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A Losing Battle	By : BlazeEBlake_TD Category: Dragon Ball Z > Het - Male/Female > Vegeta/Bulma Views: 2121 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Ball Z nor do I own any of the characters. I make no money whatsoever by writing this story.

Chapter List
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Bulma stood in front of her bathroom mirror, putting the finishing touches on her makeup and trying to take deep, slow breaths. To say she was nervous would be an enormous understatement. When he had said yes the week before, Bulma had realized that she had never expected him to agree to an actual date. In her mind, she had pictured bargaining him down to sharing a meal together or watching a movie at the house. Never in her wildest dreams had she thought her initial ask would be accepted. Now, all she could think of were the thousands of ways tonight could go wrong. Any other first date wouldn’t have rattled her this much, but the stakes were too high for her take this one so lightly. This was her chance to find out if she and the Saiyan warrior could be anything more than occasional sex partners, to decide once and for all if she had pinned her heart to a foolish fantasy.
As she placed her tube of lipstick in the small purse at her side, a loud booming knock sounded at the door.
“Woman!” Vegeta called, “What’s taking so long? Am I going to starve to death before you’ve finished your preparations?” Bulma rolled her eyes, turned from the mirror and opened the door, revealing the annoyed prince posed in his usual stance, his arms crossed over the taut muscles of his chest. She took in the irritated man slowly, once again surprised. Rather than the worn Saiyan armor she had expected, he had chosen to dress in a dark longsleeve shirt and belted tan pants, an outfit not unlike the one he had worn the day of Trunks’ departure.
“You look… nice.” Bulma said with a hesitant smile.
“And you look like you’re still not ready at all,” he countered incredulously, “Where is the rest of your clothing?”
“Rest of it?” She glanced down at the short, strapless black dress she had decided on, “I mean, I still need to put on some shoes but-”
“Why wear clothes at all?” he continued, “I can practically see… Well, everything!”
“Only if the date goes well bud.” Somehow, arguing with him had eased her fraying nerves better than any breathing exercises could. She walked passed him and opened her sizeable closet. Slipping into a matching pair of heels, she examined herself one final time in the mirror hanging on the walk-in’s back wall and then made her way to the hallway, pausing briefly at the bedroom door.
“Well?” said over her shoulder, “Are you coming or what?” Vegeta sighed loudly and followed her out of the room.
“I can’t imagine this is going to be worth my time,” she heard him grumble as the walked down the stairs.
“Can’t you just relax?” she asked once they reached the front door, “Seriously, try having a little fun for a change.”
“This evening promises to be just about as fun as a hole in my chest.” Bulma stepped out onto the Brief’s driveway, shaking her head, and pulled a capsule from her bag. When the smoke cleared, revealing a sporty red hovercar, Bulma hopped into the vehicle and started the engine. Vegeta eyed the convertible suspiciously, his feet rooted to the paved walkway just beside it.
“Come on!” Bulma urged, “Or we’re going to be late!”
“I don’t see what we need this contraption for in the first place,” he said warily, “I can get us there in half the time if we just fly.”
“I don’t know if you noticed, but aside from yours truly, people around here aren’t used to seeing guys just flying around everywhere. I’d rather not draw any more attention than we have to.”
“Ridiculous. Kakarot and his idiot friends fly everywhere.”
“Just get in the car… Please?” Vegeta set his jaw and jumped into the seat beside her.
“Thank you,” she said as the car lifted into the air, “Like I said, we don’t need anything else that could bring out those vultures.”
“What are you talking about?” he said irritably.
“People with cameras. Sometimes they follow me around when I go out. You know, because of who my family is. I’m hoping that they’ll leave us alone tonight.”
“I can make certain that they won’t be a problem.” Bulma glanced over and saw the wicked smirk forming at the corners of his mouth.
“No,” she said firmly, “The last thing we need is you blowing up people. And anyway, I booked the whole restaurant, so it should be just us and the staff. No problems.”
“I should hope not.” They rode in silence the rest of the way, eventually coming to an empty bistro with large glass windows and an awning at its front. Bulma parked the car at the curb and, once she and Vegeta had stepped out, sealed it back into its capsule. Upon entering the restaurant, they were immediately greeted by an overly cheerful, mustachioed maitre'd.
“Ms. Briefs!” he said brightly, “we are so pleased that you have chosen our humble establishment for your private dining this evening.”
“Thank you,” she replied with a grin of her own, “I really appreciate you doing this for us on such short notice.”
“Anything for the Capsule Corp heiress! Follow me.” He turned and led them to a small cloth covered table at the back of the room.
“Can I start you off with anything to drink?” the man asked as they sat down.
“When do we eat?” Vegeta responded impatiently, “I was told there would be food.”
“If you look at your menu I can-”
“Better just bring him one of everything,” Bulma interrupted, “That’ll be way easier.”
“Are you certain Ms. Briefs?” the maitre’d asked, his eyes widening in disbelief.
“Yep! Fast as you can please!” The man nodded haltingly and rushed away from them.
“That buffoon better hurry up. His life may depend upon it,” Vegeta said sternly.
“I’m sure the food’ll be out soon,” she assured him, “In the meantime, how about-”
“Good evening!” a female voice cut in. Bulma looked up and found a bubbly dark haired waitress by her shoulder.
“Can I get you anything to drink ma’am?” she inquired with a flash of her teeth.
“Whatever red you recommend, maybe a-”
“And you sir?” Bulma frowned at the interruption, an expression that deepened as she noticed how the girl was staring at Vegeta.
“I don’t care!” Vegeta said dismissively, “Just bring something before I lose my patience.”
“Of course sir,” the waitress said knowingly, “Don’t worry, I’ll bring you something I know you’ll like.” She winked at him and walked toward the double doors of the kitchen across the room, hips swaying. Bulma pursed her lips and turned back to her reluctant date.
“As I was saying,” she continued, “While we wait, we can talk.”
“About?” he said, resting his head on one hand and tapping the other impatiently against the surface of the table.
“Anything. Whatever you want.” Vegeta stared back at her silently, raising an eyebrow.
“How about,” she offered, “your training? How’s that going?”
“It is simply to keep my body ready. I refuse to sit around like the rest of your weakling friends.”
“Well I mean, they did train for three years. Maybe a little break couldn’t hurt.”
“Hmph. They can do as they like. I won’t let this planet’s peace-times soften me .”
“Of all the things I could ever call you, soft definitely isn’t one of them.” Bulma laughed, and she could have sworn she saw the ghost of a smile hovering about the Saiyan’s lips.
“Here we are!” the waitress exclaimed as she returned. She set the heiress’ glass down on the table heavily, its contents nearly sloshing out onto the tablecloth and her dress. Before Bulma could open her mouth in protest, the girl had already turned her attentions to Vegeta.
“This is our finest vintage sir,” she said, leaning toward him as she placed his glass and a basket of bread down gently before him, “Also, I’ve taken it upon myself to bring you some fresh rolls from the kitchen. Please let me know if you need anything else.” Bulma’s nostrils flared as the waitress visibly fluttered her eyes at him.
“About time,” Vegeta said, grabbing several rolls, completely oblivious to the girl’s flirtations, “The rest of my meal had better be on its way.”
“I’ll check on it for you right away sir!” she chirped, offering him another warm smile before flitting away from the table, leaving Bulma to scowl at her back. Just as the waitress disappeared into the kitchen, a waiter walked out of it carrying a large covered tray. Bulma began to sigh with relief but stopped short as the man set the tray down at an empty table a few feet away from them.
“Um, excuse me!” she called out, “Over here!” The man turned toward her, a tiny camera clutched in his fists.
“Care to comment on who this mysterious stranger is?” the photographer asked as he snapped the first picture, “Is he the father of your child or is this yet another new boyfriend? What happened with you and Yamcha?”
Vegeta gritted his teeth angrily, but before he could even move to stand, Bulma stalked over to the man and smacked the camera out of his hands.
“Hey!” he cried angrily
“How dare you!” she shouted back, “I’m trying to have a nice evening and here you are ruining it for some stupid pictures! You’re lucky I didn’t smack you! As a matter of fact, I still might!”

* * * * * * *

Vegeta chuckled silently and took a sip of his wine, keeping his eyes focused on the confrontation before him. He hadn’t known what to expect when he agreed to this date idea of hers and thus far the evening had been, for the most part, frustrating and dull. Between the lack of almost any kind of sustenance and the bizarre attentions of the servant woman, he had had just about enough of this endeavor. However, this new turn of events was a welcome change of the tide.
While Bulma continued to berate the photographer the waitress rushed through the double doors, her sunny disposition replaced with a look of concern. She came to stand beside the Saiyan, leaning even closer than before.
“Is everything alright sir?” she queried breathily, “Is this man disturbing you? If you’d like I can-”
“Back off you bimbo!” Bulma exclaimed, still facing the startled camera man, “If you’re not bringing food, he isn’t interested!” Slightly, taken aback, the waitress glanced at Vegeta, as if looking for some form of guidance or apology.
“You heard her!” Vegeta said with another short laugh, “On your way!” The girl turned beet red and ran back into the kitchen.
“You have until the count of three to get out of here,” Bulma continued, holding her fingers up to the photographer’s face, “After that, you’re camera’s not the only thing that’s gonna end up broken.”
Suddenly, several lights flashed in her periphery. As Bulma turned toward the front of the restaurant, Vegeta jumped to his feet, taking a wide stance.
“Great,” she mumbled. Photographers had swarmed the bistro’s wide picture windows, crowding and shoving one another as they fought to get a good shot of the scene before them. Vegeta was beginning to form a blindingly bright ki blast in one hand when Bulma let out a frustrated groan, turned away from the phony waiter, and laid a hand on his arm. He threw her a sideways glance and reluctantly lowered his hand, allowing the energy to fade.
“Looks like we’re leaving,” she said, bending over to pick up her bag. Just as she took hold of her purse, she heard the faint click of a camera behind her. She whirled around just in time to see the photographer tuck his camera safely away, a wide grin spreading across his face.
“Think I may have gotten a little extra on that last shot, if you know what I mean,” he said, backing away from her slowly, “Thanks for the picture Ms-” Vegeta rushed the man, grabbing him by the throat and snatching the camera from his pocket. He clenched his fist tightly, crushing the device to pieces.
“Vegeta!” Bulma cried behind him, “Put him down and let’s go!”
“With pleasure,” he returned roughly. With that, he tossed the man the length of the restaurant and through the window, bowling over several other photographers who had pressed against the thin pane of glass. He snatched up the stunned woman and shot through the shattered opening he had created, zipping past the confused men and women who had sought to hound them. He flew aimlessly for a few miles before setting down on a scrubby outcropping at the city’s outskirts. For a moment, the woman continued to cling tightly to his arms, her eyes squeezed shut.
“Did we stop?” she asked, tentatively opening her eyes and relaxing her hold.
“For now,” he affirmed, “I suppose you’ll want to bring out that ridiculous craft of yours and take us the rest of the way.” She didn’t respond, instead walking a few feet off and slumping to the ground unceremoniously.
“Huh,” Vegeta uttered, leaning against a squat rock formation, “I knew this was a terrible idea. Going out to some ill-prepared mess hall instead of just having your fool of a mother prepare the meal in your own well supplied kitchen. What a waste of time. And those insolent humans with their flashing devices. I could have killed the lot of them in one fell swoop. Not to mention-”
“You’re right,” Bulma said shakily, cutting off his rant, “It was stupid. What was I thinking?” Vegeta straightened up, caught off guard by the defeated timbre of her voice. He glanced down at her and saw tears welling in her eyes.
“Wh-what are you doing?” he asked, brows furrowing.
“Oh, sorry to confuse you,” she replied, voice wobbling dangerously, “But when humans get sad, sometimes water comes out of their eyes and-”
“I know what crying is!”
“Good! Now leave me alone so I can do it.”
“S-stop it! Do you hear me? Stifle your weeping this instant!” In flagrant defiance of his demands, Bulma began sobbing in earnest, shoulders rocking violently. Vegeta stood behind her, mouth agape, unsure of what to do. He thought of giving in to her request, of leaving her to her insistent blubbering, but something in him wouldn’t allow him to turn away. Cursing himself and whatever held him there, he sat down beside her with agitated grunt.
“Why?” he said finally, not bothering to hide his reluctance.
“What?” Bulma sniffed.
“Why… Are you crying?”
“Like you care.”
“Just answer me woman!”
“I have a name remember? Its Bulma!” He balled up his fists and closed his eyes, sighing audibly.
“If you must know, it’s because that whole thing was a total disaster, just like you said it would be,” she went on, voice hitching at times, “And now we’ll never go anywhere again and nothing will ever change.”
“Change?” he repeated, “What are you on about?”
“I don’t want to just be some distraction to you. I’m a huge idiot and I care about you, you big jerk. . And all I am to you is-is… Some kind of gorgeous plaything!” Vegeta unclenched his fists and stared at her for a few beats before looking away and off into the distance. He sucked in a deep breath before he began to speak, knowing he was likely to regret what he planned to say next.
“Listen closely w-- Bulma,” he said in a measured tone, “Because I will not repeat myself. I will admit, perhaps with some measure of shame, that all too recently I cared only for my own advancement, that my only desire was to surpass Kakarot and reclaim my rightful place as strongest of our race. But that has changed. I am here-”
“For Trunks, I know,” Bulma finished with another sniff.
“Did I not tell you to listen?”
“Sorry.”
“I am here for my son, that is true. But, I have vowed to protect you as well. You are the mother of my child. My…” he trailed off, uncertain of how to proceed. Bulma shifted, turning her body to face him, her cheeks still wet with tears.
“What?” she asked, damp eyes searching for his in confusion.
“You belong to me,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. She tilted her head, blinking at him astonishedly.
“I belong to you?” she parroted quietly, “Not exactly the most modern way of thinking now is-”
Vegeta snarled and began to pull himself to his feel.
“Wait!” Bulma cried, grabbing his arm, “I’m sorry! That was rude. And stupid… Thank you Vegeta.” He settled back down beside her, eyeing the ground adamantly. He stiffened when he felt her arm snake around his and her head fall upon his shoulder.
“What--” he began
“Shhh,” Bulma said, “Just give me a minute and then we’ll go home.” Vegeta stole a quick glance at her and the strange, softened expression on her face. Slowly shaking his head, he turned his gaze upward to the stars, unconsciously allowing his muscles to relax.
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A Losing Battle