Title: It's Not Where You Start…

Chapter 1: Putting Up A Good Front

Rating: T

Fandom: Dragon Ball Z

Genre: Alternate Universe/Romance/Angst/Drama

Pairing: Vegeta/Bulma

Warnings: Language (not so much in the chapter this time as much as it is the summary). Also, abuse of commas and semi-colon as necessary, they made me do it...honest!

Summary: AU. Bulma's finishing up her Doctoral Degree at age 21, Vegeta's in classes at age 24. When the two meet, things become hectic for the both of them.

Extended Summary: Alternate Universe. Bulma Briefs is the daughter of the world renown Dr. Briefs of Capsule Corporation. Smart, beautiful and charismatic, Bulma is the middle of getting her Doctoral Degree at only twenty-one years of age. When she meets college student Vegeta Ouji though, things begin to change. (I swear the summary should get better as the story progresses. Honest.)

Disclaimer: All Dragonball, Dragonball Z and Dragonball GT characters belong to Akira Toriyama. Cause let's face it, if I owned these characters I would totally be making this into the animated cannon or manga cannon somehow.

Author's Notes: Please bear in mind that this is AU, and given more of a modern/realist setting, maybe not by much, but make sure that registers because this is not the same West City that Mr. Toriyama created.

I apologize for any gaps in my knowledge on certain subjects, but I'm not unwilling to listen to corrections if the lack of knowledge breaks the suspension of disbelief. I'm not adverse to suggestions for resources on said subjects either, in fact I'd probably be more than happy to be presented with a new resource for knowledge! Unfortunately I have a weakness when it comes to researching (generally I get fed up and just want to write the bloody thing) so if I'm horribly off on something, please feel free to either leave it in a review or message me.

A few notes about Bulma's hair, in this story it's a mix of the manga pictures and anime so it's essentially periwinkle. Be prepared to see blue and purple used interchangeably, but that doesn't mean her hair changes color. If you've ever seen periwinkle, you know what I'm talking about, if not…look it up. ;)

Also, please leave a review as they are like candy to me and I like candy. :)

[EDIT 4/22/11: I'm having to go re-format things. I don't like the page breaks but it seems to be the only way the document manager lets me have any sense of space so please forgive it. :) ]

Recommended Listening: "Control" by Poe, "Bleed Like Me" by Garbage, "Magic's In The Makeup" by No Doubt.

It's Not Where You Start…

Chapter 1: Putting Up A Good Front

"Dignity comes not from control, but from understanding who you are and taking your rightful place in the world." –Anonymous

Control.

If anything could be said of Bulma Briefs, it was that she craved for the control of her environment. Being the daughter of world renown Dr. Briefs of Capsule Corporation had provided her childhood, what little there was of it for an adolescent genius, to be full of turmoil and change, mainly due to moving around often, suddenly, and without warning.

Gliding the straightening iron through her periwinkle hair to shape it in toward her face, she imagined quite frequently that she was shaping her life with the simple action; her mantra, 'smart, gorgeous, and in control,' running through her head with each stroke.

She was now age twenty-one and halfway through her computer science doctoral degree, finishing up her second bachelor's degree in biology and contemplating starting yet another bachelor's degree in some other science. Her intelligence was something to be awed at, her looks to be envied and her temper to be feared. However, no matter how many times she reassured herself with these assets, it was always when she was alone and staring at her reflection that she realized just how not-in-control of her life she was.

Applying the foundation for her controlled mask of makeup, she reflected upon the even swipes of the creamy skin toned liquid. She didn't need the makeup, but she always felt more in control when she had it in place compared to simply brushing on some lip gloss and mascara. Bulma was never one to admit to hiding, but she would at least acquiesce to the idea of concealing her flaws until the layer of beauty product was firmly in place. After that, she was who she always convinced herself she should be; confident, in-control and intelligent Bulma Briefs, daughter of Dr. Briefs, and future hope of the world's technology.

Okay, maybe 'hope of the world' was counted as exaggerating until she got her doctorate and a few more academic certificates. Hell if she was going to admit it though. She was smart and she knew it.

After spending a few more carefully calculated minutes with the makeup, Bulma sat back and appreciated the flawless mask for a few precious seconds before grabbing her backpack and keys; leaving the items in her room slightly messy and in disarray. Today she was giving a guest presentation in a pathetically below freshman level class, Computer Science 1020, for one of her favorite teachers and fellow scientists, Dr. Gero. Had she not been so conceited in the matter, she would have admitted to being the equivalent to a substitute teacher but as it was, her pride wouldn't allow it. Guest lecturer had a much nicer ring to it in her opinion and sounded much more prestigious. Besides, she could use it in her growing resume and curriculum vitae if she ever needed to.

Normally she wouldn't have done such a favor for anyone, but the good scientist had to oversee one of his precious projects this week and had asked Bulma to lecture in his class for a day or two. Depending upon how well his proposal went over with his client he could be back as soon as this evening or as late as next Monday. Bulma groaned at the idea of lecturing for more than a day. She couldn't figure out why such an adept mind was stuck teaching a beginning Computer Science class, but had settled for an excuse that the responsibility to teach the class rotated quarterly between all the teachers in the department—and rather begrudgingly at that.

It took only a few minutes to walk to campus from her residence, but the idea of walking the distance and working up a glow of sweat was rather unappealing to Bulma as she had just spent so much time preparing herself for the grueling ordeal that was going to be lecturing to the students who were more or less going to be blithering idiots anyway. Not that she had a problem with people being less intelligent than she—after all her best friend was probably one of the least book-smart people she knew!—but she did not like the idea of freshmen students and other lazy upper classman taking such a class because it was so simple they felt they should get an A for simply attending. Growing up a child prodigy had her quite accustomed to being smarter than everyone else around her, but she would not tolerate laziness.

Without a trace of irony she slid into her car and drove the less than one minute drive to campus and searched an additional ten minutes for a proper parking space close enough to the academic hall she would end the day at. The five minute walk seemed remotely better for a few minutes before she finally cruised her dark red coupe into a space that was far too skinny due to the inept drivers on both sides of said space.

Striding along the hallways of her school with long, determined steps she reached the stadium seated lecture hall in a matter of minutes, her short business heels clicking smartly on the tiled floor. After settling herself behind the large lecture counter, complete with media panel and input sockets, at the front of the class Bulma made sure to lay out all her notes in an organized fashion and start the projector on it's warm up sequence.

As the class time drew nearer, with more students filling up the empty seats, she swiped her hair behind her ears and began to mentally run through the public speaking exercises she had learned at the early age of fourteen when she gave her first lecture in assistance to one of her father's many presentations.

She was in control, she could do this. Piece of cake.

Vegeta Ouji the Fifth was not a man to be taken lightly. Thankfully the school board had learned this rather quickly without him having to resort to less than legal methods, other than bribing, in order to get himself into classes at West City University, during mid-semester no less. It wasn't his idea of paradise or the perfect school environment, but then again he had unusually high standards for a young man of his age. As a result his demeanor was perceived as unpleasant, on a good day, toward the average human being.

If the Ouji family were to have a photo album, any onlookers might be surprised to find that almost all first sons of the bloodline looked strikingly like their fathers—regardless of generation. Vegeta the Fifth resembled his father in very many ways, genetically being the first and most obvious. With dark black hair, rich olive-yellow complexion, deep dark brown-black eyes, and regal facial features, he was the identical image of his father and proud display of Japanese heritage minus the thick beard and mustache of his paternal figure. Slightly smaller than his father, and a mite more wire-like in his strongly muscled frame, he was no doubt handsome. His gruff disposition was another way in which he was like his father, albeit he would not know it with his father having been delcared deceased several years ago. Conceited, aloof, good looking, and talented; this made up the best, according to his own opinion, of the Ouji family.

He was unhappy enough to be ordered to spend time away from his homeland as it was, much less wake up for a 10 a.m. class so it was with a grudging attitude that he strolled into Dr. Gero's Computer Science 1020 at 10:45 in the morning only to find someone other than the doctor himself teaching the class. It was bad enough that everyone stared at him rather indignantly as he shuffled his way to a spot halfway down the many rows of seats, making sure he didn't move his backpack or skateboard out of courtesy for anyone who was unfortunate to get hit with it for sitting in his walkway. He figured it was their fault for getting in his way and if anyone wanted to fight him for it, they could try and limp away with only a bloody nose if they were lucky.

With his navy sweatshirt hoodie pulled up around his messy bed-head of hair, he pulled out his notebook and began scratching away the notes uninterestingly in the ratty and obviously abused thing. After he finished scribbling down what he could of the slide that remained upon the projecting screen he made sure to give the Teacher's Assistant a long and hard glare to let them know to mark him as being present. When the thin framed blond man started to correct the attendance books the substitute teacher had the nerve to stop him and take the books into her possession. Vegeta considered verbally lashing out at her but considered against it while the class was still going, more out of apathy rather than politeness.

He would deal with it after class and make sure that she knew who he was and how she should act accordingly. She was rather attractive, dressed more like a student than a teacher in a skirt shorter than comfortable for most female educators and with a lavender cast to her hair from the fluorescent lights, but she didn't know her place and Vegeta would not take well to being insulted even if he was in a foreign country. All of the faculty knew who he was already, especially anyone in contact with Dr. Gero, so she had no excuse other than stupidity.

An hour and a half later and after two rather short impromptu naps on Vegeta's half, class was over and all the students started packing up their books. As a few students rushed to the front of the classroom to ask the new teacher some questions, no doubt over the extremely boring lesson that had just taken place, the grumpy young man decided to walk up the stairs and wait by the exit; covering himself partly in the shadow of one of the overhangs. When everyone had packed up and left after the brief round of questioning he noticed an immediate change of body language from the young teacher in the front of the class. Her shoulders slumped as she let out a deep exasperated breath and started to fiercely organize her folders, paperwork and books into the book bag she had pulled from behind the counter. He could also hear vague and, from the tone of it, angry murmurs that she was repeating to herself but she was doing a rather good job to keep the words unintelligible from his acute hearing.

Striding up the large amount of steps, nearly losing her balance once or twice due to the weight of papers she had collected from the student's as their homework assignments, she came up over the edge of the final steps with wild determination to get out of the classroom.

"Exactly who are you Woman and where is Gero?" Interjected his voice out of the partially shaded, dim but not completely black shadowed corner near the door.

Apparently he had either been so furtive in his waiting or she had been so absorbed in her thoughts that she practically fell over to one side as her ankle twisted under her in surprise. He assumed a bit of both was to blame but felt the previous was mostly accountable for her reaction. Propping herself on the back of the closest chair to keep herself from falling, he could see it in her features as she slid a mask of calmness onto her face.

"Dr. Gero had to meet with a client this week and I have been asked in as the guest lecturer. Who may I ask are you?" She replied with barely masked agitation to such a pompous attitude.

"Hmph," he exhaled indignantly as he crossed his arms across his chest and stood up straight from his semi-reclined position on the wall. "If you're part of Dr. Gero's department you should already know who I am Woman. I'm Vegeta Ouji the Fifth and I will not tolerate any more disrespect in this class such as what happened earlier, is that clear?"

The blue haired woman's eyes widened in disbelief as her perfectly placed mask dared to balk at such a haughty command. "Excuse me, but seeing as I am the guest lecturer for this class, for possibly a few more days, you have no right to command me about anything Mr. Ouji. Had you been on time, or at least quieter in your entrance I might have been willing to let you slide on the attendance. As it is, I would appreciate it if you'd enter class on time and more quietly." She shifted the weight of her book bag more firmly onto her shoulder. "If you have any other complaints you can take them up with Dr. Gero once he returns. Good day Mr. Ouji." She added a small, strained, and completely insincere smile onto her face before brusquely walking out the door, leaving the stern young man to eat her proverbial dust.

Vegeta merely glanced at her retreating figure as she escaped out the door in a rush. He didn't know who she was but he wasn't happy at the idea that some of the staff didn't know how to show proper respect. Lacing his arms through the straps of his backpack he grabbed up his skateboard and was about to venture to the fourth floor of the Sciences building to further investigate the strange woman's lack of proper behavior, in his eyes, to him when he noticed something glinting on the floor next to the last row of seats in the lecture hall.

On the floor was a small silver phone, complete with letter keyboard on it's chrome facing, right where the woman had faltered in her stride up the steps. He would bet it was the foolish substitute's phone and smirked at the idea of making sure she knew exactly his idea of what respect should be.

Oh yes, this was going to be fun.