Chapter 18

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Life with the Woman remained the same. His soon-to-be-ex seemingly refused to acknowledge their impending annulment. She still slept in his bed, still snuggled up to him each night.

Exasperated with her persistence, he finally asked the one question. "Why are you so insistent on making this farce work?"

Bulma fluffed her pillows and wiggled her shoulders into a comfortable position. "I love you," was her simple reply. She folded her hands on her chest and sighed in contentment.

Vegeta raised himself into a sitting position. He looked down at his wife. "Why?"

She shrugged. "Any number of things. At first, I felt sorry for you. But over time, that changed. Mainly, you're not pretentious. You're comfortable with yourself and don't care what others think."

"I am evil."

"No, not evil. Psychotically misguided, perhaps, but not evil. You haven't hurt my family or me. You even train with Yamcha." Bulma wrapped an arm around her Saiyan's waist.

Vegeta winced at the last statement. "I have murdered millions."

"Yes, and I'll never be comfortable with that. But you had to do it. You were under Frieza's orders."

"I could have refused."

"Then what would have happened?"

"He would have killed me."

"There you go. As young as you were, how could you possibly choose between your own life and others'? If Frieza was my surrogate father, I'd turn out the same way."

His Woman seemed to have an answer for everything. She admired his drive to be the best. His superiority complex amused her. His gentleness amazed her.

"Gentleness?!" In all his years as a galactic exterminator, Vegeta never once considered himself gentle.

"You've never raised a finger to me, Vegeta. You've never even accidentally hurt me. We still share the same bed. You know you like me." Bulma pulled the little Saiyan down next to her.

"I do not like you," he retorted.

"So you say." She rearranged the blankets to cover them. "So you say," she repeated and gave her husband a comforting squeeze.

His wife's confidence made him uneasy. Vegeta scowled. She will learn soon enough that he did not like her.

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During maintenance check of the gravity pod, Vegeta spied the good doctor's cigarette pack sitting on the toolbox. Curious as to its appeal, the Saiyan pulled one from the pack and sniffed it.

"Vegeta, what do you think you're doing," called an all too familiar female voice. "Don't even think about lighting up."

The prince needed no more provocation. He placed the cigarette between his lips and lit the end with a tiny ki-beam.

"Vegeta, don't you know that smoking is bad for you? You're a warrior. Warriors need healthy lungs." Bulma tried to grab at the cigarette. He brushed her hand aside.

"I am a super elite Saiyan. Do you think that measly leaf shavings could possibly harm me?" He nodded toward the busy doctor. "The old man smokes." The Saiyan prince took a drag and exhaled into his Woman's face. Fortunately, she was too busy with her racking coughs to notice the Saiyan doing the same.

"Daddy isn't a fighter," reasoned the genius. She made another grab at the offending stick.

Vegeta snapped at her hand.

"Ouch! You bit me. I can't believe that you bit me!" She held up her finger for him to see the wound. "Daddy, look what Vegeta did," she tattled.

Dr. Briefs glanced at his daughter, and without a word, returned his attention to the gravity pod. Lovers' squabbles never interested him.

"It's bleeding. That's not nice, Vegeta."

The Saiyan licked his lips and grinned as he watched the Woman recoil in disgust.

Bulma shuddered in revulsion. "That's just plain nasty."

The Saiyan licked at his lips again, more than satisfied with her reaction. "Does it bother you that I enjoy the taste of your blood?"

"Actually, no. It's just that you don't know where my finger's been. I just cleaned Tama's litter box, and you'd better hope that I don't get toxoplasmosis!"

Dr. Brief's cat meowed upon hearing its name.

The mighty warrior sputtered and spat . and spat again. He shot his wife a murderous glare before quickly stalking into the house. Hopefully, she had bought the economy size anti-bacterial mouthwash.

"Just stay away from me when you smoke," Bulma called after him. "I don't want to get sick from second-hand smoke, you know. I'm still human."

Vegeta growled in response. She will know that he did not like her.

As his wife continued to harp on the dangers of smoking, Vegeta found himself lighting up just to spite her. Unfortunately, he soon discovered that the cigarettes did indeed affect his health. As a Saiyan, his heightened biological processes accelerated the deleterious effects of the cancer sticks. Each time the warrior powered up, the damage to his lungs worsened. His breathing became laboured after a few short hours of training. Also, the weakling Yamcha almost, almost beat him during a spar. Vegeta weighed the risks and decided to quit smoking.

Bulma congratulated him on kicking the habit and even celebrated the innocuous event by purchasing new lingerie. The Saiyan prince had not realized how much damage his lungs had attained until he nearly coughed one up seeing his wife in her new outfit. The condition was so severe that he almost had a nosebleed.

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The genius bided her time in pursuing her husband. As much as the Vegeta seemed to want the annulment, he showed no inclination to discourage her actions. She continued her role as his wife as long as possible, hopeful that her Saiyan would eventually come to his senses. After all, who on Earth could possibly be a better match for the anti-social, ego-consumed Saiyan than the beautiful genius Bulma Briefs? Absolutely no one if she could help it.

Bulma crawled into bed and settled next to her husband.

"Vegeta, what's involved in a Saiyan marriage?"

"Why would you want to know?" The Saiyan was exhausted and had hoped to get an early start. Those foul cigarettes had actually set his training back a few days.

"Oh, no reason," replied his bedmate. "I'm just curious. Tell me. It'll be like a bedtime story to get me to sleep."

Knowing how annoyingly persistent his Woman could be, Vegeta relented. "Saiyans choose their mates and have a bonding ceremony."

"Bonding?"

"That would be the closest Earth term. It entails two beings bound together until death."

"That's so romantic," gushed his companion. "What happens during the ceremony?"

"In the presence of witnesses, the couples bite each other, usually on the wrist or any area they choose. The males initiate, since they are more often the dominant of the two. The bites should draw blood."

"Blood and biting - that's brutal. Why bite?"

"I do not know," replied the Saiyan. "It had been so since primitive times and never changed. "

"Then what," asked his bedmate. She snuggled closer to her husband.

"They taste each other's blood."

"Why?"

Vegeta shrugged. "Nappa mentioned something about symbolizing the sharing of souls." As the conversation progressed, the fragmented memories of Nappa's lessons began to take shape. The Saiyan prince was surprised to discover that he had retained more than he thought. Apparently, Nappa's constant yammering did prove effective. Of course, the Prince of All Saiyans did have superior intellect and large frontal lobes.

"What about that business about not being able to have more than one mate?" This concept appealed greatly to the genius.

"Saiyan women were completely possessive. Through many millennia, they were able to naturally select those males with a particular gene. Over time, the gene's phenotype became magnified with each breeding."

"Breeding, mates -- sounds so animalistic, yet somehow appropriate for your people." Bulma yawned. "What would happen if one of the partners strayed?"

"Women were never known to leave their partners. They were extremely loyal. However, a tiny fraction of the males have tried to acquire new mates." Vegeta snickered. He could not fathom why any male would want more than one female. His Woman was a handful already. He gazed down and appraised his wife. No, she was more than a handful.

"So, what happened to them?" Bulma snapped her fingers in front of her husband's face. Evidently, he had become lost in his own thoughts.

Vegeta blinked and resumed his answer. "If they tried to copulate with another female, then the price was their hair."

"Is that what happened to Nappa?"

Vegeta nodded. "The oaf had thought that the conditions were a myth." Vegeta heard Nappa's voice again: "Don't ever try to have two females ... my Prince, please pay attention. This is important!"

"At least he still had his eyebrows. But that moustache did nothing for him." Bulma tried to imagine Vegeta with a moustache and decided that his lips were best left uncovered.

"The fool tried to compensate as best he could." Vegeta grimaced. "No Saiyan would ever wish to lose his hair. It is his pride, which distinguishes him as belonging to the most powerful warrior race in the universe."

"I like your hair, Vegeta." Bulma ran a hand through her husband's locks. "But how can you tell if the couple is married? Do you have rings, bracelets, tattoos?"

"Sometimes the female's lips remain crimson with her partner's blood to signify that she is taken. The blood eventually wears away, but by then, most Saiyans would already know her status."

"And the males?"

"Males and females purposely scar themselves at the bite. They make the wound round so as not to be confused with war scars."

Bulma gave her Saiyan a squeeze and giggled. "I guess we're even married by Saiyan standards, my hubby."

"What foolishness are you spouting?"

"I've bitten you. You bit me. You're not healing because you keep scratching your rear." His wife tore off the bandage from her index finger and scratched at the wound. "And the clincher: I bit first, so *I* am the dominant one." The chortles became louder. "You know that you want me; you might as well give in." Her disturbing laughter resonated against his chest as she lulled herself to sleep.

His heart rate increased, and he felt a tightening in his chest. Damn those cigarettes. They really were bad him.

#####

Vegeta sat at the table, waiting to be served. The Woman walked behind him and trailed her hand across his back as she made her way to her own seat. He felt the hairs on his neck stiffen further.

Bulma looked at her husband and gave him a demure smile. Her low-cut tank top and short shorts left only the good parts to his imagination. She leaned toward him across the table, thereby leaving nothing to his imagination.

"Vegeta, do you prefer breasts or thighs," asked his lovely wife.

Bulma only heard the patter of little feet, a door slam, and an engine powering up. She ran to the window and watched in horror as one of her space capsules blasted into the stratosphere.

"Darn you, Vegeta!" she cried. She shook a fist at the disappearing orb. "If you didn't want chicken for dinner, you could have just said 'neither'!"

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