"Make fists with your toes."

—1—

The elevator pinged as it reached the 30th floor. The doors opened, and Vegeta was assaulted by the sounds of festivities: talking, laughter, glasses tinking, and Christmas music playing in the background. Everything he loathed about the holidays. He suppressed the urge to press the door-close button and sink 30 stories back to seclusion.

But he hated retreating.

Gritting his teeth and adjusting the duffle over his shoulder, he stepped out of the elevator and into the party. It was a swanky event, men and women dressed in high-end fashion sipping champagne from delicate flute glasses embossed with the Capsule Corporation logo. A giant Christmas tree with an obnoxious amount of presents underneath took up the main stage of the room. A few of the guests were draped in tinsel or sported elf ears and reindeer antlers. Everyone looked far too happy. Wasn't this supposed to be a place of business? He scanned the room, checking the layout and exits out of force of habit.

"Merry Christmas!" A complete stranger stumbled drunkenly into him and tried to use his arm for support. Vegeta easily side-stepped him, letting the fool trip over his own feet and plow head-first into a nearby group of people.

Why the fuck had he agreed to come here again?

"Vegeta!"

He turned and saw a familiar face. Dr Briefs waved jovially in his direction from across the room. The old man looked as he always did, wearing the most nondescript polo and trousers with a white lab coat thrown over, a cigarette poking out from beneath his unruly mustache. Vegeta moved through the throng of people to meet him.

"Glad you could make it," Dr Briefs greeted. "Can I get you something, some appetizers? They're pretty good."

"Is Bulma here?"

Dr Briefs chuckled. "Straight to the point as always. Yes, yes. She's in her office finishing up some work I think. Shall we?"

Vegeta nodded and Dr Briefs led the way. Though not quietly.

"Have you been well? Still training by the looks of it." Vegeta grunted a noncommittal sound that Dr Briefs took for confirmation. "You should visit more. I'm planning to build a health facility here for all the employees, you know. You'd be more than welcome to use it. It would make it easier to visit your boy. And not that she says it, but I know Bulma would like to have you around more too."

Vegeta felt his mouth pull down, his chest tightening painfully. "If she doesn't say it, then you're only speculating. Speculation is for fools."

Dr Briefs laughed, not the least bit offended. "I know my own daughter. I know that look she gets whenever your name arises."

Vegeta glanced about, fishing for a change of topic. "Panchy's not here?"

"Back home with Trunks and preparing a feast for tomorrow. You know how she is about hosting. She'll be expecting you. You're coming, right?"

"Hn."

"You got a place to stay, son?"

He shrugged. "I'll look for a hotel."

"On Christmas Eve? Nonsense. You know we've got rooms to spare. Stay with us, I won't take no for an answer."

Vegeta didn't try to argue, in all honesty relieved for the offer.

They left the party and entered the office spaces. Dr Briefs came to stop and pointed down the hall. "Down the end and to the left. It's the biggest office after mine. You can't miss it."

Vegeta gave a small nod and started to leave.

"Vegeta?"

He paused and glanced over his shoulder.

"She's doing really well here. Got a head for the business. Tough as nails. If you're waiting for her to break down first in this little standoff you two have going on, well…"

Vegeta felt his expression sour and he left before he could say anything unpleasant. Dr Briefs was one of the few people he respected; he didn't care to lash out at the man just now.

He headed down the hall and there, to the left, was a very large office with Bulma written on the half-closed door above COO. Second-in-command already? Dr Briefs hadn't been lying about her business acumen. One could argue for nepotism, but Vegeta knew Bulma. She would have worked hard to earn the position fairly.

As he approached, he saw her in the partially-open doorway. His palms began to sweat, his right hand tightening on his bag's strap. He slowed his pace, drinking in the sight of her after so many months apart.

She really was one of the prettiest women he had ever laid eyes on She knew it, too. In fact, that was part of her appeal. After all, a woman would have to be headstrong to put up with him for any length of time.

Tonight she wore a shimmery red dress, cut off at the shoulders, that hugged her lithe physique, a little silver ribbon tied about her waist like a present waiting to be unwrapped. No doubt inspired by the holiday season. His eyes trailed down her pale legs, the beginning of a smirk tugging on his lips when she saw her in silver sneakers. It was good to see some things never changed.

She hadn't seen him yet, looking away at something else in her office. He had nearly reached the door when he heard a voice. Male. He stopped and peered deeper into the room.

A tall man with a roguish scar on his cheek, dressed in a tacky yellow suit and a Santa hat, was leaning against her desk. "C'mon, Bulma. Just one drink after the party. What'll it kill you?"

"Yamcha, it's Christmas Eve. I have a little boy to get home to, presents to wrap, stockings to stuff, and I'm… kind of expecting someone."

"Expecting? You didn't tell me you were seeing anyone."

"It's… not like that, exactly."

"Look, forget the guy whoever he is. How important can he be if he's not here? Just one glass of eggnog. We can have it at your place, so you won't have to feel bad about your boy."

Vegeta had heard enough. He pushed open the door and let it hit the wall. Bulma and Yamcha both startled. The man took a threatening step forward.

"Hey pal, we're having a conversa—"

"Vegeta!"

The sound of his name on her voice made him forget the other man. His whole focus narrowed-in on her and how her face lit up to see him. Him. Something hopeful ignited in his heart.

"I was really hoping you would come." She stepped over and placed her hands on his chest, leaning up the two inches between them to lightly kiss his cheek. His face grew hot, his fingers itching to touch her, but just as he worked up the courage to clasp her waist she stepped away and the moment was gone.

"Vegeta, this is Yamcha. He works in the sales division. Yamcha, this is Vegeta. He's ex-military. Trunks' father."

Vegeta watched with dark delight as Yamcha processed that little bombshell, the light dying in his eyes. Yamcha glanced to the mantle at a photo of Bulma and the baby, Vegeta half-obscured in the picture's background.

"Oh… Ex-military, huh?" he asked lamely, pointedly brushing over the romantic connection.

Vegeta smirked and hammered in another nail to Yamcha's coffin. "Eleven years, special forces." He made sure the look he gave Yamcha spoke of his ability to properly hide a body so that it would never be found. "Saiyan squad."

"How nice," Yamcha replied weakly, deflated.

With that peacock plucked, Vegeta turned his attention back to Bulma. "Is there someplace I can freshen up?"

She nodded and directed his attention to an adjacent door. "The bathroom's just in there."

He walked right past Yamcha and made sure his duffle checked him in the shoulder on the way past.

"Shoes!" she called after him.

He grunted and toed off his boots before entering the bathroom as Bulma ushered Yamcha out. She came back shortly after, leaning her hip in the doorway.

"You could have been nicer. Yamcha's harmless."

"Tch." He removed his bomber jacket and top, stripping down to just his A-shirt and slacks. She didn't look away, admiring the view. He cupped his hands under the faucet's warm running water and splashed it over his face, letting her ogle his old military scars to her heart's content. When he came up, he glared at her reflection in the mirror. "He's got his eyes on you."

"He's got his eyes on anyone he thinks he has a chance with."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" He patted his face dry on a hand towel.

"Am I supposed to make you feel better?"

He gave her a disgruntled look that she disarmed with a smile and a soft laugh. "It's really good to see you again. I've missed this."

He raised a brow. "Fighting?"

"Bantering," she corrected.

The corner of his mouth turned up. As much as it drove him insane, he had missed it too. Missed her.

She wet her lips and looked away. "Where are you staying?"

"Your father insisted I stay at the house."

"Of course he did." When he glanced to see if she was okay with that, Bulma hurried to add, "No, I'm glad he did. It will be nice having you close. For Trunks…" She reached out, her fingers alighting on his wrist. "For me."

Fire raced up his arm at her touch. He stared at her, trying to read her thoughts. Most days she wore her heart on her sleeve. But there were times like this when he was less than certain of her motivations. Less sure of himself. A question hovered on the tip of his tongue, a need he dare not voice. He looked into her eyes and his courage failed him. He retracted his arm to finish washing up. "The boy's a babe. He won't remember me."

"That's not true," she countered.

"It's not?"

She huffed, rolling her eyes and pushing away from the door. "I mean, that's not the point. He's your son. Don't you want to get to know him? You haven't seen him in months. Do you even know what he looks like when he smiles? Or what his favorite food is? Or mine for that matter?"

He stared at her blankly, fighting back the unease of not knowing the answers.

It didn't matter, she could read it on his face. Her eyes grew sad. "C'mon, Vegeta, you know this. What did I always used to make for breakfast on Sundays?"

He cast his mind back. "Omelets." She had loaded them up with meats and vegetables and piled them high on his plate. He had liked Sundays. Before.

Her shoulders slumped. "That's what I made you because you didn't care for my strawberry pancakes."

"So you like pancakes?"

She sighed and rubbed her arm. "You don't get it, do you?"

"Get what?" he snapped, growing defensive.

"Spending time with your family. Creating memories. Giving a damn. Being reliable, for all of us. One day Trunks will remember, and what he'll remember is that you weren't ever there."

Vegeta snorted. "Oh that's precious. What about you? You're still at work on Christmas Eve while your mother plays babysitter. How many all-nighters did you have to pull to get COO this quickly? How often are you ever home being the perfect parent?"

"Well one of us has to earn a living, you big—!"

"Bulma I'm, oh…" a woman popped her head into the office. "Sorry, b-but, it's time for the speech."

Bulma sighed and looked away. "Thank you. I'll be there in a second."

The woman left and silence descended over them both. Bulma pressed her lips together, frustrated. He could empathize, feeling the same. His fingers curled against the bathroom counter, not knowing what to say or do.

"I have to go." She got up and left without looking back.

Vegeta clenched his jaw. He looked at himself in the mirror before smacking his fist on the wall in frustration. "Idiot."

There was no point feeling sorry for himself. He opened up his duffle to find a change of clothes, and saw the small gift-wrapped box. His gut dropped at the thought of trying to give it to her now. Shoving it aside, he dug about for a shirt.

The air shattered with machine gun fire. Vegeta dropped down, his hand reaching for a new target: his firearm. More thunderous gunshots filled the air along with screams. He dashed to the edge of the door to peek out.

What the fuck was going on? Where was Bulma?

Party goers ran screaming as dark-clad men with machine guns shoved them together, shooting up into the air. Two men moved from office to office, pulling out stragglers. He only had seconds to act, but he still couldn't spot Bulma.

Vegeta calculated his odds. They didn't look good. Outmanned, outgunned, there were too many people who could get caught in the crossfire if he went in gun blazing. Bulma being one of them.

The stairwell was nearby. When the gunmen peeked into the next office, Vegeta dashed out and slipped through the exit, hurrying up the stairs to find a safe place to assess the situation and figure out how to rescue Bulma.

~xoXox~

AN: I think I'm suffering from a Goku-sized bump to the head, because I decided to try and write this AU with only days left before Christmas. Let's see if I can actually finish it in time. Eep!