Dodging the oncoming fist, the dark haired man rolled to the side and was immediately on his feet again. He kept low, his body primed and ready for defensive moves. Watching his adversary with dark eyes, he kept himself calmly alert. Emotions had no place here, on the field. They could cost you.

He shifted his weight to his right foot as the man came forward again, this time allowing the strength in his left arm to launch a powerful punch aimed at the mans xyphoid process*. A right hook to the side of the gasping mans face took him out. Lips curling slightly, he reached for the phone on his hip, calling in the back up to pick up the trash. Examining his knuckles, he concentrated on letting the adrenaline flow from his body. In the past five years, he had gotten good at it. Reaching down, Vegeta Ouji grabbed the man and dragged him toward the boat floating in the murky waters before him.

Nappa Hund was down and soon would be in custody.

Sitting on a log near the shore, Vegeta stared at the horizon. He tried not to let the emotions push in, but he had gotten news of his mother and her new husband, Rouge. They had dedicated their lives to the Lord. He snorted, grabbing a branch from the log he sat upon and stabbing it into the sand. He had never believed. Not after the things he had been through. Memories flittered through his brain, making the muscle in his jaw tick before he stood and restlessly moved up and down the beach. The crew would be there soon. He could only wait, keeping an eye on the hulk of wasted skin that was Hund.

Convicted human trafficker and weapons dealer Nappa Hund; Vegeta was proud to be the one to have taken him down. There would be less young souls out there subjected to the evil of men. He looked up at the sound of an engine. A boat. Good. He was filthy and wanted a good hamburger and a beer.

*~*

"Good job, Ouji. Fast, too." He stared at Burns boredly, knowing the praise would cover a request for another mission. He had been home ten hours when he had been sent out after Hund. Three weeks, and he was back. Usually the missions were completed in groups, but Burns had been confident that Vegeta could take Hund himself. Especially after finding out that Hund had been alone at his private home on some crap speck of dirt in the middle of marshlands.

Vegeta merely nodded in reply, starting to stand.

"I'll call you if something else comes up," Burns said before turning to his paper work. Vegeta scowled slightly, but turned and left. Burns was a bit older than he was, late forties to early fifties maybe, with that freakishly blue hair. Vegeta had known Burns since his first day at the academy. He had been surprised to find out the man was interested in his progress, in his potential, and had slowly grown to respect him and see him as a friend.

Rolling his shoulders as he walked down the halls, reeking horrendously from his assignment, Vegeta decided to shower at the headquarters before heading home. Home. A small one bedroom apartment a few blocks away. It wasn't much, but Vegeta wasn't there much anyway. It had a bed, a fridge, and the necessary equipment to cook food. That was all he needed. He'd been without before, so he counted himself lucky. Opening the door to the men's locker room that adjoined the gym, he pulled the shirt over his head and tossed it toward the laundry bin, not looking to see if he had missed or not. His pants joined the shirt, a fresh towel in his hand as he made his way to the shower in his boxers. Peeling them off, he turned the shower on, wanting the water hot. He would stop and grab some food before going home, then sleep for a few days.

*~*

Burns leaned back in his chair, considering how far Vegeta had come in his years at the FBI. He was quick, efficient, cold when he had to be, and deadly. He was toying with the idea of transferring the boy to the Terrorist Unit, one of the most elite of the FBI. But with the past he knew the boy had, he wasn't sure that was the best place for him. He would be good, no doubt, but he didn't want to add shadows to the young mans already troubled spirit. Perhaps he would give Vegeta the choice. Turning to his computer, he wrote up the recommendation and sent it to his superiors. He would have an answer by morning.

*~*

Tossing the fifth empty bottle to the side, Vegeta sank further into the couch behind him. The broken television in front of him just sat there, almost mocking him with the blank stare that reminded him of his empty life. Sure, his job was good. He made good money. Had adventure. But something was missing.

Eyeing the contents of the cold bottle he held in his hands, he set it aside and rose. Stretching, Vegeta headed to the freezer and removed the newly purchased bottle of whiskey. Cracking it open, he flipped the radio on as he dropped back down into his couch. It was worn, springs poking him as he sat uncomfortably, but it was better than the floor. He was tired of the floor. Glancing at the clock, he bit back a groan. It wasn't even five in the afternoon. Sure, the bars would be open by now, but none of the good women would be out this early.

Grabbing his cell he dialed a number that one of the girls had left. He'd met up with her quite a few times since that first night, and he wouldn't mind another night passed in her bed company.

"Monica, its Vegeta. My place by six." he said then hung up, smirking as he rose to jog up to the corner store for more beer and some take out. They would be hungry when they were done.

He didn't bother dressing up for her arrival. They would be undressed soon enough as it was. She knocked before stepping in and closing the door behind her. They both knew the drill. He called, left the door open, and they went at it. Sometimes there was drinking and talking, but most times it was just sex. Gratifying to both. Monica wasn't deluded enough to seek anything else out with him.

She smiled at him as she set her purse on the table, reaching to peel her jacket off. The black pencil skirt only enhanced her curves, the nearly sheer blouse allowing a hint of the color of her bra beneath. Towering heels added to the effect and she was glad she had worn them today. Crooking a finger at him, she gave a cry as he pinned her to the table.

"Miss me?" she teased, sliding her hands under his shirt before he could answer and latching her mouth to his neck. He growled, shoving her skirt out of the way and jerking her legs around his hips. Monica moaned, loving the way he was with her.

*~*

Vegeta locked the door behind her, shoving a hand through his hair. She was physical release, nothing more. She had tried once but had received a curt response and had let it go. Even with his body exhausted, he couldn't help but notice the spot in his chest that was still empty and aching. Dropping onto the couch Vegeta took his head in his hands, staring at the carpet. Perhaps he should call his mother. She didn't deserve his anger. She was finally free to do what she wanted.

If that meant marrying Rouge, a superior that had taken on the role of father through the years, then so be it.

Snarling, he hurled a beer bottle at the wall disappointed when it didn't relieve any of his rage.

Her screams woke him. Jolting out of bed, the fourteen year old boy stumbled down the hall to see what the problem was. The hall was a mess. The living room was torn apart. There was blood on the carpet leading to the kitchen. The smell of copper and salt was everywhere. Rage sent him toward the kitchen, red pressing in on the sides of his vision. He was towering over her, holding the knife as his eyes took in the small cuts and gashes on her body. The savage separation of layers of tissue on her arm, marring her tanned skin.

Vegeta jerked awake, sweat covering his body. The images and memories never stopped. Even the ones from his job weren't as bad. Throwing the blankets aside, he climbed out of the bed and headed to the bathroom. He needed a shower, bad. Turning the spray on, he didn't wait for it to warm up before stepping it. The icy cold was good, numbing his whole body and dulling the age old hurt inside him. He would never trust again. He'd sworn it to himself when he had been fifteen. And he would continue to live by that pledge.

*~*

Two days later Vegeta found himself once again entering the Bureau headquarters, a duffle bag in hand. Burns had called. No surprise there. But he had been surprised at the strange nature of the summons. "Bring your bags to my office." Nothing more. Where they sending him out for good? Posting him somewhere else? It didn't matter to him either way. Knocking on the door, Vegeta waited like a good soldier to hear a reply to enter before doing so. He dropped his bag by the door, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall. Until Burns stood. Then he snapped straight and watched the man. His mentor and guide. The old man was up to something.

"Ouji, you've been climbing the ranks easily since your employ here. I'm happy to review your record and to have submitted a recommendation for further promotion." Burns watched the interest slide over Vegeta's face before it was quickly hidden. He shook his head and chuckled, holding out the papers.

Vegeta took them, flipping the file open to scan the papers inside. He was being offered a coveted position in the Terrorist Unit. He froze, soaking it in. Then looked up at Burns before soaking up the rest of the paperwork in the file. "I'll take it," he said gruffly.

Burns nodded. "I thought you might. You leave in twenty minutes. Get down to the field and meet your new team." Vegeta nodded, bending to grab his bag and sling it over his shoulder. Turning to the door, he paused and glanced back over his shoulder.

"Thanks," he grunted before leaving. Strangely, he was excited. Something new, something worthwhile.

The young girl stared up at the large building, then glanced back down at the papers in her hand. This was the place. Her father was inside. She had heard brief comments about him for sixteen years, but had never caught a name. Finally she had managed to wheedle it out of her mother and search for him. It hadn't been as hard as she had expected. Smiling brightly, she pushed the door open and stopped at the look from the security guard.

"Yes miss?" he asked, obviously doubting that she should be there.

"Hello. I was looking for my father?" she replied earnestly. The guard she was speaking to was tall and well built, with dark hair and hazel eyes. His features were softer than she would have expected, but she didn't know him to judge him. For all she knew he was sweet and gentle. But he could have had a hard life and learned from it.

The man studied her for a moment. He had good judgment in character, and he didn't sense any lies or falsities coming off of her. She looked maybe nineteen at the most. Slowly he stepped forward. "Who is your father?"

"Oh! Burns," she said, holding the picture out. "He is here?" she asked, her large eyes shining hopefully.

He nodded. "Yes. Come to the desk and I'll get you a pass." He turned and she followed him to the main desk where he pulled a large folder out and opened it. Turning it, he slid it to her. "Sign in."

She picked up the pen, writing her name and the reason she was there. "Bulma Briefs, huh?" the guard questioned as he handed her a guest pass.

Nodding and smiling brightly, she extended her hand. "Nice to meet you, Sir," she said.

"Its Agent Hanson. Thank you." He studied her. "You look like him. Take the elevator up to the fourth floor and go right. He's in office 2."

Bulma smiled. "Thanks Agent Hanson." Putting the pass around her neck, she hitched her purse higher up on her shoulder and headed for the elevator. Butterflies were swirling in her stomach, but they were happy nervous ones. She would finally be meeting her father.

The elevator doors opened and she took a deep breath, stepping out and turning to the right. Office 2 Hanson had told her. Biting her lip as she walked up the hall, Bulma knocked on the door.

"Come in!" came the male voice inside.

Bulma pushed the door open, stepping inside. A huge smile lit up her face as she closed the door behind her. "I've been looking for you," she said. "You are my father."

*~*

Burns looked up as the door opened, his eyes widening. The young girl that stepped in looked amazingly like him.

"I've been looking for you," she said, sliding into the chair across from him. "You are my father." She could see the shock on his face, and he could see the compete happiness on hers. "My mother was Bunny."

Was she talking about the beautiful blonde that he had shared a one night fling with the night of his big promotion almost seventeen years ago now? She must be.

"Yes. My name is Bulma Briefs. And you're my father."

He simply sat and stared at her, not expecting to feel the elation that was soaring through him. "How old are you?"

"Sixteen. Seventeen in a few months."

"When is your birthday?"

"January twenty fifth."

Hours later Bulma looked at the clock and squeaked. She had stayed out later than she was supposed to just talking to her father. Quickly rising to her feet, Bulma hugged him tightly and gave him her phone number, making him promise that they would get together again soon. He made sure she had a special pass at the desk and invited her the next day for lunch.

Leaning back in his chair, Burns stared at the wall in amazement. A daughter. A child. His. He grinned, grabbing his coat and heading home. He couldn't wait to tell Lauren.

*~*

Bulma walked up the sidewalk slowly, beaming and whispering fervent prayers in her mind. Thank you so much Lord for leading me to my father. You bless me so. I can't believe how understanding he was and how eager to get to know me he is. I just hope his wife accepts me.

It had been almost a week since the first time she had met him, and they had met for lunch every day since. She still hadn't met Lauren, but Burns swore that she wanted to meet her. Bulma couldn't help it, she really wanted her fathers wife to like her.

Pushing the doors open she smiled at the guard that looked up at her entrance. They were used to seeing her now, and he waved as he pulled her pass out and set it on the counter before continuing what he was doing. The lobby was crowded today; people were coming and going, looking frazzled and some looking cold and seething. She guessed that was the life that went on inside the FBI. She felt slightly out of place.

Grabbing the pass as she walked by, Bulma headed to the elevator, tugging the soft sleeves of the sweater down her arms as the cold air inside the building chilled her. The weather outside was starting to chill. It was coming on autumn. Her favorite season. The soft cashmere kept her warm and hugged her curves making her appear older and more mature than her body actually was. Mentally she was far more mature than many people double her age.

Stepping out of the elevator onto the short cut grey carpet she fairly danced down the hall to her fathers office. In jeans, her cashmere sweater, and low heeled boots with her long lavender curls hanging loosely down her back she was quite an attention grabber. It didn't seem to register with her though. It never did.

Knocking on the door, she grinned as she bounced inside. "Hey daddy!" she greeted, dropping into one of the chairs across from him. She had started greeting him as "daddy' a few days before, and both seemed to like it.

"Hey Princess," he replied easily, his lined face lighting up at her appearance. "Give me just a few minutes and I'll be ready to go." Bulma nodded, leaning back in her chair and studying his office. It was on the impersonal side, with all of his personal photos on his desk, and even then there were few. He was a professional here, or at least he had been. She was jarred from her thoughts as the door opened.

"Burns, you old fool!" the dark haired man growled, his black eyes narrowed at the figure behind the desk before swinging to her. Bulma managed not to gasp in surprise, but couldn't control the widening of her eyes.

Vegeta glared at Burns before he noticed the other figure in the room. A female. Attractive. Young. Naïve. Innocent. Lavender haired. He narrowed his eyes at her, his gaze flicking back and forth between her and Burns.

"Vegeta," Burns said mildly, deciding to deal with Vegeta's actions later, standing and gesturing toward Bulma. "This is Bulma. My daughter."

A slight smirk crossed Vegeta's features as the girl rose and smiled brightly at him. "Hello Vegeta," she said softly. His gut clenched. Her voice was purely heaven.

He simply nodded, then looked at Burns. "I want at least three days off. Make sure it happens." With that, he turned and left, forgetting the original reason he had barged in. Damn that girl. All wide eyed and smiles. She had distracted him. Such a thing hadn't happened to him in quite some time.

Barreling down the hall, Vegeta didn't stop as he headed for the training room. He wouldn't get any rest if he went home now. Not with wide sapphire eyes and a huge smile lurking in his mind.

Bulma turned to her father as the man left. "Who was that?" she asked curiously.

Burns looked up, then smiled. "Vegeta Ouji. He was just promoted."

Bulma nodded, looking away to avoid suspicion as to her curiosity about the man. The short glimpse she had caught of his eyes had told her a lot. He had seen and done a lot that he would never forget, and it plagued him. It was there in his dark eyes. Her own heart ached with the need to help him. With the need to show him love. She paused. Lord? Did you plan this? Is this why my father worked here? She asked silently, smiling. If the Lord had planned it, then it was meant to happen. She was here for a reason, and it was obvious to her that showing Vegeta a different way of life was that reason.

Burns studied his daughter, catching the distant thoughtful look in her intelligent eyes. Uh oh. He didn't want her involved with Vegeta. He was callous, cold, thoughtless, and too old for his daughter. She was young and innocent. Vegeta had demons in his past that scared even him. "Bulma, you stay away from him. You hear me?"

Her head lifted, her gaze centering on him in a way that was almost unnerving in its intensity. Far too old and filled with wisdom. "I can't promise you anything daddy. He needs me." With that, Bulma rose and headed for the door. "I'll meet you downstairs."

The door clicked behind her.

Authors Note-- Xyphoid process*-- for those who don't know, it is located in the throat.