AN. Another version of how the relationship between Bulma and Vegeta began. Who doesn't love the different ways this could have happened? I did enjoy writing this. I got the idea about two days ago, and Vegeta's lines have been forming in my mind ever since. It was fun :D:D:D Anyway, I hope you enjoy it. Reviews are appreciated, flames will be used to cook my favourite curries ;)
Bulma tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, humming quietly to herself. She put down the knife she was using to chop vegetables for dinner and braced herself against the counter with both hands, staring out of the window. Her eyes slid half closed, and she let out a quiet sigh.
"Oh, Yamcha," she murmured, shaking her head. "How could you be so stupid?"
She was referring to an incident a few days before. It had been their anniversary, something that she had planned to the most extreme detail. First they would go to dinner, then they would return to her house and stay up late watching movies. They would have spend the entire night together, before he would have had to leave in the morning.
But Yamcha had completely ruined it. First, he had shown up late to dinner. His clothing had been completely inappropriate, the baggy t-shirt, jeans and scuffed trainers completely standing out in the fancy Italian restaurant she had booked them into. From there he had backed out of going back to Capsule Corp, deciding instead to head back to his house.
When she had questioned him as to why, he had said that he was just tired. Not believing him, she had followed him (yes, it sounds like a stalker, but Bulma felt she had a right to know) only to find that there was a busty blonde waiting for him.
She had stormed in, slapped her, basically kicked the shit out of him (protector of the Earth, my arse!), and stormed home in a rage.
When she was there, Vegeta had confronted her. He had shorted out one of the wires in the gravitation-chamber, and demanded that she fixed it.
Her eyes blazing, she had snarled at him to leave her alone, then pushed him out of the way and stormed up to her room. She had felt his bewildered stare on her back all the way up the stairs.
The next morning, Vegeta was nowhere to be found, and she had just assumed that her father had fixed the gravity-chamber. Bulma was pleased to note that Yamcha didn't dare show his face around her anymore.
Bulma had gotten over Yamcha's infidelity, and was planning to call him that afternoon. She wasn't willing to forgive him to the extent of rekindling their relationship, but was prepared to negotiate on their friendship. She had, after all, been friends with him since her teenage years, and she did value his friendship.
She sighed, leaning forward and resting her forehead on the cool glass of the window. There was a quiet sound from behind her, making her straighten and turn around. Her eyes widened.
Vegeta was standing in the doorway, his shoulders hunched, his chest heaving in deep, uneven breaths, his coal black eyes fixed on her.
"I need to talk to you," he growled.
"No way, Vegeta," she said. "I'm not in the mood for another one of your complaining fits. You go and rant to dad, because I am not going to listen."
"I need to talk to you," he repeated, taking a step into the room. The anger in his gaze sent cold bursts through her, and she sank backwards into the counter.
"V-Vegeta, whatever it is you want, I'm sure dad can help you much better than I can," she said.
"He can't help," Vegeta growled. He stalked forwards. She reached behind her and picked up the first thing she felt. To her surprise, she found herself brandishing the kitchen knife she had been using before.
Vegeta halted in his advance, growling angrily as he eyed the sharp instrument in her hand. She took a deep breath.
"What do you want to talk to me about, Vegeta?" she asked, forcing herself to sound calm.
"You," he said shortly. She blinked in surprise.
"Me? Why would you want to talk about me?"
"I need to talk about more than that," he said. "I need to talk about me...about these..." He trailed off, but hit his palm in the centre of his chest.
"What are you talking about, Vegeta?" Bulma asked. She was still untrusting of him, and as such kept the knife pointed towards him.
"This...this weakness," Vegeta spat at her. "This debilitating powerlessness that is spreading through me and interrupting my training!"
"Don't play dumb with me, woman," Vegeta snapped. "You have interrupted my training for long enough."
"I haven't done anything with your training," Bulma snapped right back at him. "I've left you well enough alone whenever you've trained!"
"You've infected me!" Vegeta yelled. "I can't train, I can't think, I can't sleep! What is this feeling, woman, and how did you infect me!?!"
"Feeling?" A strange bolt of certainty shot through her. "Tell me, Vegeta, where do you get this feeling?"
"Everywhere," he spat. "It's in here, and here, and here." He pressed both hands on his head, then dropped them both, one going to his stomach, then trailing up to his heart. "It's like a disease."
"And what kind of symptoms does this 'disease' entail?" She put the knife back on the counter, her eyes fixed on Vegeta. He had half turned away from her, his anger still evident, but now she knew it was directed as much at himself as at her.
"I can't sleep," he said. "I can't train. When I start close my eyes I see...pictures...pictures of you...and me. I have these...urges... Urges to do things to you...with you... It's driving me mad!"
Bulma's breath caught in her throat, but she didn't dare let him see how this was affecting her. Was it possible that Vegeta, the great Saiyan prince, was feeling an emotion other than hate and anger?
"What kind of things?" she asked, her voice sounding as though it was coming from a great distance.
"I...I..." He faltered, staring at his clenched hands. "I want to take you...protect you...hold you..." He ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head, then turned and yelled at her, "What are these feelings? What does it mean? Why do I feel so weak?"
"V-Vegeta," Bulma said cautiously, stepping forward. "I think I know what you're going through."
"I hate this," he muttered. "This weakness...this vulnerability... Why?"
"Vegeta, I think you might be in love."
"Love!?!" She hadn't expected his angry shout, and nearly jumped out of her skin as a result of it. "No! I cannot be in love! Love is an emotion for the weak! I am the strongest warrior in the universe! If I am in love then I have shamed the Saiyan race!"
"But, Vegeta," Bulma said, trying to control her confusion. "Even if love was a shameful emotion on Planet Vegeta, it is something to be proud of on Earth. Many humans search their whole lives for love, and you've found it by accident."
"I can't be in love," Vegeta snapped at her. "It's impossible."
"Vegeta," Bulma said slowly. "By what you've described, it sounds like you're in love...with me."
He shot her a sharp glance. "You?" he said dumbly. "I can't be... You're a human."
"And you're a Saiyan," Bulma said. "What really matters is that you're a man, and I'm a woman."
Vegeta looked away. His anger had melted away to a kind of helplessness. His shoulders slumped, and he covered his face with one hand.
"Impossible," he whispered.
"Vegeta," she said, hesitatingly. "I just want to try something. If you don't feel anything when I do this, then you're not in love. If you do, then you'll have to learn to live with it."
"What are you thinking of, woman?" Vegeta snapped, turning towards her.
She didn't answer, but darted forward suddenly. Despite his super-speed, he remained fixed in one spot. His eyes widened, and then she had connected with him. Her body pressed against his, the hardness of his muscles providing a solid barrio to her. Her hands came up to frame his face, and she tilted her head to the right. Her lips lightly touched his.
Vegeta stiffened, but didn't pull away. Instead, his hands snaked around her waist, holding her closer, and the pressure on her lips increased. Her lips parted, and he instinctively deepened the kiss. A low rumbling was coming from him, reverberating through her.
They parted after a moment, Vegeta keeping his grip tight around her, her hands shifted so they met and linked around the back of his neck.
"Well?" she asked breathlessly. "Did you feel anything?"
He stared at her, his eyes wide.
"Th-this is part of love?" he asked, his eyes searching hers.
She nodded, a slight smile on her lips. He bit his lip, then a superior smirk spread over his face.
"Then I guess I'm in love," he said, smirking as though he was saying something deeply controversial.
Bulma pushed herself up on her toes, her lips brushing lightly against his again.
"Me too," she whispered, grinning.
He growled his approval, drawing her into another kiss.
AN. Ah, well that was fun. How exciting. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing it, which was quite a lot. It's fun writing Vegeta, I don't know why. Maybe because he's so unpredictable. Eh? Who cares? I love it, that's all that matters ;)