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Friends	By : ladyvegeets Category: Dragon Ball Z > AU - Alternate Universe Views: 2134 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Disclaimer: Obviously I don’t own DBZ or the characters - they belong to Akira Toriyama, Funimation and Toei Animation as far as I know. No profit is being made from this fic.

Chapter List
- 9
- 10
- 11
Friends - an AU Vegebul Highschool Fanfic by LadyVegeets
Ch.10 - Treating Wounds

Bulma decided against going to MMA practice after school that day; the last thing she wanted was to be ignored further by Vegeta, and to have Yamcha casting hostile glances their way. When school ended, Bulma tried to lose herself in a book in the library, but her concentration was quickly derailed by thoughts of a certain spiky haired boy. She sighed, and finally gave up and headed for home. She kicked a pebble down the footpath as she walked, in no particular hurry, as easily able to dwell on her misery on the street as she was in her room.
The sound of a rumbling car engine brought her out of her reverie. Bulma waited for the car to pass her by, but it never did. Puzzled, Bulma looked over her shoulder to see what the hold up was, and nearly missed her next step at what she saw. A few hundred feet back a car with dark tinted windows was slowly prowling down the road after her.
The same car from that morning. Wasn’t it?
Bulma looked away, panicking, her heart beating anxiously in her chest. Was she being followed? It wasn’t so outlandish to imagine - her family was insanely wealthy, it wouldn’t be ridiculous to think someone might try kidnapping her for a ransom. Bulma slowed and pulled out her phone. She pretended to text someone while punching in 911, ready to press the call button if needed. She cast a surreptitious glance back, checking on the car. It was still there and had slowed to keep pace with her. There was no doubt it was tailing her.
Bulma swallowed, feeling a cold fear wash through her, numbing her limbs. She picked up the pace, putting her phone away, keeping her hands free for what she was about to do. The crunch of the car’s tires told her it was still following along. Bulma took the next turn and as soon as she was out of the car’s line of sight, bolted as fast as she’d ever run in her life. She ran around the block, doubling back towards the school. But any hope that she might have lost the driver died when she heard the squeal of tires as the car came barreling around the corner after her, the driver speeding to catch up with her.
Terrified, Bulma sprinted for her life. The school was just up ahead, all she had to do was turn one more corner. She pushed herself as fast as her legs could carry her, her muscles screaming at the abuse. The car was baring down on her, too fast, it was much, much faster than she could ever hope to outrun. Bulma looked over her shoulder and screamed when she saw the car charge straight towards her. In her panic she fell, landing hard on the concrete, pain searing through her palms and knees. The car squealed to a halt, tires screeching, smoke rising and filling the air with the smell of burnt rubber. Quivering in terror, Bulma looked over her shoulder, seeing the car only inches from her feet, the front tires pressed hard against the raised curb.
Then car squealed as the tires rotated backwards and the car backed up in a hurry. Unsure if it was going to charge her again, Bulma scrambled desperately to her feet and fled. She turned the last corner but the car shot past her on the street, overtaking her. In a shriek of rubber and break pads, the car locked up and spun in a half circle, coming to a dramatic stop right in front of the school entrance, blocking anyone from using the front gate. Bulma came to a running stop. Fear filled her. She was locked out.
Bulma looked around, wide eyed and terrified. Near her was a large tree that grew by the school’s entrance, towering over the tall school wall. She moved on pure adrenalin and threw herself at the tree, scrambling up, uncaring of the rough bark and branches that tore at her clothes, hair and flesh. The sound of the car’s revving engine below spurned her on, and she climbed along a large branch that hovered over the school wall. She reached the end of the limb, the branch bowing worrying under her weight. Trembling, terrified, Bulma jumped. She tried to land on the wall, but she misjudged the distance and bounced off the top, falling painfully to the ground several feet below. Bulma sucked in a pained cry as she hit the ground, tears burning her eyes, her vision going blurry for a moment. She looked around wildly to see if she was followed.
There was no sign of pursuit, not yet. Bulma had landed inside the school, but she could see the car was still parked at the entrance. Fearful the driver might get out at any moment, Bulma dragged herself up, her body screaming in pain, but she ignored it and started running clumsily for the gym, not looking back to see if anyone gave chase.
After a torturous dash through the school grounds, bouncing off walls and stumbling over her own feet, Bulma crashed through the gym doors, gasping for air, fighting back tears of pain and terror. Her dramatic entrance caused quite a stir. Vegeta was the first to react; he stood up from his place on the bleachers, his eyes going wide at the sight of her. He took a step forward, but then her vision was obscured as her friends swarmed around her, exclaiming at her state.
“Oh my god, Bulma! What happened?” Chi-Chi cried, grabbing her friend gently by the arms as Bulma sunk to the floor, collapsing. She looked down and noticed the awful state she was in. Her hands and knees were grazed and bloody, her shirt ripped, her limbs cut up, probably from climbing the tree, and Chi-Chi was plucking a few leaves and twigs from her hair.
“Who did this?” Goku asked as he came up to her, his expression unusually serious. Goku had always been like a brother to her, and his concern triggered something within her. Overwhelmed, torn between relief at her survival and terror for what she’d endured, Bulma started crying uncontrollably.
Chi-Chi held her while she cried, the boys hovering around awkwardly, uncertain how to help. “Should we get the Coach?” Chiaotzu asked tentatively.
“N-No!” Bulma sobbed, not wanting to have to face Piccolo in her current condition.
“Bulma, you’re bleeding,” Krillin protested gently. “We should get you seen to at least.”
“N-no, I d-don’t…” Bulma sobbed, trying to calm down, but the tears kept welling up and bubbling over, and she realized she was hyperventilating. Someone passed her a water bottle and she gratefully took it, drinking greedily to soothe her panic. Her hands shook as they held the bottle.
Chi-Chi pet her hair. “It’s okay. You want me to get rid of the guys?” she asked, before flashing the boys with a fierce glare as if they were somehow responsible for Bulma’s misery. The boys all took a fearful step back.
Bulma shook her head. “N-no, they can stay…” Bulma sniffed, feeling a little calmer and wanting to explain what had happened. “S-someone tried to r-run me over… Th-they chased me down, the car, it was tinted, I couldn’t see… I h-had to climb over the big tree at the front to get inside without b-being caught. They were still at the entrance wh-when I ran here, I don’t know if they’re s-still waiting there…”
Goku looked at his friends. Tien and Krillin nodded and left to investigate. Goku squatted down to speak to her face to face. “Bulma, we should report this to the police.”
“I…” Bulma’s voice trailed off, feeling unsure. The thought of facing the police unsettled her, it was bad enough just having to explain the situation to her friends.
Suddenly Vegeta was pushing his way into the group. He shoved Goku aside to crouch before her, his face serious, looking at her with his intense, unforgiving eyes. “Did you get the license plate number?” he asked her bluntly.
Bulma shook her head, feeling her heart sink. She hadn’t thought to look.
“The make or model of the car?”
Bulma shook her head again, lowering her gaze in shame.
“The color of the car? A look at the driver?” Vegeta pressed, relentless.
Bulma could feel tears escape her eyes to run down her cheeks. Each of his questions were like a slap to the face, highlighting her uselessness. “I don’t know… It was a dark color … I think.”
“You think,” Vegeta repeated dubiously.
“Hey, asshole, lay off her,” Yamcha interrupted, grabbing Vegeta by the shoulder. “The girl’s just had a traumatic experience. Cut her some slack.”
Vegeta stood up, rolling his shoulder out of Yamcha’s grip. “I’m just determining if she knows something useful. If she can’t tell the police anything worthwhile, then there’s no need to subject her to their interrogations.”
“You would know a lot about police interrogations, wouldn’t you?” Yamcha snidely insinuated.
Vegeta sneered back, not liking the implication or the person making it.
“Hey blockheads, enough with the testosterone. There’s a woman in distress here!” Chi-Chi chastised them. Yamcha and Vegeta broke their stare-off, looking away from each other unhappily.
“What do you want to do?” Chi-Chi asked Bulma kindly.
Bulma wiped her eyes. “I just want to go home, if it’s safe to do so.” She felt exhausted and humiliated. She didn’t know why she was being targeted and her near death experience had shattered her self confidence and illusion of safety. And Vegeta was right, she had nothing useful to give to the police. She just wanted to curl up in the safety of her bed and pretend that nothing could hurt her.
They waited a few more minutes until Krillin and Tien returned. “Nothing,” Tien declared. “We walked around the block and checked all the side streets. No tinted cars or suspicious persons.”
“Sorry, Bulma,” Krillin apologised.
Bulma shook her head. “Thanks, guys.”
“What do we do?” Chi-Chi asked the group.
“I’ve got my bike, I can take her home,” Yamcha offered.
“Like hell,” Vegeta huffed. Everyone looked at him, startled by his outburst. Vegeta seemed indifferent to their shock. “I’ll take her home. I do live with her after all.”
Yamcha’s mouth dropped open, struggling with the revelation. Bulma winced. She hadn’t told Yamcha that Vegeta was living with her, and from his expression, no one else had wanted to break the news to him either.
Vegeta smirked at Yamcha’s reaction.
“You…!” Yamcha spluttered, taking a threatening step towards Vegeta. Vegeta’s eyes narrowed, his smile widening darkly. But before anything could happen, Goku placed a hand on Yamcha’s shoulder, stopping him.
“That sounds great, Vegeta, thanks,” Goku said cheerily even as his fingers squeezed Yamcha’s shoulder. Yamcha glanced at Goku, surprised that his friend was siding with Vegeta. Goku returned Yamcha’s look, his expression sympathetic but unflinching. You had your chance, it said. Yamcha looked away, furious, but he didn’t protest any further.
Vegeta gave Yamcha one final, satisfied smirk, then turned his attention back to Bulma, his smile disappearing as quickly as it had come. He stepped forward and held out his good hand to her. “C’mon, before the Coach comes back.”
Bulma hesitated, but only for a heartbeat. After Vegeta had been ignoring her for so long, it felt so surreal for him to now be offering her his aid, but Bulma wasn’t about to pass it up, and she didn’t want to have to answer any of the Coach’s questions if he saw her in her disheveled state. She took Vegeta’s hand and he pulled her to her feet. Pain lanced up her leg and Bulma stumbled into his arms. “Ow!” she cried out. She looked down at her ankle, trying to put weight on it, but it only caused her more pain. She must have twisted it in her mad scramble to escape the car.
“God you’re useless,” Vegeta complained as he steadied her. Bulma lowered her head, too shaken to rebuff his words. Vegeta sighed. He looked her over, his eyes pausing on her torn shirt. He made an aggravated sound and took off his jacket to drape it over her. “Tch. Cover yourself up.”
Bulma felt her throat close up. She did as told, slipping her arms into the jacket’s sleeves. It was still warm from his body, the warmth seeping deep into her bones and she kept her eyes lowered so as not to betray how good it felt, even if his words stung. Vegeta took her bag, swinging it over his shoulder to rest with his own. Then he grabbed her arm, putting it over his shoulders to support her weight and started walking them out of the gym.
“Be safe!” Chi-Chi called after them worriedly.
They hobbled out together, Vegeta keeping the pace easy so that Bulma could keep up on her busted ankle. She looked around them anxiously as they exited the school grounds, but as Tien and Krillin had said there was no sign of a car or anyone suspicious. She could see tire marks on the ground from where the car had sped away. But the lack of the car didn’t ease her mind; on the long walk home, every sound of a passing vehicle made her flinch. Vegeta’s arm rested at the small of her waist, helping her keep her balance as they walked, and it felt as though he squeezed her tighter whenever she jumped as the sound of an engine.
“So you really didn’t see anything worthwhile about the car or driver?” He asked her, surprising her that he would break the silence. It had been days since he’d willingly spoken to her.
Bulma shook her head. Then she remembered something. “Actually… I think the car was following me this morning, too.”
“All black windows and a fold down top?”
Bulma nodded, surprised that he would know. She glanced at him. Vegeta’s expression was tense, serious. “… Does that mean something to you?”
He gave her a sidelong glance. “…It might.”
She felt anxiety weigh like a stone in her belly. Vegeta didn’t elaborate further, and Bulma didn’t have the guts to ask. The rest of the walk was quiet. She saw Vegeta glance around, scanning their surroundings carefully for any threats. She wondered what he’d do if the car came back. Would he help her, fight for her? Or would he watch impassively while they took her away?
Bulma was glad to finally arrive home. The streets made her feel exposed and her ankle was starting to throb terribly, the shock of her experience wearing off and making her realize she’d been hurt worse than she’d previously thought.
Vegeta helped her up the stairs and led her to his room. Bulma didn’t protest, following meekly, still feeling shaken and grateful that he was taking the lead. Once in his room Vegeta levered her off his shoulders onto the end of his bed and then dumped their bags on the floor. He winced and and grunted in relief, finally free of all the weight.
He looked at her, his eyes coldly taking in her appearance from head to toe. “Take off your shoes,” he instructed, then he headed towards the door.
“Where are you going?” Bulma asked, her voice sounding desperate even in to her own ears. She didn’t want to be left alone.
“I’ll be back,” he said and left.
Bulma bit her lip, sitting at the end of his bed all by herself. The room was eerily silent, the weight of it heavy, the only sound her heart, beating flittingly in her ears. Her eyes took in Vegeta’s room. It was militaristically bare; just his bed, desk, drawers and a bookshelf. Everything was neatly in its place. Cold, impersonal, alien.
Crack.
Bulma startled, her heart slamming wildly as the glass in the window shrank in the cool of the evening. She couldn’t deny it any longer; she was afraid. Someone had tried to murder her today, and for all she knew, they were waiting nearby to finish what they’d started, waiting for her to be vulnerable and alone; like right now.
Stop it, she chastised herself, trying to calm her panicked breathing. To distract herself from her fearful thoughts, Bulma did as Vegeta had said and gingerly removed her boots. The process was slow going, her hands were still trembling, and with her injuries slowing her down she was barely able to complete the task by the time Vegeta returned with a bowl of hot water and a first aid kit. He came over to her, all business, kneeling on the floor by her feet. He dabbed a clean cloth in the water and without speaking, started cleaning her skinned knees.
“Ow!” Bulma hissed, wincing.
“Are you going to complain the whole time?” he asked her irritably.
Bulma clenched her mouth shut to try and smother her outcries. She remembered seeing the wounds on Vegeta’s torso earlier in the week. Vegeta had barely made a sound over his severe injuries. Now here she was making a fuss over some minor scrapes. He must think I’m so weak, she thought to herself miserably.
“This’ll sting,” Vegeta warned before dabbing some ointment on her cuts. Bulma scrunched her eyes shut as the medicine burned, but she refused to cry out. Vegeta peeled open a large band-aid and placed it over her knee, his fingers smoothing out the edges with great care. He repeated the action on her other knee, his thumbs gentle, warm on her skin. When finished he frowned, and ran his fingers down her legs. He found smaller cuts as he touched her, and he tended to each one as he went, cleaning each wound and placing little band-aids over them until her legs were littered with them. Each time he found a new cut on her leg, his expression tightened as if pained.
Bulma swallowed, suddenly nervous as Vegeta’s fingers moved with intimate care along her bare legs, his soft touch prickling her skin, making her remember a time he’d touched her intimately because he’d wanted to, not because he was playing doctor. Anxious to divert her attention, Bulma latched onto something he’d said earlier that she’d been unable to let go of. “You know who it was, don’t you? The driver, I mean.”
Vegeta’s hands stilled. He clenched his jaw, then he nodded. “Yes.”
“Are you going to tell me who?”
“No. It’s better if you don’t know.”
Bulma bit her lip, scared. “Is it my fault, for meddling?”
Vegeta looked at her, his eyes dark, unreadable. “Yes,” he said, not sugar coating the answer.
Bulma looked away, ashamed and fearful. So she’d brought this on herself.
Vegeta didn’t give her much time for self-pity. “Hands,” he ordered her, his voice gruff.
Bulma held out her palms for Vegeta to tend. Her eyes widened when she saw how badly she was still shaking. She balled her hands into fists and then relaxed them, hoping to ease the trembling, but her hands continued to shake. Vegeta gently took them into his own and held them still.
“It’s okay. It’s the shock,” he told her, his voice unusually soft. “You should eat something after, that will help.”
“Oh,” Bulma said, her voice small. It saddened her that Vegeta would know that.
He seemed reluctant to let her hands go, holding them for a heartbeat, frowning. Finally he broke their hold and told her to hold her palms upwards. He cleaned the wounds, his ministrations thorough but gentle. His brow was furrowed in concentration, his focus only on her injuries. Bulma watched him, entranced by the methodical way he dealt with her injuries. Yet the kindness he was showing her now only contrasted with how much distance had grown between them recently, and it made her heart ache all the more.
“Vegeta?” she asked, barely a whisper. He didn’t reply, but she knew he’d heard. “How long are you going to hate me for?”
Vegeta’s eyes flicked up to her face, his hand pausing. Then he looked back down and continued to clean her palms. “I don’t hate you, Bulma.”
Bulma felt her heart wring, bringing tears to her eyes. Her bottom lip trembled. “Then why have you been ignoring me? I… I miss what we had.”
Vegeta sighed through his nose, sounding frustrated. “My father told me not to shit where I eat.”
Bulma scrunched her nose. “Ew. What’s that supposed to mean?”
He looked at her, raising a brow that she didn’t know the term. “It means that the daughter of the man who’s now providing for me is off limits.”
Bulma blinked, processing that information. “That’s why you’ve been ignoring me?”
“Don’t say it like that,” he frowned.
“Like what?”
“Like it’s not a big deal,” he snapped at her, his tone annoyed, but his hands were still gentle as they dressed her wounds. “Do you think it’s been easy for me? If your parents didn’t kill me for sniffing around you, my father certainly would. Not to mention the wrong attention it could draw - has drawn. And whatever happened, I’d be fucked out of a home, wouldn’t I?”
Bulma blinked, surprised by his answer. She frowned, trying to see the situation from Vegeta’s point of view. “My father wouldn’t ever kick you out.”
“Tch. Easy for you to say,” he spat back. Without warning, he put ointment on her palms, shocking her with pain. Bulma hissed. Vegeta used the opportunity to finish bandaging her hands as she stared down at his handiwork.
“What do you mean, it hasn’t been easy for you?” she asked when the pain subsided, wanting to know his thoughts.
“Bulma,” Vegeta warned, not wanting to discuss it.
“What do you mean?” she insisted, not giving in.
He sighed, aggravated. “See, this is exactly why I’ve been ignoring you. You can’t take a fucking hint. You’re always poking your damn nose into everybody's business, bringing me dinner, sitting with me at lunch, staring at me with your big, sad blue eyes and never thinking what it might be doing to me, huh? You think I wanted this? I didn’t. Things were going well and oh-ho, should I have fucking known that wouldn’t last because it never fucking does. And now here I am, getting cock-blocked by this whole new living arrangement, with you prancing around me in these short fucking skirts, all the while looking at me like I’m the bad guy, just like everyone else in this goddamn world assumes I am…!” Vegeta trailed off angrily, realizing he had gotten carried away. He turned away, fuming, embarrassed.
Bulma sat, stunned by his outburst. It was probably more words than Vegeta had ever spoken to her in her entire time of knowing him. “Vegeta… I never-”
“Drop it, Bulma.”
“But-”
“Not now, okay? You’re still in shock… And I’m a fucking asshole,” he mumbled the last line under his breath, scowling in frustration.
Bulma looked at him sadly but decided not to push the matter; Vegeta was clearly too upset to talk about the issue objectively. She put her bandaged hands in her lap as Vegeta turned his attention to her foot. He didn’t have to ask which one was injured - the swelling was obvious. Bulma had certainly sprained her ankle.
“It needs to be elevated and iced,” he said, grateful to be talking about something else. He looked up at her. “Are you cut anywhere else?”
Bulma looked down at herself, checking for any other injuries. “I don’t think so…”
He stood, collecting the items. “Alright. Stay here,” he told her, then left the room.
Bulma had no plans to wander off, but once again she felt uneasy being left alone, the darkness of the room closing in as the seconds ticked by. She raised her swollen foot up onto the bed to elevate it like Vegeta had advised. She sat, waiting, looking about his room, but there was nothing to distract her attention. The shadows grew longer, more menacing, and she wondered fretfully if he’d locked his window. Before she could work herself up into too much of a panic, Vegeta returned with a bandage, some ice wrapped in a cloth, and left over pizza. He handed her the food.
“Eat.”
Bulma opened the box while Vegeta bandaged her foot. She didn’t really feel hungry, but she picked up a slice of cold pizza and nibbled on it dutifully. Vegeta put the ice on her foot, and seeing that she was fixed up and eating, he stood up and went to his cupboard. He pulled out some clothes, then started to leave the room again.
Bulma felt fear grip her throat like a vice, and she dropped the pizza. “Don’t go,” she begged before she could think better of her request.
Vegeta paused at the door, looking over at her with a raised brow. “I’m just going to shower.”
“I…” she said, her voice getting stuck in her throat as she struggled with her pride. How could she tell him that she was afraid in a way that he might understand? Vegeta seemed afraid of nothing, and he was more likely to sneer at her than comfort her for her weakness. More than that, she liked to think of herself as a strong woman, so that she’d been reduced to a quivering pile of neurosis by some car-wielding maniac had her completely mortified.
Vegeta just stared at her. When she didn’t speak, he turned again for the door. “I’ll be back in twenty minutes.”
“I’m scared,” she finally admitted, the shameful words tumbling out. Vegeta stopped, his back towards her. Bulma decided to go for broke, her pride not worth it. “Please stay? I only feel safe with you.”
Vegeta looked over his shoulder at her, his brow raised, disbelieving. “You feel safe. With me?”
Bulma nodded, looking down to clutch the hem of her skirt, nervous. “I know you think I’m pathetic and weak. I know I make you mad and meddle and that you don’t want to anger our parents.” She looked up at him, tears swimming in her eyes. “But someone tried to hurt me today and I’m terrified Vegeta, I’m hurt and I’m so scared and I don’t think I can handle being alone all night… Can you, can you just stay with me, tonight? Please?”
Vegeta stared at her, saying nothing. Bulma felt sick waiting for his verdict, her heart racing nervously. If he sneered at her now, she didn’t think she’d ever recover.
Vegeta scowled and then looked away, sighing. “Fine,” he relented. He stepped out from the door, throwing his clothes back in the closet.
Bulma felt a few tears of relief slip down her cheeks. She ducked her head to hide them, wiping them away with her bandaged hands.
“You better not be crying,” he warned her sourly.
Bulma shook her head. “It-it’s just my wounds, they sting,” she lied. She continued to wipe her eyes until a handkerchief materialized before her. Bulma looked up into Vegeta’s stern face as he offered it to her with an uncomfortable look. She gave him a small, wet smile, taking it to wipe her eyes. “Thanks. You’re always so kind to me.”
“Tch. I am not, you stupid girl.”
She gave a wet laugh. “Why? Would that sully your reputation, for people to know you can be kind?” she teased as she wiped her tears.
Vegeta glowered at her. “Don’t push your luck, Briefs.” He turned away to kick off his shoes and pull off his shirt, leaving himself in only his undershirt and pants. He checked the pizza box and pulled out a slice for himself. Grabbing his gameboy, he sat down on the bed, propping himself up against a pillow. He started playing as best he could with one hand.
Bulma watched him, feeling relief at his presence wash over her like a warm summer breeze. She clumsily shimmied her way up the bed so that she could sit next to him and watch him play. They ate pizza together quietly, the only sounds coming from his game until the hour grew late and Bulma started nodding off against his shoulder.
She was half asleep when she felt him tugging on her clothes. She opened her eyes and saw he was trying to take off the jacket he’d given her. Sleepily, she arched her back to help him, and he slipped the jacket off her shoulders and down her arms. Bulma pressed her nose into the crook of Vegeta’s neck, smelling the dried salt on his skin. “Mm, you smell good,” she murmured, nuzzling him.
“Stop that,” he snapped irritably.
Bulma smiled but obliged, letting Vegeta manipulate her under the blankets. He climbed into the bed next to her and lay on his back, the only position available to him between his broken arm and mending ribs. He turned off the light and the room was plunged into darkness. Bulma stared up at the inky black ceiling before closing her eyes.
“From now on, you’ll be walking with me to and from school. Understood?” he said suddenly, his tone brooking no argument.
Bulma felt an aching warmth in the pit of her belly. “And if I don’t?” she teased.
“Then you’ll probably get run over again.”
Bulma shivered at the idea. She scooted closer to Vegeta in bed. “Vegeta?”
“What?”
“Thank you.”
“Tch.”
Bulma squeezed her eyes closed, and cuddled up closer yet to Vegeta’s side. “…Vegeta?”
“WHAT?”
“I don’t think you’re a bad guy.”
“… Whatever.”
“…”
“…”
“…”
“‘Night, Bulma.”
“Good night, Vegeta.”

~___X___~___X___~___X___~___X___~___X___~___X___~___X___~___X___~___X___~___X___~

AN:
Ugh, I both love and hate this chapter. I love the scene, but I don’t think I conveyed it as eloquently as I wanted to. But I’ve re-written and re-edited this a dozen times already and I suppose it’ll have to do. What I would give to write as poetically as Tempestt (aka TemptingTemptation). She’s a fecking writing genius.

Let me know what you guys think, I’m dying to hear your thoughts on this chapter!

As for some guest questions previously: The brown paper bag issue will be resolved later, you’ll just have to wait and see, haha! As for Android 18, I often considered adding her to this story, but I think that might have been side-character overkill , and I’m kind of keeping this in line with the saiyan/namek saga cast, which she doesn’t really fall into. Perhaps she can make an appearance later on, but no definite plans yet for her to be in this story. I do think she and Krillin are ADORABLE so she’ll likely show up in one of my fanfics at some point though, if not this one.
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