Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Yumenimo ❯ I'm too OLD for a babysitter! ( Chapter 3 )

Standard Disclaimers:

I do not own Dragonball Z or any of its related merchandising rights. (I wish O.O) They belong to Akira Toriyama and all other associated parties. Also, I am not associated with George Lucas and the great sci-fi saga that is Star Wars and therefore I have no claim to his creation. And as far as this chapter goes . . . I don't own The Incredible Hulk or the Green Giant. (The one from the vegetable commercials:)

However, this story is my intellectual property and completely my fault for ever going to see Episode2 in the theater with my special someone. And, yes, I know that it's out on VHS/DVD. (Christmas may have come and gone, but my birthday's just way to far away!! *hinthint*;) It's been too long since I saw it the 1st weekend it was out. Heck, I don't even remember all of it. I actually started this fic a few months back, but that shows just how many other projects this was buried under. Also, in case you can't tell, this is my first published DBZ fic -- but mostly my first V/B. *sigh* I think I'm gonna regret ever starting this -_-

Warnings:

Will, eventually, contain Star Wars Episode2: Attack of the Clones content references, so if you haven't seen the movie yet you should go see it because you won't know what Bulma's talking about. (Bulma will be watching it, after all) Seriously, it's a great movie! :) Okay, now as for my fic there's drama(mostly, although after reading some of the latest comments, I'm going to upgrade it to angst), romance(eventually-_-), OOCness(which I hate but I'm not used to writing IC V/B), unnecessarily bad language(the major reason for the rating increase), my stupid attempts at humor, hints of sex (It's coming, I swear) and . . . uh, feminine "issues." (I'm such a geek, I can't even say words referring to female anatomy without clamming up o.O) So beware! As of now the warnings have changed, so this story is now rated R. *evil li'l smirk* If I get enough of a response/inspiration I may yet add something else worth warning you about. ;)

I can't believe I cried myself to sleep last night. What a fool . . . I should just tell Mom but-- I can't yet.

That annoying little voice decided to interrupt her couch-top reverie. Of course you can't tell her, baka; she's not even here anymore. Don't you remember? They left this morning.

Mom . . . Dad. At least I kept my promise to see them before they left. The thought made Bulma smile. Mom looked surprised. She looked . . . so happy-- but it almost wasn't that way.

Thankfully, Bulma remembered to set her alarm before tossing and turning for most of the night. Or should I say regrettably? She smacked the alarm's snooze button. I can't be sleeping in. I'm in charge of Capsule Corp. while my parents are away. I can't spend all my time in bed . . .

"Blond onna, serve me my breakfast!"

At the sound of that voice, Bulma threw her covers away from her and shut off her alarm. . . . no matter how tempting that may sound. She slung her legs over the side of her bed and pushed herself up with a groan. Yeah, Capsule Corp. needs me-- she paused at the bathroom door. But it's my day off. Bulma sighed, I haven't had a day off in a while. What do people off from work do, anyway? Go camping? Bulma laughed. As if! I did enough of that on Namek. I don't need a day to myself; I need-- . . . what do I need?

A day to veg out on the couch and snack all day?

Mmm. Sounds good.

Ahoy, buttcheeks, we're bringing in a bulky load for you today!

Shut up! I am not fat!

But you will be if you aren't careful.

God, you sound like a parent.

Speaking of which, when are the 'rents shipping out?

Bulma looked at the clock. Shit, I'm late already. I hope they haven't left yet.

After washing up, throwing on a pair of hip-hugger jeans and a fitted blue t-shirt bearing the word "Princess" with a little crown on top, brushing her hair and putting it in a ponytail, and toeing on some blue and white sneakers, Bulma bolted through the door and ran into a brick wall.

"Look where you're going, baka onna."

"Get out of the way, Hulk--"

The "Hulk" smirked and raised an eyebrow. "I had no idea I looked that good."

"That's a 'hunk,' Vegetable brain-- get your English straight!"

So I'm "hunk," then?

"I'm comparing you to the Incredible Hulk . . . a big green maniacal mutant."

She did call me "incredible," but she just had to ruin it by tacking on that last sentiment. What a bitch. "Hn." Vegeta wasn't dumb enough to miss the similarity between his pet-name and the, literal, big green giant-- he does watch television. Could you be making fun of my height!? And you know full well that I am not Nemakian, you vulgar onna!

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to see my parents before they leave." She didn't really expect him to get out of her way, But I made my point, dammit!

And as always is the course of life . . . the "genius" was proven wrong. Vegeta bowed and ushered with his arms for her to proceed down the stairs. "After you." She really thinks she is the Capsule Corp. Princess. That tight little shirt . . . how indecent! Does she want me to look? And those jeans, they're barely covering her-- posterior!

How dare he mock me! "Jerk." But she gratefully took the opportunity to beat him to the breakfast table. For once. Who knows? Maybe they'll be something left for the rest of us.

As Bulma headed downstairs, Vegeta smirked to her back. Baka onna, It's not like I can't fly-- Hell, I can walk faster than you can complain.

Why is he always in my way? You'd think the was following me or something. Gee, I know that I'm hard to resist, a sudden chill made her shiver, but even I have my limits before things get creepy.

"I need more sustenance!"

"Slow down, Vegeta, or one of these days . . . you'll choke." Ah, Mrs. Breifs . . . always the kidder.

"Hn."

Yes, they're still here! Thank you ever-hungry Saiyan Prince. On that thought, Bulma walked into the busy kitchen smiling.

"Ah, good morning, Pumpkin."

"Morning, Dad. Anything good?"

Mr. Breifs closed the newspaper he was holding, folded it clumsily, and flopped it onto the tabletop. "Is there ever?"

Despite what had been happening lately, Bulma felt like laughing. "Not in my lifetime."

"And how long is that, since the dawn of time?"

Dammit, not now! Why do you always have to ruin everything? It's the first "family" moment I've had in forever and you-- wait a minute. How'd he beat me here?

Bulma's inner voice groaned. As if you don't know the answer. He's a Saiyan, for crying out loud! He probably just ran so fast that you never saw him. Or flew for that matter.

Lucky bastard. Could that have been the chill I felt while walking downstairs?

Mr. Breifs chose that moment to interrupt her musing, "Ah yes, Vegeta, I've been meaning to ask you . . . how have the new training bots and the gravity chamber upgrades been holding up?"

"Just as I'd expect of inferior alien technology."

"Ah, so no problems, then."

That jerk! I mean, here I invite him to stay at my home when he has no where to go and no one to miss him . . . and he repays me by being rude to my father!? Well, "Prince of All Saiyans," you will soon learn that you don't mess with me and my family in our own home--

"Good morning, Bulma Dear!" Mr. and Mrs. Breifs seemed to have a six sense when it came to interrupting their daughters homicidal thoughts toward the Saiyan. "We're having bacon and eggs for breakfast."

Bulma shuddered-- mentally. Damn piggy!. What a pervert-- at least Vegeta's not like that . . . I think. However, they always say that the quiet ones have the most-- and weirdest-- things to hide. She looked at him as he quickly-- yet regally-- ate his breakfast. Well . . . at least he can use silverware and chopsticks. And his eating habits aren't atrocious. Perhaps he's got something interesting in there . . . nah! This is Vegeta I'm talking about, here. He's as interesting as a . . . a . . .

"Piece of toast, Dear?" Mrs. Breifs dropped two pieces of plain toast on a small plate in front of Bulma.

"Yes, thank you."

"Add the butter while it's hot."

Yeah . . . a piece of hot buttered toast . . . with peanut butter and jelly-- no, cinnamon! Yeah, that's him. Once you add some sugar to the mix, it tastes great-- not that he would necessarily taste so great-- What the Hell am I talking about!?

"Here you go, Dear." Mrs. Breifs set a larger plate before Bulma with six strips of bacon and two eggs sunny side up.

Just the way I always like them! Still . . . who wouldn't I kill for a BLT right now?

"If you'd rather have a BLT, there's lettuce and tomato in the vegetable crisper."

"Uh, thanks, Mom." Despite what she always used to insist, I still think she's a mind reader. Mmmm, a BLT . . . on toast with some butter and cinnamon? Oh yeah! Well . . . maybe minus the butter. Then how would I get the cinnamon to stay on? Honey? Ooh, that could be good. Or how about just putting it on the tomato? That's it! Getting up out of her chair, she asked her mom, "Do we have any cinnamon, Mom?"

"Sure Dear, check the cabinet." Mrs. Breifs blinked. "But what on Earth for?"

"Just something I want to try."

"Okay, Dear, enjoy!"

After breakfast

The Breifs and their guest were outside the mansion gathered around a convertible hovercar. Well, not the guest. While the others were embracing and saying their goodbyes, a certain Saiyan was leaning against a nearby tree-trunk with his arms crossed over his muscular-- and unfortunately shirt adorned chest. Something was bothering him and he couldn't place it. Don't tell me that I'm actually going to miss these fossils. It couldn't be that. It must be something else . . . but what? I can't be . . . nervous? Bah, a Saiyan Prince is not allowed fear. But still . . . what could it be?

Unbeknownst to Bulma when she leaned down to hug her father, her jeans slipped to reveal a tiny bit of blue fabric.

Blue hair, blue eyes, blue shirt, blue jeans, blue shoes, . . . and blue underwear? What the Hell is her problem? Is she so self absorbed that she must constantly remind herself of her supposed beauty? Hm, I wonder if she's got anything on to match those pant-- that's it! The gravity on this stinking planet is so thin that I'm finally losing my mind. As soon as the onna's clan leaves . . . I'm adjourning to the GR-- thicken up the gravity to thicken up the head-- er mind, no muscles! Yeah, muscles the stronger to pound your head in with, Kakkarot!

"Are you sure you'll be alright, Princess? I can still grab my satellite phone from my office--"

"Un uh. No way is a father of mine going to ruin his honeymoon with my mother by bringing a phone along so he can call and interrupt my vacation with his worries about me, the house, and the business."

"You're right, Dear. I wouldn't want to interrupt your . . . vacation." A strange look passed over her father's features. She'd kill me if she knew what I was really thinking. "Well, that's it, the car's loaded and ready to go."

"Now, you have your capsules with you to store the car, right Dad?"

"Yes, Princess, all taken care of. How else do you think we were able to take a month's worth of clothing in one small bag? Besides, your list worked wonders. Whatever would we do without you?"

I could name a few thousand things, the Saiyan grumbled internally as Mr. and Mrs. Breifs piled into their convertible.

"Bye Mom! Bye Dad! Have a wonderful honeymoon!"

What the Hell is this . . . honey moon that they speak of? I'd ask, but that would be admitting ignorance. I'd rather remain so than give that baka onna the satisfaction of outwitting me. Everyone knows she's a fucking genius; why does she always have to shove it down their throats?

"Bye Honey," Bulma's mom waved. "Oh! By the way, Vegeta, remember to keep an eye on Bulma for us while we're gone!"

On that note, Bulma's eyes nearly jumped out of her head. "What!?" She looked at Vegeta and he was just as unreadable as ever. "But Mom, I'm too old for a babysitter!"

Just as she yelled it out, the engine of the hovercar revved up. Mrs. Breifs smiled and waved, "You two have a nice time!" And they were gone.

They have got to be joking. Me, a full grown woman and competent adult . . . needs a babysitter? Hm, I think all that smoking has rotted both their brains. Oh well, I guess I had better interrogate the monkey. Bulma mimicked Vegeta's stance and crossed her arms over her chest. "So, what are they paying you?"

"Hn?" His eyes jumped to hers. She was confused-- an idiot could see that. What the fuck should I say? They're not paying me anything! She's got the wrong idea-- then why shouldn't I give her something to think about?

The strength in his eyes burned her. I'm not backing down this time, bastard! "Answer me, dammit!"

"And tell you what?"

Bulma scowled. "What are my parents paying you to be my babysitter?!"

"I'm not supposed to say." Liar! Just tell her the truth; she's a paranoid onna!

"That's bull and you know it! Dammit, I'm too old for a babysitter!"

"Hn." But arguably old enough to be put in a retirement home. You want to play, little onna? We'll play. As if in thought, Vegeta reached up to stroke his chin. "That reminds me--"

"Get bent, dickhead," Bulma mumbled as she turned and started to stomp to the house.

" . . . they left a few rules."

"Huh?" She stopped dead in her tracks.

He pushed himself off the wall and walked towards her. "I'm supposed to keep an eye on you . . . "

Again, she crossed her arms, but she refused to look at him. Spill it, monkey boy.

He stopped just behind her. Vaguely, he noticed how his breath moved the fine blue hairs that escaped her attempt at binding them.

She could feel him behind her-- a sudden heat. Maybe it's just his ki. He's grown in power over the years . . . Bulma fought a sudden urge she had to shiver.

" . . . so there'll be no loud parties and no friends allowed."

"Wha--?" My parents have never pulled any crap like that before. Bulma whirled around to face her guest turned nanny. "But--"

"And no weaklings named Yamcha."

Bulma squeezed her fists shut and tried not to grind her teeth as she spoke with determination-- not volume. "You're lying!" He's got to be. This is just too damn weird.

And to seal his decree, he did the only thing that would end this discourse. He smirked. "Try me."

She wanted to scream. Hell, she wanted to deck him. Like that would do any good. Instead, she cursed. "Go fuck yourself," and then went back inside the house-- slamming the door after her.

It's too easy. She ate up every word I said. Such vulgarity. A true princess would never say anything of the sort . . . go fuck myself? Oh, I've done that little onna. But there's only so much a man can do on his own before he needs something else.

To be continued.

o.O Oh my God . . . that last paragraph just sucked ass!! What the Hell was I thinking . . . -_-

Well, that's it! A new chapter! XD Yeah, I know it took awhile, but when I went to type this one up I realized that I had written two completely different versions of the morning. I ended up combining them in one. So what did you think? Is Bulma a flake in this story? Is her idea for a BLT with cinnamon on the tomato sickening? Does it sound good? Are Bulma's parents up to something? Is Vegeta too much of a jerk/dope in this fic? Is the "princess" swearing too much?

I hope Vegeta's official "entrance" wasn't too bad. (I find it hard to write him with dignity. SO . . . I'll probably just write him as a cynic like me instead! *lol* Just kidding. :P)

For the next chapter . . . Bulma's been staring at that never ending blue screen too long and someone shows up to snap her out of it. But mostly . . . only one more big flashback! *readers cheer* Hey, they aren't that bad! *pause* Okay, they are, but there won't be any more after that unless absolutely necessary! I'm not sure if I'll start the movie in the next chapter (Yes, I will eventually write some stuff about ep2. Mostly character comments about certain parts of the movie. I'll have to be really careful not to spoil too much of the movie.) But in the end, no matter how I go about it . . . writing the next chapter is going to take some finesse. And what if I'm all out!?!?

Thanks to all you reviewers for inspiring me to continue! ^_^ Yes, I realize that it's slow going, but when you're working on multiple stories at a time . . . time seems to melt away. (like that painting by Salvador Dali, that I can never remember the name of, with all the melting clocks:) What fics am I working on? Just check my profile and see! ;) Send all comments, questions, and suggestions to:
duonotsuin@yahoo.com