Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Flux ❯ Chapter 2

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

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As a Saiyan, certain boundaries were never meant to be crossed. A member of a proud warrior race could only make a number of concessions before putting his foot down, but unfortunately for Vegeta, this power had been stripped from him entirely. In addition to spending the evening with a bunch of insufferably dreary scientists, he was forced to sit in the car with Dr. Briefs for fifteen minutes waiting for Bulma to finish getting ready and, to add insult to injury, he had to wear a suit and tie.

His profane protests and resistance had been completely futile; he refused point blank to be dressed up in a monkey suit, to which he was switfly reminded by Bulma that he was a monkey, although this had not gone down well. He had scowled and grimaced for a good hour or so before having to concede with himself that he did look rather fetching, but he maintained his sour expression to avoid as much conversation with Dr. Briefs as possible. Still, the elderly inventor insisted on making one-sided small talk.

"I used to be on the board for the International Society of Quantum Mechanics and Thermodynamics, you know. Attended the symposium every year until the corporation got its feet off the ground. You don't find yourself with much time on your hands when you're running a business! Then I caught word of rumours going around about how I'd 'sold out'. 'Sold out?', I said, 'if I've sold out then why is it I don't have a dime to my name?'. Ah yes, the early years were difficult for the missus and I. Worked long and hard to put the pennies in the bank. Lucky a fella like you comes from money, eh Vegeta? Not having to worry about bills or paying for college. Relief really, isn't it?" Chuckled Dr. Briefs as he fidgeted with the sleeves of his suit jacket.

Vegeta sneered discreetly from the passenger seat and spoke through gritted teeth. "Royalty is immeasurable and invaluable. My heritage is my fortune."

Dr. Briefs looked worriedly at Vegeta and gave a nervous smile before nodding meekly. He peered down at his watch and sighed. "Deary me. She's going to be late if she isn't careful."

"What excuse is there for such poor time keeping?" Vegeta's question was meant to have been rhetorical until Dr. Briefs answered.

"Eh, woman's prerogative as they say! Oh, here she comes now."

Bulma strode towards the car wearing a cropped grey pinstripe jacket that nipped in at the waist with a plain light pink shirt underneath, a matching mid-thigh length skirt and a pair of pink patent leather stilettos. Her hair was worn up in a high ponytail with a few loose tendrils falling around her face that she kept swatting away to avoid them sticking to her lipgloss. She carried underneath her arm a stack of spiral-bound copies of her research which were carelessly thrown into the footwell of the back seat.

"You look nice, dear. Will your feet be alright in those shoes? They look, um, a bit... perilous."

"Nevermind my feet, have you memorised my introduction?" Huffed Bulma as she strapped herself in behind Vegeta, checking her lipgloss once more in the rear view mirror.

"Yes of course, it was only a couple of paragraphs. You made it sound pages long."

Bulma shrugged. "I panicked. Ooo... someone smells nice," She leaned forwards over the shoulder of Vegeta's seat and inhaled close to his neck. Vegeta's wide eyes darted around and he clenched his teeth, the hairs on his arms standing up on end. "Mmm, I didn't think you owned any cologne! It's gorgeous whatever it is."

Vegeta wasn't sure what to say in response; clearly it was a compliment but he had no desire to openly acknowledge it. His face felt hot and he cursed himself for blushing, hoping neither of them noticed his cheeks. To offset his embarrassment, he gave a gruff reply.

"You might find yourself with a pleasant odour if you showered more often, baka."

Bulma shook her head and rolled her eyes. "Whatever. Let's go."

---*---

The grand ballroom of the town hall had been decorated lavishly, if not somewhat ostentaciously, for the evening; floor length blue velvet drapes hung from the arch windows, oversized arrangements of lilies, roses and other pungent flowers stood in tall glass vases atop ceramic pedestals at either end of a stage, yellow tapered candles flickered as they stood arranged in gold candleabrum in the centre of the round tables, and suspended from the high gilded ceiling was a gaudy crystal chandelier, glittering and sparkling. Adjacent to the central entrance was a small bar area tended by a tall rake-thin man who looked every bit as bored and unimpressed as Vegeta felt. Nestled near the stage was a string quartet, the all female players dressed in matching minimal black dresses and plain black heels with their hair scraped back into harsh, tight buns. The room echoed with the muffled conversations of small groups of greying and balding men, most dressed in black, grey or brown suits, with the occasional eccentric standing out against the crowd sporting a flamboyant tuxedo. It appeared as though Bulma was the only woman, besides the members of the string quartet, to attend the symposium, and it seemed that she and Vegeta were the only two aged under fifty.

A jovial yet haughty voice from across the room suddenly caught the attention of Dr. Briefs. "Ah, Briefs, old man! Goodness me... how long as it been since we've been graced with your presence?" A man roughly the same height as Vegeta, although devoid of muscle and much skinnier, walked over holding a tumbler of scotch and thrust out his free hand to shake Dr. Briefs's. He wasn't quite as wrinkled as most of the other men but he was clearly in his sixties; his thin, wavy silver hair was styled into a ineffectual comb-over, the chain of a silver pocket watch gleamed as it swung from his tweed jacket. He smelled of old pipe tobacco and mixed spice with undertones of patchouli and sawdust. It was such a musty combination it wouldn't have come as any surprise if he admitted to living in a broom cupboard.

"Dr. Hiro Koga. My, my, it certainly has been a very long time indeed." Replied Dr. Briefs in an unusually flat tone of voice. The strong scent lingered at the back of his nose and danced around his throat; suddenly that glass of scotch looked incredibly tempting. Grudgingly he shook Dr. Koga's hand and straightened his glasses.

"Dare I ask what brings you here? Presenting groundbreaking research on Dynocaps?" Scoffed Dr. Koga as he took a sip of his whisky. He could sense Dr. Briefs was growing uncomfortable; his moustache twitched and his cheeks started to flush.

"Actually my daughter, Bulma, is here to debut her research. I am here as a favour to her." Stated the agitated scientist.

Bulma hadn't been paying any attention to her father's encounter with Dr. Koga; instead she was stood at a nearby buffet table with Vegeta scrutinising the vol-au-vents; it transpired the pastry was too heavy and the filling too salty, although neither flaw stopped her from munching on them absentmindedly. Her attention was redirected to her father and she reluctantly made her way over to him, hastily chewing and swallowing a pickled onion. The only way she would have not been able to notice Dr. Koga eyeing her up and down was if she had been blind; she couldn't believe how utterly blatant and unsubtle he was, still she forced herself not to pull a face or behave rudely.

"Well poison my cat and call me Schrodinger! This is your daughter!? Blimey, Briefs, how much did you pay the geneticist to fiddle around with your DNA to sire this bonny creature? Hello there, petal, I'm Dr. Koga." Without realising in time to prevent it, the vile man brought her hand up to his mouth with his bony, gnarled fingers and kissed the back of it, his scotch-laced lips leaving an unpleasant aromatic residue. Bulma swallowed a revolting lump at the gesture and fought the urge to snatch her hand away from him.

She cleared her throat and spoke through tight, pursed lips and surreptitiously wiped her hand on the back of her skirt. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance." Dr. Briefs patted his daughter's shoulder protectively and gave her an understanding look. If he was in her position he would have lied right through his teeth without a second thought, and he knew from experience that this was not an event frequented by the most trustworthy or honourable of people. Great intellect, it seemed, did not ensure moral fibre.

Dr. Koga flashed a coquettish grin, exposing the mustard-yellow tartar that stained his crooked teeth. "I very much look forward to your presentation, petal," He turned to Bulma's father. "It's been fun bumping into you, old chap. Please excuse me." Each of them were overwhelmed with relief as he turned his back and wandered off to the centre of the room to mingle with a large group of men sat around a table puffing away on pipes. The air around them now felt thick, stale and contaminated; the distinctive scent lingered and swirled around their noses like a sickly cloud of pollen that refused to settle.

"Perhaps we should stay close to the back, dear. I can't stand to think of another minute spent anywhere near that detestable ogre," Grumbled Dr. Briefs as he led Bulma towards the nearest empty table. "As a matter of fact, I could do with a drink. Would you like one?"

Bulma sighed as she placed the stack of hand-outs on the table and sank down into a chair, watching Vegeta with an amused smirk on her face as he twirled a mini sausage on a cocktail stick in his fingers, cautiously sniffing it before throwing it back down onto a platter with the other miniature food. "Yes, I think a bit of Dutch courage would go a long way. I'll have a glass of white wine."

"What about Vegeta?" Inquired Dr. Briefs.

Bulma blinked. Did Vegeta drink? She couldn't recall ever seeing him with an alcoholic beverage even though she had always assumed he did. "Um... I'm not sure. Seems a bit weird for a prince not to..."

"Seems a bit weird for a prince not to what?" Vegeta was stood with his arms folded staring down at Bulma, his trademark frown knitted tight across his brow.

"We were just wondering if you drink."

Vegeta looked questioningly at Bulma and considered for a moment if this was some sort of joke. "Of course I drink; how else do you expect me to stay hydrated, baka?"

"Alcohol, Vegeta. What about drinking alcohol?" Added Dr. Briefs with a wide smile, his teeth hidden behind his bushy cornflower blue moustache.

Vegeta appeared puzzled and annoyed. He eyed the aged scientist curiously before offering a reply. "I cannot attest to ever consuming any... what is it?"

Dr. Briefs scratched the backed of his head and laughed a little. "Oh I won't bother you with the chemistry as the term isn't one hundred percent accurate! But here on Earth most of us drink it as a recreational beverage. Some tolerate its effects more than others, although I have no doubt you could hold your own pretty well!"

The puzzlement continued to etch itself across Vegeta's stern features; he wasn't sure he liked the sound of this bizarre chemical, but he wasn't prepared to back away from trying a little. If the old man could stomach it, surely he would have no trouble either. "Is the woman having some?"

Dr. Briefs nodded. "I fancy a drop of scotch. Would you care for some, Vegeta?"

"Hmph... Yes, I suppose." Replied the disgruntled prince as he sat down opposite Bulma. Dr. Briefs headed towards the bar area and Vegeta found himself studying the way Bulma's striking blue hair contrasted with her relatively subdued attire and thought back to the first time he saw her on Namek. Never before had he seen a woman with such peculiar features, and since that brief encounter the memory of that image had never faded from Vegeta's mind. He couldn't deny Bulma was beautiful; her clear, milky white skin and slender, curvaceous body were a visionary feast for any red-blooded male, and while he had consorted with numerous good-looking women throughout the years, Vegeta found himself ranking the human female before him as the most good-looking of all. He thought his gaze had gone undetected but he was caught out by a quick, sly glance from Bulma's salient cobalt eyes.

"Can't get enough of me, hmm?" Mocked Bulma with a small, furtive smile.

"Pah, don't flatter yourself woman. I'm merely appalled by how poor your colour co-ordination is. Pink, blue and grey? Very poor." Tutted Vegeta as he wagged a condescending finger and shook his head.

"Spare me the bullshit. You were ogling me. I saw you!" Not that she minded or was self-conscious considering Bulma had always felt she was a desireable, attractive woman whose beauty could easily enchant and ensnare most men. Vegeta, however, had an irritating tendency to constantly dispute this and often made jokes about her narcissism and vanity.

"Feel free to entertain yourself for as long as you please with your delusions, baka." As Vegeta spoke, a heavy-bottomed glass appeared on the table in front of him containing a deep amber liquid that gave off an unusually strong odour. The prince peered forward to looked into the glass and felt his eyes sting as the odour struck him without warning and reminded him of the one and only time he had ever been roped into chopping onions with Mrs. Briefs in the kitchen a few weeks earlier. He looked up to see Bulma sipping on a glass of clear yellowish liquid, clearly amused by his cautious uncertainty which infuriated him to the bone. Dr. Briefs also noticed Vegeta's hesitant behaviour and sat down next to Bulma.

"You might find it something of an acquired taste but if you take your time, Vegeta, you'll start to notice all sorts of hidden flavours and aromas," Dr. Briefs swirled the contents of his glass and breathed deeply before taking a small sip. "I find it mossy... earthy, with a touch of honey if I'm not mistaken. Mmm, clean on the palate and smooth as it goes down. Give it a try."

Vegeta frowned and looked utterly baffled. "What the hell do you know about moss and earth?? How can such qualities possibly make people want to drink this stuff? And why do you know what moss and earth taste like? Do you freakish humans go foraging on forest floors when there is no one around to cook??" His raised voice earned a few inquisitive looks from a handful of nosy men from across the room.

"Don't cause a scene, you moron, we've only just got here! Just drink the damn thing and stop complaining!" Hissed Bulma vehemently.

Vegeta angrily drank the single measure of scotch in one, disregarding Dr. Briefs's advice on taking his time and did away with all the nonsense about hidden flavours. He hadn't really tasted anything significant the moment the liquid hit his tongue and coated his mouth but he never for a second anticipated that it would have burned so severely as he swallowed. The heat travelled down his gullet and hit the bottom of his stomach, creating the bizarre and unpleasant sensation that he had been punched from the inside. He gasped at the intensity of the heat and felt his eyes become watery.

Bulma and her father observed Vegeta with wide eyes, half amused and half concerned, as he regained his composure and wiped his mouth unceremoniously on the back of his hand.

"I, um... are you alright, Vegeta?" asked Dr. Briefs softly from his seat across the table.

The prince shot him a grim, choleric look before speaking. "That shit is fucking bilious..."

"Well, err... it isn't to everyone's taste but I wouldn't describe it as bilious. Perhaps next time a splash of water might improve the experience for you."

Bulma snickered from behind her glass of wine and avoided eye contact with Vegeta; the last thing she needed was to burst out laughing and spill her drink down herself.

"Perhaps..." Muttered the incensed prince, tipping the glass back to swallow the last few remaining drops. Slowly the heat began to abate and the velvety residual warmth spread down his abdomen and through his arms, the tips of his fingers suddenly feeling like hot coals. Much to his surprise, it wasn't at all dissimilar to the feeling of ki surging through his limbs from his core as he trained and battled, and though he maintained the liquid had tasted positively foul he found himself enjoying its effects. Vegeta raised the glass to his nose and inhaled the leftover vapours; sure enough he picked up on the delicate, sweet scent of dew on fresh green moss and the robust undertone of iron of damp tilled soil, capped off with the most subtle note of flowery, saccharine honey. Impressive, he mused.

The prince grinned at Dr. Briefs. "So, shall we have another one?"

Retrospectively, it transpired that agreeing to Vegeta's proposal was something of an unwise move on Dr. Briefs's part. It should have occurred to him sooner that a man who had never previously been exposed to the demon drink would not have the acquired tolerances to hold his liquor as well as he could have. Even only after his third Vegeta's speech had started to slur, and soon all other functions, both mental and physical, had commenced their descent on a slippery slope to intoxication. Though, both Dr. Briefs and Bulma drew some comfort from the situation when they noticed the prince's eyes struggling to stay open as they were called on stage for their presentation; earlier in the evening Bulma was worried Vegeta might try in some way to sabotage her speech or even be so bold as to heckle her, but neither scenario materialised into reality when he dozed off in his seat, his breath stinking of whisky. It did, however, prove difficult for Bulma to suppress a giggle when he started to snore and grunt in his sleep, and she doubted her evening would have been half as comedic if the unreliable Yamcha had come along instead. As the thought of him crossed her mind, she stuttered mid-sentence and felt her nerves go into shock; fear tangled itself around her tongue, stifling her ability to articulate her words. In that fugacious moment of chilling fear, Bulma was engulfed by the paranoid notion that everyone in the room could see into her mind and knew about her insecurities with Yamcha. He hadn't intruded her thoughts all night; why did it have to happen ten minutes before she was due to bring her discourse to a close? Why did she choose then to start despairing over his whereabouts or who he might have been with? Could her troubles not have saved themselves for later?

From the back of the room, Dr. Briefs mouthed words of encouragement to his trembling daughter and gave her the thumbs-up. She caught a glimpse of him as she stood frozen to the stage and somehow snapped out of her fear to clear her throat. Although Bulma managed to resume her speech as gracefully as she had started it, the churning sense of unease writhing in the pit of her stomach was restless and had no intention of ceasing even as she thanked her audience, received her applause and left the stage. Her strides were confident and self-assured but her eyes were mirrors of unadulterated contradiction.

"Formidable research, honey, and an excellent recovery. Are you quite alright now?" Asked her father gently as he placed his arm around her shoulder and gave her a quick reassuring squeeze.

Bulma nodded modestly and gave a weary sigh. "Yeah, I don't know what came over me. Either way I'm just so glad it's done."

"Should we head back home or do you want to stay for a little while?"

Her eyes roamed over the slumbering Vegeta and a small chuckled escaped her lips. "I think His Majesty needs to retire to his quarters."

---*---

Assisting the prince of Saiyans to his bedroom didn't present itself as much of an easy feat; although he was roused from his sleep when they were due to leave and managed to stumble with the help of Dr. Briefs to the car, Vegeta resumed his snoring on the journey back to the Capsule Corporation compound and didn't appear to show any signs of bringing himself around from his sleep again. Bulma and her father grew ever more flustered with their limited strength and cursed the Saiyan's weight as they attempted to drag him out of the vehicle by his arms and then his feet, although neither tactic seemed to be doing much good. Eventually they employed the help of a handy domestic bot that tackled the task without too much difficulty, and by the time it had got to the bottom of the stairs with Vegeta his eyelids slowly lifted themselves and he regained some control of his limbs.

"W-wh... w-what the fu..."

Bulma dismissed the bot and assured her father she could manage to aid the unsteady prince to his room. Dr. Briefs ascended the stairs as he said goodnight to the pair, receiving a garbled, incoherent response from Vegeta.

"Come on, it's not far." Bulma draped one of Vegeta's arms around her neck as she held him by his waist and carefully guided the inebriated warrior step by step, his head still drooping slightly in his disoriented state as he carried on muttering his strange incoherencies. During the course of the evening his shirt had come untucked, the top button undone, and his tie loosened. Bulma expected every part of him to reek of booze, let alone his breath, but she was pleasantly surprised to discover delicate, elusive hints of that mysterious cologne still graced the tender, silken skin of his neck. Rather sneakily, Bulma took advantage of his intoxicated demeanour to allow herself to lean a little closer to the open button of his shirt just to see if she could inhale a bit more of that delicious scent but recoiled with a jolt when Vegeta unexpectedly decided to rest his head on her shoulder as they completed the final stage of their ascent.

He regained a bit more composure after climbing the last step and relieved Bulma from much of her burden when he began walking with greater sureness and refrained from slumping against her, although his arm remained around her neck and she still guided him by his waist.

As the pair reached the side of his bed, Vegeta let himself fall backwards onto the sheets and spread his arms out, his eyes closing once more, his chest rising and falling to breathe a heavy sigh of mirth. Bulma stood at his feet and crossed her arms, her confounded expression lost in the velvet shroud of purple-blue darkness in the unlit bedroom.

"I'm not undressing you, Vegeta. You'll have to do that yourself unless you plan to sleep the way you are." Stated Bulma as frankly as she could force herself to sound. What benefit would come from denying her own curiosity about the Saiyan lying before her? Something had compelled her to invite him to stay as her house guest; she harboured an incorrigible certainty that Vegeta's anger was just a guise to keep other people at a distance. Her convictions always lured her to him and away from other preoccupations, sometimes at the expense of her work and other times at the expense of her dishearteningly erratic, fickle relationship. And for the second time that evening, she stood immobilised by ambivalence, with fragmented intermittent thoughts of Yamcha flickering through her mind as her imagination tempted her with all the delights of undressing the beautiful, enigmatic man mere inches away from her reach.

Vegeta sluggishly propped himself up to rest on his elbows and looked at Bulma with bleary eyes, his dark, solemn brow a little softer than it normally would have been thanks to the sedative effect of the alcohol still present in his system.

"Just go then." He uttered in a husky voice barely above a whisper.

"But I can't leave you like this" Remonstrated Bulma, emancipating her sore, tired feet from the pinching leather of her stilettos before lowering herself to the floor to rest on her knees. She began by untying the laces of Vegeta's shoes and set them neatly aside, realising in that moment she had the peculiar urge to touch his feet. She paused for a minute to consider her thoughts until a hoarse grumble disrupted her ruminations. Bulma raised herself from kneeling, beckoning Vegeta to sit fully upright and removed the suit jacket from his broad shoulders, now assigned to the task of unbuttoning the pristine white shirt that clothed the endless multitude of dips and rolls of his pronounced muscular torso. She felt her skin prickle from the uneasy heat of excitable apprehension and wondered if Vegeta could sense how nervous she was. She reminded herself that the situation was completely innocent and her intentions were honourable, but her reasoning didn't prove to be enough to stop her heart drumming hard and loud with every button that found its freedom by the work of her slim, dainty fingers.

"Stand up," Bulma's request was gentle and undemanding, still Vegeta rose at the woman's instruction. "Turn around." Again he did as he was told and looked down as he felt Bulma's arms tentatively slink around his waist, watching her fingers wrap themselves around the seams of his shirt and felt a featherlight graze near his naval from an unintentional touch of her hand. He felt her flinch and smirked to himself, swaying a little on the spot as Bulma drew her arms back and carefully removed the garment. She chastised herself for feeling so utterly giddy; watching the material fall from Vegeta's shoulders with wide eyes reminded her the dizzying excitement she felt as a child opening the biggest present on Christmas morning, her head spinning as the gift revealed itself to be exactly what she had asked for.

But this isn't what I asked for.

Her silent admonishment quelled none of her anxiety. Her eyes drifted across the body in front of her, unable to tear themselves away from the countours of his indefectible, flawless physique, each magnificent muscle sculpted to perfection. Even the copious scars that marred the skin of his back entranced her. She wanted to reach out to run her fingers over each keloid, wondering if by touch alone the raised marks would unravel the story of his barbarous past.

"The cuffs, woman." His slurred voice, once again, pulled her out of her daydream. Vegeta turned back to face her and was met with a look of bedazzled paralysis. Even in the murky shadows Bulma's eyes were lustrous and crystalline; the brilliant blue irises illuminated her face and betrayed the emotions she strove to conceal. Exhilaration, fear, consternation, yearning...

Bulma exhaled a breath she hadn't realised she was holding. "Oh... oh yeah."

His sleeves were secured by a pair of smart cufflinks, a gift given to him by Bulma's mother a few days after he first came to the compound; brushed steel squares with a small 'V' engraved in the centre. On his home planet, Vegeta would have had no use for such accessories, and although the present was given without a thank-you offered in return, he was rather fond on them. It wasn't within his nature to care about material treasures as he had never before concerned himself with luxuries, but the two small understated links were quite dear to him. He watched Bulma closely as she removed them from the well starched sleeves, observant of the manner in which she was so keen to avoid touching the flesh of his wrists.

The cufflinks were laid onto the discarded jacket, soon accompanied by the shirt. Her eyes fought the temptation to once again look at his body and fixed themselves onto the empty darkness behind him. A hollow dizziness fogged her mind and buried itself deep into the pit of her stomach: a reminder of those dreams of endlessly freefalling, rushing through the wind and dreading the impact, only to be violently pulled back to the present with the force of a bungee cord's sharp recoil. Vegeta clumsily attempted to undo his belt buckle, the soft clank of the metal catching Bulma's attention. She stepped back and picked up her shoes, suddenly alarmed and eager to confine herself to her own room.

"I'm just... I'm tired so I'm heading off to bed. So, um... sleep well, Vegeta."

Her back turned to the prince as she disappeared around the door, the light padding of her bare feet against the corridor floor a distant ghostly echo. Vegeta quickly grew aware of the weight of his own body, his weary eyes struggling to keep themselves open. Tiredness engulfed him and draped itself over his shoulders like a lead cloak; his bed had never looked quite so inviting. He sank into the divan without bothering to remove his trousers, his eyes closing immediately as his head made contact with the pillows. Enveloped by exhaustion, Vegeta's mind cleared itself of all distorted thoughts and perceptions and found itself wandering towards the promise of sleep, his heartbeat slowing and steadying, his breaths deepening. The only dream that came to him that night was a vision of aqua blue, undulating and swirling like smoke tangling its way up to the sky in a hypnotic dance.

Sleep did not come easily for Bulma; her mind whirred and ticked away for hours asking questions she didn't want to answer, the same images parading through her memory, impervious to her attempts to block them out while that haunting scent refused to leave her. Frankincense, myrrh, ambergris and star anise. Timeless, elegant, royal.

The prince saturated her thoughts and robbed her of the rest she needed. One worrisome question orbited her imagination, the words repeating themselves tirelessly until the first dim light of dawn started to glow from behind the curtains: what am I going to do?


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I sincerely hope you enjoyed this chapter. You'd be doing me a huge favour by leaving a review. I've received virtually no response response from AFF.net ¬_¬