got knocked-up on
purpose!" he snapped at her.

Unruffled, Bulma gave him a direct look and said evenly, "You are
the last pure-blooded Saiyan alive. It would have been a tragedy to lose
you to the Androids so I made the only decision that I thought made
sense at the time. I wanted to have a piece of you all to myself." He
recoiled a little at that and eyed her warily. She continued, "Having
Trunks was the most wonderful, precious gift that you could have ever
given me. But I knew it wouldn't be a present you would ever give
willingly."

"You lied to me," he hissed.

"I had to."

He backed off a little at the resolve in her voice and, taking
advantage of his indecision, she decided to drive the point home. "It's
time we finally put this matter to rest once and for all, Vegeta. Can
you understand why I did it? Have you figured out why I wanted to have
your child? I didn't do it just for me. I did it for the both of us."

He knew that Bulma was wearing him down with her damnable logic
but he was helpless to come up with any kind of an indignant defense in
his present state. In the back of his mind, in an area not numbed by the
alcohol, rose his voice; a grim reminder of a destiny yet unfulfilled.
Eight years from now. Maybe ten. I'm going to die again anyway, aren't
I?

The tension went out of his shoulders and they sagged in defeat.
"I suppose I should be pleased to have an heir. Perhaps... perhaps the
line of Vegeta isn't completely lost after all," he confessed in a low
voice.

"I'm relieved to hear you finally accept him."

"Things have changed from before. The boy has saved me. I owe him
my life and sanity and..." he hesitantly raised his troubled eyes to
hers, "He's helped me to remember what we shared together."

Bulma sucked in breath. "H-how-?"

"He has a rapport with you. After our fight, I went to him and
searched for a copy of your memories. He didn't comprehend the meaning
of the pictures that he showed me so the images were garbled but it was
enough to see that you spoke the truth." He rubbed his temple in a
gesture that was becoming much too familiar. "I had enough trouble
sorting things out before and now I have your perspectives rattling
around inside my brain. I needed some silence in my head-"

"-So you came here," she realized. "Are you in any pain?"

"Not now," came the answer but he let it hang in the air. Come
morning he was going to be completely incapacitated; a combination of
hangover and mental trauma. He began reaching for the bottle on the
table but she gently took his hand and enfolded it in her own. "We'll
find a way to fix this. You're not alone any more," she assured him,
touching his face. He didn't avoid the contact but was unable to look at
her, practically radiating his shame and doubt.

Bulma stood up and pulled on his arm and he obediently got to his
feet, looking around like a man waking up out of a dream. "Where'd
everybody go?"

"The bar closed awhile ago. It's time to leave," she said,
offering a wave to the bartender as they walked past. "Thanks for
staying open for us."

"Lady, your money is welcome here anytime," he said cheerfully.

"Money. Hnh. Must be nice," Vegeta mumbled under his breath.

"What?"

"Nothing."

They stepped outside and Bulma saw that the storm she had seen out
over the water had moved in over the Capital. Huge, threatening clouds
glowed with shutter flashes of lightening and she flinched when a bass
rumble of thunder made the ground shake. "We'd better hurry back before
it starts raining," she commented, flinching as a spear of lightening
flashed directly their heads. Catching movement out of the corner of her
eye, she turned and saw Gohan waving at her from the rooftop of the
building across the street. She had forgotten all about him and,
guiltily, flashed the peace sign that all was well. He nodded his
understanding and flew back to Capsule Corporation.

Oblivious of the exchange, Vegeta was watching the play of
lightening in the storm clouds with an odd, dreamy expression on his
usually guarded face. "I don't want to go back just yet."

"Well, we can't stay here," Bulma fretted, staring at him in
exasperation. She was discovering that there were worse things than
dealing with a stubborn-as-hell Saiyan, and that was trying to reason
with a drunken one. "Nothing else is open this late. Not even the bars
where there's dancing, not that I could drag you onto a dance floor."

"Saiyans don't dance on a floor," he said, pulling his eyes away
from the thunderclouds and smiling at her in a way that immediately put
her on guard. Before she could react, he swept her in his arms and took
to the air with dizzying speed.

"Vegeta, what are you doing?!" she howled.

He started grinning but there was no malice on his face. All at
once he appeared very young and very excited. "I'm going to show you how
Saiyans dance."

Her screams were drowned out by the thunder as he plowed into the
mantle of the heavy clouds that enfolded them in thick, churning mist.
Lightening flashed around them in dazzling yellows and reds and Bulma
was struck numb by the display until she felt him start to release her.
"Are you insane?! I don't have any powers!"

"You're not meant to use any powers!" he hollered back. "That's
the whole point!"

He managed to pry her arms loose and she fell screaming for about
ten meters until a severe updraft picked her up and propelled her past
the Saiyan who yelled after her, "Ride the currents, Bulma! Don't fight
them!"

"You son of a biiiiiiiii-" Another gust of wind pushed at her back
and a bright lance of lightening flashed past her like a laser, leaving
bright spots in her vision. As impossible as it seemed, she didn't
appear to be plummeting to her death. The conflicted air masses were
keeping her aloft like a ball on the waves of an ocean and her initial
screams of terror became shrill peals of excitement. Extending her arms,
she attempted to negotiate the updrafts as a skydiver might and managed
some degree of stability. She spun and barrel-rolled as a tingling
current of static-charged air pushed her up, up until she could almost
catch a glimpse of the night sky above. When the current released its
hold she fell back down, laughing in sheer delight and eager for the
next exhilarating ride.

Another hand suddenly grasped hers and she saw that Vegeta had
joined her. He was still smiling and his eyes were filled with
mischievous glee. Bulma thought that she had never seen him look so
attractive as he did that very instant. She moved eagerly into his arms,
relishing the feel of his body against her own and wrapped her arms
around his neck. Together the pair sailed in the conflicting air masses,
twisting in the currents with a grace and dexterity no pair of dancers
could ever dare to mimic on land. Lightening flashed around them in
dizzying patterns and once, a wind draft sent the two spiraling upwards
until they cleared the upper canopy of the storm clouds and were
enveloped by an endless carpet of brilliant stars. The sensation of
weightlessness lasted for perhaps five seconds before they fell back
into the embrace of the churning clouds.

"This is wonderful! Why haven't you done this before?" Bulma
screamed in delight.

"Because I'm drunk," he said, stating the obvious. "Take advantage
of the moment, Bulma. I'll be sober soon."

She knew what he meant. Her lips molded their quivering curves
against his, her dainty tongue sliding into his mouth like a curious
snake, exploring and caressing. Matching the kiss with equal fervor,
Vegeta's hands restlessly explored her body, squeezing her breasts and
behind as the storm raged on around them with growing ferocity. He grew
careless of the threat, not keeping track of the energy and a spear of
lightening flashed past, much too close. It actually singed their
clothes.

"I think we've overstayed our welcome," Bulma said in a shaky
voice at the near miss, ducking her head as a deafening blast of thunder
roared at them.

"I think you're right," Vegeta agreed in a humbled tone. He
powered up and swiftly dropped out of the raging clouds, aborting the
Saiyan dance out of deference to an elemental force that had no
tolerance for such frivolity. It was now pouring heavily over the
Capital and the pair were immediately drenched when they ran for shelter
under a doorway.

"It'll pass by soon enough," he said, his eyes still drawn to the
play of lightening in the clouds. "Storms like this never last long."

"I don't mind."

He spared her a glance and saw that she was smiling at him, still
breathing heavily from her thrill ride in the storm. The rain had made
her thin top transparent and he could plainly make out the erect nubs of
her nipples beneath the damp material. With a growl, he forced her back
against the wall, crushing his mouth against hers as he ripped open her
shirt to grasp one firm breast. His other hand slid up between her legs
and began to caress her womanhood through the thin fabric of her
panties. Wrapping one leg around the back of his thighs, she eagerly
opened herself to his touch.

"I want you," he gusted in her ear, tracing kisses down her neck.
"I need you, Bulma."

"Oh Vegeta," she whispered, guiding his mouth back to her own.
"It's been too long..."

He pulled down her panties and easily slid one finger up inside of
her, then two, deliberately rubbing them against the swollen nub of her
clitoris. Her body jerked in reaction like an electric shock at the
intensity of her sudden climax. Her nails clawed at the bunched muscles
of his back, drawing blood, and the sensation only fueled his raging
lust. Fumbling with his belt, he freed his straining erection and slid
its full length into her eager warmth with one complete stroke. Moaning,
he slipped his hands beneath her bottom and effortlessly picked her up
and she scissored her legs behind his thighs, panting along with him as
he began hunching into her. She fastened her soft mouth over his
tightened lips, whimpering in pleasure at feel of his shaft thrusting
inside of her.

When they paused for breath, he buried his face in her hair and
inhaled her intoxicating scent. He caught the blending mix of her
shampoo and perfume; a fruity, floral combination that was both heady
and pungent to his overactive sense of smell. His stomach, bloated with
conflicting alcohols, gave one sudden, alarming lurch in reaction.

"Uh oh," he said, pulling away from her quickly. His face had
turned a sickly gray.

"Vegeta?" she asked in concern.

They were blinded by the sudden glare of a powerful flashlight in
their faces and a voice yelling at them; "Knock it off you two! This is
a public place!" A police cruiser was parked at the curb; it's whirling
strobes casting conflicting red and white patterns across the
storefronts and apartment buildings. Bulma was stunned that neither of
them had noticed the car pull up and she pushed herself off of Vegeta
and tried to gather the front of her blouse together as she pulled down
her skirt. "S-sorry, officer-"

"Sorry don't cut it, missy," the cop snapped at her. He turned his
disapproving gaze to Vegeta who was dazedly staring back. "What about
you, fella? What have you got to say for yourself?"

His pants still bunched around his knees, Vegeta released one sour
burp and promptly vomited the equivalent of five bottles of undigested
booze all over the officer's shoes.

"Ah shit!" the cop grumbled in disgust.

>>>>>

Muted voices woke him out of a sound sleep where dreams of
lightening and moist heat dominated. Stirring restlessly in a confined,
uncomfortable space, he buried his head into the pillow in a vain
attempt to escape the early morning light. Trying to fall back asleep
was impossible as that dreaded pressure settled around his brain like a
vice. The grandfather of all hangovers had ruthlessly slipped in while
his guards were down and claimed him without mercy.

Kicking irritably at the blanket covering him, he opened his eyes
a crack and tried to figure out where he was. The couch was familiar and
he realized he was in the living room of the Headquarters building. He
rolled over onto his back and recoiled from the object looming over him.
An immense pine tree was propped up beside the sofa, at least twenty
feet high.

Even worse, the damn tree was singing.

"Oh Christmas tree, oh Christmas treeeee, la la la la la lahhhh
la! Darn it, I forgot the words," Krillin said, stepping out from
behind the huge tree. "Hiya Vegeta, have a good sleep?"

"When I find my feet I'm going to kick your ass off the balcony,
you nose-less freak."

"Hey! How about a little compassion? I'm nasally challenged,
y'know," the small fighter joked. He knew that when Vegeta talked about
an action rather than immediately carrying it out it was meant as it
sounded; a verbal warning, nothing more. Examining the Saiyan closer, he
concluded; "Man, you look like crap."

"Then I look better then how I feel," the Saiyan moaned, gripping
his aching skull before it exploded. He had thought that he'd succumbed
to hallucinations for a moment and now wished that he had. At least the
miserable little tone-deaf monk would have disappeared.

"Krillin!" Gohan shouted with excitement as he burst from the
kitchen. He vaulted over the backrest of the couch and landed squarely
on the Saiyan's lap. Vegeta bellowed in pain and fell to the floor,
curling briefly into an agonized ball.

"Vegeta, I'm sorry-"

"I should have killed you all when I had the chance," Vegeta
coughed, getting slowly to his feet. Without another word to either of
them, he flew up to the second floor landing to go to his personal
quarters. Krillin noticed that his shirt was off as well as something
else; shallow scratches along his back. He released a low whistle and
turned to Gohan, asking eagerly; "What'd I miss?"

Upstairs, Vegeta was splashing water on his flushed face when
there was a rap of knuckles on the bathroom door. "Go away!" he
hollered, groaning at the sound of his own voice.

Bulma opened the door and glanced in. "How do you feel?"

"How do you think?" he parried crossly. He forced himself past
her and walked to the bed, pulling back the covers in preparation to
catch some much-needed rest. "What happened last night?"

A wounded expression came over Bulma's face. "You don't remember?
Any of it? I-I should have guessed that it was too good to be true-"

"-After I puked on the cop, what happened?" he cut in.

Relieved, she sat beside him on the bed and started laughing when
she said, "You passed out right after that little scene. The officer
recognized who I was and drove us back home. He was not a happy man.
Neither was my father. He was still waiting up when the officer carried
you in."

Releasing a groan, Vegeta collapsed back into the pillow. He
privately wondered if there was ever going to be an end to all of the
tortures that this world had in store for him. He supposed it could
have been worse; he could have heaved on Dr. Briefs. Somehow, the
thought didn't give him any comfort.

"Last night was... incredible. Until we got busted, that is." She
rubbed his firm chest in a gentle caress and softly asked, "It wasn't a
mistake, was it? Do you have any regrets about what we did?"

He rubbed his burning eyes with the heel of his hand. "Only that
I didn't get a chance to finish," he told her honestly.

It was the answer she wanted to hear. "We'll have plenty of
opportunity-"

"-Not now. I think I left one of my balls on the living room
floor thanks to Kakarrot's brat. And my head is killing me."

Nodding, Bulma placed an object that she had been carrying on the
nightstand. "I brought these for you in case your headache gets any
worse."

He picked up the bottle of pills and read the print on the label.
They were the same painkiller tabs that he had taken at the apartment.
"I don't like taking drugs," he muttered, putting the bottle back.

"I know, but there's no sense suffering. Until your mind heals
itself of the damage, you're going to have to take them."

"I don't have to do anything," he said crossly.

She could sense that he wasn't in the mood for a conversation and
got quickly to her feet. "Suit yourself, tough guy. Things are pretty
hectic today. I'll be downstairs in my office if you need me. "

"I won't."

Pausing at the door, Bulma cast him an unfathomable look and then
betrayed a small smile. "That a fact?" she asked teasingly. Before he
could ask her what the hell she was talking about, she flashed him a
wink and closed the door.

"Women," he grunted in dismay to the now-empty room and slowly
shook his aching head.

>>>>>

By late afternoon he felt a little better; more to the credit of
two painkillers than any real sleep. Lounging in bed wasn't something
he enjoyed doing and it didn't help that he could hear Krillin's
mutilation of "Deck the Halls" from his room. Joining in the chorus was
Bulma's mother, which made the cacophony even worse. The blond could
hit a pitch that almost shattered crystal. The pair was decorating the
large tree, now erect on the corner of the living room, with garish
colored orbs and tinsel. For a moment Vegeta blinked at the scene,
wondering if he was stuck in some crazy nightmare until Trunks caught
his attention.

The boy was nearby, quietly entertaining himself in a playpen
with his stuffed toys when he noticed the Saiyan. "Vah-Dahdy!" he
called out, playtime immediately forgotten as he scrambled over to see
him.

"Hi Vegeta!" Mrs. Briefs called out from her perch on a
stepladder. On the opposite side of the tree, Krillin looked around in
time to see the Saiyan wander over to where Trunks was standing.

"Why is it that every time I see my son, he's in a cage?" Vegeta
asked churlishly, hoisting the boy out of the pen and placing him on
the carpet. "He doesn't like it and neither do I."

"Yah!" Trunks piped up in agreement.

"It's so he doesn't get into any trouble," Krillin offered.

Vegeta scowled at him. "He can't power up and he can't fly. How
much trouble can the little whelp get into?"

While the pair bickered, Mrs. Briefs went back to decorating and
Trunks scampered over to the tree, ogling the shiny ornaments with
wide, innocent eyes. "Woo-pwetty!" He jumped up and snagged a branch in
one chubby fist and with a burst of strength that no eleven-month old
could manage, he hauled on the limb as hard as he could.

The tree pitched over on top of Trunks, Vegeta and Krillin,
dragging Mrs. Briefs along with it, screaming the entire way. It landed
with a crash and for a moment all was silent until Trunks climbed free
and excitedly exclaimed, "'gan dahdy! Wheeeeee!"

Vegeta crawled out from underneath of the ruin of broken branches
and shattered ornaments, spitting out pine needles. From beside him,
Krillin sputtered, "Does that answer your question?"

Casting him a sour look, the Saiyan picked up Trunks by the back
of his shirt and unceremoniously dropped the baby back in the playpen
on his way into the kitchen. Behind him, he could hear Mrs. Briefs
trying to soothe the boy who was starting to wail in displeasure.

Vegeta was beginning to think that he should have stayed in bed
when he saw Chi Chi bent over the sink, doing dishes. "What happened
out there?" she asked him.

As ever, he always analyzed the tone of voice she used when she
addressed him. There didn't to be any of her usual bitterness, just
genuine curiosity, and he responded with, "The plant fell over."

She rushed out to investigate and, relieved, he heated a plate of
leftovers in the microwave. He had almost finished with the meal when
she returned. "What a mess! I told them they should have secured the
tree to the wall but did they listen to me? Of course not! Now look at
what happened! I swear that they-" She watched the Saiyan roll his eyes
and immediately snapped, "Why do you have to be such a bastard all of
the time? I was actually trying to be nice!"

Swallowing a mouthful, he casually shot back; "Why bother? You're
not fooling anyone with that act. You're a bitch and you always will
be."

Her cheeks went crimson with rage. "How dare you insult me like
that, you filthy Saiyan! If I wasn't pregnant, I'd - I'd-"

"-What? Nag me to death? I'm beginning to understand why Kakarrot
didn't want to come back to life. He knew he'd have to face YOU."

Chi Chi released a gasp and all of the strength went out of her
legs, landing her in the nearby chair. "That... that's a terrible thing
to say..." she whimpered in a hurt voice, her brown eyes welling with
bitter tears.

"It's crossed your mind, I can see it on your face," Vegeta
responded in a level voice. It was strange how the sight of Bulma's
tears always made him feel weak, yet Chi Chi's just seemed to enrage
him further. "I've seen how you ride Gohan. Keep it up and he's going
to run away, too."

"I will not accept parental advice from someone like YOU!" Chi
Chi screamed, bracing herself for a reaction.

She didn't get the one she expected. Vegeta only shrugged and
slid the used plate into the dishwater and looked out of the window,
dismissing her.

Despite her animosity, Chi Chi gave Vegeta a veiled look trying to
see any resemblance to her late husband that went beyond the obvious
alien traits of power. The Saiyan before her was the antithesis of Gokou
in appearance and temperament. He was about half a foot shorter and his
spiky hair was not black but rather, under the mellow lighting of the
kitchen, showed off distinct auburn highlights. There was no trace of
friendliness in his cold eyes or in his face, which looked chiseled out
of harsh stone. There were more lines etched into his swarthy features
and around his eyes because he was older than Gokou but it seemed more
than just a mere five years. Chi Chi wasn't sure if it was the upsweep
of his thick hair from his high forehead and that pronounced widow's
peak that made his face look so much older than Gokou's unkempt, child-
like style but the effect was dramatic. What bothered her most was his
condescending demeanor of regal detachment. It was so bred into him that
it was obvious his bad attitude had been cultivated since his birth.

Despite their varied origins, both were royalty and Chi Chi knew a
thing or two about pride and it's potentially dangerous sting. It came
as a brutal slap to her conscience that the pair might have more in
common then she would ever voluntarily acknowledge. She had married
below her status when she had become Gokou's wife and it shamed her how
often she had reminded him of that fact when they quarreled. He had been
a warrior, not a businessman, and all of her personal fortune had gone
into supporting them. How could she not hide her disappointment? How
could she not hope that Gohan fared better? Chi Chi's entire life
revolved around her family and all of a sudden here was Vegeta
suggesting that she was responsible for its failure. Before she could
manage another verbal assault, Gohan stepped into the kitchen.
Immediately reading the tension, his eyes tracked from his mother to
Vegeta and back again. "Is everything okay?" he ventured.

"Everything's just fine," Chi Chi said, casting the Saiyan an odd
glance. "Isn't it, Vegeta?"

Frowning thoughtfully at her, he only grunted and started for the
door. Chi Chi watched her son trail after him like a lost puppy and felt
her heart ache with loss and regret. She sat at the table for a long
time, lost in thought.

Returning to the chaos of the living room, Vegeta knew what Gohan
wanted even before the words were out. "Interested in a spar?"

"No," he said, knowing that the painkillers would interfere with
his coordination. Against the boy, he needed every advantage he could
get. "I'm not in the mood."

Gohan looked defeated. "Oh. Is it because of what happened this
morning?"

Vegeta had forgotten about the blow to the balls and now glared at
him. Before he could return the favor, Trunks started screaming. Mrs.
Briefs had managed to calm the baby down until he caught sight of his
father. "Outta cage, dahdy! Out! Out! OOOWWWTT!"

"Trunks, let's sing a song," Krillin suggested and started
warbling out "Jingle Bells" at the top of his lungs. Without missing a
beat, Mrs. Briefs joined him while the boy continued to wail.

Vegeta gritted his teeth and began shaking and Gohan looked up in
alarm when he sensed a sudden rise in the Saiyan's ki. "What say we go
jogging, Vegeta? It'll get you out of the house," he suggested, trying
to keep the urgency out of his voice.

It was the right thing to say.

An hour later, the pair was four kilometers from Capsule
Corporation following the jogging trails of Capital Park. Despite the
more temperate climate of the West coast it was still late November and
Gohan had changed into heavy sweatpants and a windbreaker. Vegeta was
clad in his usual spandex shorts but at least he had donned a sweater
and a Capsule Corp. baseball cap. He was still self-conscious about his
short hair in public even though the boy thought that the style looked
good on him. He had yet to say a word since Gohan had convinced him to
leave the Headquarters building.

Despite failed attempts to draw him out, Gohan gamely persisted,
"I'm surprised that you're not asking me why Krillin put up a tree in
the living room."

"Let me guess," Vegeta sneered. "It has something to do with some
outdated human ritual."

"Yeah, that's right!" Gohan said, relieved to finally generate a
response. "Want me to tell you about it?"

"No."

"You're not even curious?"

"No."

"Not even a little?" Gohan teased and bit his tongue at the
intensity of the glare he received for his good-natured persistence.
"Okay, you don't want to hear it. I understand. How about what Krillin
plans to do with 18?"

"Whatever the midget does with that frigid bitch is none of my
concern."

"He's going to propose to her."

Vegeta snapped his head around so fast that he actually lost his
step and stumbled for a few paces before regaining his balance. "Are you
saying what I think you're saying?!"

Gohan nodded happily. "He wants to marry her. You should see the
diamond he has picked out."

"What the hell do gemstones have to do with this?"

"Diamonds are special to girls. They expect one before marriage,
for some reason. Krillin showed me the ring that he wants to give to
her. One whole carat."

The Saiyan, utterly perplexed by the subject, couldn't understand
what part vegetables played in this farce. "Why doesn't he at least
choose a real woman?!"

"Well, there was Marron a few years back," Gohan mused. At
Vegeta's irritated stare he explained, "She looked like Bulma although
she was younger and not nearly as smart. She left him at the alter. He's
still kinda bitter about it."

"Now he's chasing after a walking toaster with the personality of
a drill bit. That shrimp is a glutton for punishment," Vegeta snorted,
shaking his head in dismay.

"He loves her," Gohan said with a vocal shrug, as if those three
little words explained everything. With a sly smile, he added, "Almost
as much as you and Bulma do."

"Watch it, brat," Vegeta snarled in clear warning.

"What? It's the truth, isn't it? You and Bulma? You love each
other-"

Vegeta grabbed his arm and slammed him up against the nearest tree
with such force that leaves fell around them. Too late, Gohan realized
that he had crossed the line with their friendship and was facing an
outraged Saiyan whose face was less than two inches from his own.

"Listen good, boy, because I'm going to only say this once,"
Vegeta growled in barely restrained fury. "Saiyan's do not form needless
attachments under the pretense of meaningless emotions. We do not bond,
mate or nurture. Relationships are business transactions to propagate a
particular line or to obtain power, nothing more or less. When a goal is
obtained, we move on to the next opportunity. There is no such thing as
'love' in our vocabulary. Remember that!"

In a calm, level voice, Gohan asked him directly, "Are you trying
to convince me of that or yourself?" He barely managed to duck in time
before a fist went crashing into the trunk where his head had been
resting an instant before. Vegeta immediately released a pained shout
and grabbed his previously injured hand. The blow had torn open all the
stitches. Gohan had noticed the bandages but hadn't thought it anything
serious until he saw the blood starting to drip onto the grass. "We've
got to get you to the infirmary-"

"Leave me alone," he snarled through bared teeth. When the boy
wordlessly stepped back, he powered up and flew back to Capsule
Corporation.

It was déjà vu all over again as Vegeta had his hand re-stitched
by the same nurse who had tended to him barely a day before. Even his
reputation as a badass didn't deter her from offering her two cents
worth, and to his credit the Saiyan endured her criticism. It seemed
like everyone wanted to take a shot at him today and he was just too
emotionally spent to bother arguing back anymore. When she was done, he
jumped off the bed and left the sterile confines of the medical wing to
head one flight down into Research and Development. It had been a few
years since he had last been down here but little had changed. He kept
telling himself that he was just exploring until he ended up in front of
Bulma's office, staring at the closed door.

"Ms. Briefs has left for the day," her secretary told him. "Was
there anything I could help you with?"

"No," Vegeta muttered and turned down the corridor. He looked in
on Dr. Briefs but the old man was in a meeting and the Saiyan moved on
before he was noticed. He figured his early morning less-than-dramatic
entrance must have been quite a sight and wouldn't set the man in a
proper mood for what the Saiyan wanted to ask. Without any cash in his
pocket, Vegeta felt unnecessarily trapped at Capsule Corp. and he was
about to shelf his smothering pride and ask for a loan. The very idea
shamed him, considering their past history, but he could see no other
alternative. He decided to wait around for the old man to finish his
meeting, knowing full well that he was feeling humbled today and by
tomorrow he would have his head up his ass as usual. Best that the old
man take advantage of his indecision now before he could put up much
protest.

While he waited, a tall, lanky man in a lab coat stepped out of
the breakroom and glanced at him, his jaw dropping in surprise.
"Vegeta?!"

The Saiyan jumped in surprise and immediately tensened up when the
human came trotting over. "Holy shit! It's really you!" He got down on
his knees and wrapped his arms around Vegeta's waist in a bear hug while
saying over and over, "Thankyouthankyouthankyouthank-"

"Release me, you idiot, before I blast you!"

Charles McNeal clambered back to his feet and grabbed a handful of
Vegeta's sweater, forcibly pulling him down the hall. "You gotta see
this-"

"Let me go!" Vegeta pulled himself free and glared up at the man.
Vaguely, he recognized the hyper scientist who was one of Bulma's
colleagues in the department. He was brilliant but damned annoying.

"You have to come with me, Vegeta. It's all because of you!"

"What the hell are you babbling about?"

"Come on! You have to see this for yourself."

Despite his better judgment the Saiyan reluctantly trailed after
him, trying not to be too obvious about his own growing curiosity. He
knew that Charles was leading him into the Prototype Development lab
where he had worked as a designer for a short, humiliating period. The
area was buzzing with activity when they stepped through the doors;
people were clustered in groups or running around to various drafting
tables that were set up. The level of noise from conflicted
conversations was so loud that Charles had to jump up on a nearby desk
in an attempt to get their attention. He clapped his hands and jumped up
and down and finally, when enough people looked his way, he announced,
"Everybody! This is Vegeta!"

The entire room went dead silent. Vegeta sweat-dropped as all eyes
in the room turned to stare at him and he was close to bolting. All of a
sudden, someone in the back of the crowd began clapping until everybody
in the room joined in. The applause swelled and grew in intensity until
cheers and shouts of praise joined in, numbing Vegeta to the core. For
some strange reason, he appeared to be the sole recipient. He looked at
Charles in confusion. "What's this all about?"

"C'mon over here, li'l buddy," Charles said, leading him to a
nearby drafting table. The Saiyan cast him a dirty look but the harried
scientist didn't even notice. "Old Man Briefs showed up with them this
morning. I'm allowed to expand the R and D department so that we can
begin prototype development. At least sixty new people are going to get
hired and it's all thanks to you!"

Vegeta eyed the sketch that was carefully taped to the table
surface and felt his blood run cold when he recognized what he was
looking at. There were six other tables in the department that displayed
the rest. He had spent countless hours at the kitchen table of a dead
soldier's apartment putting these designs to paper, even when the agony
of a migraine caused him see double, sometimes triple what he was
writing down. He had pressed on, encouraged by Bulma's angelic face and
his own desire to leave something for her so that he would not be
forgotten. Here they were, scattered among strangers who had no idea of
their true meaning or of the personal cost with which they had been
originally put to paper. All that anybody cared about was that they were
going to make a rich company even richer.

"What do you think, Vegeta?" Charles asked when the other man's
odd silence stretched on.

Unable to form words in his fury and betrayal, Vegeta pushed him
out of the way and buffeted aside anyone who came too close in his haste
to make an exit. There were questions that demanded a direct answer and
the Saiyan purposely hunted down the only person who could provide them.

>>>>>

Bulma was taking a well-deserved shower before she went down to
supper. She hadn't gotten more than a few hours sleep last night, too
exhilarated from her 'dancing' with Vegeta and their frantic coupling in
the doorway. So close! They had been so close! Now there was no telling
how long it would be until Vegeta loosened up again and relented to let
her get close and intimate. It could be days or weeks, even months,
before it ever happened again.

Lathering up her body, she stood under the shower spray and ran
her fingers in a teasing caress up between her legs. After the sensation
of feeling Vegeta's length deep inside of her, she wasn't sure if she
could wait. Her body had accepted him as easily as if the time between
them had never happened and she wanted to experience that pleasure
again.

She quickly pulled her hand away and forced herself to turn off
the water. Escaping into a masturbating fantasy held its attraction but
she had a genuine dilemma on her hands. She was in uncharted waters and
knew that she was attempting what no other woman in the entire universe
had ever managed to do: Tame the mercurial Saiyan prince and have him
all to herself. She wasn't even sure it was possible. Wanderlust was as
strong in Vegeta as the need for battle. Did she really have any hope
keeping him close to her? Too many questions...

Her mind swamped with worry and doubt, she didn't notice the
figure outside of the shower until she slid open one of the doors and
saw Vegeta standing there. "Oh my G-"

"!!I DREW THOSE FOR YOU!!" Vegeta roared at her, forcing her back
against the tiles. "They weren't meant for your greedy father or those
idiot employees or this stupid company. They were for you and you
alone!"

"Vegeta, what are you talking about-"

"The designs!" he shouted in her face. "I drew those while my
brains were practically leaking out of my ears and you just gave them
away! How could you do that to me?"

Bulma realized that he had gone downstairs and somehow found about
what was going on in the Research and Development department. "It's not
what you think-"

"Tell me what I think, I'm curious," he shot back.

"It was meant to be a surprise-"

"Oh, it sure as hell was that!"

"Dammit Vegeta! It was going to be an early Christmas present!"
she yelled back, forgetting her nudity for the moment and intent on
hammering this point home before it blew beyond all proportion. "I was
having the lab prepare patents of all seven designs so that I could give
them to you."

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean to me?"

"It means, mister wizard, that once production begins you'll be
receiving royalties from the designs because you'll retain sole
ownership. You're going to be rich!"

He blinked at her. "Rich?"

"Yes."

"How rich?"

"Very rich."

"Richer than you?"

"Now you're pushing it."

The hostility finally left his face and he crossed his arms and
leaned against the shower doors, barring her way while he mulled over
what she had told him. "All from just from a few designs?"

"Vegeta, one of your sketches details a device that can extract
hydrogen from saltwater molecules and convert it safely into raw energy.
Do you have any idea what that patent will be worth?"

"No," he responded honestly.

Her eyes softened, understanding his genuine confusion. "I was so
touched when I found that envelope in the apartment addressed to me. It
was a wonderful gift because I know what those designs meant coming from
you. I really didn't want to share them but they were too important to
hide away in my dresser. Earth can benefit from these devices-"

"-And Capsule Corporation."

"Well, I am a businesswoman," she answered honestly.

He raised an eyebrow at that but made no comment. He supposed that
he could see her point of view in the matter but he still felt
inexplicable betrayal by the action. It lessened the more he thought
about another fine point she had brought up. "Rich?" he asked again,
unable to hide the unmistakable sheen of greed in his eyes.

"Let me put it this way; your days of paying for a bottle of
whiskey with quarters are over."

"Hnh. I'll believe that when I see it."

Bulma threw up her arms in dismay. "God! Does the glass always
have to be half empty with you?"

"Yes."

"You're incorrigible."

"Uh huh," he said, deliberately eyeing her nudity for the first
time. The sight of it made the last of his indignation evaporate and he
decided to let the matter rest in favor of a more pressing matter.

Noticing his gaze, Bulma made an attempt to cover herself with the
small washcloth, realized how ridiculous she looked and dropped it.
Placing her hands on her hips, she said waspishly, "It's very rude to
stare, you know."

"Incorrigible people tend to do that," he said with a leering
grin. He was pleased to see that pregnancy had left no stretch marks on
her breasts or stomach. Her figure was as flawless as ever.

She watched him step into the shower stall with her and slide the
door closed. "What do you think you're doing?"

He removed his cap and pulled off his sweater and closed the
distance between them until she was forced back against the wall. "It
occurs to me that we have some unfinished business," he told her,
running a finger across her lips and down her chest until he was cupping
one firm breast. He flicked his tongue briefly over the nipple before
raising his mouth to kiss her.

When they had parted, Bulma confided to him, "I've realized that
I'm not complete when you're away from me. These last few months were-
were horrible and I never even endured a fraction of the hell you went
through." Her voice went hoarse with suppressed emotion but she managed
to get out; "I don't want to lose you again."

"I'm not going anywhere," he promised her. That devilish smirk of
his was back as well as that roguish glint to his eyes. "At least... not
until I get what I came for."

"I think that can be arranged."

She reached for him beneath the waistband of his shorts and
grasped his hardness with gentle fingers. Urgently sliding the tight
material down his lean hips, she knelt down and claimed him with her
mouth, lapping at the head of his thick shaft while her hand kneaded and
squeezed the hardened flesh.

Extending an arm to steady himself, Vegeta watched her skillful
ministrations through slitted eyes and then glanced at the shower
controls. He reached over and turned on the water.

"What the hell-" Bulma sputtered, immediately soaked again in the
sudden spray.

"I wanted to recreate the conditions of last night," he said as he
effortlessly hoisted her up until she was poised over his erection. The
water smoothened down his thick hair, softening the severity of his
features and he looked into her dazzling blue eyes and betrayed a
genuine, affectionate smile. She scissored her legs around his back and
slowly eased herself down on his throbbing length, moaning in pleasure
until he was completely embedded within her smooth warmth.

Resting his back against the tiled wall, he drove into her with
slow, measured strokes. Bulma cried out in sheer pleasure as his pace
sped up and she fastened her mouth on his shoulder, her teeth nipping at
his skin. Shivering against him, she moaned over and over, "It's been
too long, Vegeta. More, I want more-" Her body spasmed in his arms with
a violent, intense climax and the rhythmic squeezing of her internal
muscles was too much. With a choked cry, Vegeta came inside of her. It
felt like his spine was unraveling with the force of his orgasm and
seemed to go on forever until his legs buckled and the pair slid to the
floor of the stall.

Bulma straddled his hips and laid over him while the water from
the shower gently flowed over their bodies. They were silent for a long
time until Vegeta wiped the wet hair out of his eyes and stared up at
her. "I knew I forgot something," he grumbled.

Frowning at him in confusion for a few seconds, Bulma shook her
head. "Honestly, I'm back on the pill. You don't have to worry about
protect-"

"My sneakers. I forgot to take the damn things off."

She looked around and sure enough, he was still wearing his
jogging shoes, now completely soaked. She started laughing at the sight.
"That's okay, you needed the traction," she told him and giggled when he
laughed at the truth.

>>>>>

Downstairs, Chi Chi sat at the dinner table glaring at the two
empty place settings. Dr. and Mrs. Briefs were eating quietly while
Trunks sat in his high chair, devouring a bowl of noodles. Gohan was
staring at the ceiling with an odd, dreamy expression on his young face.
The boy could sense the pulsating spikes in Vegeta's ki and had a pretty
good idea what was going on. After the confrontation in the park, he was
worried that perhaps he had pushed the Saiyan too far. Now he was
pleased to see that things were returning back to normal for the couple.

"Where on earth are they?" Chi Chi fretted. "Vegeta, I might
understand but it isn't like Bulma to not inform me if she wasn't coming
to supper."

She got up from the table and Gohan felt a brief surge of alarm.
"Mom, I wouldn't go chasing after them if I was you."

"Why not?" she asked him with a challenging stare and couldn't
understand why the boy started blushing. With a huff, she left the
dining room and stormed up the stairs, marching down the hall to Bulma's
quarters. She found the door locked and began urgently knocking on it.
"Is everything alright in there? Bulma, supper is on the table. Can you
hear me? I said that you're missing supper! Hellooo-"

The door was unlocked and Chi Chi stepped back, preparing to
demand an explanation from her. She was completely caught off guard at
the sight of the individual who opened the door.

Rubbing a towel into his wet hair, Vegeta faced the brunette
without expression. Completely nude, he made no attempt to cover himself
as he informed her in a bored tone of voice, "If you're looking for a
full-blooded Saiyan to service you, you'll have to take a number. I've
got my hands full at the moment." Without another word he slammed the
door shut in her face and locked it.

All of the blood ran out of Chi Chi's face as she stared at the
closed door. Her bottom lip started trembling until her entire body
began to shake. All at once she drew in breath and started screaming.

Bulma was trying to smother her laughter into the pillow as Vegeta
sauntered back to bed. Outside of the door, it sounded as if someone was
being slaughtered by the racket that the brunette created with her
tantrum. It lasted for well over a minute and ended with a deliberate
kick at the door before they heard the stamps of her footfalls fade down
the hall. "Ohmigod! Vegeta, you're going to send her into premature
labor!"

"The sooner she pops out that brat, the sooner she'll be out of
here," he muttered, carefully wrapping the damp towel around his injured
hand. Their little adventure in the shower had caused it to start
bleeding again. To get his mind off of the pain, he settled in beside
Bulma and began to slowly reacquaint himself with her body, starting
with her breasts.

While he fondled and licked, she ran an idle hand through his hair
and placidly stared up at the ceiling. "I don't see Chi Chi leaving
anytime soon. Her family fortune is exhausted and living here is about
the only handout she'll accept. Like you, she has her pride."

Vegeta knew about the high cost that arrogant pride demanded from
its host. It was about the only thing that the pair had in common. "I'll
think of something," he told her, tracing lingering kisses down her flat
stomach.

"Nothing nasty, I hope."

He had found the soft curls that framed her womanhood and released
only a distracted grumble of sound. Bulma decided not to press the issue
and forgot it entirely when his tongue found her sensitive nub and began
teasing it. Opening her legs to give him better access, she sighed
gratefully, "It's been a loooong twenty months..."

"Hnh. Try thirty-six," he corrected, looking over at her.

"Wha-? Three years?"

"I spent almost a year and a half in the room of Spirit and Time,
remember?"

She could have slapped herself. "That's right! You must have been
crawling the walls."

"Trust me, I did a lot of hand-to-gland combat," he quipped and
returned to orally pleasuring her. While his tongue fluttered and
probed, he thought that she was finally getting into what he was doing
until she said, "I do."

He released a disgusted snort and gave up, resting his head
against her leg. She was in talking mode and until she said her piece,
he might as well be trying to give cunnilingus to a statue. "You 'do'
what?" he asked in exasperation.

"Trust you." Bulma moved around so that they were face to face.
"With my heart and my soul."

He propped his head up and stared at her with half-open eyes,
trying to contain his growing impatience. Reaching out to his face, she
lovingly stroked his cheek as she continued, "Do I have your trust
again? Do I have sihskar?"

That got a startled grunt out of him. He sat up and stared at her
in astonishment. "How the hell do you know that word?"

"When you had been suffering from the V'Nhar, you explained it to
me once. It's the Saiyago word for trust, am I right?"

Staring at her open, pleading face, Vegeta actually faltered in
his original intent to simply humor her in order to have sex again. She
spoke the revered word so casually, ignorant of its true meaning to a
full-blooded Saiyan. It was only ever used in reference to the most
remarkable of occasions and only spoken to the most cherished of
individuals. That he had even used it in Bulma's presence was an
indication of how much she meant to him; then and particularly now. His
memories were still a tangled mess but he could clearly remember his
pledge to her back at that apartment in Pitch. One that had come true
until Dende had brought him back.

Bulma... My life for yours.

"Vegeta...?" Bulma wasn't sure what to make of his prolonged
silence. There was an expression on his face that she had never seen
before. He looked torn between confusion and sadness. "Are you
alright?"

Vegeta was thinking of Krillin's intentions towards android 18. It
appeared to be a complicated process involving jewelry, produce, and
begging but he couldn't wrap his brain around the significance of any of
it. His earlier words to Gohan had been true enough; Saiyans did not
demean themselves with nonsensical courtship rituals. Females were
considered equals, not objects that had to be bribed, conquered, or
coerced to gain favor. Unions did not have to be authorized by some
outside source. More often then not, they were considered a private
matter. Vegeta chose to be with Bulma and visa versa; according to
Saiyan law, that was enough to make their relationship legitimate.

Unfortunately, there was the serious matter of a culture gap
between them; one split by a distance of several thousand light-years.
He was on Earth now and, although he didn't like it one bit, he had to
abide by its laws. That also meant accepting its strange customs. He had
decided soon after his arrival that none of this world's rites and
rituals applied to him. Maybe, just maybe, he could bend the rules to
his own benefit so that he didn't lose face.

"Vegeta." She was beginning to get worried now. The Saiyan's
prolonged silence meant that he was thinking very hard and she knew from
personal experience that it was never a good thing. "What's going on in
that devious mind of yours?"

"I'm searching for the answer you want," he told her in a voice
very different from his usual harsh manner.

She drew away from him a little. "If you have to think about it
then I can guess what the answer is going to be," she said in a hurt
voice. She began to pull the bedspread self-consciously around her bare
shoulders. "You got what you came for. I think it's time you l-"

Rolling his eyes, he pulled her close and kissed her. She resisted
for a fleeting moment but eventually relaxed against him. "Stop taking
everything so personal," he chastised her, brushing aside errant strands
of hair so that he could see her brilliant blue eyes. "I'm trying to
pick the right words to say. I want them to be special."

Before she could respond, he laid his forehead against hers and
restored the neglected bonds of their mental rapport. She could hear his
voice drift across her mind like a swelling storm cloud that rolled end
over end on powerful currents. The words were exotic and alien, the
language of a shape-shifting warrior race that were now ashes riding on
solar winds.

'Tas'Kif sihskar mri Bulma-tik'o,' Vegeta told her, providing the
meaning that went far beyond English words. Included in the translation
were emotions and thoughts, feelings that he could never betray out
loud; all freely exposed to her mind so that she could see the truth.
There was so much for her to sort out from the brief exchange but she
caught its intended meaning and hugged him when it was over, sobbing in
relief. It was all that she could have ever asked for.

Vegeta had just told her that he trusted her again.




-------------------------------------------- ------
If you want to be on the Mailing List, e-mail me at:
darke_angelus@hotmail.com
Or visit my web site at: www.angelfire.com/anime4/darkeside/home.htm

---------------------- ----------------------------------
Chapter Seventeen: The Final Chapter! (Sorry folks, but you knew it was
coming!)