Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ A Saiyan For All Seasons ❯ Something ( Chapter 1 )

A Saiyan For All Seasons

By Ember

Chapter One

'Something'

Disclaimer: DBZ isn't mine, but who cares? The Vegeta lusting goes on… and on. *drool*

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Bulma looked down on the scene with equal admiration and disbelief. The warm sun settled beautifully over her father's grounds, diffusing the spell of foretold danger, and painting instead a vision of cheer and hope for the future. Swallows spun across the sky in a perfect V formation, and somewhere in the distance their cheery chorus could be heard, complimented by the putter of a distant plane engine.

The warm rays seeped into her skin and made her feel a kind of refined satisfaction in herself. The last six months had been something extraordinary in their trials. They had finality, the close of a life that had long since lost its light to the torn drum of maturity. They had also had risk and deathly company, swayed by her invitation and her guest's dark soul.

Her first love had been lost, but the friendship it had been transported into in its place more than made up for any sadness. They had gained so much by putting aside feelings that were painful as a couple and yet were beautiful to share as two sensible and feeling companions.

Yamcha was there, standing on the lawn just as he did every Saturday, there to help her mother with more ease and politeness than he had ever shown when they were together. In the afternoon he would train with Puar at his side, just as had become custom. It was weird how comfortable they felt around each other, despite everything between them. She didn't regret her decision and neither did he. Theirs wasn't the tale of love that had run its course and was now twisted into bitterness. It was the shining example of a happy understanding by two people who had gained so much by being together and now chose to be apart.

Her new friend stepped away from her mother a moment to glance up at the balcony. He smiled once, lighting up that scarred and handsome face as he waved. She returned the gesture, and graced it with a smile of her own. Yes, it was so much better this way.

When her life had felt like it was going nowhere, when her brain had started to freeze and become tempted by darker images, no one had been there for her, no one had been able to coax her through it, but things had slowly run their course anyway. She was sure it had happened that way because it was meant to, not because she wanted it to. She was stronger for it, more in control of her life and wiser to what had the potential to harm her. The rest was up to time. She was slowly learning to live with her newfound freedom, learning to give it a special place in her soul, and balance it out with some sense of normalcy.

Peace.

How could one word have so many variants? She was at peace with the situation, riding it out until peace was given undeniably in reality as well as fantasy. She hadn't felt true peace in a long time, not since before Namek, but today… well, today it didn't matter quite as much. When the androids were defeated and Vegeta had left her home she would know the true meaning of the word again and she felt sure she would flourish under it. This day, at least, promised her as much. Peace of the body and mind.

No more uncertainty, no more trying, no more bending over backwards and no more arrogant Saiyans! She would have a mind that no longer yearned for the hearts of dark and indecipherable men. Instead she would be back as Bulma Briefs, strong-willed, and beautiful genius, not some trampled-on adrenalin junkie, with an overstrained and traitorous heart.

She sighed again, looking out across the cityscape and searching for the offending member of the household. The whir of his gravity room was silent. Perhaps that was why the morning appeared more tranquil than most. Her eyes scanned the grass.

There he was, throwing his ominous frame into the peaceful scene. He wasn't doing anything other than lying on the crisp fresh grass, eyes closed and scowl in perfect place, oblivious to how wrong it felt for her to see him revel in the morning sunshine. How did he do it? How did he take so much satisfaction from the gift of her planet and feel no remorse about its possible destruction or hers?

He took so much and gave so little. If it wasn't so annoying it might have been tragic. Was that why… was that why she couldn't get him out of her mind - day or night?

In the beginning she had wanted to find out so much about him, had been consumed in the task of understanding him and his thoughts with the vain hope of trying to influence his nature and show him how life should really be valued. It had been pointless, she could see that now - could see it so completely on this fine, beautiful morning and she sighed for him.

The thought of giving up on him was painful, after all the months she had invested in trying to gain a small connection with him, but when her own heart and peace of mind were in danger, could she really ignore it any longer? She had tried everything to get closer to him and he had refused her advances so many times that now she wondered if retraction was the only option she had left.

What did it matter after all? He wouldn't change; he would never understand what it meant to have proper durable feeling and he would be the only one to suffer for it. He enticed her; he intrigued her, but there was only so much rejection one woman could take. He was a lost cause; no profit from her efforts except her own frustration. That didn't explain away her regret, but it smoothed it over, and gave her hope from other directions and for a future that promised fruition rather than degradation and unfulfilled need.

Maybe she had been wrong. Maybe he wasn't lost - maybe he didn't need finding, Perhaps Yamcha had been right all along. Was Vegeta really everything he displayed?

He was cold, he was angry and he was ruthless; but she had seen him as none of her friends had. In careless moments, she had noticed how his drive and determination almost transformed into despondency - perhaps even loneliness. It had been enough to give her hope for his heart, but would she really be releasing a man or merely deluding herself he was something he wasn't?

She had tried to care for him, had even found she could feel affinity to him, but that was as far as it had advanced in months of trying. It was all the more frustrating because she felt sure that if he had given her something back, just once in a while, then she could very well have found it easy to love him, despite his faults.

Perhaps she still did love him, in a weird kind of way, as a housekeeper might learn to appreciate a regular and longstanding tenant.

She sighed, her chest squeezing painfully with it. Sometimes she gave her heart far too freely for her own good.

"Hey Bulma!"

She snapped out of her thoughts and once again registered Yamcha.

"Why don't you come down and help us?" he said, gesturing to the flowers, with a sparkle in his eyes as he held the hose over them.

Bulma smiled back, and nodded. "I'll be right down."

She did just that, stopping only for a second to make sure she looked as good as always. In the colour her cheeks blushed, in the sparkle and light her eyes held she was determined to set the morning on fire, then perhaps Vegeta would notice her and start to open up. Then she would understand him and all this nonsense would end once and for all.

She smiled at her reflection - it was more radiant and clear than she remembered seeing it for months, but she knew it was nothing that Vegeta would appreciate or even acknowledge. Still, she congratulated herself on her clear complexion and practically skipped out of the house. Today was all about fun, and Vegeta be damned, she was going to have it.

"Yamcha!" she sung, as she moved closer, twirling up to him and giving him a friendly hug, "Mum!" she continued, laying a kiss on her cheek.

"Why are you in such a good mood?" chuckled Yamcha.

"Why shouldn't I be? It's a beautiful morning and I'm here with two of the most dear people to me in the world, and you know what?" she said, taking the hose from his slack grip, and bending over to water the flowers. "I'm going to enjoy every single minute of it."

With a playful and quick turn Yamcha found the hose turned on him, soaking his orange gi and making it cling to his muscled chest. He sputtered slightly, the laughter returning, as he effortlessly swiped it from her hands and turned it back on her.

"Ahhhhh!" she shrieked, running along the lush grass, "Do you remember when we used to have water fights in the back garden, Mum? When I was a little girl?"

Yamcha chased after her, keeping up the pretence of not being able to catch his friend.

"You, me and Dad? It was so fun back then, Yamcha! Dad would arm his housebots with water guns and do you remember, Mum? He'd make a race track along the rosebush here and… ahhhhh!" she screamed, as Yamcha levitated above her and let the water run over her silky aqua hair. "W… we'd---"

Yamcha was in peels of laughter, knowing the water was ice cold as it dripped from her hair and down the neck of her summer dress. "You'd…?"

"We'd," she continued, picking up her heels and running again. "We'd have to try and get all the sweets on the course without getting wet," she smiled and avoided another attack.

Mrs Brief tittered, lost in the same memory that held her daughter, "Oh yes, those were fun days, weren't they? I don't think anyone ever did manage to get all the prizes without getting soaked to the skin."

"And we didn't mind either; it would always end in a muddied and soaked mêlée with the hosepipe anyway. We'd laugh and play for hours."

"Who'd win?" Yamcha asked, catching up to her and trying to hold her still, but the water had made everything slippery and she ran across the lawn and away from his grip.

"I'm daddy's girl," she threw over her shoulder, not looking where she was going. "I always w…."

Her foot hit something in the soft grass and she fell.

Not hurt, the giggles returned, as she tried to see through a wet and tangled curtain of aquamarine. "Ha!" she said through a blush. "I'm such a klutz!"

"And that's only the beginning of your failings."

Bulma froze, the laughter suddenly stripped from her lips as the icy words flittered up her spine, as though they had forgotten the heat of the day.

Vegeta sat up from the grass he had been sunbathing on and levelled his muscular upper torso on his elbows. His eyes glared at hers as she splayed her hair back with her right hand. They continued to stare, right through her and into her at the same time.

"Good going, Vegeta!" Yamcha laughed from the distance. "Don't let her escape!"

Those eyes never looked away as Yamcha's footsteps approached.

"I don't plan to," he muttered so quietly only she could hear, letting his eyes fall once more across her shaking and wet body. Then he flopped back down as though nothing had happened.

Something in his eyes and voice had turned her brain upside down and Bulma found that even if she had wanted to, she couldn't move. Yamcha stood over her, chancing a quick glance back at the Saiyan, who caught the glance and sneered his nose up at the human fighter.

"I don't plan on letting any of your species escape."

Yamcha's gaze turned back to Bulma and he rolled his eyes. Bulma couldn't hold herself back and giggled as Yamcha offered her a hand and she stood up. She was covered from head to toe in the freshly cut grass, it clung to her legs, arms - it was everywhere.

"Come on B," Yamcha smiled. "Lets get you indoors and cleaned up. You're a grown woman now," he clicked his tongue. "You have to learn to start acting like one."

Bulma smacked him on the arm. "Hey! Watch it arsehole!" she chided even though she was laughing as hard as he was.

"You know, Woman," Vegeta snarled from beside them. "Clumsiness is an affliction I'm more than willing to cure if you push for it."

He was playing with a small ball of ki in his fingers as he spoke, and when he knew they were both watching, he smirked and flicked the tiny orb with his thumb and forefinger, making a pot plant explode the other side of the garden.

Bulma blinked in disbelief, as Yamcha pulled gently but insistently on her arm. She caught Vegeta's gaze just as he was arrogantly wiping his thumb across his bottom lip.

"Come on, Bulma," Yamcha coaxed. "I think it's time we went indoors," and when she didn't move at first, he pulled a little more persistently, almost dragging her off to the kitchen.

All the way she stayed turned away from her friend, her eyes holding onto Vegeta's. His did the same and he even rolled over, stretched out on the grass belly-down, to keep it there. The usual frown on his lips was replaced with a smirk, and it almost seemed to shine in his usually shut-off black eyes.

Then, just as quickly as it materialised, it was gone, his amusement lost and his arm curled forward to display a white-gloved middle finger.

With more bravery than she thought she possessed she flung the gesture back - a smile of confident defiance adorning her face, as she disappeared behind the kitchen door.

Her legs shook a little as she walked to the sink, wondering whether or not Vegeta was about to burst through the kitchen door. He had done it on previous occasions when she'd unknowingly stepped over the invisible line that circled his pride. He was an angry man with an addiction to power. Fortunately in their few earlier confrontations he had managed to control himself just at the last. It was as though he knew where intimidation and force could get him, and for the time being at least he had made a decision not to let his strength run away with him.

The sponge wiping the grass from her face was secondary to Bulma's thoughts as it glided gently over her cheekbones. The confrontation had made her feel slightly exhilarated now that she could feel secure she had escaped immediate retaliation. There were no explosions, no powerful footsteps approaching, and in the distance the drone of the gravity room signalled her safety as the computer brought itself back up to speed.

Still, she couldn't keep her mind away from Vegeta. The way he had kept meaningful eye contact with her and had lowered his voice, whispering words that only she would hear - it was something she had never known him to do so carelessly before.

Oh, she had caught him watching her on several occasions and she had even returned the action, but he had always had that frown, had always retained an air of indifferent dignity, only speaking to shout at her. Out there on the sun-drenched lawn, however, it had almost seemed as if he was enjoying himself rather than trying to unnerve her and Yamcha.

Those traitorous thoughts were back almost instantaneously - the thought of being able to tame that erratic nature, of glorying in its power and presence, and keeping a quarter for herself.

"A penny for them?" Yamcha interrupted.

"What?"

"You've been wiping the same patch of skin for the last five minutes. What are you thinking about so seriously?"

She sighed, looking out of the window as she sat on the work surface. "Vegeta," she said honestly.

"What about him?"

"Do you think it's wrong? You know - caring about him?"

"B-chan, we've been over this before. There's nothing wrong with you wanting to see the best in people. You're not alone; Goku thinks there's some good in him as well, and although it passes me, if in the long run, having someone to care for him makes him become a better person or gives him less reason to cause suffering, then it can't be a bad thing, can it?"

Bulma nodded mutely, trailing the sponge a little insecurely over her arms.

"Besides, why are you still so hung up on this? Didn't you say to me last week that you've decide not to let him get to you anymore?"

She shook her head. "I know, Yamcha, but did you see him then out on the lawn? He almost looked like he was enjoying himself."

Yamcha laughed out loud, "Oh man, Bulma! Give me a break. The only thing I saw out there was Vegeta throwing his power around, quite literally. If that's him having fun then maybe it's best that you do leave him alone."

"I know but--"

Yamcha was right in front of her now, clasping both her hands in his, the handsome lines of his face hardening into rare seriousness.

"Look, Bulma, I know I said it's okay to care, and it is, it's just ...."

"What?"

"Just be careful, B. I know you want to see the good in him, and that's a noble cause, but be careful about wanting it too much, okay? As much as you might want to, you can't find something if it's just not there, do you understand me?"

She smiled. "You think I'm getting used to him and giving him emotions he doesn't have?"

"Well," Yamcha replied, laying his training top on the radiator, "Perhaps, but that doesn't mean you have to stop trying completely. I think you were right when you said you should back off for a little while though. It might just give you some perspective on the situation. You know - like you and I did."

"You're right," she said, pushing herself from the worktop and landing with a sandaled clunk on the kitchen tiles, "Look how wonderfully that turned out."

Yamcha smiled, looking down at her, "It has turned out well hasn't it?" he said, then looking over her arms, "You're still covered in grass."

Bulma looked down. "Aw shit! I guess I'll have to take a shower. Will you still be here when I get down?"

"Sure thing. Puar will be back by then, but I can take a few minutes out from training to relax."

Bulma smiled, shaking her head.

"What?" Yamcha questioned, knowing that look.

"If you relax anymore you'll be asleep."

He looked a smidgen hurt, but Bulma wasn't going to be prevented from saying her piece by it.

"You need to get back to a regular routine, Yamcha."

"Not this again?"

"Hey I'm saying this as a friend, okay? So don't get all uptight. I'm just worried about you. Saturday afternoon seems to be the only time you train anymore. Do you still enjoy fighting?"

"Of course I do. I'm just trying to have some fun after being in Otherworld for so long. You know how boring it was there? All we did was train every second of the day. I'm just taking advantage of the fact that I can go out and enjoy myself. If Death taught me anything, it's that living, feeling, experiencing everything is so much more important than getting stuck in routine. It doesn't mean that I'm unhappy training."

"Well," she said, "If you say so, but just remember, the fight with the androids will be the real thing. If you're not prepared for them then stay away. I couldn't cope with losing you again, okay?"

He smiled and nodded, "Hey, don't worry, I'll be fine. At least I'm not going to kill myself before I even get a shot," he laughed, motioning his head towards the gravity room. "Just don't go comparing me to Vegeta - he's insane!"

"I wouldn't dream of it. You both push your luck to the extremes, but you're no more like Vegeta than I am."

"I don't know about that, Bulma. You both scare me shitless when you get angry."

"Yeah, but that's because you're a wuss, Yamcha." She winked and left the kitchen, chuckling to herself as she climbed the stairs to the family rooms.

He laughed, shaking his head as she left, and walked out to finish helping Mrs. Briefs.

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The day had passed well enough. Bulma had been glad of Yamcha's company and although he only spent two of the original five hours training, he had made himself as useful as possible to both her and her mother so as to warrant no further comments on his lack of constancy.

It had become a custom on these training days for the Briefs to have an outdoor barbeque to reward the exertion as the sun vanished behind the city skyline. It was a way to settle down the day and celebrate being together, and even though there was now very little chance of it being a family thing, as her mother had hoped it might, it was still just as comfortable. Then again her mother had had her married off to every single man she had met since coming of age. She'd even had the audacity to put Vegeta in the mix on one very memorable and ludicrous occasion. It was no big deal now. It was simply tradition, and - she smiled, relaxing back on the wooden deck chair, watching Vegeta walk purposefully over to the group - you don't monkey with tradition.

"Well hi there, Vegeta!" her mother greeted with the usual giggles, "I've set your plates out already; just dig in and take what you feel like having."

Over the last six months this had been one of her favourite occasions. This was the time she had allocated for trying to get closer to Vegeta. During the week he ate alone or during office hours so she never had the chance to get close enough for conversation, but on Saturday evenings the lure of the freshly cooked meat always made him suffer the family's company for a few hours.

Snuggling back on the chair, she was about to welcome him in the same way she always did, (with a smile and a "Hi Vegeta") when she saw Yamcha look at her and slowly shake his head. She nodded in understanding and simply put back down her shades. She couldn't be so relaxed about it anymore and she owed it to her own heart to try and see if abstinence worked the miracle that pointed attention never had.

Even though the heat of the day had been lost, the sun was still just high enough above the horizon to set the city aglow in a halo of reds and oranges and throw warm and comforting shadows along the ground. Bulma sighed. It was so beautiful!

"Hey Bulma, aren't you having any?" asked Yamcha from the grill.

"I'm not that hungry. Fight it out between yourselves and I'll have whatever's left."

Bulma, enjoying the tamed heat and relaxation if offered, resumed her sunbathing.

It wasn't long, however, before she became uncomfortable. The reason for this was simple. Vegeta. He was staring at her again, and not the stare of that afternoon, but the prideful and arrogant one that seemed to chill the soul. She shifted in her seat, suddenly feeling vulnerable. What was up his arse now? His brow held all the anger of a storm cloud.

In an effort to shake both the feeling and the stare, she got up.

"Anyone feel like a soda?" she asked. "Or perhaps something a little stronger?"

"Oh yes please, Bulma. A soda for me," trilled Puar.

"Yamcha?"

"A beer sounds good to me."

"Mum, Dad?"

"We already have some tea, dear."

Bulma shook her head; her parents seemed to drink nothing else.

"Okay then! One beer and one soda coming up, oh and a bottle of wine for me! Mum, is that Chardonnay still in the fridge?"

Hearing no protests and seeing her mother wasn't even listening to her anyway, Bulma turned into the house.

It was half way between the patio and the kitchen when she first heard the steady footsteps behind her. They were light but purposeful, leaving no doubt in her mind to whom they belonged. She swore silently for not just offering him something. Now she was going to have to ignore him while he was in the same room, not something you could do and make it look like anything other than a slur. She might want to distance herself from him, but that didn't mean she wanted him to think she was deliberately ignoring him. He had too much baggage on his ego as it was.

By the time she entered the kitchen, Vegeta had caught up with her. As she switched the lights on, they flickered a moment and he slipped passed her and to the cupboard where the bottles of wine were kept. Bulma raised an eyebrow. Vegeta had never struck her as a wine drinker.

She was still wondering what to make of him when the cupboard slammed shut. "Where has the liquor gone?" he demanded, not even turning to face her.

"In Dad's study," Bulma replied. "He moved it there when we had Gohan to stay last week."

Vegeta nodded and turned tail. For a man trained in the martial arts he had the drinking habits of an alcoholic. She had very quickly learned it was a part of his routine, no doubt a result of his previously hard and barren life. The alcohol didn't seem to affect him either. It was more like expensive water, not that he knew the value of anything anyway.

Shrugging her shoulders, she moved to the fridge and grabbed the drinks. That exchange was about as far as she and Vegeta ever got. Any conversation he shared with her was mandatory, business-like, and short. There was no elaboration to his demands. It followed three set phases. He asked - she gave - he left. Maybe distancing herself from Vegeta wasn't going to be as hard as she had imagined. After all, he had a natural skill for being aloof and detached. All she had to remember was not to deliberately chase after him or go out of her way to make him feel welcome.

No, she thought, picking up a couple of glasses, and going back outside. It won't be hard at all.

The evening passed into night more quickly than Bulma had wanted. She, Yamcha and Puar had talked for ages, remembering the adventures of the past, sharing childhood memories and discussing the future. Yamcha had slowly sipped his way through ten beers, and Bulma had likewise managed to consume a bottle of very expensive wine.

She giggled when she realized just how much she'd drunk. It hadn't been until she was saying goodbye to Yamcha, and he was staggering into his flight path with Puar guiding him, that she felt her own intoxication. It wasn't extreme, but her head was definitely swimming a little and she could feel the heat in her cheeks. Taking off her uncomfortable high-heels, Bulma waved until he was no longer in sight.

Her parents had retired to bed a few hours before, not being used to staying up late. The sky was clear and the air still warm from the lovely day. The light of the den was the only one on, and its bright light shone dramatically across the dark lawn. It was such a lovely night and (not being tired) Bulma really didn't fancy going indoors. Instead she walked to the patio decking, sat down and lit a cigarette, staring up at the stars as her drunkenness made them blur a little.

A couple of minutes passed in this manner, until Bulma was disturbed by a noise behind her. She glanced briefly over her shoulder and saw an unmistakable shadow standing in front of the double doors. It sent a shiver through her and she looked away. She'd promised herself she'd show him the same indifference he showed to her, and there was no way she was going to break that promise so soon.

It did nothing to take the chill away, and she knew instinctively that he was watching her. His footfalls were near silent, and it wasn't until he was directly behind her that she even noticed.

Every muscle in Bulma's body was screaming at her to turn around and invite him to sit next to her, but she somehow managed to stop herself. An opportunity like this was something she had been striving for, for so long, and it had never materialized; why did it have to happen now? Now, when she was trying to force her indifference?

"Woman!" he snarled.

She didn't reply.

"Woman," he growled a second time.

"What is it, Vegeta?"

"Go indoors," he demanded.

Bulma smiled, a chance to test her defiance. "No. I'm happy here."

He moved again, this time to stand next to her.

"I said leave," he repeated, with more anger and less control.

"Why?"

"I wish to be alone."

Bulma shook her head. He would have to give her a better reason than that. "Then go somewhere else. It's a big planet."

"Not as big as some. Now move."

In a weird kind of way this was starting to become fun. There was something quite exciting and satisfying in being able to push a little at Vegeta's patience. She had never attempted it before. After all, there was always the niggling thought of being blown into smithereens for the trouble. Perhaps it was the alcohol clouding her judgement, but she actually felt quite safe despite this.

Not wanting to stand, she graced his request with the slightest of sideways shuffles, daring his anger as she continued to stare up at the city's light polluted sky. "There you go."

"You know very well what I meant, Woman. Why are you being so difficult about it?"

"Because it's nice out here… peaceful."

Vegeta didn't reply, and Bulma wondered if it was because he couldn't refute the statement, or because he didn't have the mind to appreciate peace. Either way there was silence, and she was happy that he didn't choose to move away.

"Vegeta?" she questioned, not being able to resist temptation. "You can read power levels right?"

"Yes."

"Has Yamcha's increased in the time he's been wished back?"

The question was left hanging in the air and Bulma was curious as to whether he would answer. Normally if she asked him anything he would leave or at least turn haughtily away. So far he had done neither, and Bulma held her breath, wondering what the outcome would be.

"Marginally," he admitted after a moment's silence.

"Marginally?"

"The fool is a slacker," Vegeta continued with a slight sneer. "If he was applying himself as he ought he would have been twice as powerful by now."

"Applying himself? You mean training to the brink of death like you do?"

"No. No human could withstand my kind of training. I meant any kind of regular training."

Bulma watched him for a hint of a lie, but if there was one thing she could rely on from Vegeta it was the truth, no matter how brutal.

"Thanks," she said. "It was something I needed to know."

Throwing her cigarette butt away, Bulma wrapped her arms around herself, for the first time feeling a little cold, but she still didn't want to move. She was happy Vegeta was talking rationally with her, and she didn't want to break the conversation (such as it was) too soon. She didn't press for him to talk though. Somehow she knew it would be detrimental.

"None of your human friends will be strong enough to defeat the androids, Woman. You do realize that?"

"Really?" she said with a thin smile. "And you're confident you will be able to?"

"Of course. I will be Super Saiyan. Nothing can compare to the elite of my race. I will be the Legendary."

Bulma nodded, prepared to deal with his ego if it meant he was more open with her. "I believe you might be right."

More silence.

Vegeta swirled his drink once and downed it in one gulp. Then he moved away and towards the house.

"Vegeta?"

"What?"

"Why didn't you train after dinner?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "I have no idea." He paused a moment, turning to look over his shoulder as the light of the den spun around him. "It just didn't seem right. Not today."

When he was gone and she had the night back to herself, Bulma looked up to the stars once again, a small smile on her face. She was strangely happy with the conversation, even though it was short. Anything longer than two sentences from the Saiyan Prince was very rare indeed, and her satisfaction couldn't be kept down.

Was that small 'something' she had been looking for in him closer than she had originally thought?

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A/N - This started life as a side project through a particularly harsh period of writer's block. It has grown into my own little escape, and if for any reason I can't work on one of my epics, this is where I go. This story will be completed (chapter two is almost ready, and chapter three in the works) so I hope everyone sticks around for the ride. Let me know what you think.

*hugs*

Ember

Special thanks go to LisaB for being such a wonderful friend and beta-ing this chapter for me. You're the best girl!