debbiechan fanfiction

Always A First Time

by debbiechan

Disclaimer: I can make no claim to owning DBZ, yet I have a masochistic compulsion to tell this damn story.


A/N: Thanks as always to my beta LisaB and to everyone who is reviewing and writing letters--your support is really buoying me. Writing a continuation fic is so exciting, and I’m glad to be having this “first time” experience! dchan 5.18.05

Chapter Sixteen: Inconceivable Concepts

“Father, you’re just like my mother said. Strong, hard, prideful… and lonely.”—Mirai Trunks, episode 122

Bulma was in the Capsule Corporation infirmary again.

“Headaches?” asked the nurse.

“Yes,” answered Bulma. “Ever since I’ve been back home and around the parents I’ve been smoking less.” She smiled and shrugged. “Tension builds up.”




Bulma gave the nurse a wry smile. “Robin, when am I not irritable?”

“Hmmmm….” The nurse looked over the chart in her hands. “I bet the specialist is going to want to put you on a monthly contraceptive shot.”

“You’re kidding.” Bulma frowned, all joviality gone. “Are my hormones that screwed up?” She felt a flash of panic. “No, it’s not early menopause, is it?”

“Of course not. Nothing like that. But your lab profile indicates that the pill may not be working effectively for you. You may even have ovulated this month.”

Bulma breathed out a string of curses.

“You’re not pregnant,” the nurse quickly added, “and the egg is long dead if there was one at all. I wouldn’t worry too much about these irregularities in your bloodwork. You only started noticing odd symptoms recently, right?”

Bulma crossed her arms. She was aware of having picked up the gesture from Vegeta. “Just the bleeding yesterday. I wasn’t worried at all. I just wanted to rule out illness.”

“Midcycle bleeding happens sometimes for no reason--your body may have just been stressed. The pill you’re using now--once every three months, is it?--isn’t very strong anyway. I mean, it did work for you for years, but just to be on the safe side, you should be on the monthly shots.”

“What a load of crap.” Bulma grabbed the chart from the nurse’s hands. “I’m an adventurer. I’m in freaking outer space sometimes; I can’t be toting around contraceptive injection kits like a lipstick case.” Bulma was scanning the bloodwork page with her finger. “I can invent something myself to regulate these damn hormones.”

“Does that mean you don’t want an appointment with Dr. Tsuki?”

“Oh go ahead and make it.” Bulma handed the chart back with what could be construed as more irritability than usual. I am NOT going through early menopause…. She felt a strange pang of anxiety. If such a horror as early menopause were to strike her, the very idea of not being able to have children--why should that bother her?

“It’s really nothing to worry about,” the nurse was saying. “Very common thing. Women sometimes need to change contraception regulation as our bodies get older.”

Older? Bulma remembered her impending thirtieth birthday.

Endocrinology was not her strong suit, but she knew her way around electrical brain communication a bit. Maybe she could come up with some neurotransmitter device to regulate her hormones. It would require a lot of work, but the idea of being dependent on monthly contraception--ugh!

“When can I put you down with Dr. Tsuki? His calendar is so full but if I tell him his most famous patient needs him, he’ll be so delighted to consult with you. Just give me a date and a time.”

Bulma was already at the door. “I’ll get back to you on that, Robin.”


Once back in the family compound, Bulma decided that she was just plain too tired to do any more work. It was early afternoon. Her feet felt puffy and tired. A big lunch had made her sleepy, and spending any more time in the lab would only remind her how her plan to spend more “quality time” with Vegeta had failed big time.

Bulma had intended to stretch the gravity machine upgrade into a three or four day project. But yesterday, working with her father, she had managed to install, test, and secure all new surge detector systems in the capsule, eight bots, and sixteen bot prototypes in less than five hours.

“I never had a pupil who worked as diligently as you, my dear,” her proud father had told her.

“Anything to save the planet, Papa,” she had replied.

But the truth was that Bulma had been thinking less about the Android threat that day than about her stupid relationships with men.

The memory of Yamcha staring at the infirmary ceiling still haunted her. How could she have hurt someone so wonderful? And why had it been so impossible for her to stay in love with Yamcha?

Vegeta. She was in love with Vegeta, alright. Or maybe what she was calling love was some freaky hormonal deception. She was angry with him (the guy had spurned her that morning to train! And then he had blasted her good friend!), but just saying the name Vegeta in her head made her giddy with all sorts of undefined desires. What did she want from him? What could a human expect from a relationship with an alien?

Vegeta had apparently come back last night from wherever it was he’d flown, because Capsule 3 was lit up and running on full power when she had gotten up this morning.

If only I could just walk around in total denial the way guys do.

Vegeta had to feel something for her, didn’t he? The way he touched her, how could he not?

Bulma opened the door to her bedroom and bent over to unstrap her boots. After she kicked off the too-tight footwear and lifted her head again, she saw him.

Vegeta was asleep in her bed.

The sight made her forget herself, the whole day, all her tiredness. He was lying on his back, wearing those black shorts and athletic shoes, his mouth slightly parted. His bare chest rose and fell evenly. She thought he was dead asleep until he opened his eyes and looked at her as if he had been aware of her presence all along.

Of course. He probably sensed me before I even walked through the door.

“Is Capsule 3 blown up again?” she asked quietly.


“The bots?”

“There are still six of eight in working order.”

She walked to the bed, stood at the foot of it. “Did you get injured or something? What are you doing here in the middle of the day?”

He looked at her with his usual unfathomable expression. “I’m not injured.” The slant and heaviness of his eyebrows gave him a perpetual frown, but Bulma could tell that he was neither angry nor uneasy. In fact, he looked rather comfortable lying there.

Bulma got on the bed and began to crawl to him on her hands and knees. “Tired?”

He looked away. “Nothing on this planet can tire a Saiyan. I’ve reached a plateau in my training. I need to think for a while on how to progress.”

She was leaning over his chest now. Bright light from the windows and open balcony shone on his bronze skin. “You need to think?” She reached out and put the back of her hand on his face. She couldn’t help it--she knew he wanted to be touched. Her fingers moved in a light, grazing motion across his cheek.

“I’m thinking,” he said without turning to look at her. “I’m thinking that you must be a lazy human to come to your own bed in the middle of the day.”

“I’m picking up a Saiyan cycle maybe. I don’t keep anything like regular hours anymore.” Her hand swept into his hair. It was immeasurably soft, not at all what one would expect such strange and spiky hair to be. “I get so tired in the middle of the day because you exhaust me at night, you know.”

“So you came here to….” His head tilted back into the pillow as her fingers combed through his hair. “Sleep?”

Bulma felt a little sad. He would allow her to touch him this way but he would never initiate this sort of languid caress, never. “Maybe I want to sleep. Maybe I just want to lie here next to you and have a conversation.”

He had to look at her to get her meaning.

“Yes, I really mean a conversation, Vegeta.”

His eyes were too much, so she lay down beside him. She folded her hands over her stomach. “Sometimes I want to hear your side of the story. It doesn’t matter what story. Take Namek. I’ve gotten more information about what happened on Namek from Krillen and Gohan than from you.”

He didn’t answer her. She could feel him thinking.

“Did you know that Yamcha was hurt?”


“I know that blast wasn’t meant to hurt him, but he got thrown into the gate and cut his head.”

She could almost hear him scoff, even though Vegeta had made no noise. His breathing was steady--almost tranquil.

“I know you could have killed him if you wanted to, but why--why did you want to scare him?”

“It was a foolish move.”

Bulma was surprised. She moved her head to look at Vegeta, who was staring at the ceiling much in the way Yamcha had at the infirmary. As if there were some sad, miserable and reluctantly realized truth up there.

“Vegeta? Are you saying you regret shooting a fireball at Yamcha?”

“It’s not what you think.” Vegeta’s voice was almost as hushed as Bulma’s. “I would have liked to have killed him, for either killing him or scaring him would have had the same effect.”

Bulma frowned, totally confused. “Ok, now you’re just being stupid, not mysterious.”

“Listen to me. People will wonder why I lowered myself to even bother blasting that creature. He means nothing to me. They will suspect that I was trying to make a claim on you.”

The words were titillating. Make a claim on you. Bulma felt a thrill surging in her chest.
“So… you’re saying that it still matters to you that people don’t know about us?”

“I don’t care what humans know or don’t know. A true warrior does not involve himself with competitions for females.”

Talking with him reminded her of the cryptograms and word puzzles she enjoyed in her childhood. There was a deep pleasure in it. One almost as gratifying as that other pleasure. “Oh there’s no competition here, Vegeta.” She rose on one elbow and brought her hand back to his face, stroking his earlobe with more purposeful intent. “I chose you.”

He looked at her with his unfathomable eyes. “But I did not choose you. I have no interest in human entanglements.”

His words didn’t faze her. “Right. You didn’t choose me.” She smiled. “And that’s why you’re here, in my bed, in the middle of the day, about to get good and entangled.”

He did not respond to her kissing his neck, although she knew he was clearly enjoying the gesture. Her lips could feel the sound of his voice when he spoke again:

“On my home planet, for the last twenty generations before its destruction, kings took no queens. King Cold may have stipulated such a thing in the treaty with Vegetasei or perhaps our own kings decided that mated leaders would be at a liability in war.” Vegeta’s voice sounded as if he were musing aloud to himself. “We were…under the thumb of a greater power for the first time. Millennia before Cold, Saiyans had emerged as the supreme warring power in the galaxy, but then the Cold Klan stopped us.” Vegeta’s voice was so quiet, revealing no emotion. “They used our strength…. They wielded a sort of political mastery…that Saiyans did not.”

Bulma felt like she had stopped breathing. He was telling her about his home world? Vegeta’s words were not making sense at the moment but she was committing them to memory.

“If there was no queen, who was your mother?”

“I had no mother. I was conceived in a genetic refinery. The blood of a thousand Saiyan kings runs in my veins.”

“You were cloned?”

“I doubt that. How could I have surpassed my father’s power levels if I had been? But I have no idea what biological processes were involved. Such things had not been part of my studies… before I….”

She had stopped her caresses. He had run out of words.

He reached to embrace her, and she rolled on top of him.

Their eyes met.

Bulma felt so in love with him, but a future with this man--no, this Saiyan… it was an inconceivable concept. “Why are we doing this, Vegeta?”

He answered her with a kiss. It was a slow, tentative kiss. Not as passionate as usual, his breathing even and shallow. A searching kiss.

Sensing his doubt, his touching uncertainty, as he put his hands on her shoulders, she began--strangely enough--to feel a sense of security. He doesn’t know what he wants from me either. Some concepts no longer seemed inconceivable.

Then he covered her with his warmth.

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