Chapter 5

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A battered Vegeta emerged from his training pod after days of intense workouts. Barely able to stand erect, he stumbled through the house and collapsed on the floor in his bedroom. "Damn! Still not a Super Saiyan!"

Unable to accept the disappointment, he tried to rationalize. Perhaps his body had reached its limit and needed time to recover. Then once healed, he would gain an incredible power surge. His thoughts drifted back to when he had Krillen blast him on Namek, and Dende healed his body to make him stronger. "Hell of good that did. I still died. And now I'm kissing the floor," he droned before oblivion took over.

Bulma watched Vegeta go to his room. "It's about time. That guy does nothing but train, eat and sleep."

Lunch came and went, and Vegeta was nowhere in sight. A bit concerned, Bulma crept up to his room and quietly inched open the door. She peeked in and saw the Saiyan sprawled on the floor.

"Wow, he must be exhausted if he couldn't even make it to the bed." Unable to drag her eyes away, she continued to ogle his body. "I have to admit, all that training has made a difference. He looks better than when he first came to Earth."

She remembered a scrawnier Vegeta dressed in the girlie armour that looked like flower petals were growing out of his hips. "And he had the nerve to insult the pink shirt/yellow pants combo I bought for him." She chuckled at the memory and quickly shut the door before her mirth became full laughter. "Serves him right for calling me a servant woman."

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"Yamcha!" Bulma ran and hugged her ex-boyfriend. "I'm so glad that you're back. Should we set up a room for you and Puar?"

"Thanks for the offer, but we rented an apartment nearby. I just came to visit. I've missed you, Bulma."

"I missed you, too. How was training in the desert?"

"It was all right for awhile, but Puar caught ringworm from the desert rats. She's at the apartment now, soaking in a sulfur bath."

"Oh, the poor dear. Would you like to stay for dinner? We serve plenty of food, you know, now that Vegeta eats with us."

"Vegeta eats with you? I thought that his royal highness was above mixing with commoners."

"He's not so bad. We don't see him much, except at mealtimes. And that's because I make him come in to eat," she stated proudly.

"He listens to you? And you're still alive?" Yamcha was impressed. "How do you do it?"

"My dad gave him the gravity machine, and I can take it away. Besides, he likes food as much as Goku. Well, how about joining us for dinner?"

"Sorry, Bulma. I've already made plans. But do you mind if I train here at Capsule Corp.? My place is a bit small."

"No problem." They talked and reminisced for hours before Yamcha left on his date.

Vegeta woke inhaling carpet fibres. Still sore, he decided to continue with his break from training. He showered and dressed in casual clothes. The Woman had made dressing easy for the fashion-indifferent Saiyan. As long as the colours were not those of flowers, he wore anything in any combination, although he seemed to prefer shades of blue. She bought him two belts and two pairs of shoes in universal black and brown. The Woman had insisted that walking about in his fighting suit -- skin-hugging, nothing-left-to-the-imagination space material fighting suit -- was not appropriate attire on Earth unless one was a professional wrestler -- whatever that meant. Besides, the blonde Briefs woman seemed less attentive when he wore regular clothes. That, at least, was motivation for looking "normal".

Dinner was just beginning when Vegeta entered the kitchen.

"Good. I didn't have to come get you. Glad to see that you dressed for dinner," Bulma remarked.

"Oh, my! Isn't Vegeta so handsome, Bulma? Maybe you should take him out. He looks too good to keep at home," giggled her mother.

"Been there, done that, shot some thugs and maimed them," the young Briefs quipped.

Dinner ended, and Vegeta headed to the library. He had learned how to read during the time the Nameks were also staying at Capsule Corp. Not having much else to do then, he had taught himself to recognize the Earth symbols and the sounds associated with them. Since he already knew how to speak the language, learning to read was relatively easy for the highly intelligent noble Saiyan. His favourite tome at the time had been the dictionary. Hence, the prince became more articulate and less vulgar.

Vegeta pulled each book halfway out of the shelf to examine the covers. He knew to judge books by their covers. Through a few trials and many errors, he eventually learned to avoid all those with pictures of athletic, shirtless men with windswept hair. He never understood the appeal of such stories. They usually left him confused, disgusted, or blushing.

Vegeta removed a book from the wall and skimmed it. He settled himself down to read. A couple of hours passed as he flipped through several books.

Bulma came into the room and sat down in an armchair across from him. He felt her stare. "What?"

"Why aren't you training? Not like I'm complaining, but this is strange behaviour for you."

"A Saiyan becomes more powerful once his body heals from battle or training. My body requires rest, but my mind need not remain idle." He sneered and tossed a book aside. "However, I anticipate that acquiring any worthwhile knowledge from this backward planet would be slim."

She looked at the pile of books on the end table by his side. "You read fast. What are the books about?"

"Anything and everything."

Bulma rose to leave, seeing that the Saiyan was in no mood to converse. Actually, he was never in the mood.

By midnight, Vegeta had read through three-quarters of Dr. Briefs' martial arts collection. Aware that the stories were fiction, the Saiyan did glean some inherent truths. He processed the information gained: Incredible power can be achieved through intense training. One must focus on training with no distractions. And the lecherous evil monk was always second best.

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"Waahhh!!"

"Head away from the noise. Head away from the noise," his mind commanded. No such luck.

"Vegeta! Look what I did. I'm a bad, bad person," Bulma cried. She grabbed his hand and yanked him outside to her car.

Curious about her sin, he let her lead him. He looked in the passenger seat and saw a gray rabbit curled in a fetal position.

"I swerved behind him, but instead of jumping forward, he jumped backwards! I barely hit it, but I k-k-killed a b-b-bunnyyyyy!"

Vegeta winced at the noise. "And my concern is?"

"Vegeta, could you please take care of it for me?" She was hiccupping through her sobs now. "Please? 'Hic' and don't be 'hic' so cruel as to 'hic' just toss it in the trash 'hic hic hic'. I don't want his death to be 'hic' so pointless." Hic hic hic waaah....

He squeezed his eyes shut and grimaced. "I will dispose of the creature if it will end the cacophony created by your voice."

Bulma retreated to the house and left Vegeta with the rabbit. He picked up the rodent by the scruff of its neck and took a moment to contemplate the situation. He walked to the backyard and blasted a small hole in the ground.

She looked out the window toward the backyard and saw the resident Saiyan tamping fresh earth over a hole with his foot. "He actually buried the rabbit for me. Who knew Vegeta could be so sweet."



Hours later, a blood-drenched Saiyan prince landed in the yard.

"What happened to you?!" She ran over and began to examine him, concern clearly written on her face.

"The blood is not mine. I was sparring with Kakarott -"

"This is Goku's blood? What did you do to him?! Did you --"

"We sparred. But the blood is not his. His brat --"

"Gohan?! You hurt little Gohan?! You beast! Just because he kicked your a--"

"Would you shut up and let me finish!" he roared. "As I was saying, Kakarott's brat did not desire fish for dinner. He went hunting for those dinosaurs. Unfortunately, he has not learned to control his ki-blasts, resulting in the creature's blood splattering me, the Namek, and that fool Kakarott."

Bulma noticed Vegeta holding a package. "What's that in your hands?"

"Kakarott's screeching woman insisted that we have this with our meal." He held out the paper sack to her.

Bulma backed away and eyed it sceptically. As much as she liked most of Chi-Chi's cooking, the Sons were still country bumpkins with "rustic" tastes. Knowing that Gohan killed a dinosaur for dinner made her suspicious. "I'm not touching it with all that blood. Just drop it in the kitchen on your way in. My mom will take care of it."

"Bulma, dear. Would you go get your father and Vegeta for dinner?"

"Mom, you made dinner? That's so nice."

"Well, dear, I couldn't pass up the opportunity this time. I just love it when I get the freshest ingredients. And I was dying to try out this French stew recipe."

When they were all seated, Bulma's mother dished out stew for everyone and added several more food items for Vegeta.

"Mmm-mmm. This is delicious, Mom. Those Frenchies sure can cook."

"Honey," Dr. Briefs addressed his wife, "this is reminiscent of that ragout we had on our vacation to Paris. Wherever did you get the ingredients?"

"We had most of the seasonings here. Vegeta, bless his heart, provided the meat."

"Vegeta provided the meat?" Chi-Chi's bloody package flashed across Bulma's mind. "Oh, no." She dropped her spoon. "Mom, did Vegeta tell you what kind of meat it is?"

"Why of course, Dear. Don't be silly. I wouldn't cook with something I don't know, although it is more exotic than we're used to eating."

"Whew! For a moment there, I thought that we were eating dinosaur meat."

Everybody laughed, except the Saiyan, who was busy consuming his dinner. "Silly, Bulma," her mother said. "Ragout is a rabbit stew."

Rabbit. Rabbit. "RABBIT!? VEGETA GAVE YOU A RABBIT?!!"

Vegeta heard his name and frowned. "Stop with the screeching, Woman."

"I told you to take care of it. Like bury it in the backyard or cremate it -- not serve it up as dinner!"

"I did as you asked. Now it's death has a purpose. You killed it to feed us," he rationalized simply.

"Then what's in the hole you dug and filled?"

"The offal and skin."

"You are sick!" she screamed.

"Bulma, Dear," her mother tried to soothe her, "if you don't like the stew, why don't you eat Chi-Chi's steamed buns? The note in the bag said that the dinosaur meat was freshly butchered today."

In her fury, the young genius toppled her chair as she left the table.

Vegeta watched her leave with absolute apathy. When the Saiyan returned his attention to the table, the good doctor was finishing his stew and had Bulma's bowl already cradled in the crook of his elbow.

"Stupid Vegeta!" But she knew that she had no valid reason to be mad at him. In his own twisted way, he did do as she asked. However, an angry Bulma was always an irrational, vengeful Bulma. "I should do something. I don't want him to think that he's got the best of me."

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A Couple of Days Later

Vegeta finished his shower and entered his room. Since the two rooms were connected, the Saiyan could walk about in his towel. The lights suddenly flicked off as he reached to pull out his dresser drawer. Shrugging off the darkness, he took out a pair of briefs.

"Girk! What the hell?" These were not his usual undergarments. He felt a draft on his backside. "Slap, slap" sounded as bare hand hit bare bottom. The one light bulb in his mind burst bright. "That Woman!"

Bulma pounded on his door. "Vegeta! Let me in. I'm afraid of the dark!" she cried.

"Get yourself a flashlight. I am not your nanny!" he yelled through the door. He rummaged quickly through his drawers, finding nothing appropriate. The Woman had stashed his dresser full of the vile garments.

"I have to come in. This hallway's really dark." Bulma threw open the door and shined her flashlight about the room. The beam landed on a Saiyan prince quickly tugging on a pair of shorts. She cursed silently. "Damn! Too late. I would have loved to have seen him in a thong."

"Get out of my room, Woman."

"No." The lights came back on. She walked a few steps into the room and crossed her arms. "Make me."

Vegeta slowly took a step, and another.

Bulma noticed his face twitching with each step. "Why are you walking so funny? Did you injure yourself," she snickered.

He had had enough. Picking her up roughly by the shoulders, he carried her past the threshold of his doorway, dropped her on the floor, and slammed the door in her face. He could hear her guffawing down the hall.

"Oh, she will pay."

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