Dusk was closing in on West City and Bulma Brief's cavernous test lab was a mess of sundry screws, drill bits, and detached pieces of metal. Rolls of over-sized engineering prints covered one drafting table, with several displaying unfinished product designs. Bulma considered passing ten of them to other employees. Her reasons weren't solely focused on easing her job duties, though. She routinely tested her workers' creativity. At the end of the year, employee teams that significantly improved designs received large bonuses on top regular pay raises. Workers also received an extended meeting with Bulma to pitch their boldest new ideas - and she meant high-octane gasoline bold. No one dared to waste her time.

She wiped her brow with a rag, stopping casually to examine herself. Pieces of her lavender-gray hair poked defiantly from underneath her cloth work hat. Her baggy blue coveralls bore a light dusting of blackish grime, the result from hours of crawling under equipment, or just from crawling around. Sometimes she sat in the middle of the floor drawing, often dimming the flood lights to clear her mind. If her left ankle weren't so damned sore, she would have done just that. Instead, she propped herself against a wall and elevated her leg. Then she continued working.

Her husband was occupied with his usual weekly routine. Vegeta set aside Thursdays to intimidate earnest fighters brave or foolish enough to train under him. Later, he and their daughter would spend time together. Bulla attended university outside of the city and would make a special trip because she had no classes.

Bulma rarely interrupted their father-daughter bonding sessions, but sometimes she couldn't resist. Usually Vegeta's irritation over his wife's intrusion, however minor, often exceeded their daughter's. He never admitted it directly, though. Rather, his ebony eyes bored into Bulma's like one of her diamond-tipped power drills - the kind that penetrated hard rock - or he simply would leave. His exit was almost always followed by a dramatic arrival of Bulma's vintage Aston Martin sports car in the driveway. Of course the prince would choose the most luxurious vehicle from his wife's collection to drive on winding roadways.

"Of course he would," she muttered to herself. "As if we couldn't buy another one."

Vegeta would sit quietly in the front seat, wearing a black leather jacket and sunglasses, and rev the engine. Mother and daughter rolled their eyes, giggling at his cartoonishly polite display of impatience. Impatience it was, nonetheless. Bulla would then prance outside and the two would leave instantly. The young woman resembled her mother in every way, down to her crystal blue eyes and the ponytail Bulma wore as a teenager.

Bulma smiled, returning to her drawing. Vegeta was a good father. Even her friends acknowledged it, remembering how he once was. How could they not? He was older, wiser, and smarter – and not trying to conquer planets. He also had a biting, twisted sense of humor, which occasionally emerged in public. He saved less-caustic observations about life on Earth for chats with family, or while in bed with Bulma.

While still a quiet man, Vegeta could talk with Bulma for hours when they were alone. This wasn't unusual, going back to when he first moved in with her family. Between their demands and dramatic arguments - and, yes, the sweetest, angriest sex anyone could ever wish for - they talked, often late at night. From the beginning, the prince thought Bulma was crazy for engaging with the stray, feral dog that he clearly was - that he believed he was. But, eventually, he found himself talking with her anyway, because she challenged him, and because she listened. When he pushed back hard from their evolving closeness, she didn't chase him. She wouldn't, knowing who he was, which encompassed far more complexity than others gave him credit for. Plus, as a scientist, she disapproved of exercises in futility.

Now, after so many years together, they could finish each other's sentences. Vegeta also appreciated how they could be silent in each other's company. Bulma said once that when alone, he calmed her frenetic mind like no one else could. He felt similarly, considering his own intensity. She could quickly read the emotion in his eyes, she believed, even when his face bore no sign. There was no hiding place. He didn't need one anymore. Not with her.

When she was younger and more naïve, Bulla pestered her father about "being more romantic," Naturally, Vegeta's reaction to her unsolicited suggestions was to ignore them. "If your mother wanted that decoration, she wouldn't have married and had two spoiled, meddlesome children with me," he said, following with his typical cocky smirk. He understood the concept, finally, after much explanation from his wife, but considered the expectation of showmanship with one's intimate feelings trite – and insulting. Each day presented opportunities to show appreciation. His efforts were understated but Bulma always recognized them, even when others didn't or considered them odd, including their children.

What their daughter didn't understand then was her parents' way of being was, essentially, romantic. As partners, they understood each other's motivations and desires, supporting them without affectation. Bulma remained very much the extravert, enjoying her shopping trips and socialite parties and long phone calls with friends. When he wasn't training, Vegeta's interaction with others beyond family was highly selective and often involved tasks. He taught. He had also become a conservationist. Bulma hadn't been surprised about the change, not after the birth of their second child. Vegeta had spent almost a third of his life under command to destroy things – and he did, at times quite shockingly. Now, having learned volumes about Earth's ecosystem, he respected the delicate balance of nature more than many humans.

Hearing the security signal, she glanced up. Her husband, who ordinarily walked with the silence of a stalking cat, treaded heavily. At least that's how he appeared on camera. She hadn't expected him.

She nodded as he entered. "I'm busy." Her right hand stayed active, tracing feverishly across the lines of the page's isometric grid.

Compared to her at that moment, Vegeta looked like a movie star: the brooding leading man who made the audience swoon. She felt a twinge of jealousy. He looked so damned good in whatever he happened to be wearing, even dirty battle armor. It had been that way since day one. And yet he had been the awkward one when they first slept together, a man who hadn't realized how alluring he truly was.

He squatted down, laying one hand on top of the drafting paper. "It is getting late."

"Stop that," Bulma said, jabbing his thumb with her pencil. "So now I'm supposed to drop everything and leave because you say so? You certainly have some nerve."

Vegeta took a long look at her, eyes lingering on her left leg, until he shrugged. "It's up to you, as always, but I cannot tolerate another hour of hearing your daughter prattle about her clothing choices today. I was merely her driver."

"Did you enjoy yourself at least?"

"I didn't crash the convertible into a tree. Does that qualify as a suitable answer?"

"Must you always be this difficult?"

"Yes."

His husky voice echoed softly as he paused. Bulma's face flushed a light shade of pink. Ironically, she knew he wasn't trying to arouse her. He was just being himself, but that one word crossed his fleshy lips like dark, spicy chocolate. Vegeta was often sexiest while being ordinary.

"I… suppose I could finish some of this at home, Vegeta. You must be hungry."

He wasn't hungry. She knew that too. Vegeta and Bulla always ate like starving lions during their outings. Bulma had broken her ankle severely months before after a piece of equipment fell on her. She had been distracted while working beneath one of her pet projects. The entire ankle joint had to be reconstructed during emergency surgery. The outcome could have been worse, but since then Vegeta had become more watchful. They were in good health for their respective ages and species, and Vegeta wouldn't dare ask her to stop working – ever – unless the situation were dire.

"Hn." He took her palm to help her stand. "I suppose I could be hungry. Aren't you?" He frowned. "Oh, and it might be wise to wash…both hands before entering the sports car. The coveralls could come off too."

Bulma choked down her desire to tease him. Vegeta was being attentive and considerate. He made an extra trip to pick her up and fussed over the car. He had come so far, she thought. By no means was he domesticated in the traditional sense, and never would be, but he was comfortable with himself. He grumbled less about what he didn't know, not regarding the knowledge gaps as direct assaults to his pride. He accepted discomfort when he didn't fully understand why humans reacted and communicated in certain ways.

"Ah, now I see. You want to get naked! Tell you what, you remove your clothes first, and I'll join you in the shower back there." Bulma bit her lips. She had no willpower. Teasing him was so much fun!

"I do not!" Vegeta's cheeks flushed red. "I do not. Must everything be about sex with you, woman?"

"What?" Bulma pouted. Withholding laughter was becoming much harder. "Am I too old and unattractive for you now?"

Vegeta looked stricken, as if she had punched him between the eyes. "Now you're just being ridiculous." His face quickly went blank, the default protective position. "You are putting words in my mouth, and I won't stand for it."

"I brought my truck today." Bulma winced and looked down. She had put too much weight on the ankle. "I can be as filthy as I want driving home. You go ahead of me. I'm in one piece, as you can see."

Vegeta's steely gaze flicked, sizing up her foot and overall condition in milliseconds. "Fine," he said flatly. "Bulla is staying overnight at home with us instead of with Pan. She is preparing dinner for you."

Bulma realized then her jokes had gone too far. She had been clueless. He had planned to surprise her all along. These moments were rare. What else had he done? Their daughter had been very excited about going shopping, even though she and Bulma had bought enough clothing to fill thirty closets a month ago. Had she convinced him to plan a more elaborate event? It would be nice, but right now all she cared about was keeping him there. He didn't need to do more.

She touched his shoulder. "Vegeta-"

He cut her off. "You're seeing the surgeon tomorrow. I set up an appointment. You are not healing fast enough. That's… what I came to tell you." He strode toward the door, grunting irritably.

A nervous quiver pulsed from Bulma's mouth. "I was just teasing you!" This wasn't good. He straight-up lied to her. Lied! What was that about? She would rather argue until their faces turned blue. "Vegeta, look, I didn't mean to hurt you. I thought you would have figured out by now – and you just lied to me."

"Oh, trust me, I am not hurt, and I did not lie." His voice was cold. "I have never lied to you. Never, even when I was being my worst self! I only lied to myself about how deeply I loved you and Trunks, before…"

"Stop this!" Bulma said angrily. He was declaring love? Vegeta?! He never does that out loud anywhere! What the fuck is this about? Her mind searched her earlier comments for what provoked him. "I know you love me! You don't have to say that now! What is happening? Why would you bring that situation up with Majin Buu? Nothing I said should…should have..."

"Should have what?" Vegeta returned to stand in front of her, his shoulders as rigid as wood. "Should have what? Tell me."

Bulma sighed. "Let's talk later when we both cool off. I am tired and hungry." She made sure not to call the argument absurd, risking an even greater one, though she was thoroughly baffled.

Looking gratified, Vegeta crossed his arms. "I am so much better at this than you." The corner of his mouth upturned, a surefire sign of intentional naughtiness.

Bulma's eyes flashed with genuine shock. "You jackass," she hissed. "You insufferable, evil, conniving jackass! How dare you do that to me! You almost gave me a heart attack! I think it is time for you to leave!" She pointed at the door. "Get out."

Vegeta's laughter echoed throughout the lab. "Not with that bum ankle of yours." His arms enveloped her waist. "Your stubbornness is one of your most attractive and annoying traits."

Bulma turned her head away from him. "I could say the same for you, buddy." Her frustration quickly dissolved as Vegeta kissed her collarbone, making his way to her lips. A short breath slipped between them before they dived deeper into their kiss, just like the first time the made love.

"Hmm." Vegeta moved back. "Not bad for a boring old lady who has no time for her husband."

"You just won this round, Vegeta. Don't press your luck."

He picked her up, staring into her eyes. "We wouldn't be together now if I didn't."

Thank you for reading. Please take a moment to leave a comment if the spirit moves you.