DISCLAIMER: Don’t be a Dumb Dora; Bulma16 doesn’t own DBZ!

Also: I’d like to thank those who took the time to send me an email/review for this fic. Your support makes my job a lot easier. Thanks y’all. =)

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

*Hudson Valley (Albany), New York*

(Four years later…)

"This whole place gives me the heebie-jeebies," Bulma admitted, her blue eyes wide with apprehension.

Chichi raised her dark eyebrows at this confession. "That’s ‘cause you’re not used to the peace quiet of rural life yet. It’ll soon grow on you."

Bulma grimaced slightly and nodded reluctantly as she looked around at all the greenery and nature. Birds were chirping, the sun was shining, and the air was fresh and clean. Chichi and Goku’s house was a small, cozy looking home set in the middle of the beautiful mountain landscape. A long wisp of smoke rose from the chimney, reaching up high into the blue cloudless sky.

Goku grinned, holding his hand out to her. "Nice to see you again, Bulma."

The aristocratic female raised an eyebrow at him pointedly ignoring his hand. "Same here, I’m sure."

The couple glanced at each other for a moment before bustling the aristocratic woman into their house and closing the door behind her.

*It’s so very… humble* Bulma immediately thought, not knowing why the idea had no appeal for her. She cleared her throat before commenting on the cozy home’s interior. "Well, you two certainly have made this a…nice little place to live." She forced a smile as she gazed at the kitchen—her idea of hell. "And…such a lovely kitchen."

Her old friend smiled as she gazed fondly on her home. "I love living here in this house, with my husband and my son."

Goku said nothing, but smiled at his wife as he offered Bulma a seat.

"Where is Gohan?" the blue-haired woman asked, gingerly sitting down in the wooden chair that had been offered to her.

Chichi turned to face her, a look of motherly pride on her face. "Oh, he’s probably studying. He’s sure to be a genius one of these days, Bulma!"

The Briefs heiress, gasped. "At the age of four?! What could he possibly be studying, Chichi?"

Goku shrugged his shoulders. "Darned if I know," he said light-heartedly.

Chichi rolled her eyes at him. "His colors of course! Why, he knows at least 10 of them now Bulma! And," she paused, a look of excitement on her face. "He can already count to 10! Isn’t that great?! Not to mention he can write half the alphabet…well, actually, up to J, but that’s still pretty good right?"

Bulma merely nodded, her face full of barely concealed shock. "…yes, that’s wonderful." She cleared her throat. "So how’s life been these past few months?"

"Great! But enough about us," Chichi said. "I want to know what’s been happening in Buffalo since we visited you."

The flapper grinned excitedly, at last becoming at ease in this house. "Jeepers Chichi, you will never guess at some of the stuff that’s been happening! For one, Yamcha has asked me again to marry him and--"

"Did you accept?" the brunette interrupted, a look of horror on her face.

The older woman smiled gently. "Not yet, but I will once I grow tired of playing with him."

"But Bulma," the young mother began, her tone remorseful. "Why? You know what a sap he is!"

The Buffalo gal laughed humorlessly, and when she spoke, her tone was that of someone who had given up after trying their damnedest to overcome something and failing. "Not all of us can marry for love, friend."

A long silence filled the room after that, but was broken by a loud growl from Goku’s stomach.

Chichi automatically began cooking. "But…there must be someone else you could consider marrying". She paused as she began to crack eggs open in a bowl. "Anyone but Yamcha!"

Bulma moved her gaze across the family portrait she’d caught a glimpse of when she’d swung her head around to stare at Goku. "Like who? Of all the money hungry beaus I have, Yamcha is the only one who I truly believe loves me."

"Do you love him?" the question was blurted automatically, and Chichi’s body tensed as she awaited a reply.

"No," was the immediate response.

Goku, who knew nothing about Yamcha, except from what he’d heard during the two ladies’ discussions piped up. "So, if you don’t love anyone, why consider getting married at all?" he asked, his eyes full of confusion.

Bulma smiled at him gently. "I’m a woman; as I grow older, my appeal lessens, much like milk. You can’t understand that, because a man’s appeal, like fine wines, grows as they age. I don’t want to die alone, so I must marry."

Chichi frowned at that statement. "Bulma, you’re not middle aged! You still have your looks. I’m sure--"

"That I’ll find someone out there," the flapper finished, her tone full of sarcasm. "Chichi, for the past four years, while you’ve been living out here with your son and your husband, I’ve been searching for ‘The Sheik’ who will just…save me from—"

"From yourself?"

The blue-haired woman laughed bitterly as she reached into her purse, and extracted an old photograph. "And spinsterhood." She handed Chichi the photograph, her face expressionless.

The brunette wiped her hands on her apron before taking the picture from her and looking at it. The picture was of Bulma. The twenty-seven year old woman was sitting erectly in a chair, her haunting, eyes staring directly into Chichi’s own. In them, her friend could see a certain coldness, which masked a great fear and insecurity. Chichi’s brows wrinkled as she gave the portrait back to the blue-haired woman.

"I look like a spinster there, don’t I?" the heiress commented in the mild manner of someone discussing the weather. "Had the picture done for fun about three months ago by one of those flat tires hanging around the house."

The married woman cleared her throat, shooting her yawning husband a pointed look. "You look so much like…" she trailed off.

Bulma crumpled the picture and let it fall to the floor. "Like who?" she asked.

"One of those blue noses."

She laughed, unexpectedly. "Which I find amusing since I am not strait-laced at all, but I am afraid I have to agree with you on your comparison." She sighed deeply, closing her small purse, a whimsical smile on her aristocratic face. "I’m so tired," she murmured, her eyes full of listlessness.

"Of what?" Goku asked, coming back to life now that his wife was going back to her baking.

"I’m fed up with the life I’m leading…I want something else…"

Chichi shoved the long pan into the oven and handed her husband a sandwich to munch on while their supper was baking. "What you need is to settle down in the country somewhere, and have at least 5 kids with a man who will spoil you with expensive gifts and his ever-lasting attention."

Goku didn’t notice the thick sandwich for a moment—his mind on his past, and when he’d been of the same mind as the woman before him. {She should get out, like I did. But being in high-society isn’t anything like what I was involved in, so I guess I won’t say anything.}

Bulma winced at what Chichi had just said, the image of herself with five children not sitting over very well in her mind. "That’s a load of applesauce," she said, laughing slightly.

The brunette shrugged, taking off her apron as she sat down across from the blue-haired beauty. "Stranger things have been known to happen. We are in New York after all…"

****** ***

* Sovereign Industries; Buffalo, New York*

(Two Months Later)

"Sixteen years old are you?" his boss asked in a tone that hid his mirth.

"That I am, sir!"

Vegeta smirked at the boy’s pre-pubescent voice. {I guess the boy is finally becoming a man}. "Thompson, don’t expect anything special out of me today," he said lightly.

Tim shook his head. "I wasn’t sir."

"Wise beyond your years," Vegeta said, his smirk growing bigger.

Thompson sniffled—a habit he’d retained over the years—and stared down at his scuffed boots, his pale cheeks turning pink. "Uh, Vegeta…sir. I’ve always respected you sir, and I hope you don’t take what I’m going to ask you in the wrong way." He paused for a moment, giving his boss a quick look. "I-I heard that you-were-I mean, that you are gonna-I mean going to--".

"Damn it, Thompson, get to the point already."

A loud sniffle, followed by a nervous chuckle. "Yes, sir. I wanted to know if-if it’s true that you’re leaving the business because of Franco," he said hoarsely.

Vegeta leaned back in his chair, disinterestedly. "Is that what they’re saying?" he said aloud, not really caring. "Well…" He glanced at Tim, his eyes full of amusement. "They’re mistaken. My leaving the business has nothing to do with Franco. It has to do with someone else…" he trailed off as the image of a goofy looking guy not much younger than himself came to mind. The Prince raised his brows at Tim as he broke out of his muse. "Why do you ask, Tim? Interested in taking over?"

The boy laughed, taking off his cap and mussing his short brown hair with one hand . "No sir! I…well, I guess all the--what’s it called?—all the excitement’s gone and all that’s left is the harsh reality as to what we’re all involved in. That’s what I think at least," he said hastily, putting his cap back on his head and pulling it down low.

The Prince felt himself gazing at the boy with a new respect. {To have figured that out for himself at such a young age. It’s good that he realized it. Thompson is destined for better things than this}. He nodded at his ‘errand boy’. "All right Thompson, you brat, go keep your mother company for the rest of the day. I don’t need you anymore."

Tim grinned at the Prince. "Yes sir, thank you." He sniffled as he left, and closed the door to Vegeta’s office behind himself.

Vegeta stood from his chair and yanked open the heavy drapes to look out from his bullet proof window and down below past Sovereign Industries and onto the Buffalo streets.

The Dark Prince would have made a nice picture as he stood there. Dressed in one of his nicer navy blue suits, his handsome features slightly less formidable than usual, his tanned muscular arms crossed over his wide chest, and his deep black eyes full of something that was neither sadness or loneliness, he looked down at the Model T’s driving around, not really seeing them. His face was grim, and determined. He almost seemed…lonely.

But the picture soon faded as he turned away from the outside, a frown on his face as his gaze fell onto his desktop. It was completely devoid of clutter; just as always, for that was the way he liked it. But for some reason, today it upset him in a way he’d never felt before. {A weakness} he thought, self-disgust briefly shining in his eyes. He scowled suddenly as his phone rang. "What?" he barked, as he noted that it was his ‘private business’ line.

"Hey, uh, Boss, there’s uh, someone here to see you."

Vegeta sat down at his desk, used to the inanity of Johnson; the man on the phone. "Johnson, who the hell is it?" he said slowly, his irritation beginning to show.

Johnson shrugged and then remembered that Vegeta couldn’t see that. "I don’t know boss. His name’s Henry or something. Says he wants in."

A nearly muted curse met Johnson’s ear from Vegeta’s line. "Tell that fucking cake-eater to beat it! Damn it Johnson, don’t waste my time with this half-witted shit." Vegeta slammed the phone down onto the receiver, breaking it in the process. The irate man quickly reined his temper in and calmly pressed the intercom on his desk. "Rosemary, have someone send up another telephone."

Rosemary—who was sitting outside of her boss’ office reading a magazine—rolled her eyes as she called one of the runner boys up to clean up the mess and replace the phone. Vegeta’s secretary sighed as she reopened her magazine to the glossy photos of people dressed in all the latest fashions. "This is the third phone we’ve had to replace this month," she grumbled, flipping pages angrily.

******* ******

*Albany, New York*

(12 days later)

"Oh no," Chichi gasped, dropping a piece of paper to the floor.

Goku looked up at her from where he’d been doing push-ups. "What is it?"

His wife pointed to the paper with a trembling finger, as though she was pointing to a detestable rodent of some kind. "A-a…the letter from Bulma," she finally got out, her voice shaky. She took a deep breath, putting her fingertips on her temples and massaging away the pain that was there. "She’s engaged to Yamcha."

The young husband went back to his pushups. "Oh, is that all?"

Chichi’s black eyes filled with rage as she heard this. "Is that all!? Goku, how could you say something like that! I know what kind of ass that man is and I’ll be damned if--"she stopped shouting for a moment as she remembered that Gohan was just in the next room. "I’ll be damned if I’ll let her be treated like another one of that bastard’s playthings," she finished in a softer voice.

Goku winced at the fury in her voice, pushing himself onto his knees and then standing up. "I’m sorry," he said sadly, his black eyes gazing at her forlornly.

His wife’s angry countenance softened and she put her arms around him, needing to be near him. "I forgive you, you big palooka. It’s just that…I’m worried about her. I don’t think she knows what she’s dealing with exactly."

The tall man smiled softly as he held her. "I think you’re wrong Chichi," he said softly as an image of his wife’s friend came to the forefront of his mind. "She’s a smart girl. I think she knows exactly what she’s dealing with."

***** ******

*9696 Lothario Lane; Buffalo, New York*

(Five Days Later)

Bulma Briefs sighed impatiently as she sat waiting on the settee for her fiancé. Yamcha’s place was very nice. It was smaller than her own home, but it was still very nice. But Bulma couldn’t help but notice that there was something of a ‘woman’s touch’ about the room. Artistically carved tables with vases of flowers, beautiful draperies, and ornate rugs…how could she not suspect that a woman had been there before her?

The wealthy heiress sniffed angrily. "Jealousy doesn’t suit you Bulma, besides, you knew how he was before you became engaged to him," she told herself, toying with the strand of pearls around her neck. {Actually, I can get rid of all this old stuff once we finally get married}.

The door to they parlor creaked open and her smiling beau entered. "Bulma, my dear," he murmured, holding his hands out to her and helping her to stand on her feet. "It does my heart well to see you sitting here in our future home." He kissed her briefly on the lips.

The blue-haired woman kissed him back, a tiny frown on her face. "What took so long, Yamcha?" she asked, her blue eyes narrowing as she saw how rumpled his clothing was.

Yamcha only laughed at her. "I’m afraid I slept late this morning and forgot what we had planned for today," he said apologetically, tucking his shirt into his pants and smoothing his hair back. He raised his dark brows in question. "Do you forgive me, love?"

Bulma hid a smile. "Of course."

"That’s a dear. Now…should I wait for you to change?" he asked, his tone merry, but his eyes wary as he realized that what his fiancé was wearing would attract the attention of many men…not just his.

The flapper looked up at him, her eyes dangerous. "Am I not dressed to your liking?"

The young man winced at her cold words and the frigid look she was giving him, and held his hands up in surrender. "You look marvelous! I…I guess I forgot about the new fashion."

Silence followed his statement as the couple stared at each other in silent for what seemed like an eternity. "Come," he said, holding his arm out to her. "Charles has already packed the basket and is waiting for us impatiently out back I imagine."

Bulma took his arm and let him lead through his house and out of his back door. "Perhaps we can swim later," she said as they walked around his pool.

Yamcha nodded his head absently not really hearing her, his mind obviously on other things.

Charles grinned as he saw Yamcha approaching. "Ah, good afternoon sir. The car’s all ready to go, just like you asked," the servant said, patting the rear bumper of the black car affectionately.

"Good, good," Yamcha said, quickly getting in. "Help her in, won’t you Charles."

Both Bulma and Charles quickly hid their dislike for one another. The younger woman grit her teeth as she let the 34 year old help her into the vehicle, quickly moving her dress before he could slam the door shut on it.

Her fiancé didn’t seem to notice as he started the car and took off toward the direction of Kismet Park.

****** ********

*Kismet Park*

(35 minutes later)

"This looks like a good place to sit," Yamcha remarked, spreading the blanket over the grass.

Bulma sighed as she sat down gracefully on the blanket, holding her hat down with one hand. "This isn’t a very good day for large hats," she remarked dryly as a strong gust tugged at her floppy hat.

"I won’t argue with you on that. That’s why I left mine in the car." He started unloading the basket, placing the dishes and cutlery before them. "At least I let you convince me to bring real dishes instead of paper."

The wind died down for a moment, much to Bulma’s relief. She started taking out the covered dishes of food. "Chicken, potatoes, coffee, pie…and what’s this?" she asked, pulling a small silver container out of the basket and holding it out to Yamcha.

"Huh?" Yamcha flushed slightly as he took the flask from her. "A little something to warm you up later."

His fiancée frowned, but said no more, placing a drumstick on her plate and pouring up some coffee.

Yamcha filled his plate with food and ate as he watched others who’d had the same idea for that day, even though it was a little windy. There were several small children playing a spirited game of hide-and-seek, a few groups of women sunbathing, some couples holding hands and talking, and a small gathering of men, one of which he thought for a moment he recognized. He quickly dismissed that thought, letting his eyes rest on his silent fiancé.

She had a small frown on her face as she sipped from her mug of coffee, her eyes on one of the playing children, who was hiding behind a tree near them. She looked especially glorious that day, he thought, his dark eyes clouding with desire for a moment, until those stunning blue eyes met his dark ones. "You’re beautiful," he blurted without meaning to.

Bulma’s frown wavered slightly and she sighed as she set her mug on the blanket. "Yamcha," she began, the rustling of leaves off to her right catching her attention for a moment.

"Oh no," she gasped as the wind tore her hat from her head. Without stopping to think, she leapt onto her feet and gave her hat chase. Her cheeks flushed with exertion as the wind took her hat in a wide circle and then past an amused couple and straight into a rock hard body. The force of her collision had no effect on the person she’d run into, but rocked her back on her heels so that she would have fallen if strong arms hadn’t caught her.

"What the hell…" a low voice said incredulously.

The young woman felt herself blushing and she stepped out of the man’s arms, looking up at him. "I’m sorry I was trying to…" She trailed off as she met his handsome black eyes. "I know you from somewhere, don’t I?" The wind blew her loose hair about her face and then finally died down.

The stranger shrugged. "Allow me to re-introduce myself. The name’s Vegeta. And you are…"

"Bulma Briefs," she said her blue eyes full of confusion as part of her brain turned over this man’s name in her mind. {Wait a second…}

"Oh yes. I remember. I had the pleasure of meeting you at--"

"My birthday party," the blue-haired woman finished. "How nice it is to see you again."

"Likewise," was the reply. Vegeta grinned mischievously. "Still seeing Anthony?"

"No," the blue-haired woman said coolly. "He didn’t suit."

Vegeta put his hands in his pockets and smirked at the young woman. "So, you’ve found someone else then?"

Bulma flinched as she remembered. "Y-yes. I’m engaged--"

"Bulma!" Yamcha interrupted, his voice breathless. "I’ve been looking for you everywhere." He glanced at the man his fiancé was talking to and found himself tensing up. Something about this man just gave him the heebie jeebies. "Who’s this?" he asked, standing beside the blue-haired woman.

"The man who caught her hat," Vegeta said smoothly, handing the article of clothing to Bulma.

Her eyes widened slightly. {When…how…I didn’t even see him catch it!} She silently took the hat and placed it atop her head, looking up at him. "Thank you," she said softly, not trusting herself to say anything else.

Vegeta couldn’t help but admire how sexy this woman was with her hair down to her shoulders, gazing up at him with her beautiful blue eyes. "Don’t mention it," he muttered, walking away.

Yamcha watched him leave, a frown on his face. "You shouldn’t have run off like that Bulma."

The beautiful woman shrugged unconcernedly. "It’s over and done with now. Let’s get a wiggle on." She began walking back to where the basket was and putting everything back inside.

Yamcha watched her silently, feeling anger and hatred toward the man responsible for ruining his afternoon and his night as well. He followed her to the car and let her drive them home, all the while trying to determine the best way to find out who that mystery man was without Bulma finding out what he was up to.

********* *********

*Briefs’ Residence; Buffalo, New York*

(Three days later)

It was a cold windy day…and for the third day in a row, the Briefs’ Heiress found herself thinking about Vegeta. She couldn’t deny that there was strong sexual tension between them. "But what of it?" she said aloud to herself as she brushed her hair before her mirror. {I’m marrying Yamcha now, so I can’t throw away my chances by messing around with that guy.} She shuddered slightly as she imagined his arms around her again.

"Bulma…how are things between you and Yamcha?" her mother asked, startling her.

Her daughter sighed once she’d recovered from her initial surprise. "We’re fine, Mother. Why do you ask?"

The older woman smiled a bit as she sat on the edge of her daughter’s bed. "I just want to see you happy, dear."

"Thank you," Bulma said distractedly, as she began to put on her makeup.

Mrs. Briefs cleared her throat delicately, catching her daughter’s attention. "Bulma, your father and I were just discussing purchasing a new home for you in Manhattan…that is, if that’s okay with you," she finished quickly, folding her hands neatly in her lap.

The blue-haired woman ceased her application of makeup and turned to face her mother, her face questioning. "Are-are you s-serious?" she asked, her voice quavering and her eyes overflowing with tears for the first time since Chichi’s wedding.

Her mother stood up, her face full of alarm, not sure what was wrong with her daughter. "Why yes! What is the matter, dear?" she asked.

Her daughter hugged her tightly, her tears quickly disappearing. "I’m just so happy," she said, sniffling.

Mrs. Briefs sighed in relief and patted her daughter. "Good. It’ll be a nice place for you and Yamcha to stay once you’re finally married." She gently withdrew from Bulma’s embrace, unconsciously adjusting her clothes as she did so. "Dinner will be finished in 10 minutes, dear. Don’t be late."

Bulma smiled as her mother left. Without knowing it, her mother and father had just answered her prayers. She had been planning on breaking her engagement with Yamcha and just living by herself. Now she would have somewhere to live. She sighed as she finished putting on her makeup. {The good thing about being a spinster will be not having to dress up everyday for any husband or anyone else} she thought, a wry smile on her face.

********* *******

*Paul Williams’ party; ½ an hour from Buffalo*

(Two Hours Later)

It took his eyes less than a second to grow used to light of the room he’d just entered.

"Hey, Vegeta! Over here," someone said to his right.

Vegeta turned to see who had the nerve to shout his name like that. {Anthony} he thought, unconsciously releasing a low growl.

Anthony didn’t seem to notice. "Hey boss! I didn’t expect to see you here." He laughed loudly, his breath reeking of bathtub gin. "Wonders will never cease, huh?"

The younger, yet stronger man merely frowned. "Anthony, what do you know about that Briefs vamp?" he asked, his tone suggesting his interest was merely business.

"Ah, her?" Tony said, swaying a bit on his feet. "She’s the bee’s knees, Boss. She’s a real beaut. I could have done it with her once…" he trailed off, a leer appearing on his face as his imagination took hold of him.

The Prince scowled angrily, shoving his hands in the pockets of his trousers to keep from punching the idiot in the face. "Stick to the facts, Anthony," he ordered, his voice full of barely kept rage.

"Yeah," Tony said, scratching his head. "Gee… uh, oh well, the last I heard of her she became one of them flappers…all the way up to petting parties and what not. That is until this bastard tried to rape her one day. This cake-eater by the name of Yamcha saved her and now they’re engaged." He winced as he said the words. "Kind of makes me wish I hadn’t missed my chance, Boss."

Vegeta had something between a smile and a smirk on his face. "Tough break," he said, his words dripping with sarcasm. He’d only come to the party to ask Tony about the Briefs’ girl, and now that he knew enough to satisfy his curiosity, he was ready to leave.

He nodded a farewell to Williams, and put his coat on, stepping outside into the cold Buffalo night. There were no stars out that night…it reminded him of another night…a night he’d rather forget…

~*~*~*~* Flashback ~*~*~*~*

Seventeen year old Vegeta was late home that night, and for that at least, his mother was grateful. As she lay dying in a pool of blood, she found her thoughts only on her handsome, intelligent son.

{He will be a great asset to this planet} she thought, wincing as the man who’d just stabbed her 15 times and robbed her house slammed the door shut behind him, leaving her for dead.

{At least he’s gone} she thought, grimacing. She tried to stand, but found she lacked the strength. She laughed bitterly at that. {After all these years of inactivity…I suppose it’s my own fault that my strength dwindled…}

She heard the front door slam open about five minutes later and braced herself for whomsoever it might be. "Vegeta," she croaked, then clearing her throat and saying it more loudly and more clearly. "Vegeta!"

In seconds, her son was by her side, his face full of anger as he saw his mother lying there dying. "What happened, Mother? Who did this to you?" he demanded as he crouched beside her, his low voice promising vengeance for the person or persons responsible.

"Forget it," she said weakly, tightly grasping his hand in her smaller one. She smiled as she sensed her son’s surprise to her strength. "Now…you must listen," she said, her voice gaining strength and conviction even as she continued to slowly die. "You-you were right all those years ago when you were young and you thought you are an alien. You are, your father was, and so am I. We are Saiyans, my son, from a planet of mighty warriors; a planet called Vegetaseii, after the very first Vegeta."

Her son’s eyes narrowed with concern. "You’ve lost a lot of blood, you may be delusional."

The woman continued as though he hadn’t interrupted. "You were about to be four years old. Bardock, a Saiyan with great mental abilities foresaw the destruction of our planet by an enormous meteor and advised that we all leave. You see, your father was the King, I was his Queen, and you are the Prince. We did so, but just as we were leaving, Bardock begged us to take his young son with us. His son is Kakkarot. I-I found a kindly older man here to take care of him. O-o-on our way here…"

She began to cry silently, shutting her eyes as she remembered. "Our ship was almost destroyed by the meteor Bardock had warned us of. W-we would have all died if your father hadn’t gotten out and pushed our ship out of harm’s way, but he-he didn’t make it and he’d known he wasn’t going to."

She wiped her eyes with her hand and looked up at her only offspring, her eyes glassy. "That-that’s what I’ve been keeping from you all this time. That’s why you’ve always been different. I just wanted you to live normally here. I didn’t want anything bad to happen to you. Do you…" her eyes began to flutter weakly and she seemed almost completely out of energy. "Forgive me?"

Vegeta felt his throat tightening and he fought to compose his features. "Of course," he said gruffly. He seemed to snap out of his shock for a moment. "I’ve got to call a doctor," he said, standing.

"No, no doctors!" his mother exclaimed, her eyes filling with panic.

Vegeta hesitated, swallowing hard to get rid of the lump in his throat. "But…if you don’t get help…"

"Then I’m going to die," she finished a weak smile on her face. "Yes, I know. I…don’t want them to…find out what you are Vegeta. Don’t ever let them find out…what you are. As long as you’re one of them…you will be…okay and they can’t hurt you. Always…remember…you’re the Prince of Saiyans. You…can do…anything…you--" Her eyes closed one final time.

Vegeta felt his vision blur as he looked at his mother lying there…exanimate, a smile on her face. Hot tears of fury fell onto his cheeks and he found himself on the ground beside her, screaming in anguish. The loss of his mother left a wound on his heart larger than any other pain he had felt in his life.

He had his mother buried in a nearby cemetery that he never once visited. His mother had always told him ‘No matter what happens to you in life Vegeta, keep going on. Whatever doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger, if it kills someone else, that too will make you stronger once you learn to cope with your feelings, son’.

The night after her funeral, he’d stood outside for 5 hours gazing at the starless sky, and decided that he would find the bastard that’d killed his mother…and he’d make him pay.

~*~*~*~* End of Flashback ~*~*~*~*

He no longer felt the old pain whenever he remembered that night. He only experienced a kind of dull ache that served to remind him that he had emotions, that he had been vulnerable.

"But no longer," Vegeta muttered beneath his breath, a sick looking smile on his handsome face. He no longer cared about anyone, so no one could hurt him that way again. Never. He wouldn’t allow it.

******** ******

*South Side; Buffalo, New York*

(A Week Later)

Franco sighed impatiently as he waited for Davis to finish scanning the paper he had in his hand. "Well?" he demanded loudly.

Davis winced, his hands shaking. "It isn’t documented on this report boss. I don’t think…I’m pretty sure he hasn’t announced that yet."

"Hasn’t announced it yet…" Freeza repeated, a twisted smile appearing on his face. "Am I supposed to buy that bullshit?" he said softly.

His servant could sense the mob boss’ anger and he quickly attempted to placate him. "Sir, Vegeta might have told someone closer to him, but he hasn’t announced it to anyone in the Northern Crime Ring, or it’d be here."

The pale man’s smile disappeared slowly, his eyes bored into his servant’s. "Very well, Davis. I’ll take your word on this matter for now. Next order of business."

Davis sighed in relief, but quickly got back on the job. "Some…some more folks for the Kitchen," he said quickly, looking away so he didn’t have to see the look of glee on Freeza’s face.

"Excellent," the calculating man purred, rubbing his icy hands together in delight. "Who’s first?"

A piece of crumpled paper was quickly smoothed out and unfolded. "Anthony Villas, sir."

"Anthony?" Franco repeated, his face full of mild surprise.

"Yes, sir, Mr. Marquee. You said once he outlived his use you’d want him exterminated," Davis reminded him.

Freeza’s eyes narrowed. "Perhaps I was a trifle hasty in making that statement. Anthony may be of some use to me for a while longer. Send him in, but don’t sedate him."

Davis nodded. "Yes sir. Do you want someone in here with you, sir? Tony’s a big guy."

His boss’ eyes glowed unnaturally and the man merely laughed. "He can be of no threat to me."

His servant bowed. As he left, he found himself shuddering. He was no psychic or nothing, but he could definitely sense something pernicious in his boss.

******* ******

*Letter sent from: Briefs’ Residence; Buffalo, New York*

(A week later)

Dear Chichi,

With love from Buffalo,

Bulma

******** *****

*Letter sent from Albany, New York*

(Eight days later)

Dear Bulma,

What in the name of all that is holy has happened to you?! I swear, when I was living in Buffalo, none of this kind of crazy stuff happened to you!! Maybe the city air is getting to you or something…I don’t know. Please forgive the smudges on here. Gohan was playing with the ink and well you know how kids can be. Goku says hello, as does Gohan (you still haven’t met him, have you?). Now, to address your problems. First, of course, I want you to tell me everything there is to know about this person you met at the park! Details of course. Next, I want to advise you to remind your parents of your age. Reassure them that you are indeed 27 years of age and not 7. As to your being single…I don’t know what to tell you. You’ll find somebody when you find somebody, and not a second before then. Ish Kabibble or whatever it is you used to say! What happened to that attitude Bulma? I miss how you were. As you can see, I’m almost completely out of room, so I must say farewell. Much love to you from, Chichi. PS: Gohan is all the way up to the letter R now! I’m so proud of him!

********** ******

*111 Magnate Boulevard, Buffalo, New York*

(Late That Night)

"Oh Vegeta…Vegeta," her sultry voice teased.

Vegeta found himself looking for her, upset when he could not find her. "Where are you?!" he shouted.

"Oh Vegeta, Vegeta…Vegeta!" Her voice was all around him. He could hear her from every direction, teasing him…mocking him.

"Woman," he began, his voice taking on a growl.

"I-I concede. I am yours," she said suddenly, wrapping her arms around herself and making herself into a vulnerable ball on the floor.

His baser instincts urged him to take her as she was, and to do it before it was too late, but the rational part of his mind told him not to…but this was a nightmare, and as we all know reason always loses in nightmares and horror movies. He reached for her, a carnal sneer on his face, at the same time he felt nothing but self-disgust, but he could not stop himself.

"NO! Don’t!" Someone else shouted. It was the voice of someone familiar to him. It was himself when he was seventeen. Vegeta felt his desire leaving him as he stared at his younger self who put a comforting hand on the female’s shoulders, and smoothed her blue hair comfortingly with his other hand.

"What are you doing?" the 32 year old Vegeta asked, his tone incredulous.

Seventeen year old Vegeta glared at him and pointed. "Look!" he shouted.

Vegeta felt his heart rate accelerating as he looked down at the blue haired female who had somehow ended up on her back, smiling gently, her eyes unseeing. The face changed and it was his mother as she’d been once she died all those years ago.

The older Vegeta fell to his knees and was violently ill as the younger Vegeta watched coldly. "Protect her like we couldn’t protect our Mother," the youth spit out angrily, his eyes full of anger. "Don’t let her become like Mother…don’t let her become--"

Vegeta sat up in bed, his dark eyes cloudy with sleep. He blindly groped for the phone a moment, and then picked it up, holding it to his mouth. "Hello," he said, his voice thick with sleep. He closed his eyes a second, in an attempt to weaken the effects of the headache he was sporting from a long day of packing the day before.

"Asshole," Vegeta grumbled, slamming the phone back onto its receiver. He lay back amongst his ebony and ivory pillows, going back to sleep…unwilling to ponder why that certain female haunted his dreams after all these years.

******** *********

*Briefs’ Residence; Buffalo, New York*

(The Next Day)

"Bulma! Darling, wait a moment, won’t you?"

The blue-eyed beauty—unused to her mother’s pleading tone—turned reluctantly to see what the older woman could possibly want.

Mrs. Briefs sighed as she slowly approached her daughter, her heart pounding. "Bulma…won’t you reconsider? Both your father and I wish you would stay here with us."

The stylish woman crossed her arms over her chest and steeled herself against her mother’s pleas. "I must do this, Mother. It’s not as if I’m moving to the moon! You can visit me whenever…well, as long as you call first."

"All right then," was the reply. Dr. Briefs’ wife conducted herself quite well under the circumstances. "Farewell, Daughter."

"Goodbye…" She turned to leave, holding her handbag tightly. She inexplicably found herself expecting a last minute attempt from her parents to keep her in Buffalo, but she was disappointed.

Bulma felt no sorrow as she climbed into her convertible and drove out of Buffalo toward the nearest railroad. Quite the contrary; she felt nothing but pure excitement.

******* *******

* Manhattan *

(Six days later)

"Vegeta! Don’t be such a blue nose! I was just asking if you want to go out tonight!"

The retired mob boss scoffed as he heard the desperation in her voice. "And I said ‘No’, didn’t I?"

Annette made a shrill sound of anger. "And why not?! I know! You’ve got some Dumb Dora holed up in that house with you, Vegeta, and don’t think for one minute that…hello? Hello? Damn that man…"she grumbled as she realized he’d hung up on her.

Vegeta thanked the powers that be that Annette was the only one of his wacky one night stands who’d been able to find out where he’d moved. The only reason why she knew was because her sister had been his real estate agent.

{Women} the Prince thought, getting out of the bathtub and going to the sink to comb his hair. He'd decided to grow it out…as long—or as high—as he could. He frowned at his reflection in the mirror for a second as he concentrated as hard as he could…using his ki to dry himself off. Smirking triumphantly at his accomplishment, Vegeta strode to his bedroom, as naked as a Jay bird, not in the least worried about anyone seeing him through his bedroom window.

He briefly contemplated walking into the kitchen naked, but quickly dismissed that idea as he anticipated the arrival of some annoying, busybody and otherwise nosy neighbor of his coming around to ‘warm-heartedly welcome’ him to Manhattan. Slipping on a pair of trousers, he walked out of his brightly lit bedroom—almost completely devoid of any furnishings, other than a wardrobe for his clothes and a King sized bed—and into his kitchen, which was no better. The bachelor--who’d never mastered the magic of all things Culinary-- owned a stove he didn’t know how to operate, a microwave (where all his meals were ‘cooked’), one microwave-safe dish, a huge refrigerator fully stocked with his favorite foods, a pantry stocked with canned goods, a can opener, and a lifetime supply of paper plates, cups, and cutlery.

* Hopefully, after reading that sad account, it comes as no surprise to the reader that when the bachelor was invited to one of the saner neighbor’s house for dinner, he readily agreed.

Marian Miller had always been beautiful, rich, spoiled, and extremely intelligent when the occasion called for it. Upon the arrival of her mysterious neighbor—who actually lived a good 10 minutes from her own home—she’d been visiting the home of one her ‘boy toys’.

Waving goodbye to Jay, she had paused for a long moment once she’d spotted a handsome man strolling up the lane to the newest house in this part of Manhattan, his expression almost wistful. He radiated a certain type of heat…an animalistic passion. Marian yearned to get a closer look; a more intimate glance of him.

So, as she instructed her driver to take her home, she began to put together a plan. A simple plan really. She sent her housekeeper, Mrs. Roads, over to carry out the invitation and ordered her servants to prepare the biggest and most elaborate meal imaginable. {After all,} Marian thought, a large smile on her face as she put on her rouge {every woman knows that the way to a man’s heart is his stomach}.

"Besides, I must inform the dear man as to the basics of living here in Manhattan," she said, winking at her reflection in the mirror as she heard one of her servants bustling up the stairs.

"Mrs. Miller, he’s here," Charlotte got out, panting from running from the front of the house up the stairs to her bedroom.

"Right on schedule," Marian muttered. She waved her hand in the direction of her unmade bed. "Take care of that won’t you Sharon." She glided down the stairs, a smile on her lips. Her professionally bobbed blonde hair was quickly put in its place, and her green feather boa—which matched her dress—was smoothed.

"Good evening," she purred, posing in the doorway to her parlor. "Welcome to Manhattan sir, and most importantly my home. I am Marian Miller"

{Someone save me…} Vegeta thought, keeping his face devoid of expression. He stood up from the leather couch he’d been impatiently waiting in for the past five minutes and bowed to her. "Pleased to make you acquaintance."

Marian dropped her pose, a tiny frown on her face as she tried to determine whether or not that was sarcasm. She decided it wasn’t and she bestowed a smile upon her guest. "I’m so glad you could come Mr.…"

"Just Vegeta."

She grinned almost predatorily, licking her lips seductively. "Ah, so the handsome man of mystery has a name. I am well-pleased."

The Prince raised his brows at her line, but said nothing of it, his eyes locked on her smoldering green ones. {They match her dress} he thought absently, not really caring in one way or another. But a tiny voice at the back of his mind acknowledged this woman’s beauty.

Marian shivered a little as she searched those black orbs. They seemed to captivate her very soul. His eyes seemed to expose her for what she truly was and tear her to pieces before this god-like figure…but she still wanted him. {Mm… this one will be delicious,} she thought, sashaying in his direction. She played with her boa a bit once she got close enough that there was only a small amount of room between their two bodies. "Hungry?" she asked, her voice breathless as she fancied she felt the pulsating heat from his body.

"Always," was the prompt reply. A teasing smile alit his features as he said this. Marian’s heart skipped a beat.

"Right this way." She tore her eyes from the fabulous specimen of mankind and led him to her immense dining room. In her mind she was thinking; {once he quenches his hunger for food, I will deal with his…other hunger}.

****** *****

*Manhattan*

(That same day)

"New to town are you?"

Bulma half-shrugged. "I’ve been here for the past two days."

Alicia blushed. "Oh. Well…perhaps I should introduce myself. My name is Alicia Marie Themes. Pronounced ‘THA MAY’. I am not the biggest gossip in Manhattan, no matter what anyone else tells you."

{Yeah right,} the native Buffalo gal thought, managing to keep a coolly interested look on her face. "Is that so?"

"Uh huh. It’s the Lord’s truth! Well, every once in a while, I’ve been known to share news with a few friends, but everyone does that." The gossip paused as she took a good look at her surroundings. "Your family throw you out?"

Bulma’s teeth clenched together in anger for a moment then she slowly allowed herself to speak. "NO, Ms. Themes, they did NOT. I asked them for a place here so that I could live on my own for once."

Alicia Marie’s eyes widened. "You’re not pregnant, are you gal?"

"NO!" Bulma shouted. She blushed slightly, clearing her throat. "I meant to say, of course not. I am a far better person than that."

"Huh. I thought all you Jazz babies was the same. Smoking, drinking, fornicating…" she shook her head sadly. "Damn shame, that is. Well, I suppose as long as you ain’t smoking, drinking, and fornicating like that Miller woman, we two can get along."

Bulma forced a smile. "I’m sure we will..."

****** *******

*Manhattan; Miller Residence*

(An hour later)

Never before in all of his years as an eligible bachelor had Vegeta met a woman he thought he could stand waking up next to for the rest of his life…and Marian was no exception. {I’d give her three days…tops} he thought to himself, allowing his eyes to roam over the beautiful woman.

The fire crackled loudly in the momentary lull of conversation and Marian winced at the sound. They’d just finished eating their supper and were resting comfortably in front of the fireplace when her husband’s grandfather clock struck seven. "It’s growing late," she commented, shrugging her boa from her shoulders and allowing it to fall to the floor.

"Yes," Vegeta replied, her gesture having the desired effect by gaining his undivided attention.

"I wish that I could ask you upstairs…to see some of my art collection but I fear that soon my husband will be arriving soon."

The Prince frowned darkly. He had a rule about associating with women who were married; just say no. "Such a pity," he drawled sarcastically, shoving his hands into the pockets of his black trousers.

Marian felt a sense of loss when she saw that look on his face and she stood also, her beautiful face pouting. "Are you angry with me, Vegeta?" She tilted her head slightly to one side and carefully licked her dry lips.

"Angry?"

She straightened up immediately, a frown on her lovely features. "You knew when you met me that I was married. I made no secret of it." She smiled sultrily at him. "Or maybe you are jealous…?"

Her guest laughed once, his features showing that he wasn’t truly amused. "You have it all wrong, Marian. I only came here for the food, and now that I’ve eaten, I will take my leave." He turned to leave, pausing at the doorway of her parlor. "I have no interest in you. I find you a superficial, conniving, adulterous, bitch and I will have nothing to do with you until I see fit."

Marian’s mouth had opened in shock at Vegeta’s harsh words and once she lost sight of him, it snapped shut, causing her blonde curls to bounce slightly. Unexpectedly, she smiled once she recovered from her shock, propping her feet up on the cushions next to her and sipping a glass of sparkling water gazing intently into the fire, her cheeks flushed.

Ten minutes later, when her husband returned home from work, she hastily dragged him up the stairs to their bedroom. Her husband, who had received no regard from his wife in months eagerly returned Marian’s attentions, pleasing her to the best of his ability. At the height of their passion, Marian found herself imagining someone else in the place of her slender, yet handsome brown-eyed husband.

As the two collapsed on the bed, panting from their exertion, Marian whispered his name, imagining that it was Vegeta and not Perry Miller with his arms about her naked body.

***** *******

*Letter sent from: Manhattan*

(Days later)

Dear Mom and Dad,

Not much else to say, except that I love you and I will visit you soon.

Love,

Bulma

PS: Please write back soon! I want to know everything that’s going on in Buffalo!

**** **

*Another letter sent from: Manhattan*

(That same day)

Dear Chichi,

********** *******

*South Side of Buffalo, New York*

(Three days later)

"So, it is finally here, Davis."

His servant nodded his head. "Yes sir, it’s here."

Franco’s long thin fingers slowly wrapped his glass of Chardonnay and he sipped from the glass pensively. "So…Vegeta is finally out of power. And what of his following? What happened to them?"

Davis quickly glanced at his report. "They are all out of the business for good…or so they all claim." He cleared his throat loudly, nervously glancing at his boss. "His uh…followers say Vegeta wanted to clean up his act and that he got tired of the game."

Freeza sneered at that bit of information, unconsciously breaking his glass in his pale hand. "Bull shit! He’s up to something and when I find out what it is…" Freeza frowned once he noticed that his hand was bleeding, staring at the deep wounds in a detached manner. "There will be hell to pay," he finished, his eyes burning unnaturally.

****** *****

*Albany, New York*

(A week later)

"Gohan…what comes after U? Come on my little genius, tell Mama what comes after U!" Chichi pleaded, her black eyes bright with anticipation.

Goku watched his wife, a grin on his face. {I’m so glad I left Buffalo for this. This is the life.}

Gohan pouted as he attempted to wriggle free from his mother’s arms. "T?" he guessed, not really caring that his answer was wrong.

Chichi grasped his shoulders more tightly, any traces of warmth gone once she sensed her son’s lack of lack of concentration. "Gohan," she said, her voice full of warning.

"V!" the wise youth supplied quickly, looking up at his mother.

Goku sighed, causing the pair to look at him. "Isn’t that enough for one day, Chichi?" he asked.

"Not if you want an intellectual for a son," she barked.

Gohan’s young eyes filled with tears. "I want to play!" he protested loudly, renewing his efforts to escape.

"Now, Gohan," his mother began, sliding him off her lap and onto his feet.

"Ah, give him a break Chichi. He’s already more smart than the other kids his age," the weary Saiyan begged, sitting on the floor near her feet.

Chichi bit her lip as she looked from her son to her husband. {They look so alike,} she thought for a moment, a smile adorning her lips. "All right," she said unexpectedly smiling. "Go play Gohan, but before it gets too late, I want to see you studying your alphabet book!"

The youth grinned at his father and ran out the back door to play as fast as his chubby legs could carry him.

His mother sighed as she watched him play. "He looks so happy," she said aloud, her eyes full of unshed tears. She turned to her husband, her lip quivering. "I just want the best for him."

"I know Chichi," Goku said soothingly. "But let him enjoy being a kid while he still can."

***** ******

*Opulence House, Manhattan*

(Five days later)

"I’m coming, I’m coming," Bulma called, quickly pulling her hair up from off her shoulders. She rushed through her parlor, cursing as she nearly toppled a ceramic vase.

Ms. Bulma Briefs yanked the door open, a frown on her face.

Alicia Marie grinned at her neighbor. "Morning Bulma! Me and some of the gals are going to the beach. Wanna come?"

{She woke me up at seven in the morning to go to the beach} the beautiful woman thought, her teeth tightly clenched. She forced a smile onto her features, resting her head on the door frame. "Oh! I’d love to Alicia." {I might as well go. I’ve nothing better to do}. "Let me just put on my bathing suit," she said, waving to the other girls as they honked the horn from her driveway and waved.

"Oh good," the local gossip said, her grin growing even bigger. "I’ll wait in the car with the other gals."

Bulma closed the door and went inside to change, a grim expression on her face.

Alicia, who was 28 years old, hopped into the Corvette with the ease of a 128 year old. "She-she’s coming," she got out, wishing that she had taken the trouble to merely open the door.

Amy, the owner of the vehicle, sniffed disdainfully, secretly jealous of the Briefs girl. "She’d better hurry up," she muttered, leaning against the steering wheel.

Patsy giggled for no apparent reason. "Yeah," she squealed enthusiastically.

The other girls ignored her. Patsy—like Bulma—was what they liked to call their ‘Man-Magnets’. But unlike Patsy, Bulma Briefs was capable of having an actual conversation with all the men she drew.

The door to the Opulence opened and out came the owner looking as disgustingly beautiful as usual, Amy scowled and stared straight ahead, refusing to look at the girl for longer than she had to.

"Sorry I took so long," Bulma said, a rueful grin on her face. "I couldn’t find anything to wear over my suit."

Alicia smiled and patted the empty seat next to her. "Hop in."

Patsy giggled. "Yeah."

The blue-haired woman’s grin wavered as she looked from Amy’s scowl, to Patsy’s large green eyes, to Alicia’s pleading face. "Nah, I think I’ll drive myself," she stated slowly, her blue eyes unreadable. "Thanks anyway."

"Fine," Amy ground out from between clenched teeth. "Let’s get a move on then."

The Man Magnet nodded and seemed to glide in the direction of her newer model car.

"What, is she too good to ride in my car?" the driver growled angrily, backing out of the newly paved driveway and onto the road.

"Yeah," Patsy giggled from the front passenger seat.

"Shut up, Patsy," Amy and Alicia said at the same time.

The blonde woman’s smile never wavered but she quieted her giggles, turning her green eyes to the beautiful scenery.

"I think she must have another reason," Alicia remarked, holding her hair back from her face.

"Like what," Amy shouted into the wind, spitting strands of her long black hair from her mouth and making a right turn onto the main road.

Silence from the back seat and then Alicia finally spoke. "I don’t know," she admitted, glancing back to see that Bulma was right behind them. "It’s probably not important."

"You’re right," Amy said, speeding up as if to keep as far away from the Briefs girl as she could. "It probably isn’t."

****** ******

*Letter from: Buffalo*

(Received the next day)

Dear Daughter

******* ********

*Central Park, Manhattan*

(That same day)

It seemed that no matter what he did, no matter where he went, Vegeta attracted a great deal of female attention. He wouldn’t have minded so much if he wasn’t ten years older than the oldest girl there and 15 years older than the youngest. He scowled and shoved his hands deep in his pockets. He’d come to the park to work out. Exercise had always been something he’d enjoyed doing, but it was impossible with so many women clinging to him and chattering about nothing.

{What do I have to do to get some peace and quiet?} he thought, walking to his black Model T, starting her, and driving off, leaving his fan club drooling behind him. He glanced back at the twelve girls unsympathetically, flooring the gas.

{Women are only good for two things,} he thought, a devilish grin coming onto his handsome features. {Food and sex…but once those hungers have been fulfilled they’re useless}.

***** ****

*Upper Manhattan*

(15 minutes later)

Vegeta turned the radio off, a frown on his face. "Love," he grumbled, going back to his crunches. "Waste of time and energy."

His stomach growled loudly and he hesitated in mid-crunch, glancing at his watch. {Time for lunch} he thought, finishing his 400^th one and then standing up. He didn’t bother going to his refrigerator…he already knew that emptiness awaited him there. No, instead, he grabbed his keys, put on some casual clothes and walked out of his quaint one-story home. It would only take him 15 minutes to walk to Perry Miller’s market. {With any luck, his wife won’t be there} he thought, a frown on his face.

It was a pleasant afternoon for a stroll, and he lived in a beautiful part of Manhattan. But Vegeta’s thoughts were on the incident he’d had with those girls in Central Park, and he was reminded of something one of his co-workers had told him one day; ishi no Ue ni mo sannen, which basically means perseverance wins in the end. {They’ll leave eventually, and when they do, I can determine what other abilities I have}.

His mind teased him by reminding him of the last time he’d had a woman. {What was her name?} he wondered absently, stepping over a large crack in the road. {She couldn’t have been that great if I can’t even remember her damn name}. He grimaced as suddenly he found himself wondering what his mother would say if she knew how he was now. Vegeta quickly pushed any memories of her from his mind, squinting in the direction of the sun.

In the distance, he could see the outline of Miller’s market. {I made good time} he thought, walking across the street.

He opened the door and nodded at the young man behind the counter. His name was Murphy or something, Vegeta shrugged, not really caring. His stomach growled again and he quickly purchased his items. He carried two large bags worth with him and had the rest delivered to his house for an extra $1.50.

Yep, it was just another day in the life of Vegeta, the Prince of Saiyans living in Manhattan.

****** ****

*Opulence House; Manhattan*

(Hours later)

The wealthy heiress sighed as she set the table for one…her thoughts on her time at the beach.

~*~*~*~* Flashback ~*~*~*~*

"Ooh, look! See that guy right there? The one with the dark blonde hair!?"

Bulma glanced up from the novel she’d been reading and glanced at the blonde man Alicia had been squealing about. He was a little too…’pretty’ for her tastes. She returned her attention back to her book.

"Bulma! Isn’t he delicious!?" Alicia gushed.

"Yeah!" Patsy giggled, smiling flirtatiously at the handsome young man.

Amy frowned at Alicia as she attempted to catch the blonde man’s attention. "Quiet you," she said.

The blue-haired woman licked her finger and turned the page. "I’ve seen better in Buffalo."

By then, the boy had walked out of sight, and Amy turned to frown at the blue haired woman. "Yeah right," she said, her tone sarcastic.

Bulma looked up at Amy, her blue eyes full of antipathy. She said nothing, letting the rude woman squirm uncomfortably under her gaze.

"Cut it out Amy," Alicia said, her tone half-angry, half-desperate.

"Ooh," Patsy said lowly, her green eyes full of awe.

The other three women quickly looked to see what had caused the beautiful ditz to interrupt.

Alicia’s jaw nearly dropped. "God is good!"

The tall, nicely built, tanned man grinned lazily at the four women once he noticed them watching him and jogged towards them.

"This isn’t happening," the black haired woman said, her heart skipping a beat.

The wealthy genius found herself watching the man with a certain vague interest. This one was much more rugged looking than the last and much more suited towards her tastes, but she had the feeling that he wasn’t her type.

"How you ladies doing?" he asked in a charming Australian accent, sitting down in the sand before them, meeting each of their eyes in turn. "Well, I hope."

"Yeah," Patsy giggled, twirling a strand of pale-blond hair about her index and middle fingers.

Alicia and Amy—who were not as pretty as either Patsy or Bulma, and therefore unused to handsome men giving them even a second glance—could only stare for the moment.

Bulma folded the corner on page to mark her spot and lay her book down beside her. "And you are…?"

The man’s hazel eyes twinkled as he finished eyeing her curves. "Carrying a torch for you, doll-face."

She was somehow able to ignore that comment. "I meant your name."

"The name is Sam…but you can call me whatever you want, beautiful," Sam said, giving her his undivided attention.

It had been a while since the Buffalo Gal had had men lavish her with flattery. {Keep your head Bulma,} she thought as she felt herself blushing. "Sam," she said slowly, relieved when she felt the heat leave her cheeks. "This is Alicia Marie, Patsy, and Amy."

Amy flushed angrily as Sam uncaringly looked at her and Alicia. She felt her hatred towards Bulma Briefs growing more and more by the second.

Patsy caught his attention though. She was a pretty 25 year old with the mind of a 6 year old…unless men were involved. Then she knew how things worked.

"Patsy," Sam said aloud, deciding that Patsy would be much easier to conquer than the exotic looking blue-eyed woman.

"Yeah," she giggled, batting her lashes flirtatiously.

"Want to take a walk with me?" he asked, standing up and holding out his hand to her.

Patsy quickly forgot about her friends and reached for his hand. "Yeah."

The two walked off together, hand in hand. Bulma hid a smile behind her novel.

Amy scowled at her and then turned to Alicia, picking up her blanket and wrapping it around her thin body. "Let’s go," she barked, stalking off.

Alicia stared after Patsy for a moment. "What about Patsy?" she shouted after Amy, picking up her things.

"She can take care of herself!"

Bulma rose and stretched languidly, gaining the attention of the blonde youth from earlier as he walked past again. She ignored him as she stooped to pick up her blanket and novel, not bothering to hurry. Just as she was approaching where they had parked their cars, she heard Amy telling Alicia; "I hate that woman! I swear to God, I hate her!"

~*~*~*~* End of Flashback ~*~*~*~*

Bulma Briefs chuckled, pulling a delicious casserole from the oven. She loved invoking that much emotion in people. The aroma of the casserole made her forget about Patsy, Alicia, and especially, Amy. She took out a knife and delicately cut herself a slice of the casserole, her stomach rumbling with hunger. The only thing she’d had to eat all day was an apple she’d grabbed once she’d come back from a long day of swimming and relaxing beneath an umbrella.

"What a day," she said aloud, serving up mashed potatoes that were a little too thick, and gravy that was a little too thin.

******* *******

*Opulence House; Manhattan*

(The Next Morning; 4:26 A.M.)

"Hello," the blue-eyed woman said, her voice thick with sleep.

A pause on the other end. Then, "Bulma! This is Alicia Marie. Oh, my gosh, you’ll never believe me when I tell you this, but Patsy is dead! The police found her body in Belleville about an hour ago!"

Bulma switched her lamp on, sitting up in bed. "Patsy…dead?" she repeated slowly, her half-asleep mind waking her up completely.

Alicia was crying. "Yes, she’s been murdered and raped and the police have no idea as to who did it."

The blue haired beauty took a few moments to comfort the crying woman, said her farewells and hung up…all the time thinking of the man on the beach. {Could he possibly be the killer?} she wondered, shivering slightly as the wind howled outside.

******** *******

Ages (at the end):

Vegeta: 32
Bulma: 27
Goku: 29
Chichi: 25
Gohan: 4 ½
--- --- ---
Franco: 47

Teaser: Sam turned to face her, a handsome smile on his face. "Oh come on, at least come look at the sky with me." When Bulma made no move to join him, he grinned fiendishly. "You know, I don’t bite."

"All right, all right!" She stood as close to this man as she dared and allowed herself to gaze at the moon again. It was a large yellow moon that seemed so close that she could touch it if she wanted to…it was beautiful yet somehow daunting in its presence. It was giving her the heebie-jeebies. At that very moment, a cold wind swept past, blowing her hair from her face and stirring the leaves of a nearby tree. Bulma shivered slightly, feeling lost as to what to do.

"Isn’t this nice," the muscular man murmured soothingly, lending her his body heat as he wrapped his arms about her.

Who the hell is Sam? What is he doing with Bulma?! And why is she so ‘freaked out’? Find out in the next chapter of Buffalo Gals! (So this is what it’s like to be the really annoying announcer for DBZ, LOL).

Ciao for now folks!

~BULMA16/Claire