A/N: HIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII!!! Here I am again, with another juicy tale for you to sink your teeth into! This is my take on how Bulma and Vegeta got together, and starts in a weird bit. It's after Freiza and just before Trunks; I'm not too good with sagas and timelines, so bear with me! Anyway, this is a really different take, or so I think…I'm keeping the people in character as best as I can, so help me out if I go off track! Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I own nothing, not Bulma or Vegeta (unfortunately) nor Daniel Cleaver or Ferrari (again, both so unfortunate.)

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Chapter 1-

Pretty Woman saves the day!

Around Capsule Corporation that day, the spring breeze whispered gently, caressing the snow white metallic walls of the dome shaped buildings. The fresh sunlight shone through the leaves and branches of the Sycamore, Oak and Willow trees, casting dark shadows onto the light green, neatly mown lawn. The grass blanketed an acre, clinging onto a tender slope that lead to concrete and civilisation. Capsule Corp truly was an amazing site, a place where technology and nature co-existed in peace, due to the Brief's stance on environmental issues. Mainly that they wanted to keep the world happy and not destroy it.

A shiny red Ferrari pulled up the 200m drive, the spotless paintwork reflecting beams of sunlight back into the sky. The crunch of the wheels on the gravel was one of the only noises, even this complimenting the twittering of the birds in the trees. With a slight disturbance, the car door slid open, a slender, faded black jean clad leg appearing out of it. The leg was static for a few moments, the lilac high-heeled shoe shifting as the owner rummaged about in the glove compartment.

Quickly, almost within blinking speed, the remainder of the body appeared, the twin leg and twin shoe first. A plain white tank top hugged the woman's curved waist nicely, azure blue hair cascading down over the shoulders and back like a straight waterfall. Dark blue eyes glinted in the sunlight as the car door thudded shut, disrupting the peace again.

Bulma Briefs was not one of these women who shopped all day and all night. She had a life filled with a lot more meaningful activities thank you very much. But she'd been working on the new capsules for a week solid, and believed that a break was good for both the psyche and the body. Behold the purple clothes bags in her hands at that very moment. She earned her money, by GOD she earned it, so why not indulge in spending it?

The lilac heels unsettled the gravel as she made her way up to one of the yellow domes, setting her bags down on the floor as she rummaged in her jean pocket for the back door key. The front door was almost always used when entertaining, and the back door was a lot more convenient anyway.

Sighing, Bulma set her bags down on the table and crossed to one of the oak cupboards, reaching in and pulling out a frosted glass tumbler. The terracotta tiles matched the terracotta walls and terracotta blinds on the windows. Bulma's mother was very into design programmes such as Changing Rooms and DIY S.O.S, and so if Lawrence Llewellyn-Bowen didn't approve of it, it'd never grace her house!

A sudden bump from upstairs alerted her attention, almost making her drop the glass, instead just causing a splash of water to fall onto the sideboard. Hissing angrily, she ripped off a sheet of kitchen roll, mopping up the water until the once sturdy sheet was a sodden ball.

"Yamcha? Yamcha, you home?" she called up the stairs, throwing the paper into the swing bin as she made her way out of the kitchen to the stairs. "I thought you'd be out all day, you could've at least made lunch with me as I suggested!" she complained with a sigh as she walked across the landing to her and Yamcha's bedroom. Opening the glossy white door, she stopped dead. Her mouth fell open and her eyes widened.

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She was home. Fantastic…or not as the case may be. Now the serenity of Capsule Corp was truly disturbed, as white gold-capped boots thudded along the gravel path, pausing near the red car. Jet-black eyes narrowed in disgust and contempt at the shoddy parking, muscled arms folded across an equally muscled, dark blue spandex clad chest, the hands covered in white gloves, similar to the material the boots were made from.

The well-built man shook his head, marching once more toward the building. Sweat glistened on his tanned skin, brown hair the darkest shade you could ever imagine defying gravity, reaching out toward the sky in a formation reminiscent of fire. Yet, no gel or styling products were used to hold the hair up. Vegeta didn't believe in them.

After all, grooming products were a symbol of the vanity of this weak race, and why would the Prince of all Saiyans bother with the way he looked? Not that he really had to worry about that. He was handsome, a hell of a lot more handsome than the woman's partner, and most of the excuses for males on this god-forsaken planet.

Even on Vegetasei he'd been something of a rarity. Saiyan men were prized, honoured as the most handsome race in the universe because of their jet black hair, mahogany skin, dark eyes and muscular stature. So, as the last remaining Saiyan, apart from that clown Kakkarot and his brats, he was obviously the best looking male. Kakkarot was too much of an idiot to possess the true attitude and poise that gave Saiyan males their irresistible aura, and his brats weren't even third-class half-breeds. They had more human in them than Saiyan.

Entering the kitchen, he saw the half-empty glass on the side and frowned slightly. It wasn't like the woman to leave things after herself…she was one of the cleanest people he'd ever had the misfortune to meet, apart from Kakkarot's harpy. Pulling open the same cupboard Bulma had just been in, he took a larger glass and filled it with ice-cold water, downing it in one gulp. He repeated this process three times, deciding to take his last glass slowly and take a break from training. On Vegetasei, training had been taken in 30 minute blocks, each block punctuated by a 5 minute break. He'd been training hard for 3 hours straight, and would give himself a 10 minute break instead. He was the Prince of all Saiyans after all.

Settling himself at the table, he eyed the clothes bags with a scowl. Such idiotic ways humans spent their time…perhaps if they spent their time training instead of shopping they'd be stronger. In fairness, the woman had some kind of brain on her shoulders; she wasn't a younger version of her infernal mother. And, though he'd rather be gutted like a fish than admit it, the woman was an attractive human. Not half beautiful enough to attract him of course, but he understood why that idiot man went for her. She was one of the better humans, he wouldn't choose to be living with her if he could help it, but she was tolerable.

"WHAT THE FUCK?!?!?!" he heard her screech from upstairs, and could sense the fiery, furious ki radiating from her. He smirked to himself. The man. Obviously, he'd chosen to infuriate her somehow, fool. He took a drink of his water, onyx eyes sparkling as he leant back in his chair, waiting for the fireworks to begin.

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"Bulma, babe, it isn't-"

"How it looks?" finished Bulma venomously, glaring at her, from that moment EX-boyfriend. Yamcha blinked and swallowed nervously, attempting to calm his raging girlfriend as the blonde behind him covered herself up in the white bed sheets. "Then tell me Yamcha babe, how is it?" she raised her eyebrows and folded her arms, deep blue eyes piercing Yamcha. He gulped, eyes shifting from Bulma, to the right of her, to the door, back to Bulma. "I'm. Waiting." said Bulma slowly and calmly.

It was from that moment that Yamcha knew he was screwed. And not literally.

"OUT!" screamed Bulma suddenly, grabbing a photo frame and throwing it across the room, the glass smashing from the impact.

Yamcha didn't need telling twice. He shot up and pelted out of the room and down the stairs, dragging the blonde, who was still entwined in the sheets, behind him all the way.

As he passed Vegeta in the kitchen, he growled and his face reddened as Vegeta laughed loudly, banging his fist on the table. He leant back and smirked at Yamcha, raising his glass as a mocking gesture. Bulma followed, eyes sweeping across Vegeta briefly before fixing on Yamcha and pushing him out of the house.

"But babe…" he protested weakly, earning a stinging slap from Bulma that made Vegeta's eyes widen. That was pretty good for a human woman. Pretty good indeed!

"Don't you 'babe' me Yamcha! You and your slut better get off my property before I get really pissed off and release the dogs." she growled, slamming the door shut in Yamcha's face. She turned to face Vegeta, shaking her arms off. Her look told him clearly not to mess in this, and not that he was afraid…much, but it was a hell of a lot more amusing to watch.

As though she'd just remembered something, Bulma span round like a bolt of lightning, wrenching the door open and grabbing the bed sheets Yamcha still held round himself. The blonde had long since run away, screaming.

"Those are MINE!" she shouted, seizing the sheet in one swift tug and slamming the door again, leaving Yamcha, once more, on the other side. Naked.

She stood for a moment, scowling into thin air leaving an awkward silence between her and Vegeta. Vegeta raised his eyebrows, mildly impressed and very much amused.

"If you and your idiot ex have finished your spat, you can wash my glass for me." he said decidedly, swinging his legs off the chair and crossing to the door. He opened it, then turned back for a second, watching Bulma intently. "And if it holds any consolation whatsoever, he was a fool." he said shortly before slamming the door shut, albeit a lot more gently than he usually would. Bulma blinked.

"That was NOT a compliment Bulma Briefs." she told herself sternly, refusing to get carried away by the words the handsome Saiyan could manipulate so easily and so well. "That was honesty."

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"Vivian!!!" hollered Richard Gere, waving the bunch of red roses in one hand and, for some reason, his umbrella in the other as he cruised down the battered street, his suit covered torso visible out of the top of his limo through the sunroof. "Vivian!" The sweet opera music from the show he and Julia Roberts had seen on their first real date played out of the open roof window, carried up to Julia Roberts on the wind as she looked out of the window of her third floor flat. "I'm coming up!" declared Richard Gere, in oh such a masculine way as Julia Roberts laughed, hardly daring to believe that her dream had come true. As they met on the middle landing of the fire escape and kissed, properly for the first time, with all the pent up love and hidden emotion they shared, Bulma broke down.

Blindly reaching for the tissues on the side table, she sniffed. Pretty Woman was a great break-up movie, but only when you were watching with friends. With friends, at that point in the movie, a long discussion would be started about how men would never do that in real life and how their penises should be crushed with two bricks. On your own, however, that point in the movie usually lead to a.) the constant, violent shedding of tears, b.) the regret that you'd ever gone out with the dick in the first place or c.) the phone call to said dick declaring that you missed him and wanted to give it another try. Women truly were weak.

Bulma wiped her eyes and blew her nose, taking a spoonful of Ben and Jerry's Cookie Dough ice-cream from the 500ml tub in her lap, She snuggled underneath her pink, white and lilac patchwork quilt as the multi-DVD player switched from Pretty Woman to Dirty Dancing. She wrinkled her nose and clicked the next button, smiling slightly as Bridget Jones-The Edge Of Reason appeared. Renee, Colin and Hugh, all a girl needed to get over a break up.

Though she wasn't a size 12/14 30-something failing journalist, and a size 10 23 year old successful scientist, she felt a great similarity to herself and Bridget. Never the right men, never. Daniel Cleaver…Yamcha…

"At least Daniel Cleaver's good looking…" voiced Bulma quietly with a sniff of resentment. But, with Bridget, there was always the Mark Darcy. Though she didn't really see it, she always had him in the background. Her fall back, someone who she didn't really like or think of in that sense, but would always be there to pick her up when Daniel Cleaver threw her out. "I have no Mark Darcy…" said Bulma shakily, her bottom lip quivering. A fresh batch of tears, stronger and more vicious than the last expelled themselves and Bridget Jones was forgotten.

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"Crap…" growled Vegeta, holding on to his bicep as he lumbered into the kitchen, without the poise and grace usually held by the Saiyan Prince. Since when did colliding with a robot give you a dead arm so dead it had already undergone the autopsy and was six feet under? He'd had a dead arm before of course, but this was crippling, unmoveable. He took a glass of water and drank it slowly, evenly as his breathing straightened itself out. His chest heaved as he inhaled deeply, gripping his arm for dead life and left the kitchen to go get some fresh bedding.

He stayed in the training wing, in a room next to the Gravity Room he occupied most of the day, every day. It was a room. Nothing more, it wasn't trying to be anything it wasn't, not a bedroom/study, not a bedroom/bathroom. Just a room with a bed and a set of drawers. It really was all he needed, he ate his meals when the other lot had gone and he could eat in peace without any interrogation from the woman's mother.

What was that wailing? His highly sensitive ears picked up a low-pitch almost humming noise, broken by sniffs and other various noises. He frowned, following the noise curiously, his fists clenched ready for any trouble. A flashing light caught his eye, it seemed to be coming from a room at the end of the right hand corridor, and the noise was getting louder too. God, what the hell was that unearthly sound? He inhaled, holding his breath as he stood, back pressed against the wall next to where the noise and light was. He scowled and burst into the room, mouth open as he saw Bulma, biting her patchwork quilt and trying to stop the howl from escaping her mouth any more.

"Woman." said Vegeta firmly, arms folded. No response. "Woman…WOMAN!" he yelled, causing Bulma to hiccup and spin round, wide eyes staring at him, frightened like a deer caught in car headlamps. He could almost hear her heart pounding against her ribcage. Something about the sight of her tugged at his heart and made his breath hitch in his throat. Her pale skin looked luminous in the light of the television, her straight blue hair pulled off her face into a haphazard ponytail, the most delicate and softest of strands falling into her face. Keen Saiyan sight could spot her pulse beating near her jaw line, a steady monotonous rhythm that was almost hypnotising.

"Stop that bloody noise." he snapped shortly, angry both at her and himself for that little hesitation. Since when did he, the Prince of all bloody Saiyans, notice a bloody HUMAN woman's fucking pulse? Bulma sniffed.

"Don't be so fucking rude today Vegeta." she argued weakly, turning back to the television with a sniff, wiping her eyes with a tissue. "I seriously am not in the mood." Vegeta raised an eyebrow.

"Is this pathetic display all because of that weakling?" he asked curiously, not that he cared of course. He had to get to the bottom of it to stop her making that god-damn noise, and seeing as her own family had abandoned her for the evening to go to some fancy restaurant, he was left to pick up the pieces. 'Look what the Prince of all Saiyans is reduced to.' he thought venomously, teeth gritting. 'Trying to console some stupid female over her latest romantic mishap…feeble human emotions. No wonder this is such a weakling race…'

"What do you think Vegeta?" shot Bulma, eyes narrowed as she stared at Daniel Cleaver as he tried to speak to Bridget in the film room. Bastard. "Don't even judge me based on this, you have no idea…you have no…you don't know!" she finished feebly, squeaking as more tears welled up. Vegeta rolled his eyes and growled slightly.

"Woman. That idiot was a fool. No worthy male would ever cheat on you, so don't make his betrayal any more prevalent with your tears." he said truthfully, his voice solemn and quiet. Bulma turned slightly, eyes wide until she was looking into his eyes. Vegeta gulped. Why the fuck was he nervous? What was happening!

Bulma bit her bottom lip slightly. She had butterflies in her stomach, caused by Vegeta of all people! His eyes…they were so capturing, enslaving almost. So dark and deep…she could fall into them and get lost forever. And the silence was stretching. Uncomfortable. Five minutes! Speak!

"What tears…" she said weakly, cheeks reddening. Well done dumbnut…Vegeta frowned slightly.

"Woman, are you trying to be funny here?" he said shortly, chin up, eyes piercing Bulma. She gasped indignantly and shot up, facing Vegeta on her knees on the couch.

"Yes Vegeta, I am, because this is a fucking hilarious situation!" she said hotly, hands on her hips. Vegeta raised an eyebrow, growling.

"Well, all I am saying is forget that idiot and move on. You were too good for him anyway." he said finally, leaving the room, and a very confused, blushing Bulma. He stopped short, shaking his head like a dog out of water. "What the…this place is strange." he whispered to himself, glaring at thin air as he left the house. Without the sheets he went in for.

Meanwhile, Bulma's breath hitched as she watched the doorframe Vegeta had just left. She gulped and frowned slightly. It wasn't possible, not in a million years. But, little did she know that, her doubts were pointless. At that very moment, without her even realising it, Bulma had found her Mark Darcy.