Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ You've Got a Hold On Me ❯ Prologue - Won't Quit ( Prologue )

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

A/N:  Woaaaah, this is new for me.  I’m excited to begin a ‘3-Year’ fic, but with trepidation.  In truth, I’d like to think that this fic is a character study on these two lovers.  After nearly fifteen years of analyzing this whole event in my mind, it’s still a mystery to me – and so many others.  What follows is my interpretation after many discussions with other talented B/V authors, and note-taking that really pushes the boundaries of fandom.  ^_~
Thank you all who have encouraged me to do this, especially: catgirl26, Lady Lan and Piccoloisgreen.  And great big thanks to the ‘We’re Just Saiyan…’ community for their continued support and comraderie!  Go check it out!
Enjoy…


If only he weren’t so god-damned dedicated.  Something about his particular breed of single-minded devotion had always sparked an interest in a woman like Bulma Briefs.  But if he lacked that one crucial element, that concentrated obsession, maybe he’d be easier to ignore.
Instead, the Saiyan Prince was possessed:  utterly consumed by the demons that leapt around in his head like spritely leprechauns, chasing a fading rainbow.  In fact, Vegeta probably didn’t realize it, the enormity and grandeur of this fixation he had on Goku more closely resembled unrequited love than it did a warrior’s desperate quest.  As Bulma gazed at the Gravity Simulator, perched quietly on the east lawn of Capsule Corporation’s compound and for all intents and purposes silent as a mouse, she snorted in derision.  
Why the hell was she standing here anyway, watching over the displaced Saiyan as though he wanted (or needed) the attention?  Part of her wanted to stomp over to the east lawn, press her palm flat on the security panel of the GSR and enter the manual shutdown command.  That same part of her would password protect the damn thing so he would have no access.  Vegeta would leave, she thought.  He would leave and train somewhere else, somewhere on this planet other than her lawn, with her inventions and her genius!  Or, he would incinerate the Capsule Corp compound and then leave.  Either way he’d be gone, right?  That was the intended goal.  It was that other part of her that…  That--?
“Bulma, sweetie!  I know you can’t get that man’s tight, won’t-quit-ass out of your head, but why don’t you come over here and help me with these tea sandwiches?  I made so many!”
Yes.  It was that part of Bulma that her mother now gave irritating voice to, that wouldn’t let go.  She’d told herself a million times that it was nothing more than morbid curiosity.  Wasn’t everyone like that, she reasoned?  It was what made you want to look at a car wreck, when you really should look away.  It was that strange place deep inside the soul that made you want to research a serial killer to discover his secret obsession, or scour news programs for a suicide bomber’s radical motivation.  This was her fascination with Vegeta, Bulma reasoned.  And good Kami was he ever a car wreck:  a multi-vehicle, multiple death, multiple factor car wreck.  A car wreck of only luxury, posh vehicles.  And he did have a tight ass…
Bulma clicked her tongue at herself and shut both eyes to the sunlight outside the balcony window.  The outline of the GSR imprinted against the backs of her retinas and made her own obsession all the more real.  She hissed in a breath and turned back to the sun room, where her mother sat and sipped on a dainty china cup of Jasmine tea.  Bulma could smell the lovely bouquet from here.
Stiffly, she plopped her bottom down on the crisp white linen of a lounge chair and leaned forward to pick up the still steaming cup of tea her mother had so thoughtfully poured for her.  She took a long, glorious sip of her favorite tea and let a satisfied “mmm” escape her throat before swallowing.  Bulma leaned back against the lounge seat and sighed, her eyes drifting shut.
Lovely, caressing silence enveloped the room, slightly accented by the quiet clink of Mrs. Briefs’ teaspoon against the rim of her cup, and for a moment Bulma was at peace.  To hell with Vegeta’s dedication.  The only person it mattered to was him, and really it was the only thing to which he gave a single, invested thought.
Bulma felt herself slip away into a light doze as she tried desperately to rid her mind of the thought of him.  She was quite sure he didn’t think of her all that often, and even if he did it was only to the extent that he needed something from her:  to fix the ki bots or mend the dents in the floor of the GSR, or even to manually override the default warning codes when he drove the machine to its limits.  He never said please or thank you, barely addressed her at all really.  And every time she got near him, she could almost feel the hackles on the back of his thick, powerful neck rise up and prickle his skin; it was as though he could barely stand to be in the same room with someone so beneath him.
Great Kami, it wasn’t worth her time to obsess over such an unmitigated asshole!  As if she needed acknowledgement from an allegedly reformed psychopath!  Bulma’s brow creased, even as the doze came on stronger and forced her breathing to calm.  Her mother was humming now, as she usually did when she had nothing else to say but couldn’t stand the silence.
That was when the floor began to shake… And groan…