April Kisses

"Happy April Fool's!" Bulma cried, prancing down the stairs.

Her mother looked up from the giant plate she was carrying to the table, a big smile on her face, as always. "Morning, Darling! Happy April Fool's!"

Bulma grinned and sat down, munching on the cereal her mother had just sat in front of her. She ignored the pointed glare of the Saiyan that sat in front of her, her happy mood much too boisterous to be dampened by the likes of him.

"D'ya play a trick on Dad yet?" Bulma asked.

Her mother simply winked.

Bulma giggled. "What'd you do?"

"Oh, I don't think you really need to know, dear."

"Why…you know what? Nevermind. You're right, I don't want to know."

Vegeta grunted then. Bulma looked up at him; he'd been here for nearly a year, and she liked to think that she had gotten to know him a little bit. For instance, such a grunt as this one was used when he wanted something explained.

"April Fool's Day is the first day of April," she explained, "during which, friends and family play pranks on each other."

He grunted again. "Hn. You need a specific day to make fun of someone?"

"Course not. It's just that this is the only day where you can do the major pranks without getting ripped a new one for it."

"Hn."

"Is that Vegeta-talk for 'sounds stupid'?"

Vegeta smirked at her as he stood up, leaving his filthy dishes for either her mother or the servant bots to pick up. "You're learning, Woman."

She rolled her eyes at his back as he made a quick exit. "It's Bulma, you jerk!" she yelled after him.

She got no reply, of course.

Bunny giggled. "That Vegeta is such a handsome, hard working young man!" she exclaimed. "So busy training, poor boy can't even take a day off for a few jokes!"

Bulma rolled her eyes at her blonde mother. "Mom, Vegeta doesn't do jokes."

"Oh, I think he could if he wanted to, dear."

Bulma laughed.

Two hours later, Vegeta sent a flurry of punches at no one in particular, imagining various enemies in front of him. Cui, Ginyu, Dedoria, Zarbon, Frieza, Kakarot…

He would beat him. He would reclaim his birthright as a Super Saiyan. He could take his destiny.

Yes. For he was the Prince of Saiyans, and no one could surpass him, especially not some third class weakling.

He felt the woman's energy outside, coming closer. He growled low in his throat, determined to ignore her. His heightened senses picked up a strong smell; it was putrid enough to make him slightly dizzy had he been closer. It reminded him of that paint the woman put on her nails, but even more revolting.

He heard something shaking, like a piece of metal in a can. Then a hissing sound.

His curiosity gnawed at his insides, begging him to figure out what it was. He pushed it back with a fresh new Kata, but as the hissing stopped, continued, stopped again, and continued again, the compulsion to investigate grew stronger…as did that awful smell.

"Hey, Vegeta!" he heard Bulma yell.

He growled again, but didn't answer.

"I just thought I should tell you that I spray painted "BadMan" in pink on the side of the GR! I thought it needed some color, so I decided to play exterior designer! Hope you like it!"

Vegeta froze in the middle of his Kata, his mouth agape as he stared at the door.

Surely she didn't…

That hissing sound…

With an indignant roar, he stormed out of the gravity room, fearing the worst. He darted to the left side of the stair case, where he'd heard the hissing closest too, expecting to find the words of the most horrid garment in the galaxy painted in that hideous color on the side of his machine…

And found a bare grey wall.

Underneath it, spray painted in the grass, were giant pink letters. MADE YOU LOOK! APRIL FOOLS!

Inside, Bulma cracked up as a furiously loud "WOMAN!" shook the compound.

As he trained, he thought about what she had done, and what he could do to get her back. Nobody made a fool out of the Prince of Saiyans and got away with it. He couldn't hurt her, because then she wouldn't be able to fix the gravity machine. He couldn't beat the Weakling to death and leave his corps in her bedroom, because…well, she wouldn't be able to fix the gravity room. And he couldn't blow up her lab, because…

She wouldn't be able to fix the damn gravity room.

"Why does this damn machine make her untouchable?" he seethed to himself as he finished his cool-down workout.

And then it hit him, so hard that he could have fallen over, a sadistic grin stretched over his lips.

Bulma hummed to herself as she put the files away in her lab. She had just finished completing a new design for training bots, and she couldn't help feeling the Vegeta would be pleased, as much as he would hate to show it.

But now, it was time to relax.

She hadn't worked on it for long, only about three hours, part of which she used to spray paint the grass outside of the GR. She snickered, remembering his reaction. She only wished she could have seen his face. She honestly was a little surprised that he hadn't come after her, but hey, she wasn't complaining.

After gathering her phone, her coffee, and her laptop, Bulma trudged upstairs to her room, still humming. She smiled again as she thought about what she would do during her "breaktime" before she went back to work; probably shopping or something.

Vegeta sensed her energy moving up away from her lab. He grinned and powered down the gravity machine, stepping outside. He could see Bulma's bedroom window from the doorway, and he leaned against it, waiting patiently.

...

...

...

"VEGETA!"

He laughed, and for once, it was genuine. Something bloomed in his chest, and he thought for a moment that it might have been contentment.

"THAT SHORT LITTLE SPIKEY HAIRED MUSCLE BRAINED SON OF A BITCH!" Bulma seethed, stomping down the stairs.

"What is it, dear?" her mother called from the kitchen.

"He wrote my door!"

"With what? I'm sure we can get it off if you don't like it," Bunny said, ever cheerful.

"You can't!" Bulma hissed. "He carved it in the wood!"

Bunny's eyes, which normally seemed closed, opened wide. "Ooh, let me see!"

Bulma stormed back upstairs with her mother in tow, happy to be able to rant to someone. She was beyond pissed right now.

"Oh, my," Bunny said as they reached Bulma's bedroom.

On her door, carved deep into the wood with almost delicately beautiful lettering, was a single word, writing in large font.

BADWOMAN.

Vegeta exhaled slowly, rubbing himself down with a towel.

Lunchtime.

His stomach grumbled even as he thought of it, but he needed a shower first.

He trudged upstairs, wiping the sweat out of his eyes as it continued to drip down from his flame hair. He tossed the towel in the hamper of the bathroom and began undressing, turning the water to scalding hot and stepping in the shower.

He sighed as it ran down his face and to his shoulders, soaking his jet black hair and making it fall down to his mid back. He reached for the shampoo, dumping a pile of it straight onto the top of his head and spreading it through his mane.

That's when he noticed something was off.

That was not his shampoo.

"WOMAN!"

Bulma nearly choked on her food when Vegeta came storming into the kitchen. She forced herself to swallow and promptly started cracking up.

"Y-you look-k l-like a –" she sputtered. "Kami, I don't even know what you look like!"

"What the hell have you done to my hair, Woman!" he yelled.

It was a mess, and that was an understatement. True, Saiyan hair always maintained its shape, but now Vegeta's spikey, flame hair was splayed out in all kinds of directions, even more so than Goku's. Actually, it looked like a cross between Goku and his brother Raditz. It was dripping wet and covered in a sticky, gooey substance.

"That…that's just…oh my God," Bulma giggled.

"What have you done, wench?" Vegeta growled. He was not happy with how his shower had been interrupted; he'd had to put his dirty shorts back on as it was, so he could come down and confront the little vixen. "What the hell is this stuff?"

"It's called honey," Bulma laughed. "I replaced your shampoo with honey."

"Get. It. Out."

Bulma snickered. "Why? I think I like this new hairstyle."

"WENCH!" Vegeta roared.

She laughed once more, then stood up and took his hand. "Alright, c'mon. Let's get it out before it dries."

Vegeta snatched his hand away and growled a warning. Bulma just rolled her eyes, grabbed his wrist, and dragged him up the stairs.

"Stick your head in the sink," Bulma ordered as they entered the bathroom.

"What?" he cried.

"You want to do it in the shower?" she asked. Then she grinned and winked. "Cause I honestly don't mind."

"Vulgar female," he muttered, bending down so his head was underneath the faucet.

"See," Bulma teased. "That wasn't so hard."

"Just get this junk out of my hair."

Bulma snickered once, then grabbed the real shampoo from the cabinet above the sink. She squeezed some into her palm.

"I hope you like ocean smell," Bulma said as she began rubbing it in his hair.

"I don't care what it is, so long as I don't smell like a flower."

Bulma paused, then an evil smirk twitched at her lips. It was only there for a second, and was quickly replaced with a genuine smile. "Aw, c'mon, was the outfit really that bad?"

"Is your bedroom door that bad?" he snickered.

"Bastard," Bulma said, yanking on his hair.

Vegeta's head jerked back, a hiss escaping his lips."Ow!" he cried.

"That's what you get," Bulma snapped. Inwardly, she marveled that she could hurt him even a little.

"You were going to do the same thing to the GR," he argued.

"That would have been funny," Bulma agreed.

"I never said it would have been amusing!"

"And I didn't ask, now did I?"

He muttered something along the lines of "insufferable wench", and fell silent.

Bulma fell silent too, at least for a second, working her fingers through the sticky knots in his hair. "Let me know if the water is too hot," she said. After all, she liked it scalding.

"Hn," he muttered. "Saiyans are a desert people. I am well accustomed to heat."

Bulma raised a blue eyebrow. It was so rare that he offered some information about his past, even little tidbits like this. "Was it pretty?" she asked, referring to his planet.

He just grunted, which she interpreted as a "yes".

"What did it look like?"

He gave a low growl, deep in his throat, and she shivered at the noise. "The sky was red, with two suns. The sand was rust colored. That's all I remember."

"Oh," she said, and felt a pang of sympathy for him.

"I don't want pity," he said gruffly, his voice muffled further from the running water.

"I wasn't –" she began.

"Yes," Vegeta interrupted, "You were. Everyone does. I don't want it."

Bulma nodded. "Alright," she said, and went back to focusing on getting the honey out of his hair.

Which felt like feathers.

"Your hair is really soft," Bulma said aloud.

Underneath the faucet, Vegeta's eyes widened.

"One would think it'd be stiff, given it's shape," Bulma continued. "Cause, you know, soft things don't normally stand up very well, but…Gosh, it's like down feathers!"

Vegeta still said nothing, but a splash of color that hadn't been there before caught Bulma's eye. She looked at his neck, right underneath the hairline, noting that it had turned a soft crimson. He was blushing.

Bulma fought the urge to squeal. Vegeta could be easily embarrassed, given the right topic, but that didn't mean it happened often. She decided to stop talking then, figuring that any more compliments and he'd run away or something. But she couldn't help the thought that popped out of her mouth without her permission.

"It's really pretty," she said.

Vegeta scowled. "I am not pretty, Woman," he growled.

Bulma shrugged, running a comb through his wet, black hair. The honey was almost out; he hadn't put much in, thank goodness. "You know what I mean. Your hair is nice, that's all. It's way softer than…" she trailed off.

Well, now she had his curiosity piqued. "Softer than what?" he asked. Or…softer than whose?

She sighed. "Softer than Yamcha's," she admitted softly.

"You sound disappointed," he observed.

She blinked; for once, he wasn't mocking her. Just talking. "I'm not disappointed," she said carefully. "It's just…I didn't really want to talk about him, is all. We broke up about two weeks ago."

"I was wondering why I stopped smelling his stench around the house."

"Damn, is your sense of smell that good?" Bulma asked, amazed. "You can sit up now."

"Of course it is," he scoffed, pulling his head from underneath the faucet. "Saiyan senses are far superior to humans."

"Hmm," she said, reaching for a towel. She was partly stunned about his senses, but also that he even noticed Yamcha's presence, and especially his absence. "This is probably a weird question, but what did he smell like to you?"

"It is," he agreed. "And like a weakling."

Bulma punched his shoulder playfully. "That is not a smell," she chuckled.

"On my planet, it is," he said. "Weak males have a certain bitterness to their scent."

"So…all humans stink to you?" she asked, somewhat nervously. Did she stink to him?

And more importantly, why did she care?

He shrugged. "No. It's only strong on a warrior. He is a warrior by your planet's standards, therefore he reeks of it. Non-warriors' scents have a different makeup."

"That's so weird," Bulma said thoughtfully, rubbing his hair down with a towel.

"I can do it myself, Woman," he snapped, though he made no move to reach for the fluffy cloth. "And I doubt anyone with weaker senses than mine would even know such things. It's a Saiyan trait."

"Maybe you're just smelling fear," Bulma grinned. She felt kind of bad for talking about Yamcha like that, but she had finally gotten Vegeta to have a decent conversation, and what moron in their right minds would pass that up?

He chuckled, genuinely amused. "Perhaps," he said. "That's completely possible. I wouldn't know the difference between fear and weakness." That would explain why she didn't reek, he decided, and she was exceptionally weak.

"You're too macho for your own good," she teased.

"Hn. Either way, that Weakling of yours stinks."

She laughed. "Is that so? And what do you smell like, Tough Guy?" she asked. And before he could protest, she leaned in close and sniffed his neck. He gave a surprised grunt, like a deep yelp. Bulma ignored it, and continued her…observations.

"Wow," was all she said when she pulled back.

His cheeks darkened again. "What?"

"I don't know…" she marveled. "It's just…you smell…male."

Instead of smirking, like she thought he would, his blush deepened.

"It's weird," she said. "Like some kind of spices, but, I dunno, more natural, I guess."

Her hand, still holding the towel against his hair, which she noticed had begun to stand up again, slid down to his face and continued until it was on his shoulder.

"I – I'm going to train," he said abruptly, and just as she blinked, he disappeared.

Bulma sighed. "Saiyans," she muttered.

She did not know that complimenting a Saiyan on his hair, or especially his scent, was basically the same as telling a human male that she wanted him.

Back in the GR, Vegeta's cheeks still burned with heat.

She couldn't know, he told himself. The only Saiyans around are Kakarot and I, and he hardly counts. He couldn't know, and I didn't tell her, so she couldn't know. It's probably just sociably acceptable on this mudball, that's all.

So why had he been pleased?

He finished his 16th Kata, (he knew so many) and paused, panting heavily. He had just stopped training barely 15 minutes before he had started again nearly an hour ago, and he hadn't eaten lunch. His stomach growled at the thought, and he kicked himself for not running to the kitchen instead of his training room.

A soft chime sounded from his left. The doorbell, he believed the humans called it. A way to alert that someone had come visiting. It was silly, in his opinion. Why not just knock?

He felt the woman's energy heading towards the front door, upon which he noticed the other Ki signature that was on the front lawn. To his surprise, a growl rose in his throat.

The Weakling.

To say that Bulma was surprised would have been an understatement.

"Yamcha," she said. "What are you doing here?"

Yamcha chuckled. "Well, hello to you too, B."

She blushed. "Sorry. Hey, why don't you come in?"

He nodded and stepped inside, following her to the living room, where they sat on the couch.

"So what brings you here?" Bulma asked, somewhat suspicious.

Yamcha forced a smile. "Um, well, I kind of wanted to talk to you, you know, about us."

Immediately, Bulma's unease skyrocketed. "Us?"

"Yeah," Yamcha sighed. "I…I've really missed you, Bulma."

She said nothing.

"I want to try again," Yamcha continued, looking into her blue eyes. He loved those eyes; they made him feel warmth and fear and adoration, all at once.

Bulma sighed. "Yamcha…"

"Look, we can work it out, I know we can," he said. "We can just…you know – "

"Yam," Bulma said gently. "I don't know. We've broken up so many times."

"And we always got back together, didn't we?" he said, trying to sound enthusiastic.

"Yeah," Bulma sighed. "That's the problem." She stood up and began pacing slowly, back and forth in front of the couch. "I mean, c'mon, Yamcha. If we really loved each other, why is it so hard for us to stay together? Why can't we have something solid? It's not like how we used to be. Something has changed, and I don't like it."

"We can work on that, B," Yamcha insisted, standing up to take her hand. She dodged, and went to stand in front of the doorway.

"But Yamcha, we don't even know what that is," she said softly, folding her arms.

"B –"

"It's been ten years, Yamcha. I'm tired of being in the dark about what I want. If I don't know about you…about us, by now…" she trailed off.

There was an awkward silence that seemed to last for a long time. Yamcha opened his mouth to say something, when suddenly, a flash of movement caught his eye.

Vegeta appeared in the doorway, now letting his Ki flow naturally so that the Weakling could sense it. He felt a smirk rising to his lips, but forced it down. Bulma, who couldn't sense Ki anyway, didn't even have time to turn and see what Yamcha was looking at until she felt breath on her neck.

Vegeta's big hand fell on her shoulder gently, pulling her a little bit closer. His full lips touched her jaw softly, right where it connected with her neck. Her pulse was strong here, which meant that her scent was too, and in late retaliation of the bathroom incident, he breathed in deeply. She smelled of strawberries, he noticed.

He gently kissed her, very slowly and deliberately. She let out a small gasp, but he sensed no fear from her, as usual. Her Ki spiked ever so slightly, which he guess was a strange, shocked form of excitement.

He was right.

His charcoal black eyes met her sky blues, which were wide with amazement. Then he turned to look at a very stunned Yamcha, letting the smirk he'd been fighting bloom on his face.

Something was different about this smirk, Bulma noticed through her shock. It seemed genuine, like, not malicious. Teasing, almost.

"Happy April Fool's Day, Weakling," he said smugly. And with that statement left hanging in the air, he made a smooth exit.

The two ex's gaped after him. Bulma slowly reached up to touch her jaw, not even stopping to look at the tall bandit.

"Oh," she said aloud, though she hadn't meant to. "That was…"

"A kiss," Yamcha said flatly.

Bulma found herself smiling then, feeling like a giddy school girl.

"Yes," she said, her eyes trained on the thick, soft black hair that disappeared into the kitchen. "Yes, it was."