Look What I Can Do!


The Day Yamcha Got Vegeta Drunk

By Elbereth in April

Copyright 2002

Disclaimer: I do not own Dragonball Z, alas.

Yamcha walked into the living room of Bulma's house, holding a container of fish food. "Vegeta, did you feed Bulma's fish?"

Vegeta had been flipping channels on the TV, but he turned to look at him. "Are you insinuating that I can't feed a fish?"

Yamcha frowned. Then he walked over to the fish bowl sitting on the shelf and dumped some food in.

Vegeta jumped up from the couch. "I fed it already!" He disappeared and reappeared in front of the startled Yamcha, and grabbed the food from him.

Yamcha, to his own amazement, grabbed it back. Vegeta powered up and reached to take it again. The container broke, and all the food plopped in the bowl.

Bulma chose this moment to enter the room. "What are you two doing? Is this another one of those 'I'm a man,' 'No, I'm a man,' arguments? Really!"

The two looked slightly guilty, but quickly covered. "All I did was ask him if he fed your fish like he promised you he would if you made supper!" Yamcha defended himself.

Bulma looked at her fish, which was happily eating up all the food. "What have you done?"

"It was all his fault!" both men yelled, pointing at each other.

Bulma shoved them aside and peered into the fish bowl. The fish, having eaten itself to death, promptly went belly-up.

"You've killed my fish! Get out of the house!"

"But Bulma…" Yamcha tried.

"I mean it! I finally let you come over again after breaking up with you, and you do this! Probably on purpose!"

"Yeah, Yamcha," Vegeta smirked.

"You get out too, Vegeta! You blew up the gravity chamber again and now I'll have to fix it! Both of you! Out! Get out!" She began to throw video tapes at them as they hurried to the door.

"What about my supper, woman?" Vegeta demanded.

"Eat out!" Bulma screamed, slamming the front door in their faces.

The two men stood sheepishly on the steps, not quite sure how they got there. Vegeta scowled, then reached out and grabbed Yamcha by the neck. "You owe me dinner."

"Now don't get all excited, Vegeta." Yamcha gave a sickly grin, trying to pry Vegeta's fingers from around his throat. "I'll take you to dinner. In fact, I'll do better than that. I'll take you to a bar!"

Vegeta kept scowling but released Yamcha. "A bar? What's a bar?"

"That's right, I keep forgetting how short a time you've been living on our planet." Yamcha laughed. "I will personally introduce you to a bar, Vegeta. You'll love it."


"Are you trying to poison me?" Vegeta shouted.

Yamcha just stared at him blankly. "What?"

Vegeta felt the beginnings of panic. His head felt fuzzy, his vision blurry, his balance a little off. "Why do I feel this way? You've poisoned me! Prepare to die, human weakling!"

Yamcha frowned, afraid and bewildered. "Are you saying you're drunk?" he asked quickly, as Vegeta raised his finger to point at Yamcha, preparing to blast him away. "I'm not surprised, you drank up practically the whole bar."

Vegeta hesitated. "Drunk? What does that mean?"

"Drunk! From alcohol!" Vegeta scowled. Yamcha swallowed fearfully. "You do know about alcohol, don't you?"

"Stupid man! If I knew, would I waste my time asking?"

Yamcha launched into an explanation about the physical effects of alcohol. "Well, your reaction times are probably slower, you might not have as much power…you might throw up, or pass out. Gee, Vegeta, I thought you knew about alcohol…"

Vegeta promptly punched him, slamming him against a wall across the room and breaking a number of tables and chairs in the process.

"Hey," the bartender called weakly, "you can't do that in here!"

This, of course, was the wrong thing to say. "I am the Prince of all Saiyans! I'll do as I please!" Vegeta pointed his finger at the bartender, who ducked. Bottles blew up all along the bar, glass fragments shattering everywhere.

Yamcha, moaning, was pulling himself up to his feet amidst the wreckage. He had to get Vegeta out of there before he destroyed the place. "Look, we all know how powerful you are. Why don't we go now?"

Vegeta was starting to feel stranger and stranger. "Of course I'm powerful!" he yelled. "I'm the most powerful being in the universe!" It was at this point that the few remaining customers ran out of the bar. Vegeta looked around, disappointed at not having anyone to show his power off to. It was at that moment the bartender peered up from behind the bar.

"Ah hah!" Vegeta disappeared and rematerialized in front of the unfortunate barkeeper. "Look what I can do!"

He raised his hand and blew off the roof.

"Vegeta! Stop it! Bulma's gonna have to pay for all the damages!"

"Don't tell me what to do!" Vegeta blew up a few more chairs.

"Quick," the barman whispered to his only remaining waitress, who was hiding in the back. "Call this Bulma and tell her to get down here right away!"


When Bulma arrived at the bar, both men were lying on the floor. Yamcha was unconscious, having been knocked cold by a flying table. Vegeta was pointing at bottles methodically, saying "Watch this," before blasting each one.

Bulma, contrary to all expectations, did not start screaming. No, she had decided to start with coaxing. "Vegeta, honey, why don't we go outside and you can show me what else you can do?"

Vegeta looked at her somewhat blearily "OK." He grabbed her around the waist and flew out the hole in the roof.

She squealed; she hadn't expected that. "Put me down!" Then, afraid he'd just drop her, "No, wait, let's just land!"

"Did you know if you fly fast enough you can write your name in the power trail?" Vegeta proceeded to demonstrate. "There," he said. The sky flashed "Vegeta" briefly. "Now we'll do yours!"

"I think I'm gonna throw up!" Bulma had no idea what to think about all this.

"There!" he said, finished. "Bulma!"

"That's wonderful!" Bulma smiled, thinking, I have to pretend like I'm talking to a two-year-old. "Now can we land?"

They landed in the middle of a large field, with cows in it. By this time it was getting dark. "I know!" Bulma cried. "Let's walk home!"

"What's wrong with here?" Vegeta protested. "There's meat and everything!"

"Vegeta, don't you dare kill some farmer's cow!"

He scowled. "I am the Prince…"

"I know, I know!" She wrapped her arms around him. "A dark, handsome, Saiyan Prince…who wants to walk home now." But despite herself, Bulma had the desire to just stay there, pressed up against him.

He was staring at her with the strangest expression. Then he smirked. "Yes, I am irresistible." Then he fell over.

"You're drunker than I thought," said Bulma, who'd been pulled down next to him.

They lay in the grass on their backs. Bulma scooted over and laid her head on his arm. "Saiyans don't get drunk," Vegeta declared.

"Uh, yeah, whatever." Bulma looked over at him.

Vegeta was staring at the stars. "See that star over to the left? Track straight from there—a long way—and that's where planet Vegeta would be." He frowned, finishing softly, "If it were there."

I wonder, Bulma thought, should I tell him that alcohol also lowers inhibitions and he should be careful what he tells me, so he doesn't regret anything?—Nah.

"You must miss it."

He just shrugged, no emotion.

"I know it must be hard for you to get used to being here."

He looked at her then. "Princes can adapt."

"That doesn't mean it doesn't hurt."

His body stiffened. "You don't…" he began, but Bulma stopped his tirade by kissing him. One soft, gentle kiss. Then they both pulled back and stared into each other's eyes.

Emotions and doubts he'd never felt before shuddered through him. "Bulma, I…"

"I know. What do you say we take this very, very slowly." She smiled. Her happiness made her even more beautiful. "This looks like love, you know."

He kissed her this time, one heartfelt, passionate kiss. "Yeah, well. Let's fly home." He picked her up again and rocketed away.

"Vegeta loves Bulma" flared briefly in the sky.