Disclaimer: Don't own. Whatever.

Author's Notes: If you read my bio, you know I don't like mindless romance fics. So, why am I writing one? I don't really know. I'm trying to work through my creativity as I'm writing my long fic. I should be writing better storylines soon, so just bear with me. Anyway, this fic is not very mushy. No bonding, and no bashing. Just the way I envision the famous get- together.


Bulma waited miserably be the phone.  Training, he said.  Well, the least he could have done was call, or—something.

"This is ridiculous," she said aloud, confirming her situation.  If she had to be alone on a Saturday night, at least she could have fun.

"What's ridiculous, woman?"

Bulma jumped, still not quite used to her enigmatic houseguest.  Vegeta seemed to slide in and out at the most unexpected times.  Mostly he creeped her out.  She had never known a killer, at least on his scale.  And, if chance hadn't worked out as it did, she'd probably be a year or two dead by his hand.  They all would.  But for now, he was content to face the threat of the androids, and helping him train was helping everyone.

"Nothing," she lied.  "But I'm going out.  I'm not waiting anymore."  She glared at the telephone once more.

"You needn't worry."  He continued to stare at Bulma.  "The weakling always calls."


Reassuring her?

Bulma caught her breath and looked into his eyes.  As usual, she couldn't tell what he was thinking, but for once she was caught off guard.  She put her life in perspective, and realized the loneliness she felt couldn't possibly amount to the loneliness Vegeta must be going through.  For once, she actually saw him as having a heart.  Reluctantly, she stammered out an invitation, hoping to alleviate both their solitude.  "W-would you like to go out, too?  I think there's a Jackie Chan movie on."

Vegeta looked startled, as if he didn't know how to respond.  And when he didn't know how to respond, he did the only thing he knew to do.

"Why the hell would I want to do that?  What's wrong with you, woman?"

Bulma's own temper flared higher.  "Fine, then!  Stay alone for all I care!"  Turning from Vegeta, she grabbed her purse and walked out, slamming the door.  "What could I expect from a heartless killer anyway?"


Yamcha stared at the vapid girl, hardly believing he had agreed to this.  But at least the girl—Renee or Stephanie or something—didn't yell at him.  Bulma had been doing that all the time of late.  She was almost never in a good mood.  Ever since Namek, she was different.  Not as carefree.  And she seemed to hold him in contempt.  He loved her, but he was tired of it.  So he took refuge in the arms of idiots.

"Are you sure you want to see a movie?" he asked.  He didn't really like movies, especially comedic martial arts movies.  Fighting was something to be taken seriously.

"Of course!  I've been waiting to see this all week!"

'Is it worth it?" he asked himself.  'If Bulma finds out…'  He couldn't live without Bulma.  She was his anchor that kept him through life and death, his reason for living when he got disgusted with the world.

Only sometimes an anchor becomes so heavy.