Vegeta was dreaming.

It was a good dream. It was one he’d had on and off throughout his life. In this dream he is the Legendary Super Saiyan and he is kicking Frieza’s ass. There is one addition this time: this time his hair glows gold as he had seen Kakarott’s glow on Namek.

It was an epic battle, as usual. Frieza met him blow for blow, transforming repeatedly in an effort to keep up with the awesome power of a Super Saiyan. A familiar scene, soon to end in inevitable victory.

Vegeta sat up in bed, sweat covering his body. It took just a moment to realize he’d fallen asleep in the woman’s bed again. She lay beside him peacefully, undisturbed by his sudden movement. Vegeta swung his feet to the floor, rubbed his face with his hands.

How had this happened? When had it happened? When had sexual play turned to this . . .caring? When had it started to matter whether she lived or died? When had she started to matter?

He knew he would never know the answer. It was three weeks since their first encounter and looking back nothing had really changed. They met, they fucked, end of story. To be honest with himself though, that was not precisely true. He was aware of feeling a certain . . . anticipation at seeing her that he knew had nothing to do with impending sexual gratification. That he had lingered long enough to fall asleep in her bed should have alarmed him the first time it happened, but he lied to himself about his fatigue from training or their bed-play and the greater comfort of her large bed.

Now, Vegeta thought as he looked at the woman, now I’m handicapped for battle. All my work to become the strongest warrior in the universe is for naught if my enemies can defeat me without open battle. I must rid myself of this weakness before it can be discovered and exploited.

This must end now. Vegeta found his clothes and left Bulma’s room without looking back.

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Vegeta flew to a remote location to determine how best to rid himself of his growing attachment to Bulma. At first he tried very hard to pin down exactly why this feeling was growing, but discovered that he couldn’t. This feeling just was, it was woven into his being and he knew there was no way to cut out the feeling as if it were a tumor and leave the rest intact. It all had to go. . . .he had to go.

There was no way he was strong enough to stay here, even after terminating this relationship (yes, that was the word, he could avoid it no longer,) with Bulma. She would fight him for it, he knew. She would argue and reason and cajole and eventually she would lay her slim white fingers on him, press her sweet-scented softness against him and he would lie to himself and give in. He needed to end it permanently and in a way that would remove Bulma Briefs from his plate forever. After he did that, he couldn’t stay.

So he developed a battle plan. He took what he knew of Bulma and he carefully crafted a scene that would insure that Bulma would never, ever want to see his face again. Then he returned to Capsule Corp. to prepare for his departure. He contacted Mrs. Briefs and requested extra stores. He personally inspected Capsule Four to determine if it was ready for space. Finally, he retrieved the jacket he’d worn that fateful night when everything changed and found the piece of paper Kiara had given him. After a few failed attempts at correctly operating the telephone, he finally reached her message system.

"Kiara. This is Vegeta. I have decided to accept your offer. I will be leaving Earth soon, probably in the next seventy-two Earth hours. I will monitor Galactic Channel Four for rendezvous coordinates."

His tasks completed, he returned to the gravity room to train and wait for the inevitable encounter.

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Bulma was waiting again. Vegeta hadn’t shown up for two days and now she was getting concerned something was wrong. He was here, she knew, because she’d heard the gravity machine going on and off, but when it was turned off at night, rather than joining her in her room, Vegeta stayed away.

Bulma wracked her brain trying to think if she’d done anything to piss him off. She hadn’t pestered him with any more questions about his past and their last encounter had been unremarkable—a few insults to get the blood pumping, then a little bit of everything else to get the rest pumping. Even though she was alone, Bulma blushed at the memory. If sex is like ice cream, she thought, then sex with Vegeta is like ice cream with hot fudge, whipped cream and a cherry. It’s just more . . .yummy.

I guess I’ll have to go see him and find out what I’ve done, she thought. I’ll feel like an idiot five minutes after I speak to him I’m sure. I know this isn’t forever, but I’m still having too much fun to let it slip away. A new thought struck her: What if he’s hurt? What if he can’t come? He probably isn’t, but at least I can use that as an excuse for checking on him.

Confident that she could mask her visit in concern for his physical well-being, Bulma finally went to sleep.

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He knew the moment she entered the machine. He was in his room putting the last of the capsules he had prepared for his trip in something Bulma called a ‘workout bag’. He took a breath, flipped on the television and sat down on his bed, welcoming the encounter. Now that his decision was made and the preparations for his departure were complete, he was eager to be on his way.

"Hi, Vegeta," Bulma said from the doorway.

Vegeta glanced her way and gave a small nod acknowledging her presence, then turned his attention back to the television screen.

Whatever Bulma had expected to find, it wasn’t this: Vegeta relaxing on his bed watching. . . hockey? He clearly wasn’t injured, which put her back at square one, which was wondering what had she done to screw everything up?

"Hockey?" she asked, entering the room, but feeling like she was walking into some kind of warped fourth dimension.

"It’s similar to a game played on Frost," Vegeta said. "A lot less blood here, of course, and no one ever dies."

"Of course," Bulma said. What was wrong here? This whole scene has suddenly become very surreal.

Bulma approached the bed. "Are you OK? You’re not injured, are you?" she asked.

"I am well."

Another pause. Bulma reached out tentatively to touch a shoulder. "I’ve missed you the last two nights," she said.

Vegeta shook off her hand with a small shrug.

"OK, what’s wrong?" she asked.

"Nothing’s wrong. I simply no longer require your services, that’s all." Vegeta got up and turned off the television.

"’Services’?" Bulma asked, confused. "What are you talking about? The gravity machine? The robots?"

"The sex, Bulma. Surely you remember? I know it’s been two days, but even I found the experience more memorable than that." He was leaning a shoulder against the wall now, his arms crossed.

"I remember," Bulma said. What was wrong with her? Suddenly her brain was in low gear and working more slowing by the second. "I just never thought of it as ‘services’."

"Call it what you will. At any rate, as pleasant as it was, it had become a little stale," Vegeta said. Where the hell is her anger? he thought. She should be screaming at me already. Confused as he was by her reaction, he pressed on with his plan. "Although," he added, "if this whole science thing doesn’t work out for you, I could recommend a few brothels in the West Quadrant. You’d make a fortune as a courtesan."

"I already have a fortune, thank you," Bulma said softly. Why was everything appearing to happen in slow motion? Where was her anger? She should be furious. She should have thrown him out five minutes ago and all she could do stand there with her eyebrows knitted together trying very hard to figure out what was wrong. Something was just not right about this and that’s why she wasn’t yelling or screaming. . .

Then suddenly she knew. Her heart was breaking.

And from deep in the basement of her brain, something she’d kicked down the stairs and slammed the door on burst from her lips.

"I’m in love with you," she said.

Vegeta faltered for a moment at that, realizing that their game had gone much farther than either of them had ever intended. All the more reason to end it, he thought.

"Love? Really? Whatever possessed you to do a stupid thing like that?"

"I don’t know. . ." Bulma said. "It was so. . .you were so. . ." she trailed off helplessly. She had no idea what she was trying to say. Her brain still wouldn’t function. Her eyes began to burn with tears.

Vegeta moved to stand in front of her and looked in her eyes.

"I was so. . .what? Tender?" He stroked her cheek absently. "Gentle? Please, Bulma. You hardly would have spread your lovely thighs had I been otherwise, would you?"

Bulma looked into his eyes, eyes she was sure had once looked on her with warmth, even affection, only to find icy blackness. A stranger’s eyes, she thought. Her brain chose that moment to function, dredging up a long forgotten couplet to a sonnet she’d had memorize for some class.

Who art as black as hell, as dark as night.

Oh Kami, she thought. What have I done?

Vegeta decided it was time for the coup de grace. Although his opponent clearly wasn’t going to put up a fight, he needed to end this and be on his way. He leaned forward and breathed the words into her ear.

Bulma’s eyes widened at his words and her anger finally awoke from whatever trance she’d been in. She slammed both palms against his chest, pushing him out of her way and ran out of the gravity room. She ran beyond the Capsule Corp. grounds. She was ten blocks away, tears streaming down her face when she finally stopped and wondered why she was running and went back to throw his ass out.

By the time she got back, he was gone. The apartment in the gravity room had been cleared of any sign that it had been occupied moments before. A few hours later, crying alone in her room, she received a call from a supervisor at one of the hangers saying Capsule Four was missing. Had she or Dr. Briefs perhaps ordered it relocated?

Bulma assured the supervisor that she did indeed know where the capsule had gone and not to worry. She hung up the phone and looked out her window at the sky. I guess I was right about one thing, she thought. I felt like a fool five minutes after I talked to him.

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