Yo Yo Yo! I'm alive!

For those who are wondering about Complicated Hearts and Destiny Lost, please see the authors note at the bottom =)

Disclaimer: I own nothing!

Warnings: Cursing… because, Vegeta.

His mother had always told him first impressions were important, but that little nugget of wisdom never really stuck with the Prince. Especially upon being introduced to the General of the Royal Saiyan Army's daughter.

He merely sneered in her direction, tossed a few jabs at her about her small stature, and ignored her presence the entire time they were at dinner.

He knew he had pissed his mother off. This wasn't the first time she had invited a female to dinner, her way of subtly telling him he should start thinking about marrying, and this certainly wasn't the first time he'd thrown her efforts directly in her face.

He would marry when he was ready. He wouldn't do so under anybody's orders other than his own.

But the evening didn't end like the others.

He came across the female in the gardens, on his way back to his chambers.

She graciously bowed in respect, and then bravely looked him directly in the eyes, something that a female in his presence had never had the gall to do. "I thank you for your gracious invitation tonight. Dinner was lovely." Her voice was smooth as silk. "But your attitude was anything but. I expected to be in the presence of a Prince, not a spoilt boy trying to prove a point." She curtsied, turned on her heel, and proceeded to go the opposite direction he was going.

It wasn't every day someone spoke their mind to him. It was such a surprise he was at a loss for words, and instead of reacting, he stood there as he watched her walk away.

A week later he was sent to a neighboring planet, along with a small number of soldiers, to put an end to an uprising. The mission was supposed to be simple, but the mission turned into a full out battle, leaving the Prince to call for more back up.

After fifteen days of bloody battle, he found himself sleep-deprived and hungry: not a good combination for a Saiyan. And because of this he was sluggish, causing him to misjudge a blast that was meant for him, instead of batting it away easily, he missed and the blast grazed his neck.

He ignored the searing pain and lunged forward at his attacker, but found himself uncoordinated, probably from the blood loss at his neck. He felt himself sink to the ground, all the while trying to defend himself. His attacker advanced on him, and when he was sure he was going to receive a killing blow, something he didn't think would happen so soon in his life, he was surprised to see a fellow saiyan jump over him and deliver a powerful kick, sending the assailant sailing through the air and out of sight.

Prince Vegeta blinked groggily, and if he had the strength, he'd have the look of surprise written on his face.

Squatting next to him was none other than the General's daughter.

She batted his hand away and covered the wound on his neck with both hands. "Stop fighting me!" She screamed down at him.

"Get off of me, wench!" He weakly tried to buck her off of him. He didn't need anybody's help, least of all hers. But the blood loss had made him too weak, more than he'd like to admit.

"Stop being a bitch!" She yelled at him. "Nappa! This is Buruma! Come to my coordinates! The Prince has been injured, he needs a regen tank ASAP!" She yelled into her scouter.

He peered up at her, murder in his eyes. "You dare speak to your prince that way. I'll have your head." But his words slurred heavily and his eye lids started to droop.

"No! Prince Vegeta! You must stay awake!" She jostled him, startling him awake. "You must stay awake."

Again, he peered up at her, taking her in. He hadn't noticed before, but she really was a beautiful female. He didn't give her the time of day when she was invited to dinner, mostly to spite his mother. She was covered head to toe in filth, dirt and blood. Her hair was mussed from battle and she had a pretty bad looking burn from a blast on her left shoulder. Her overall appearance only made him think she looked all the more sexier… but then again, it could have been the blood loss.

"Come on, Prince. Why don't you throw an insult my way, tell me I'm ugly or something."

He chuckled. "You really are a brazen bitch."

Buruma smirked. "You've no idea, Prince."

He went in and out of consciousness, but every time he regained consciousness, she was there, still holding onto his neck, her beautiful dark brown eyes watching him full of concern. Even when he was put into the regen tank, she stayed there until his vitals were steady, making sure her Prince was safe.

The gesture didn't go unnoticed by Prince Vegeta.

It all started at a young age; the dreams of the Other him.

He'd dream of a boy that looked just like him, who had the same name and similar looks. He was from another time, and he deduced that he was from another planet and was royalty.

The Other him mirrored his mannerisms and was what his mother would call him 'rough around the edges.' The only difference between he and the Other him was that Other him was way more violent then he was…although present Vegeta was not far from that mark.

When he was ten, he asked his parents why they named him Vegeta. Maybe there was some sort of connection. His mother told him that she had found the name in a book of ancient names she bought at a local book shop. His father picked the name because of its meaning:

"Vegeta: Great and powerful. Royal and prideful. He who has this name will conquer and will leave destruction in his wake."

That didn't surprise Vegeta one bit. His father, the Prez of a well-known Motorcycle club, was known for destruction and not so legal things.

He wasn't one for believing in past lives. At least, he wouldn't admit it to anybody. But he knew that he was connected to this Past Vegeta person.

As he grew, so did the Other him in his dreams.

Their life paths were so similar.

He wondered why he got these dreams, and if they really did hold any kind of importance…

#$%^&*()

The following Monday, it was business as usual.

Vegeta was in the shop, wrenching on one of his father's friend's choppers. It got wrecked in a high speed chase. His father and friend wanted to give him more details, but Vegeta stopped them from divulging anymore than that.

The less he knew, the better. He didn't want to be dragged into his fathers illegal bullshit.

The day was going smoothly. Vegeta was doing what he loved, and the heat wave had broken, leaving it a nice and tolerable eighty five degrees out while Metallica blasted throughout the shop.

That is until Jacky, his front desk worker, came into the shop.

"Vegeta! Phone call!"

He grumbled, but he knew if he ignored her, she'd just keep screaming at him to come and answer the phone.

He stood up and tossed the wrench he was using to stomp inside to the office.

"Line two." Jacky chirped before turning her attention to the customer at the counter.

Vegeta wiped his hands on his pants, knowing it was a mute gesture. The grease wasn't going anywhere without proper washing. And then he grabbed the receiver.

"Ya." He grunted.

"Is this Vegeta?" An irate, female voice questioned at the other end of the line.

He rolled his eyes, he really wanted to mouth off, but held his tongue. "Yes."

"This is Bulma Briefs, you know, the non-bike enthusiast?"

He groaned. "Ah, yes. Hello Kitty." He smirked, and held in a snicker. "I don't repair crotch rockets."

He heard her sigh heavily. "That's not why I called. You screwed up my father's bike."

Vegeta's smirk vanished. "What do you mean, I screwed up your father's bike? It was in perfect condition!"

"The gas tank is loose. Whoever put it back on didn't do it properly."

His eyes immediately darted to the idiot who put the gas tank on incorrectly through the large window looking into the shop.

"Of course it is." He muttered under his breath.

"I didn't pay you a shit ton of money, up front, for a defective bike. You know, if I didn't know anything about bikes, I wouldn't have caught the screw-up, and I would have most definitely crashed, or worse." Her voice was dripping with condescension.

He grit his teeth, holding back the barrage of curse words that were at the tip of his tongue. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "I am…sorry….this happened to you."

"Wow, did that hurt you? Jesus, is that the first time you've said sorry to anybody?"

At this point, Vegeta left eye lid started to twitch and his free hand was fisting into a tight ball. Again, through gritted teeth, he replied, "Would you like for me to come over and fix the gas tank?"

"Well, duh, dummy! I'll expect you in the next thirty minutes."

The line went dead.

Vegeta, gone past seeing red, was now seeing nothing by white hot anger, and hung the phone up calmly. He walked back into the shop, where he stood in the doorway for a solid minute, contemplating going over to the nitwit in question, punching him square in the junk, and maybe throwing in a few good kicks for good measure. But he knew it wasn't worth it. Kakarot would somehow laugh it off or Nappa would stop him from pummeling him and it would just leave him aching for more.

So, he grabbed a sturdy canvas tool bag, tossed in all the necessary tools he would need to fix the harpy woman's gas tank, and went back inside.

"Jacky, I'm leaving early today. Got to fix dumb-nuts fuck up at a customer's house. Let Kakarot know his ass is fired, too."

He didn't wait for her to respond and stomped out to his chopper. It was one of the only things that made him happy, besides good sex and a glass of good whiskey. He tied down the bag full of tools with a bungee cord around the sissy bar and looked over to the open garage door, where he could see Kakarot joking around with Nappa.

Oh, he so wanted to hurt him.

Instead, he slid his glasses on, straddled the bike and gave the kick-starter two good pumps with his right foot, waking the beefy motor up and revved it a few times, setting off a car alarm in the parking lot and shooting off into traffic.

The ride there wasn't long enough, especially when he saw that the blue haired woman was waiting for him on her porch, her foot impatiently tapping on the steps she was sitting on, a scowl painted on her lips.

"Too good for a helmet?" She said as she got up from the stairs.

He rolled his eyes and kicked the kickstand out. He silently got off of the bike and un-bungee'd his tool bag, looking at her expectantly and annoyed.

She gave him a haughty look and motioned for him to follow. "Come on, it's in the barn."

Upon entering the barn, he was surprised to see it was converted into a garage. There were at least four heavy-duty rolling metal tool boxes lining the back wall, along with other various tools hanging on the wall neatly. But what really caught his attention was the rare muscle car parked smack dab in the middle of the barn.

Vegeta tore his eyes away from the car and set his sights on the task at hand.

"See?" She said, wiggling the gas tank on the chopper.

Vegeta hummed and nodded his head. The damned thing was loose. "I'm going to have to take it completely off. Do you happen to have a gas can and something to siphon?"

She shook her head. "No need, I already did that while I was waiting for you to get here."

His eyes widened for a moment in surprise, but quickly grumbled at her. "Fine." He squatted down in front of the bike and rummaged through his tool bag to find the proper tool. "I'm going to kick the shit out of Kakarot for fucking this up." He mumbled as he wrenched on the gas tank. "Woman, grab a tarp so I can set this down without scratching the shit out of it."

She glared at him, but did as she was asked. "My name is Bulma."

"And I don't care."

She sat down opposite of him. "Why are you so grumpy?"

Vegeta rolled his eyes and kept silent, not in the mood to answer.

Bulma watched as he worked, her eyes moving up his muscled arms over the intricate dragon tattoo that wrapped around all the way up his forearm to his shoulder, the bulk of the tattoo hidden under his t-shirt.

"Hold this." He grumbled as he shoved a tool in her hands, grabbed hold of the gas can and shimmied it off of the frame of the bike.

"That's a nice tat you got there." She motioned with her chin to the dragon tattoo on his arm.

His eyes flickered to her for a moment as he placed the gas can atop the tarp.

"What does it mean?"

Vegeta's brow creased as he grabbed the tool she was holding for him and started working on the frame to remove the last of the bolts. "What do you mean?"

"Well." She sat down on the ground crossed legged and propped herself up with her arms behind her. "Everybody gets tattoos for a reason. You were either drunk one night and decided on the pretty dragon, which doesn't really sound like something you would do, or the dragon means something."

"It doesn't sound like me?" He challenged. "I've known you for a total of thirty minutes. You don't know me."

She chuckled through her nose. "Oh, I've got your number, Mr. Grumpy-holier than thou-I've got a major tree branch up my ass biker man."

Vegeta stopped mid wrench and turned his body completely, so that he was face to face with her. "Tree branch up my ass?" He growled.

"Mmmhmm." She nodded haughtily. "I know you drink, I mean, I can tell, but you are such a control freak that you would have to have the self-control to not do something majorly stupid when you're drunk, ie: get a tattoo. I have a feeling that if you were to get inked up, it would have to have meaning. So? What does your dragon tattoo mean?"

She smiled up at him, waiting for her answer.

He was fuming. This lady had some major nerve….But what really irked him was that she'd assumed correctly. "Well, you seem to be an expert on how I am as a person, why don't you tell me?"

"Nah, I'd rather hear it from the source."

He rolled his eyes and went back to working on the bike. He knew if he didn't reply, she'd just keep yapping and probably talk him to death. He sighed.

"I got it when I was seventeen. My father has a matching one."

Bulma nodded. "But what does it mean?"

He grit his teeth and snatched the gas can off of the tarp. "My father is Prez of a motorcycle club. I was a prospect when I was seventeen. All members have a dragon tattoo."

"So you're in a club, where's your cut?"

"No, I'm not in a club—son of bitch!" He yelped and yanked his hand out from the bike. In his annoyance, his hand slipped from the wrench, and he managed to slice the side of his hand on a sharp edge poking out of the bike.

Bulma acted fast and got a clean rag from the work bench, wrapping his bleeding hand before he could react. "That'll need stitches. C'mon." She pulled his arm, and wasn't surprised in the least when he remained where he stood.

"Just wrap it. It'll be fine."

She glared up at him and gripped his arm harder. "I have a medical kit in my house, and I'd appreciate it if you'd come, because I just got the floor refinished, and I don't want my garage stained with your blood."

He reluctantly followed her and sat on the porch in front of her house while she fetched the first aid kit, all the while muttering under his breath about how he wouldn't be sitting here bleeding all over the annoying woman's porch if it weren't for his no-good, asshole friend, Kakarot.

"Here." Bulma said as she sat down opposite of him on the porch, her arms full of a first aid kit, a couple of small towels, and hydrogen peroxide.

He gave her his hand and watched as she doused his hand with peroxide. It fizzed and bubbled the second it hit his hand, cleaning the cut and reacting to all the grime imbedded into his hands.

"So, you're not in a club?"

His hand was on fire; the cut was deeper than he wanted to admit. He set his jaw and looked away from the large gash. "No. I'm not in a club. I haven't been since I was a teenager."

She gave him a small smile and nodded her head. "Well that's good. Nothing good comes out of those gangs. Nothing but a bunch of violence-hungry men that like to terrorize innocent people."

He growled. "Not every club is like that." Which was true….Though his club was one of those. Along with his father and his MC, he had done some pretty horrible things. Which is why he'd left for the army.

Bulma gave him a look of haughty disbelief and dabbed a clean towel over the cut, drying it off. "You're not squeamish are you?"

Vegeta rose his eyebrow at her. "Ya. I scream like a little girl when I see a spider in the bathroom." He deadpanned.

"O-okay then." A flicker of humor shined in her eyes as she threaded a needle and sterilized it with a lighter she took out of her pocket. "Just checking." She murmured and plunged the needle into his hand and worked quickly, stitching the cut together. "Not even a flinch." She complimented.

"This isn't my first time being stitched up." He commented boredly. "And obviously this isn't your first time stitching somebody up."

She nodded. "Having a daredevil of a father gave me a lot of practice." She paused a moment to look up at him, and for a moment, Vegeta felt something familiar when his dark brown eyes met her crystal blue ones. It quickly morphed into an unfamiliar yet warm tingly feeling in his belly; something he felt not long ago…in a dream.

He quickly shook the feeling off and looked away. This wasn't the time to reflect on his continuous dreams and the feelings that came with them.

"I'm afraid you wont be able to do much with this hand for a while. I'll put the gas can back on myself."

"Tch!"

"What?" She yelled. "I can do it."

Vegeta laughed. "You? Hello Kitty can put a gas can back on a chopper?" He laughed deliberately at her.

She pulled on the thread a little too hard to show him she didn't appreciate his attitude, earning her a low yelp from him. "Yes. I know my way around a wrench and other tools, ya sexist jack ass."

"I'm not sexist." He growled. "I just cant imagine you wrenching away on any kind of machinery."

"And just what does that mean?"

He rolled his eyes. "You look like you're the type of chick who'd throw a fit if you broke a nail."

"That so?" She argued, swiftly tying off the thread and cutting the excess.

"Ya, that is so. What? You can dish it, but you can't take it?" He retorted.

She huffed and tossed her supplies to the side. "No. You just have me pegged wrong. You don't know shit about me."

"Ya? Well right back at you, Woman."

"That's it!" She shot up from her sitting position. "You're gonna sit and watch while I put that gas tank back on, the right way!"

He stood up and followed her. "Oh, yes. This I got to see. I bet I could do this with one hand tied behind my back."

"We'll see about that." She shot over her shoulder and stomped all the way back to the barn.

"If you're so confident about putting the damn gas tank the right way, then why did you call me here in the first place?"

"Because," she huffed. "I'm not the one that put it on incorrectly in the first place. Now, sit down." She pulled a rolling stool up next to the bike and pointed at it. "And watch."

He did what he was told and gingerly crossed his arms, taking care not to hit his stitched hand. It was throbbing something fierce. He looked down at the stitch job she had done, and he had to admit, she did a good job. It would be a good looking scar, one more to add to the collection.

"I'll bet I'll do it faster than you, too." She quipped as she held the gas can down and wrenched on it furiously.

"Only because I already put it on and started to attach it."

Bulma rolled her eyes and continued to work on the can. "Why aren't you in a club anymore?"

"Why do you ask so many questions?" He retorted.

"Why are you deflecting?" She reached down to get another bolt off of the tarp and looked at him expectantly. "It's called small talk, Vegeta. I know you're probably new to it, but it's considered polite to make conversation instead of just huffing and grumbling in silence."

He glared at her. "I don't like to partake in small talk. And if you haven't noticed, I'm not polite." He gritted out. Why was he sitting there? He should be walking out to his bike right now and headed home.

A small smile again graced her lips, and she turned her attention back to the gas tank. "My father was in an MC. "

Vegeta's brow quirked up. "Lemme guess? Some weekend warrior, wanna-be MC?"

She shook her head. "No," she said, irritated. "He was a Forsaken Soul."

"Forsaken Soul." He muttered. The club name sounded so familiar. "It's not an active MC." It wasn't a question. He knew about every MC in the state, at least the big hitters. And if it wasn't a big hitter, it wasn't considered an MC…at least in Vegeta's eyes.

She shook her head and grabbed the last bolt. "No. It's not active anymore. It died with my father. " She said grimly. "He died for his MC. In vain, unfortunately."

He nodded. That was exactly why he left for the army. The MC life had its perks, but he wasn't too keen on giving up his freedom or his life because of some turf war or other minuscule thing like arms dealing. Which made his enlistment into the army ironic. But at least fighting for his country and his country's freedom seemed like a better way to die than on the streets.

His father didn't understand his reasoning either. He was disappointed in his son. He was planning on leaving his legacy to Vegeta. And, as of late, his father had been pressuring him into re-entering the Cursed Dragons now that he was honorably discharged from the army and back in town. Vegeta refused each time, but his father wasn't taking no for an answer, especially lately.

"It's why I got out when I could."

Bulma nodded sullenly then cleared her throat. "Finished." She pointed to the gas can.

Vegeta got up to inspect it, shaking it to make sure she had tightened it properly. He nodded curtly, as he inspected it. She did a good job. Well, a better job than Kakarot, anyway. "A decent job…for a girl, that is." He smirked up at her and chuckled when she threw a sour look at him.

"So, can you now admit that I deserve this bike?" She patted the leather seat.

He rolled his eyes, but kept silent.

"I'll take that as a yes." She smiled triumphantly then looked down at his injured hand. "How's your hand doing? Is it hurting bad?"

He shrugged.

She narrowed her eyes at him, knowing full well what that meant in 'guy language.' "Come on, tough guy, I've got something for you."

He followed her into her house and waited in the kitchen for her to return, and almost immediately his eyes fell on her shotgun. It was up against the door jam of the entry way of the kitchen. It was peculiar to him, especially remembering her answering the door with it in her hand when he came over the first time.

It was peculiar to him because, even though she did live in the outskirts of town, the only real threat would be coyotes, but they mostly came out during the night… She was spooked. And he had a feeling it wasn't because of an animal.

"Here." She said as she entered the kitchen, holding up a plastic baggie with three white pills in it. "I have almost a full bottle of these pain meds from when I had a root canal six months ago. They're pretty powerful, so make sure you're not going to be on your bike after you take them. And also, don't get pulled over with these; it looks bad."

He shook his head. "I won't need those."

Her brow quirked up. "Ya, you will." She ignored his sour face and stuffed them into this chest pocket. "Make sure you keep that thing clean and take it easy. You don't want to pop a stitch." She patted his chest, where she had stuffed the pills and winked at him.

For the millionth time that evening, it seemed, he rolled his eyes.

"Thanks for coming by to fix the chopper."

He nodded once and eyed the shotgun again. "What's with the piece?" He motioned towards the gun.

She, too, looked at it, and shrugged. "You never know if a scumbag is going to make an appearance." She looked away from him, and her body language told him she didn't want to be asked about it.

Her response puzzled him. She lived in the sticks. Nobody came out here but farmers and those who wanted to live outside of the city limits.

"I should be heading back," he said, not wanting to push the subject. His hand was hurting and he really just wanted to be alone. She tested his patience far beyond its limits, and he wasn't sure how long he could contain himself until he'd have a thermal nuclear meltdown.

"Alright. See you around, Vegeta. It was a pleasure."

He gave her a sideways glance, noting her sarcasm, and gave her a parting frown as he exited the kitchen and out of the house.

He lightly gripped the handle bar with his injured hand and kick started his bike, and began the drive back into town.

And all he could think of on his way home was how familiar this all was to him, and how the General's Daughter in his dreams, Baruma, reminded him so much of Bulma.

Beta'd by: Springandbysummerfall

Authors Note: I've received A LOT of PM's and reviews for Complicated Hearts and Destiny Lost. DO NOT WORRY! I have not abandoned those fics! Promise! Be patient with me! =) Soon, very soon =)