Chapter 41

Zarbon looked coldly into the screen, musing that it was much easier now to look at Atlia without feeling the urge to recoil in disgust. He still hated bugs, but he counted his blessing every day where Atlia was concerned; the fellow had been a godsend, keeping the tenuous fragments of the empire together in the absence of the actual authority figure. “Send the ships to arrive here in three weeks,” Zarbon instructed. “One will need to be staffed minimally for myself, Radditz, and Vegeta and the other only needs a navigation crew. That ship we’ll leave for the Earthlings to use to construct transport of future goods we may need.”

“Very well. I shall deploy the ships within the next few days,” Atlia replied.

“Excellent. So, is Nappa behaving himself?” he asked idly.

Atlia made a scratchy noise, similar to laughter, and nodded his head. “For the most part. He stays occupied with coming up with battle plans in the event of another rebellion. The man does love his work.”

Zarbon sighed. “Yes, those Saiyans are so single-minded. Why, sometimes I think,” he began, stopping short when a tremendous explosion rocked the very foundation of the building. He felt around tentatively with the new found ki-searching sense he was beginning to develop and encountered no signs of battle. Without a word he reached out and terminated the signal, not even bothering to close the console before leaping out his window and zooming in the direction of the sound. He rounded the curvature of the building and saw a smoking pile of rubble where the building that housed the gravity chamber used to be. He landed and took off towards the structure at a run, suppressing a scowl of annoyance as he was cut off by Bulma.

“Oh my god, Vegeta!” she screamed, scrambling over the ruins, doing her best to roll away heavy scraps of concrete and metal.

“Vegeta! Where are you?” she screeched, tears beginning to form in her eyes. She looked around frantically, her face lighting up when she saw Zarbon. “Oh, thank god,” she said. “Zarbon, can you feel if he’s alive?”

Zarbon cleared his throat and clambered up the pile to dig beside her. “I don’t know. This extra sense is really new to me...”

“Please,” she whispered, eyes pleading as well.

Zarbon growled in annoyance. He had decided he didn’t like her, even though he knew the only reason he felt that way was because Vegeta had some sort of bizarre connection with her. Yet, he couldn’t refuse such a raw request...”Fine,” he snapped, closing his eyes and concentrating. It took a little while, but soon he could feel it, faint but present nonetheless. “He’s alive,” he whispered urgently. “Now get out of my way.”

She stared at him, wide eyed, but scrambled down the pile to stand on the grass, turning as staff came out of surrounding buildings. “Hurry,” she prodded.

“What do you think I’m doing?” he snapped, using his phenomenal strength to lift the large chunks, tearing and throwing debris until he saw a single hand sticking out. He reached down and grasped it, the appendage feeling oddly cold. Pulling with all his might he grunted as the body followed the hand out of the rubble, the momentum nearly sending them both into the air. Zarbon quickly collected Vegeta’s body and dashed over to Bulma, lying him down at her feet. She knelt immediately and pressed her fingers to Vegeta’s neck, brow furrowed in concentration. “He’s very alive,” she murmured before leaning down and placing her cheek above his lips. “He’s breathing as well.”

“Then let’s get him into a tank,” Zarbon ordered, hefting the Saiyan’s body once again. “Quickly, you go and prime it.”

Bulma nodded and dashed off, him flying after her. He rocketed inside the building, following the curved hallway until he arrived at the right room, immediately placing Vegeta inside the tank and inserting the mouthpiece when Bulma nodded. He jumped out of the tank and closed the hatch, watching with concern as the contraption began to fill with liquid. “He’ll be all right,” he said aloud, more to comfort himself than anyone else.

Bulma nodded and pressed herself to the glass, staring in at him intently. “Yes,” she whispered.

Zarbon sighed as he looked at her. She was obviously concerned and he knew with sudden certainty that she would stay in this room until Vegeta left the tank. He certainly didn’t understand their relationship. “So how’s Radditz?” he surprised himself by asking suddenly.

Bulma leaned her forehead against the glass, lowering her eyelids sadly and sighing. “I don’t know. I haven’t talked to him since the party last week. I’ve tried calling him at Goku’s numerous times, but ChiChi always says he’s not in. He’s avoiding me.”

“How do you know?” he asked, watching as the liquid completely enveloped Vegeta’s head.

“Mom said so. He talked to her on the phone and told her that he wouldn’t be able to see me for a while,” she answered.

“That must be rough. Do you miss him?” he prodded.

Bulma shrugged. “Yes, I do, I guess. I suppose I should get used to it. All of you will probably leave in a few weeks anyway,” she replied sadly.

Zarbon grunted his agreement and crossed his arms over his chest. “And what about Vegeta?” he asked against his better judgment.

Bulma made a growling sound deep in her throat. “He’s a stupid, arrogant, overconfident bastard,” she spat angrily, but trailed a finger along the glass anyway.

“Yes,” Zarbon agreed, unable to suppress a chuckle. “He is indeed.”

“So why don’t I want him hurt?” she whispered, Zarbon barely able to hear her. He looked at her standing there, so distressed and angry at the same time, and he realized that their time on Earth had been hard on her as well. He reluctantly felt himself soften. From now on he would stay out of her business.

“Listen, Bulma,” he said gently. “Come and get me when he’s awake, okay?”

She nodded solemnly, never taking her eyes off of Vegeta floating silently in the tank. “Sure,” she murmured.

“Thanks,” Zarbon muttered in reply and left the room.


Vegeta shook off the mask with a violent motion of his head and waited as the fluid began to drain. When it got low enough he reached forward and opened the hatch, drying himself with a blast of ki before closing the hatch again. The darkness of the room meant nighttime, and as he went to leave the room for his bed he noticed a figure seated in the dimness only a few feet away from the tank. Wandering over, he saw it was the woman. She had a little notebook in front of her, the open page covered mostly with mathematical formulas, but in the margins were little tiny sketches with the widow’s peak and flaring hair that were undeniably his. Her blue locks spread out on the table around her, soft and silky in the dim light, her eyes shut and lips parted as her ribs slowly expanded with her breath. Her pale, thin neck was exposed and his stomach quivered as he realized this was his chance. He could end her right now. Reaching forward he wrapped his hand around the back of her neck, surprised at how soft the skin felt beneath his fingers. It was so soft, in fact, that he wanted to touch it more, and he ran his knuckles along the bumps of her spine. His fingers traced the strongly beating artery in her neck, an even warmer spot in the tender throat, and he felt his hand close lethally around her neck once again. “Hnnnn? What?” she suddenly murmured, turning her head to the side to look at him.

He pulled his hand back as if she was a dangerous animal and stared at her, unsure what to do. “Nothing,” he said. “Turn the tank off. I’m finished with it.”

She scowled, reaching back to scratch her neck absently. “You turn it off,” she growled. “You used it last.” Grumbling, she stood and smoothed out her short dress. Most of her thigh was exposed as well a a good portion of her bosom, the skin looking soft but her body seeming firm. He wondered what it would feel like to touch that skin as well, to run his fingers into the deep cleft between her breasts, and he felt something warm deep inside of him. Surprised and a little frightened he roughly pushed the thoughts away, incinerating them in his hatred. Bulma scowled at him, putting her hands on her full hips. “What? You mind looking me in the eyes?” she snapped.

Vegeta’s gaze immediately flew from her chest to her face, his stare locking with hers. Damn those blue eyes...was Zarbon right? Was this the one time when giving in could feel better than fighting? To just let that blue, sparkling gaze eat him whole? He shook his head, silently berating himself. He was the Prince of the Saiyans, now the Emperor. There was no way that he could permit himself to give in. “Nothing. I was just thinking how shameless you are to wear such things,” he growled.

Her eyebrows rose. He’s noticing what I’m wearing, was her first thought. “Shut up, asshole!” is what she said, for she realized she really was angry at his comment. “I can wear whatever I want to and if you don’t like it you can go straight to hell.”

He examined her again for a minute, angry, as always, that she was arguing with him, but also a little exhilarated. His verbal battles with her never failed to give him a perverse kind of joy. She was, he thought, the best sparring partner he had ever had. “If I was your mate...” he growled, about to say that he wouldn’t allow such a manner of dress, then realized something and stopped, suddenly blushing. “I wouldn’t care what you wore,” he said quietly. Embarrassed and angry, he sent her one last glance and rolled out of the room like a rogue thunderstorm.

“What got into him,” she muttered to herself. “And you didn’t even close the damn hatch!” she shouted after him, going over and shutting it herself, letting her hand linger on the cool glass. She found herself unnaturally flushed after speaking to him, his last words ringing in her ears. His answer wasn’t the one she had expected, and the way he had said it, so quietly with just the tiniest, most minuscule bit of something else at the edge of his deep, cold voice, that it made her stomach flutter. Oh, what was wrong with her? She hated Vegeta; he was mean, rude, obnoxious, arrogant, cold, and so, so many other negative adjectives, but his muscles rippled with predatory grace when he moved and the memory of his strong hands on her waist popped to the surface of her thoughts and surprised her. So what was she going to do now? Aside from fighting with him she was finished with him and all his damn alien business, and the thought made her feel strangely empty inside. Yamcha was gone, probably for good. The last time she had seen him Krillin was leading him out of the house. He had been crying like a baby with a face just as red, and was obviously drunk, considering the way that Krillin had been supporting him. Then there was poor Radditz, who was simply and admittedly avoiding her. His absence hurt her more than she could have anticipated. She missed his looming and his silences, the protective way he stood behind her. Yes, she missed Radditz, because now she was stuck with Vegeta, who annoyed her no end. Who would she talk to now? What would she do? She sighed and looked out the window, her eyes widening as she saw and remembered the demolished gravity chamber. That would probably be her next project. Damn that Vegeta, for making her work and making her worry! Taking her hand from the glass of the tank she growled a few more curses and set off to find Zarbon to tell him of the Prince’s recovery and then to her father to get the gravity room specs from him.


Vegeta entered the room without knocking, coming up behind the man and standing there, legs spread and hands behind his back. “I need you to manufacture some armor. Lots of it,” he growled, smiling a little as the man jumped and turned around, eyes wide behind his glasses.

“Oh, Vegeta, my boy,” he stammered, putting down the machine he had been tinkering with. “You need armor?”

Vegeta nodded. “Yes. I need quite a significant amount.”

Dr. Briefs scratched the side of his nose and sighed. “Okay. I think we’ve got the process down now. How many pieces would you require?”

Vegeta narrowed his eyes, calculating. How many warriors would there be? “About a million,” he said, wanting to be on the safe side.

Dr. Briefs nearly jumped out of his shoes. “A million?! That’s going to take a while, my boy,” he said incredulously.

“I don’t care. I will provide the transport. All you need to do is get them done as quickly as you can,” Vegeta said sternly. “Oh, and I need you to put this on every piece of armor,” he added, going over to the table and snatching a piece of stray paper and a pencil, scratching out a quick sketch before handing it to Dr. Briefs.

“What’s this?” he asked, squinting at the picture.

“The royal crest of Vejiitasei,” Vegeta answered. “I want that printed on the left breast of every single piece of armor. In return I will send you whatever payment you require, you can make whatever modifications to the transport you wish to make it faster, and go ahead and copy the design while you’re at it. Does that provide sufficient impetus to complete the job?”

“Sure,” Dr. Briefs murmured. “Always like getting my hands on new spaceships.”

“Oh, and the gravity chamber needs to be repaired,” Vegeta added, starting to leave the room.

“What? What happened to it?” Dr. Briefs asked in horror.

“It blew up. It was too weak to hold my power,” Vegeta said coldly.

Dr. Briefs sighed. “Well, I don’t have the time if I’m going to get this done,” he said. “Go ask Bulma.”

“I am not talking to that stupid, horrid daughter of yours,” Vegeta snapped.

“Well, then you shouldn’t be so hard on things, including my daughter, should you?” Dr. Briefs said calmly. “She’s just as good as I am and someday she’ll be better, so I advise you get on her good side if you ever plan on having future dealings with our company.”

Vegeta spat in disgust. “I don’t care. Just get the armor finished as quickly as possible,” he snarled, and left the room.

Dr. Briefs sighed and watched him go. “Poor fellow,” he murmured and settled down to work.


Bulma was storming to her father’s lab, staring out the window at the pile of rubble lying under the night sky and fuming at all the work Vegeta was making for her. She was so consumed in her thoughts that she wasn’t looking at where she was going and she ran smack dab into something hard and solid. She brought her hands up, startled when they encountered warm, smooth flesh. A noise of surprise escaped her throat and she looked up, her face coloring when she encountered fathomless black eyes. She dropped her hands slowly, something in her stomach twisting involuntarily when her retreating fingertips accidentally grazed his hard nipples. She thought for a moment that she felt his body shudder slightly and she looked down at his rippling abs, wanting to touch those too, and when she looked back up again his eyes were buried once more in her cleavage. “Oh, come on,” she said angrily. “I have eyes, you know.”

“I hate your eyes,” he grumbled, looking once again at her face.

“Shut up and get out of my way. I’m going to see my father,” she snapped, trying to move around him.

He stepped into her way and she was confronted once again with his muscular neck and shoulders. “I was looking for you,” he said.

“What? What could you possibly want from me?” she snarled, still trying to get around him.

He grabbed her roughly by the shoulders and forced her to stand in front of him, glaring at her. “I need you to fix the gravity chamber,” he said, a strange light in his eyes. “I need you to make it work even better than before. Have it withstand up to 300Gs.”

She backed away from him. “300Gs? That’s crazy. No one could survive that!”

He smirked at her, his chiseled mouth twisting with the expression. “Think not? When I blew up the gravity room I was pushing one hundred,” he said mockingly.

She scowled. “I don’t care,” she snapped. “What’s my motivation? What’s in it for me?”

He cocked his head, considering. “I’ll leave you alone,” he said. “You won’t hear or see me for the duration of my stay.”

Sudden fear overtook her. “No!” she cried, reaching out and grabbing his thick forearm. She looked down at her hand and blushed, but didn’t let go. “That is not acceptable, Vegeta,” she said more calmly. “As sick as it sounds, you’re the only company I have left. You’ve effectively driven away everyone else and now I’m all alone.”

“You’re alone because you’re an insufferable bitch, not because of anything I’ve done,” he sneered.

Bulma’s jaw began to quiver. Maybe he was right, maybe she had driven Radditz and Yamcha away with her behavior. Now she, who had always been surrounded by admirers, was alone, and the thought hit her with such force that her sudden loneliness broke her heart. Tears began to fall unbidden from her eyes, and she turned away from him in shame, doing her best to suppress her sobs.

“What?” he asked in surprise. “What’s happening?”

“Just go away, Vegeta,” she croaked. “You bastard. I can’t believe you’re all I have left.”

He found himself transfixed, watching silently as her body shook with tears and she tried in vain to cover her face.

She turned red-rimmed eyes on him. “What? You enjoy seeing me cry?” she sobbed. “Why do you always have to be so mean? Do you like seeing my weakness?”

Well, he had done it. He had made her cry. He had tried so many times before and never succeeded, and suddenly, hearing her comment, he realized she cared about appearing strong just as much as he did. She hated weakness as well- was that why things had soured between her and the scarred man? Between her and Radditz? Suddenly he didn’t want her to be crying. He didn’t want to be the reason she was crying. He had absolutely no idea what to do, so he just took the arm that she had been gripping and reached out, grabbing her wrist and holding it lightly.

She tried to win her arm back to keep covering her face, but he fought her and triumphed. She turned to him, angry and hurt, and saw a strange expression on his face. His scowl was still there, but it was more frustrated than angry and the set of his broad shoulders suggested helplessness instead of indifference. Without thinking about it she flung herself against his warm chest, sobbing as she wrapped her arms around his massive back and clung to him. His body went rigid underneath her touch, but she felt a hand tap her lightly on the back, the other reaching up and gathering the hair from her face. She buried her face farther into his neck and cried out all her loneliness and pain, expressing all the hidden stress that had plagued her from the very first moment she had encountered Radditz. Hanging onto him as if he was her only savior from drowning she sobbed, the wracking of her body finally became less and less until she was aware again of his shape in her embrace.

He waited a few moments, hands not touching her but hovering. He didn’t know how to handle this. He didn’t want to handle this, but he also didn’t want her to cry. The fact that he didn’t want her to cry frustrated him, but there was nothing he could do about it. “Are you done?” he asked, tone harsh but uncertain at the same time.

She reached up with one hand and wiped her eyes, still keeping the other plastered to his shoulder blade. “Almost,” she whispered, leaning her head on his shoulder and inhaling deeply of his scent. “Thank you.”

They stood there in silence for some time, her clinging to him and him trying not to touch her at the same time. He was starting not to be able to handle all her soft skin and firm curves pressed against him. “You know, I never did get to thank you for the dances,” she said quietly, not looking up. “You’re a wonderful dancer and I never got to tell you how much fun I had.”

“I know,” he said roughly.

She sighed and detached herself, wiping at her eyes and nose. “Oh jeez, I got your shoulder all wet,” she said, embarrassed. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s only water,” he said with a snort before fixing her with those dark, burning eyes.

“Thanks,” she mumbled, uncomfortable. “Sorry about all that. I usually don’t like crying in front of people. Actually, I didn’t like it this time, either.”

“You have too much pride,” he said sternly.

To his surprise she actually smiled, her eyes lighting up briefly. “Hypocrite,” she murmured, shaking her head. “Okay, okay, I’ll fix your damn room for free. Just don’t go anywhere, okay?”

He looked at her for a few moments, mulling it over. “Very well,” he agreed.

She smiled more broadly and suddenly embraced him, pressing her cheek against his. “You know, sometimes you’re sweet,” she whispered, then scurried off down the hall.

He turned and stared after her, his fingers going to the place where her soft cheek had brushed his, the feel of her pressed against him still imprinted upon his body. “I don’t get it,” he grumbled to himself, then moved off towards his room to grab a shower and a good night’s sleep.

Vegeta had been trying unsuccessfully to sleep. His shower had felt wonderful and the bed was just the right firmness, but he still tossed and turned, tangling him in the sheets. Disgusted, he tore the sheets off and lay on his back, hands behind his head, and stared off into the darkness as he let the night air attempt to cool his naked body. Then his stomach rumbled, a deep, ripping sound, and the sharp pangs of hunger tore at his insides. He sighed, getting up off the bed and going to the drawer where the silly underwear things were kept. It was late and he didn’t think he would encounter anyone, but he didn’t fancy being stared at as he knew he would be if he made another naked appearance. He found a pair of dark green ones and pulled them on with a grunt, looking down and shaking his head. He didn’t know what good they were- the ones that the blue-haired woman’s dam bought were just as tight as his bodysuit, even though they looked sort of like shorts. Shrugging, his stomach growled again and he grunted, scowling more fiercely as he flung open the door to his room and started off towards the kitchen.

A glance at the wall clock told him just exactly how late it was, and yet when he neared the kitchen his sensitive ears picked up faint noise coming from the room. He sidled along the wall, wanting to see who it was in order to choose his course of action early on, and peeked his head into the room. Dread filled him as he saw the woman idly browsing through the cupboards and refridgerator. She seemed to pick up a little of this and a little of that, putting everything on a plate on the counter. She was very quietly humming a little tune to herself, but he couldn’t identify it and didn’t really care what it was. Damn it, if she was in the kitchen he certainly didn’t want to be. He was in his usual mood of requiring solitude, a condition she most definitely would not contribute to. Leaning against the wall where he was sure she wouldn’t see him he crossed his arms over his chest and waited, his dark eyes following her every motion.

She was wearing only a pair of underwear and a sleeveless undershirt that clung to her form and revealed her navel. Her body moved gracefully around the kitchen as she gathered tidbits, her shiny hair bouncing with her steps. “I don’t understand it, Bulma,” he heard her whisper to herself. “You’re never this hungry and especially not at night. Yet here you are, constructing a snack of epic proportions. The Saiyans must be rubbing off on you,” she chuckled softly. She gathered together her food and brought it over to the table, facing him as she walked.

He knew he shouldn’t be spying on her and neither she nor Zarbon would approve of it, even though when it came right down to it he didn’t care about their opinions on the subject, and he shrank into the shadows even more. He watched her head dip and rise as she leaned down to put food into her mouth and raised it again to chew, looking around her with a semi-bored expression on her face. It suddenly occurred to him how he could entertain her, and the blood came rushing into his cheeks. It would be so easy to just rush in there and rend her clothes from her, and then he could do whatever he wanted. His teeth clenched at the thought and he felt a strange fire burn in his belly. No, Bulma hated violence. That bizarre video was all he had ever seen of sex, and it looked terribly violent to him. He continued to watch her, realizing as he did so that she must indeed be beautiful, if comparison to other Earth women was any indication. She was much more voluptuous that that harpy Kakarott’s wife, that was for certain. As he let his mind wander strange thoughts began to drift through his consciousness. Poor Yamcha...he just didn’t understand...Radditz...strange...nice guy...too bad...I do miss him, he cared... His eyes widened in horror and he pressed himself against the wall. No, he was mistaken. There was no way that he could be picking up thought signals from her. The only way he could do that was if...no, there was simply no possible way and that was the end of the story. Suddenly uncomfortable, he decided that he would find somewhere else to eat. Perhaps he would go hunting; he hadn’t done that in quite a while. The fresh air would do him good. Using the shadows as a cover he slunk away from the kitchen and made his way toward and open window he saw. Perched on the window he looked back down the hallway once again, seeing the faint light spill from the kitchen doorway, and shook his head. Zarbon was right. She was distracting him from his duties. They would leave in a few weeks, and then it wouldn’t matter. He would take Zarbon’s advice and avoid her until then, and perhaps this strange, unwelcome feeling in his head and chest would simply go away.

40 / Bulma’s Hideout / 42