Chapter 8

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Finishing with his morning warm-ups, Vegeta walked outside to begin his meditation. He found Yamcha training in the yard, but ignored the human. Puar hovered near her best friend.

As he passed by the two guests, Bulma appeared with glasses of lemonade and offered the beverage to all of them. "Vegeta, why don't you train with Yamcha?"

"Phbbtt!" The human fighter gave Puar her second shower of the morning. "What?!" he gasped and continued coughing up the rest of his lemonade.

"Exactly, Woman. Are you daft? I would annihilate the weakling."

"Oh, come now Vegeta. The gravity simulator and robots are great for increasing strength, but you need to keep up with strategy. Goku, Piccolo and Gohan are fine, but you need more variety. Each fighter thinks differently, utilizes different tactics. Who better to add to your regimen than an ex-desert bandit?"

Yamcha vigorously scrubbed Puar in his gi, fluffing her up quite nicely. She retained that lemony fresh scent.

"Bulma, you don't know what you're saying."

"I will not lower myself to spar with such a pathetic warrior."

"Okay, I understand, Vegeta." The Woman's condescending tone grated the royal Saiyan's nerves. "Even you don't have the skills to train Yamcha and make him a great fighter."

"Hey! That's harsh, Bulma," Yamcha pouted.

"Woman, when I am through training that loser, he will be the strongest human on Earth."

"Great! When will you two start?"

Yamcha's jaw met the ground. Vegeta's entire face clenched. Enamel cracked as his teeth ground together.

"We start now," the Saiyan growled through tight lips.

Yamcha gulped. "Uh, Vegeta, since you are a Saiyan, and a very powerful one, we'd better set up some ground rules."

"Fine. What are they, Weakling?"

"You don't use your full strength."

"Anything else?"

"How about just using one side of your body when we spar?"

"Reasonable enough, Weakling. And my only rule is that you tell no one of our training together."

Yamcha agreed.

Vegeta commenced with lesson one. "First, we must prepare psychologically to be attuned with the physical. Thought and action should merge and be instantaneous."

"Huh?"

Vegeta sighed. "We do mental preparations."

"Oh." Yamcha's face brightened. "I should be good at this. My grandfather was a mental patient. My father was a mental patient. Now it's my turn!"

Bulma and Vegeta sweat dropped. The alien prince wondered how this scheming wench could have so easily tricked him.

"I was joking," Yamcha chuckled.

The other two seemed unconvinced. The human's past did include being a lone desert bandit whose sole companion for many years was a flying, shrill- voiced blue cat who called him "Master." And undoubtedly, his former fear of women was the result of some trauma. Perhaps the shape-shifting feline had a dark side.

The two warriors spent the morning meditating and the rest of the day sparring. Vegeta had to grudgingly admit that Yamcha proved a better adversary than expected. The former outlaw knew many tricks from his youthful career of robbing people.

Yamcha, in turn, gained a new respect for the Saiyan. Vegeta not only possessed brute strength, but he was also a master strategist, able to anticipate many of the Earthling's moves.

"Guys! Hey, Guys! It's dinner time!" Bulma shouted out to them.

"Woman, would you quit with the squawking!" Vegeta shouted back.

In that one brief instance, Yamcha landed a solid round-house kick straight at the prince's face. Vegeta flew back and stopped himself in mid-air. Not being at full power, the kick had actually rattled his brain. Murder burned in his eyes as he charged.

"Eep!" Yamcha was no fool. He flew at full speed and landed behind Bulma. If memory served him correctly, Bulma always stopped a charging Vegeta.

"Vegeta, you stop it right there!"

Vegeta abruptly halted centimeters from her upturned palm.

"And why would you prevent me from finishing off the fool? He took advantage of my distraction."

"Right. He was supposed to do that, remember? You should have known that an opponent would take advantage of any opening, however small. Lesson one, Vegeta: never underestimate anyone, even if they are less powerful."

Vegeta scowled deeper. "All right, but next time, Weakling, you will not be so lucky."

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"Yeeeaaaaaaaaa...."

A flash of blue and pink flew through his doorway and buried itself beneath his covers. The quaking bulk emitted chipmunk noises in time with its trembling. The Saiyan sat up and flipped back his blankets to reveal a pink cotton nightshirt surrounding a mass of blue curls.

"Woman, get out of my bed," he commanded calmly.

She shook her head.

Vegeta was in an unusually diplomatic mood. "And what would be your reason for refusal?"

She held up a thick novel.

"What has that book got to do with you being in my bed?"

"It's about a haunted hotel. Do you realize how large this place is? It's huge! I'm too scared to sleep alone. Just let me stay this one night."

"No."

"I'm not asking for much. This is a large bed. I'll stay on my side. I promise."

"No."

She gritted her teeth. "Vegeta, I asked nicely."

His left cheek itched. He reached down to alleviate the discomfort. Vegeta opened his mouth to reply. "Fine." Huh?!

He tried again. "Fine." What the hell?! "... I'll sleep in your room."

"Then what's the point? No, I want you to stay here." She pressed a hand to his shoulder as he tried to rise.

His dark eyes trailed a slow path from her face, down her arm to her hand, and returned the same way. Bulma found the gesture almost seductive. Vegeta frowned.

"Just remain on your side," he grumbled. The Saiyan settled heavily into the bed, turning his back toward her.

Bulma squealed in delight and snuggled under the sheets. "Thanks, Vegeta. You're a sweetie."

"I am not a sweetie!"

She fluffed and lifted the covers. "You're not naked." A hint of disappointment tinged her voice.

His hand slammed the covers down between them. "Shut up and go to sleep!"

She giggled, too busy getting comfortable to notice that the Saiyan lying next to her was scratching his pajama-clad rear.

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