A/N: This is intended as the last chapter to my take on the beginning of Vegeta's and Bulma's relationship. Unless I get some ideas I might add some later, but probably not.

Disclaimer: Own. Nothing.

Chapter 9 – Bared Feelings

Bulma was getting used to the tears. They tended to come at night, when there was no longer any work to distract her from the dismal thoughts waiting at the back of her mind.

Curled up in her bed, she would let the moisture trail down her face. She was sure that by the time the session ended, her face was a wreck, but the young woman couldn't get up the energy to care.

It was finally over. Her relationship with Yamcha was ended at last.

On her side she wanted stability, a chance to begin a family. She wasn't getting any younger, after all. As for Yamcha...He very much wanted to follow the same path he'd been leading all of his life. Since his bandit days he'd always been a wanderer, content to let things flow rather than plan ahead for the future. That meant he couldn't be counted on to be there when she needed him.

The decision was a mutual one, built on the understanding on either side that nothing would ever come of them being together. The two of them had finally admitted to each other the truth one night at dinner as they ate at a fancy restaurant.

Bulma was trying to keep the conversation going, which mainly focused around her work. What else did she do these days? She avoided speaking of her Saiyan house guest. The scar-faced man held a justifiable grudge against the alien and any mention of him would put Yamcha into a foul mood.

She was going on about the dynamics of her latest experiment when he interrupted her.

"Bulma."

Said woman stopped, red flags rising in her mind at the serious note to his voice. Taking a deep breath, he reached for her hand that lay atop the table. Holding it in both of his he went on. "Look, I think there's something we need to discuss..."

Her heart skipped a beat. Dread warred with curiosity over his sudden demeanor change. She nodded to say she was listening. His eyes focused on the table between them. "What if I asked you to marry me right now?"

Struck speechless, her mouth opened, but no reply came out. Her mind reeled at the implications. Her and Yamcha, husband and wife? The whole idea somehow had a ridiculousness to it and she tried hard not to laugh out loud. But wasn't that the natural step for a couple to make? Shouldn't she want him to be in her life all of the time?

He sensed her indecision, or maybe it just mirrored his own. "I know, right? Seems kind of hard to swallow. But we've been together so long people would expect that, wouldn't they?"

"Yamcha. I..." Bulma couldn't seem to pull her thoughts together enough to form a coherent sentence.

Thank goodness he had his in perfect order. He must have been practicing this for awhile now. "But I don't think either of us want that, at least not with each other." He gave a painfully fake laugh. "I mean, I can't imagine settling down and having a family, but I've gotten the feeling you might not feel that way."

She frowned. Like he knew her mind enough to guess any such thing. "When have I said so?"

Yamcha grimaced. "You haven't said so in words, but I've seen the way you look at children as they walk by. There's a longing in your eyes."

Bulma blinked, taken aback. Had she really? Children certainly were adorable, and she definitely didn't mind them. There was this ping in her chest when she imagined herself holding one, cuddling and teaching a child of her own one day.

He took her silence for acquiesce. "And I don't think I'm ready for that. Hell, I might ever want to have kids." He leaned forward. "What I'm saying is I think we need to face the facts. We're two different people, Bulma. Not that I don't want to continue being friends," he was quick to add.

She stared at him, the thoughts in her mind churning. Bulma couldn't honestly deny that his words weren't true. Looking back at herself and her emotions, she did want children, and she couldn't imagine them being a married couple together. All of that was in sharp contrast to what she was desperately trying to hold in between them.

For once of the two of them he was being the rational one, she realized. While she kept on trying to make this work, stubbornly keeping the status quo, he watched their relationship change, morphing into more of a friendship than a couple.

Tears formed in the corners of her eyes. He was right, but damn did it hurt. This was what she'd been avoiding, this inevitable pain. She gave him a watery smile. "For once, you're right. I...I just didn't want anything to change. You've been a big part of my life for so long."

The young man laughed. "I still will be, just not as your on-again off-again boyfriend." Both of them smiled at that, memories of their fights and reconciliations flitting through their minds.

That was over two weeks ago. They were two very separate people with a shared path. At least that meant the friendship between them wouldn't be changed. Since then he'd called a couple of times to check on her, which was sweet, but at the same time hearing his voice drudged up the painful feelings all over again.

She felt hollow, like a large hole had formed in her heart. Angrily she brushed away a few stray drops as they formed in her eyes. She really shouldn't keep doing this.

Even now, alone in her room, she was trying to tell herself that enough was enough. Their breakup was already a week old now, and still she was reacting like this. It was time she put this behind her and move on.

But move on to what...?

Yamcha was her first and only boyfriend. Bulma supposed she could always try dating. But the very idea of going out with a bunch of strange men made her frown. The genius wasn't sure she had the patience for such an undertaking.

With a sigh she sat up, the large bed swallowing her small frame. The curtains to her balcony were wide open, revealing a starry night. Of course, there would be no moon, having been destroyed years ago.

Angrily she brushed the wetness from her cheeks. Bulma supposed she could always lose herself in her work. There were some ideas that were floating in her mind, many of them revolving around a certain Saiyan Prince and his training.

Still, she doubted that would be enough to fill the whole in her heart. As much as she loved her work, there was still a part of her that would be incomplete. Electronics and wires couldn't love you back, or give you children, after all.

Her stomach gave a growl, and Bulma realized that dinner was awhile ago. Being awake all this time was making her hungry. Deciding a midnight snack might be just the thing to cheer her up, she pulled on a robe over her negligee and made her way into the hall.

At this time of night everything was quiet. On light feet she made her way downstairs to the kitchen. Flicking on a light, she made for the fridge, her bare feet padding on the cool tile.

Opening the door, she was met with a cool blast of air. Inside the huge appliance there was enough food to feed an army. With a Saiyan in the house you couldn't have too much. But tucked onto one shelf was a bowl with her name on it.

In spite of her mood Bulma smiled. Her mom had put leftovers aside from dinner just for her, thinking maybe she might be hungry later. The older woman must have done it before the prince came to eat, or that might not have been possible.

Grabbing the container she opened it, taking a deep breath as the smell of chicken and various salads wafted their delicious perfume. Deciding to eat everything cold, she set the meal on the table, stopping at one of the drawers to pull out a fork.

A few minutes later, feeling much better, she was munching on a chicken leg when the outside door suddenly opened. In came Mr. High-and-Mighty, looking fit to be tied. The vein in his forehead was up and pounding and his scowl was deeper than usual.

He was heading for the chairs when he noticed her form in the darkened kitchen. Bulma hadn't bothered with a light. Between the lights of the city and the stars she was able to see more than well enough.

Inwardly the young woman cursed her luck. Count on him to interrupt some much needed quiet time. Stalking over to her she noticed his fists were clenched at his sides. There was a determined look in his eyes that didn't bode well.

"Woman," she vaguely wondered if he even knew her name, "the room is broken, again. Fix it."

At times like these she would usually be livid at both his commanding tone and words. Right now, though, she was just tired and determined to finish her meal. Her answer was simple and to the point, "No."

One black eyebrow rose and he paused, as if waiting for her to say more. When she didn't he scowled fiercely. "If you were a better scientist than the thing wouldn't have broken in the first place."

Sighing, Bulma let the fork drop back into her food as she was just about to chew on some lovely looking lettuce. "I don't care what you say, Vegeta. I'm not going to fix it tonight. Get someone else to help you."

That 'someone else' could only be her father, who at this moment was asleep in bed like a normal person would be. Inwardly she cringed. Oh, she must really be in a horrible mood if she was foisting Vegeta of all people on her father. Especially at this time of night.

Those dark, penetrating eyes locked onto her and Bulma looked away. Sometimes she had the eerie feeling the man could look right through her. And right now she didn't want to be analyzed, not when her thoughts were in such a disarray and her feeling so emotionally vulnerable.

Any moment she expected him to either walk up the stairs to get her father or go back outside. When he did neither she snuck a peek at him out of the corners of her eyes. He was still standing there, staring at her with that same look.

Feeling very self conscious, she tried to hide behind a facade of anger. "What? I've already told you I'm not fixing it tonight."

Determined to ignore him in the hope that he would leave, she took another bite of her food, chewing slowly. When he spoke she nearly choked.

"What is wrong with you?"

Those were some of the last words she would have expected to come out of his mouth. The man couldn't seem to see anything beyond his own needs. Food, training, and his beloved gravity room were the only things Bulma ever imagined were on his mind.

Was she really that obvious? It only made her more aware of her hurt to have him of all people be the one to point out her lackluster responses. Suddenly she felt a prickle of tears. Mentally cursing her weakness, she shoved a forkful of food in her mouth and decided not to answer him was the best course of action.

As she was scooping down to get another load there was a bright flash and the room temporarily lit up. A small but contained explosion erupted right in front of her face as the bowl disintegrated to ash. Giving a squeal of terror she flipped backward in her chair, coming to a hard landing on the floor.

Gasping, she looked up to find his arm still outstretched, a faint light of ki at the ends of his fingertips giving away him as the culprit. Untangling herself from the furniture, she rose to a kneeling position as she eyed the charred remains on the tabletop.

All she wanted was to be left alone. Was that really so much to ask? To be allowed a little time to wallow in self pity? Right now she felt like a kite with no string, being blown about by the wind.

Rounding on him, she tried to pin the alien with her most ferocious glare. It was less successful with the tears in her eyes. Her voice was higher than usual. "Would you stop badgering me!"

He lowered his arm, snarling back, "I would if you'd do something right for a change!"

That one, simple sentence was what set her off. Maybe she wasn't going about things correctly. Her life, her job, none of it was working.

Thoroughly ashamed but unable to help herself she burst into great, sobbing tears. Holding her hands to her face, her small frame shook. She was like that for several minutes, not even remembering that there was another person in the room until he spoke again, his tone one of exasperation.

"Stop this. Have you no pride, woman?"

She gave a mirthless laugh and shook her head as she stood to her feet, pushing her chair away with a squeal of wood on linoleum. This couldn't get any worse. Here she was practically falling apart in front of the most uncaring man on the planet.

Making it to her bedroom was her only thought. She was fleeing the scene, waving the white flag, but at the moment that didn't matter.

Taking a few steps toward the door leading to the stairs she was shocked when a white gloved hand grabbed her arm, holding her in place. Futilely she wiggled, trying to dislodge him. When that didn't happen she spoke, her voice crackly, "Leave me alone."

She still hadn't turned around, but Bulma could feel him right behind her. The man's body temperature had to be much higher than a human's. Instead of listening to her, which he never did anyway, there was a tug, gentle for his immeasurable strength.

Not prepared she fell backwards against him. The chest was like a rock. Surprise stilled her for but a minute and then she began to thrash. Two strong arms wrapped around her, halting her movement.

She was confused, tired, and just wanted to leave. What was this man doing, anyway? He never touched anyone, nor allowed anyone to touch him, not if he could help it. Her voice was hollow, "What are you doing?"

He didn't answer. Instead she felt a faint tickling on her throat as he bent forward. His hot breath caused the hair on the back of her neck to stand on end. Bulma squirmed. A faint trace of fear ran down her spine. "Vegeta?"

His gravely voice was deeper, more of a growl. "Are you pining over that pathetic weakling?"

She shivered but answered bravely, "That's none of your business."

The young woman could feel the rumble. "It is if it's going to make you like this."

Huffing, she said. "Because I won't fix your precious GR? Well, tough buddy."

Then she was being turned around so fast her head spun. In the darkness he seemed to loom above her with that spiky hair of his. His face was a vague outline, but those black eyes shone with an emotion she couldn't define.

His jaw clenched. "You little fool." Without waiting for her retort he swooped down, trapping her in a soul-searing kiss.

Her body stilled in shock. Was this really happening? Was the ass of all Saiyans really kissing her? And what a kiss...His lips were hard against her own as they melded together. His tongue snaked out to lick her bottom lip and she sighed. Taking the initiative he delved inside, tasting her.

This had to be wrong, but it felt so right. He was an anchor in the storm. Hesitantly her arms came up to circle around him. When they parted both of them were panting as they stared at each other. There was a faint blush on his cheeks that Bulma found endearing.

Lifting one hand, she brushed a finger along his high forehead. Her voice was quiet, awed. "What's gotten into you?"

Those familiar features hardened and he stepped back and away from her. Reluctantly she let her arms drop, missing his heat already. Turning, he made as if to go but then stopped at her quiet "Why?" His profile was to her.

"Because I wanted to." She blinked and then he was gone, the outside door closing firmly behind him.

A slow smile spread across her face. What a typical Vegeta answer. He gave nothing away, and yet the mere fact he wanted to kiss her was a bombshell in and of itself. She grinned, a swelling feeling of happiness filling her up.

Maybe right now wasn't so much an ending, but a beginning of something even better. Ignoring the burnt table she whistled a happy tune as she went back to her room for a much needed sleep.