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Though Vegeta was hardly expecting such a thing to happen, over time he had reached a sort of camaraderie with Bulma that he...had never had, if he was being honest. It was a bizarre situation overall how he ended up stuck on Earth, caught up in a countdown to a potentially doomed future, trying to surpass a third class clown.
He didn't care about the fate of the Earth, he could have left, but that grape-headed twerp that pretended to be a Super Saiyan said he had been killed. Vegeta would never leave such an insult unanswered!
Then there was her. Bulma Briefs—or, rather, Bulma fucking Briefs as she would say when particularly heated—who had invited him to stay at her sprawling mansion of a house.
At first, nothing about his time with the Briefs in their home felt real; they were too kind, too welcoming, too helpful. He tried to justify accepting their help to himself at first by classing them as servants. Naturally, Bulma would never abide by such a thing and told him outright she didn't "give one unholy Super Saiyan fuck" about his clash with Kakarot, while he was in her house he was a guest and nothing more.
Then she called him a "miserable wilted celery stalk in a muscle suit."
He only understood about half of what that meant, but the vulgarity and spitfire way she handled the entire thing put to rest any of his delusions about the Briefs being his servants (and sort of, kind of, really, really endeared her to him).
Not to mention, they were the richest family in the world, Vegeta was in all truth more like a pissant leech lurking around and contributing nothing but broken machinery. It was...uncomfortable how they freely doted on him—hell, Dr. Briefs had called him son once or twice and he didn't want to confront the giddy thrill that evoked in him. Though he tried to fight against it, Vegeta ended up learning more and more about each of them every day, growing...closer, memorizing their routines, their quirks, it was almost like having friends.
But that was ridiculous, of course. There had to be a price for what they were giving to him, they would collect on it one day.
Reality recently came and banged on the thick skull that was the door to his brain saying that it wasn't the case and, actually, the Briefs for some reason liked him.
More to the point, Bulma liked him a great deal, she respected him. Admired him. And while Vegeta would usually preen and sneer of course he was admirable and respectable, everyone should feel that way about The Prince of All Saiyans, that seemed...unreal. Bulma was an accomplished engineer in her own right, she was talented in numerous ways and a hard worker, determined with a fiery will that rivaled a Saiyan's.
The best part was, she wasn't meek and quiet about it with false modesty, Bulma spoke out about her worth and whoever had a problem with it could get out of the way before she crushed them.
Interestingly enough, there were some things about herself that she hid, and somehow...Vegeta had been granted the privilege of seeing them.
Well...not intentionally. In truth, he was being an asshole and looked through her sketchbook without her knowledge or permission (which he would never apologize for but did feel somewhat bad about). The drawings therein showed a sort of picture diary about her friends and...even him.
A lot of him.
He was a little embarrassed and weirdly flattered at how many drawings there were of him in there.
(He was also surprised at how not vulgar they were considering she was indeed a very vulgar woman and it wasn't as though she never alluded to the idea of finding him attractive.)
The point was, after that, they mutually opened up a little more, which Vegeta would certainly not admit gave him a sense of relief that he had an outlet for his...not-angry emotions. (A more sentimental part of him hoped Bulma had that same sense of relief.)
In the present, he was doing pushups whilst waiting for Bulma to finish recalibrating the core of the GR (he was also sticking around to keep her from ripping the thing up from its bolts in frustration...again).
He didn't know exactly what prompted him to want to fill the silence (besides her muttered curses and grunts as she worked and his own breathing), yet Vegeta found himself saying: "You brought up before how you met Kakarot. You were looking for the Dragon Balls...?"
"Mmhmm," Bulma mumbled back in half-attention, clicking away at her device she was using to monitor the core's power levels. He couldn't tell what her expression was with her back turned to him, nor her posture with the heavy jumpsuit she wore during mechanic work.
(Though he didn't know why she even bothered with it when she would later complain that it's too hot and take off the top to show the band of cloth around her chest underneath. The first time it had happened he almost hit the ceiling in surprise, but trained himself since then to not stare like an imbecile.)
Annoyed by her lack of interest, Vegeta huffed: "What were you going to wish for?"
Bulma's short laugh took him aback. What sort of reaction was that?
"Oh, it's stupid," she chuckled, raising up her goggles to make eye contact with him. "I was sixteen, so of course it was stupid."
"Naturally, I don't expect many teenagers to make rational wishes," Vegeta answered back.
(Except him, of course, he was the most rational as a teenager.)
But somehow, what she told him next surprised him even more: "After I decided wishing for endless strawberries wasn't practical, I was going to wish for my prince."
Vegeta's hands slipped out from under him, he transitioned into doing one-armed pushups to save face (Bulma more than likely noticed his slip regardless). "What...whatever would you want a prince for?" he stammered.
"Not a prince," Bulma corrected primly, her expression becoming that of the know-it-all he knew her to be. "My prince, it's a big difference."
"Whatever," Vegeta scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Why would you want...that? You would hardly benefit from a—your prince's status or power when your own father is personal friends with the King of your planet."
In truth, though he would rather say to Kakarot that he wanted to be best friends forever than admit this, Bulma was the closest thing Earth had to a genuine princess of the damnable ball of dust.
"Like I said...it's stupid."
He frowned.
He knew that tone, he knew that method of deflecting—she was hiding something from him. That foolish woman should know better that she couldn't hide anything from him. Not anymore, at least, not after all that they confided before. "Don't be coy, something being stupid has never stopped you before. You are, in fact, the least intelligent genius I've ever met."
Vegeta had to dodge a wrench being thrown at him, but grinned nonetheless. Worth it.
"Yeah sure, Mr. Dear Frieza I'm rebelling against you but I'm also going to goad you into becoming unbeatable just for funsies, your loving Vegeta, clearly you're a bastion of good decisions."
He tsked, cursing himself for ever telling her that train of thought that ran through his head. "And if I've told you that, then what's to stop you now?"
He really shouldn't have cared so much, at least not enough to push. It wasn't as though he was going to file it away and use it as a weakness against her later, Vegeta simply couldn't bring himself to even fathom doing something like that to Bulma. Not only would have it been absurdly rude as a guest of the woman and her family (he was still a prince, after all) but...he just wouldn't. Couldn't.
Bulma's sigh was the only thing that answered him for a moment, her gaze cast to the ceiling with the wistful inattentiveness that showed she was recalling something. "I wanted...my prince. A person who was just for me. Who would see me for me." She swallowed, probably to try to keep her voice from getting too emotional. "I didn't think a person like that existed on Earth. ...I still don't."
Vegeta swallowed, too, an uneasy lump in his throat that had built up as she spoke. He remembered this topic—it was understood between the two of them that while Bulma was an expert at presenting a face of professionalism and social openness...she granted very few her trust. Couldn't, shouldn't, wouldn't. Not anymore, not since she became aware from a very young age that she was different from other people, not just for her boundless intelligence but for the position in society she was born into. Being a high class citizen attracted many, many bottom feeders who sought to take advantage of her position to rise up; men, especially, wanted to use her as their status symbol, just a pretty little arm ornament.
It made sense, when he thought of it from that angle, of course nobody on Earth existed like that.
"Thought it was Yamcha," she chuckled. "And, go figure, he wanted to wish that he wasn't afraid of women anymore. Now..."
Bulma shook her head, effectively ending the topic there. Vegeta understood, she didn't need to clarify about the fights she had with Yamcha or her suspicions that he had been unfaithful to her. An idea that made Vegeta's blood boil, if he was honest—if someone granted their trust in such a way, why would one betray that? Whether or not the man actually was unfaithful, Bulma clearly didn't trust him.
I still don't know why you don't just end it with him permanently, Vegeta thought but did not say. It wasn't his business, as much as it aggravated him that Bulma was wasting her time like that.
Hm.
He did seem to care quite a bit. Unusual, but not unexpected since he had been in her company for a while. Vegeta had the privilege of seeing the many sides of Bulma Briefs.
Would that not mean that she trusted him? He, of course, saw Bulma for who she really was and could understand her position.
And...Vegeta was a prince.
He swallowed again, suddenly uncomfortable. He excused himself from the GR to get away and gather his thoughts more efficiently than...whatever path his brain was trying to go down.
(The image of Bulma looking at him in awe and saying—)
No! Stop it!
Vegeta shot up in the air, flying away from Capsule Corp. to the desert region he would retreat to for isolation and meditation.
(—If she had made that wish, would it—?)
STOP!
He landed heavily on the ground, kicking up a gigantic cloud of dust, desperate to clear his head of anything else.
That's enough, Vegeta told himself, relaxing his posture and closing his eyes to enter the meditative state he went into.
His mind was blissfully blank for a moment.
...Until Bulma appeared before him in the space of his mind.
"Vegeta!" she said, appearing happy to see him.
He smiled, feeling a warmth in his chest. "What's the matter, didn't expect to see me here?" his imagined self answered.
The imagined Bulma blushed shyly, looking away. "Vegeta...I've been thinking...what if...what if you were...?"
"What if I was...?" he prompted.
"Could I...maybe...call you..." She put her face in her hands, crying out in embarrassment. "Aw geez!"
"Say it."
Her eyes looked strangely dewy as she looked back at him, very big, very blue. Her cheeks were red and, really, she looked downright adorable which was a bizarre thought to be possessed by since Vegeta never called anything adorable. "You...you're my prince...Vegeta...I didn't think...you would come..."
"Well, good things come to those who wait, isn't that what they say? Although...I'm not exactly good, am I?"
"Oh no, you're a bad man, a very bad man..."
What the hell, Vegeta thought as he realized that he wasn't meditating but, in fact, sitting there grinning like an idiot, fantasizing. "Dammit," he cursed himself and the entire situation—wanted to curse her even though it wasn't actually her fault. What was he going to do, march right back into the GR and accuse her of making him fantasize about a childish thing like...like...
(—Her breathless and blushing, looking at him with those big sparkly eyes with adoration and..."My prince...")
Like THAT!
Vegeta grumbled, thankful at least that nobody could see him as he was sure his face was burning up red. Damn her. Damn that woman, what had she done to him?!
The worst part was, when he had returned after effectively beating himself up for the past three hours, Bulma only looked at him with mild interest and announced that his GR was fully functional again. The nerve, after she...she...
She had not done anything wrong. It's your own fault for getting caught up on and perverting the wish of the woman that you're associated with, he scolded himself again. In truth, he could surely never measure up to Bulma's image that she likely had of her prince. Vegeta may have been a prince, but certainly not her prince.
That was just the facts.
He wouldn't (shouldn't, couldn't) try to (want to) measure up to that.
And yet, and yet in the deepest untouched part of his mind, Vegeta still held onto those words. That little thought of the words. The idea.
Her.
It was just a thought, after all. It didn't mean anything.
He could (should, would) ignore it.