The warm sunlight shining in his eyes and face was what finally roused Vegeta from sleep. He squinted his eyes, not even bothering to open them as he drew in a deep breath. As he wetted his lips and became aware of the foul morning taste in his mouth, he trailed his left hand down to scratch his lower stomach.

And that's when he noticed something was off.

As he was satisfying the itch, he became aware that his usual trail of hair from his navel was not present. To add to that anomaly, the feel of the skin was different, too. Instead of the firm ripples his muscles produced, it was soft and fleshy. And to top it off, his fingernails were raking against the skin much easier than what he was accustomed to. The Prince frowned in confusion, eyes still squinted shut from the sun. Why was the sun shining in his face, anyway?

He opened his eyes, already beginning to look down at his stomach. The image blurred and focused, but once it did, Vegeta was even more confused. Instead of his tanned, scarred skin, he was staring at a pale, slender, hairless stomach. Distinctly feminine. As if he couldn't determine that on his own, his line of vision also accounted for an ample pair of breasts beneath a black camisole and a pair of dainty, strawberry-print cotton panties. Bulma's panties. What the fuck…?

He heard a sigh and felt movement as the bed shifted, and the Prince looked next to him for the source. Vegeta's eyes widened, and he was suddenly unable to breathe. There, next to him, was another bare body with distinct muscle tone and dark, spiky hair. The face had his own angular features and dark eyebrows—it was an exact copy of himself. He looked down at himself again, then around the room, and finally, back to his mirror image, trying to put the pieces together. Yes, he was still in his room, and yes, that appeared to be his body, which meant—

With a shaking hand, he slowly reached up to feel his hair. It was incredibly soft, and hung down near his face. He plucked a hair from his scalp, not wanting to believe what his panicking mind was telling him. He brought the hand to his face, and in that pale, tiny, perfectly-manicured hand was a light blue follicle. His panic kicked in full-gear now, and his breathing instantly became more rapid.

Next to him, the body—his body—stirred again, yawning, rubbing his eyes to become more fully awake. "Vegeta, what time—"

The body stopped as his eyelids opened and his vision focused. Slowly, the realization of what he must have been seeing spread across his face, and the two simply stared at one another, wide-eyed and breathless.

Then, the Saiyan imposter, despite the body's rough, harsh voice, let out the most emasculating scream of which it was physically capable.

The harsh noise finally prompted Vegeta to scramble out of the bed and away from its source. "Dammit, stop shrieking! What's the matter with you?" The Prince winced; that nagging, harpy-like voice that tested his patience like no other was now his own.

"I— you— you're me!" The pseudo-Vegeta sputtered, eyes wide, running his hands through his spiky hair. He looked like he was about to lose it completely.

"…Bulma?"

The fake Prince—Bulma—shook her head in disbelief, looking at the woman before her. At the same moment, she seemed to realize the texture of the hair she was gripping in her hands and looked down at herself. "Oh my god! What the hell happened to me?!" She turned to look back at Vegeta. "WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME?! GIVE ME MY BODY BACK RIGHT NOW!" In true Bulma-like fashion, she reached for his pale, feminine shoulders, and began shaking him violently.

Vegeta was taken aback by just how much this simple gesture hurt him. He grimaced, taking in a sharp breath before struggling to get free. "You idiot woman, are you insane?! Let go of me at once!" After a few moments, it appeared that his words finally allowed some sense to come back to Bulma, and he watched as the hysteria across his own features was replaced with confusion.

"…Vegeta?"

"Who else would it be?" he sneered, rolling his eyes as if she were stupid. "Obviously. If you're missing your body and are instead inhabiting mine, wouldn't the logical conclusion be that I would be in yours?" He looked down at his pale shoulders and could tell that bruises were already starting to form. Goddamned woman. No one that insane should have that much physical power at their fingertips.

Bulma didn't seem to have noticed. "Don't be such a smartass," she snapped. He smirked at her response. There was nothing more satisfying to him than getting under her skin like he was now. Well, now you've done that in the truest sense of the word, haven't you? a voice in his head countered nastily. The Prince glowered before turning away.

Bulma had sat back down on the bed, running her hand through her dark hair as she struggled to keep it together. "…How did this even happen? I don't understand… Vegeta, what are we going to do? Trunks is leaving in a couple of hours. Oh god!"

Vegeta turned back to face her. "Woman, calm down. I don't know what the hell is going on any more than you do, but you shrieking like a damned banshee isn't going to help a thing." He walked over to sit on the bed next to her. "We will get through the boy's departure first. We will simply have to act as one another until we figure out how to rectify the situation."

Bulma was still staring off into space—of course, it was exactly like her to ask a question and not even pay attention long enough to hear the answer. Vegeta sighed in annoyance before getting up and pacing back and forth.

Bulma drummed her fingers on her chin. "…Maybe we could tell Piccolo… maybe he could—"

"Absolutely not."

"…But why? If he can help…"

"I said no!" the Prince snapped, crossing his arms. "What could he possibly do? We won't be able to use the Dragon Balls again for another year. We don't need his—anyone's—help. We will figure this out on our own."

Bulma's eyes widened in horror. "Oh god, a year?! You think we'll be stuck like this for a year?!"

"Will you stop shrieking? You're giving me a headache!"

"…do you?"

Vegeta sighed, rubbing his temple. "I don't know."

"Then why not ask Piccolo? I mean really, as former Guardian—"

"For the last time, we are not asking that imbecile of a Namekian for anything!"

Despite her high level of stress, after a moment, a smirk danced its way across Bulma's lips. "What's the matter, Prince Vegeta? Scared someone else will find out you're a woman?"

The Prince opened his mouth in shock, blushing. "Ridiculous wench," he snapped. "Me? Scared? I fear nothing. I am the Prince of All—"

"Egos, yeah yeah, I know. I've heard the spiel," Bulma interrupted, trying to diffuse him before he gained too much momentum. "Whatever. I won't tell anyone, but I doubt it'll be long before they figure it out anyway."

Vegeta's eyes narrowed dangerously. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Bulma chuckled. "Vegeta, it will be no problem to pretend to be your Royal Grouchiness, but your personality sticks out like a sore thumb. You really think you can pretend to be my bubbly, wonderful self?" She raised her eyebrows at him as she challenged him, her tone smug.

The Prince gritted his teeth. "Woman, I have participated in espionage tactics since before you were even able to count—"

"Yes, and I'm sure many of those missions included working on extreme algorithms, changing diapers, cooking dinner, playing with children, all while having a huge smile on your face…"

Vegeta scowled; the woman, unfortunately, had a point. He'd never portrayed anything remotely close to a maternal role before, and even if he had, the woman's insanity belonged to an entire league all by itself; it would be impossible to replicate. Damn her. Damn her to the pits of hell.

"…We will just have to make as little contact with people as possible," he finally ground out.

"Yes, being the president of the most prestigious company in the world, I'm sure that will work beautifully. Good luck with that."

Bulma watched as the heat flooded to his cheeks. "Woman, I swear… if you—"

"Okay, okay. We will cross that bridge when we get to it," she said soothingly. "Let's get dressed so we can say goodbye to Trunks. Go pick out something of mine to wear."

"Hn." The Prince crossed his arms before walking huffily over to the closet. He threw the door open and walked inside. There was silence for a few moments before Bulma heard him call out from inside. "Woman, the amount of apparel you own is completely absurd. No one needs this many blouses or shoes."

"What can I say? I like to have a little variety," she replied with a smile. Then, the smile turned downright devious. "Besides, you seem to be pretty appreciative of what I wear later on."

Vegeta's head appeared from behind the closet door, fixing her with a fierce glare, before returning to the abyss of clothes and accessories. "This is ridiculous…" he mumbled. He kept grumbling unintelligibly, shifting the hangers as he searched for something acceptable to wear. A few moments later, he emerged. "What about this?"

"Vegeta… that's the dress I only wear to funerals."

Vegeta gritted his teeth in frustration, obviously slightly embarrassed, and threw the dress onto the bed. "How in the hell am I supposed to find something acceptable to wear in all of this garbage?" he snapped. "It all shows too much skin, or is some ridiculous color, or—"

"Geez, will you just calm down?" Bulma huffed, getting up from the bed. She walked over to the closet to join him. "Here, move. I will find you something." She rummaged for a couple of seconds before handing him a bra, a pair of panties, a dark pair of blue jeans, a three-quarter length baby blue button-down shirt, a pair of socks, and some tennis shoes. "There. Nothing overly 'girly.' Now go shower and get dressed so we can meet him. We're going to be late."

The Prince begrudgingly accepted the garments from her, and Bulma watched as he disappeared into their adjoining bathroom, slamming the door behind him. Then she walked to the closet, grabbed a navy blue polo and pair of khakis for herself, and headed to Vegeta's old bedroom to get a shower of her own.

The shower ran forgotten in the background, steaming up the bathroom and the mirror, as Vegeta stared at his reflection. He had stripped down completely naked, and he scrutinized the slender, pale-skinned body he now inhabited. He'd seen her body like this countless times before, but now, it seemed something so completely foreign to him. Before, it was a body definitely worthy of his appreciation—there was no doubt of the woman's obvious sexual appeal. He doubted he would've paid much attention to her initially if it wasn't. Of course, the great sex between them couldn't be attributed only to her body—that woman had a combative spirit that made the Prince admire her as much as it made him want to strangle her. But still, her magnificent body was a definite bonus in the bedroom…

…But now, Vegeta wasn't so appreciative of that body now that he had to wear it. Knowing how attractive said body really was, Vegeta saw nothing but problems. How many ignorant cretins was he going to have to kill simply for staring at him? How was he going to downplay all of the curves this woman showed so proudly just so people would leave him alone? And that was just the visual aspect of inhabiting this body. Vegeta watched his reflection as he ran a hand over the purple fingerprints on his arm. Obviously, now that he was in Bulma's body, he wouldn't have any of his strength—he would be forced to live life as a weakling. And while the Prince prided himself on his intelligence, the truth was that he possessed nowhere near the capacity of scientific knowledge the woman did. So he couldn't fight, and he couldn't work at her job… What the hell was he supposed to do with himself now?

He looked at the bruises again, scowling. Even if the woman could manage to portray his demeanor perfectly (which he doubted possible), she wasn't even aware of how to control the strength she now had. She would give them away without even intending to. And then everyone would know that the Prince of All Saiyans had to live his life as a human woman for a period of time. How disgraceful.

The Prince sighed, walking over and climbing into the shower, pulling the curtain closed behind him. Why did these things always seem to happen to him?

Bulma stepped into the shower and sighed as the hot water hit her back. She closed her eyes and stuck her head under the showerhead, letting the water drench the dark hair and send it cascading to her shoulders. After a moment of enjoying the soothing heat, she reached for the shampoo, squirting some of it into her palm. Before she even brought it to her face, the smell hit her like a sledgehammer—it was almost completely overpowering. But I remember buying him this soap, she thought to herself. He specifically asked for something that wasn't so 'repugnant.' I bought this because it didn't really have much of a smell at all…

She brought it to her hair and lathered anyway, trying to ignore it. The heiress rinsed, opening her eyes afterward, and when she did, she also noticed that she could see the grains in the shower tile with exquisite detail. Finally, the smell made sense as she caught on. I never realized his senses were so enhanced…! I guess it makes sense, being a Saiyan fighter and all. But wow, this is just amazing! I could count every grain in this tile…why didn't I notice this earlier?

Maybe because you were a little busy freaking out at the situation, her brain countered.

Bulma finished showering and stepped out, drying herself off. As she was running the towel through her hair, she caught sight of her reflection in the mirror, and smirked devilishly, admiring the view. Well, she supposed, at least if I had to body swap again, it was with my handsome Prince this time, and not some icky, disgusting frog.

She stood there for a moment longer, staring at her reflection, running her hand along the muscles of her stomach. She lost herself completely for a few moments in her fantasies, remembering her need for this body, his body, remembering how wonderful he looked above her, how his muscles twitched and jerked…

An urgent thought finally broke through her lust-clouded brain, reminding her where she needed to be. She looked at herself again in the mirror, noticing the flush to her cheeks and…well… other visibly noticeable evidence of her thoughts. Ugh! Dammit, Bulma, look what you've done now! My first hard-on, and I can't even enjoy it! There's no way I can… What am I going to do now? She had to meet her son in less than two hours, and she still had to go take care of the baby and meet up with Vegeta first, too. Okay, focus, she commanded herself. She forced the thoughts away and instead concentrated on every non-sexual thing she could think of. Folding laundry… cooking dinner… the space-time continuum… She chanted things over and over in her mind, and as her desire dissipated, she headed back into the adjoining bedroom to get dressed. Once she checked herself and was sure she was in the clear, Bulma walked back out of the abandoned room to get her son ready before meeting Vegeta in their bedroom.

This was obviously the most malevolent contraption ever devised. A sinister enigma concocted from the mind of some tyrannical sadist. A contraption that, at its very core, was created under the false promise of security and "providing support," but in reality, offered nothing but suppression when its user actually conquered its labyrinth of straps, wires, and hooks; and when said user was unsuccessful, it provided nothing but immense shame when defeated by it.

"Vegeta, are you almost ready? We need to be there in ten minutes!"

The Prince struggled once again to latch the clasps behind his back. Dammit. This could not be that difficult. The woman somehow managed to put the damned thing on all by herself on a daily basis with almost no effort on her part. If she could do it, then he damn well could, too. He pushed his hands still further together so that his fingers met, striving to make the blasted hook meet the tiny loop. If only there weren't so many of them…

"Oh my god, what is taking you so long?"

Vegeta snarled when her voice broke his concentration and caused him to miss yet again. "Woman, we will leave whenever I am ready, and not until then! I have wasted countless hours waiting on you to finish your vanity sessions, so you have no right to complain. Now will you shut up and leave me alone?!" The Prince struggled with the latches once again, and felt the hook graze over the eye; there, he had it! He let the band go, only realize too late that he, in fact, didn't have it after all, and to have the band snap him on the back. "Ugh… Dammit…!"

Bulma was standing just on the other side of the door, staring at it impatiently, when she heard him curse under his breath from inside. She'd left Trunks playing in his playpen downstairs, but she knew that wouldn't keep him entertained for long. "Vegeta, look, can I just come in, please? It's really not like you have anything I haven't seen before…" When she got no response, she tentatively shifted the door handle and, finding it unlocked, entered. Vegeta was standing with his back to the mirror, looking over his left shoulder and trying valiantly to clasp the hooks and eyes on the bra she had given him. He was a total mess; the straps were twisted, his bust wasn't properly adjusted in the cups, and the look of absolute frustration on his face actually had her feeling a little sorry for him, and it kept her from laughing at the otherwise comical situation. She then also noticed the bruises on his arms. "Vegeta! Where the hell did those bruises come from?"

Vegeta grit his teeth. "Woman, get the fuck out. Now."

Bulma scowled, crossing her arms. "I said, what happened?"

His eyes widened at her sheer audacity, and they shifted to look at her in the mirror. "I said get out! Now!"

"Not until you tell me what happened!"

"They came from you! This morning, when you shook me during your moment of sheer insanity! Now LEAVE. ME. ALONE!"

Bulma's face changed instantly—she went from being cross to apologetic in nanoseconds. "…I did that?"

Vegeta rolled his eyes. "Woman, it's really not a big deal. I'm fine. Now for the love of all that is sacred, get out of this bathroom, or I swear…"

"God, I'm so sorry. I didn't even realize…" Bulma walked over to him and grazed the bruises with her fingertips. The small gesture seemed to calm him; he wasn't shouting at her to leave anymore, but he didn't look pleased, either.

Vegeta took a deep breath. "I'm fine. This is nothing," he said more calmly this time, looking her dead in the eye. They stared at each other for a few moments before Bulma finally motioned for him to move.

"Here. Turn your back to me," she asserted, not giving him a moment to become agitated at her proximity.

T he Prince glared at her, but when she stood her ground, he begrudgingly turned away from her and allowed her to straighten the straps and fasten the clasps. He watched her face in the mirror as she did. "Okay, it's fastened. Now, let me just… adjust you a little bit here," she said, stepping closer and pressing her torso against him so she could reach around him. The contact of his body on hers sent an electric shock through her—oh God, that felt amazing. Bulma slid her hands underneath the bra cups slowly, reveling in the feel of his soft skin. She inhaled deeply as the scent of his skin consumed her senses, and suddenly felt it hard to breathe—she began exhaling heavily into Vegeta's ear. He visibly shuddered when she did. Slowly, very slowly, she lifted each breast into the cup, her hands lingering there much longer than necessary before they glided down to rest on his hips, pulling him against her.

" Woman, what the fuck are you doing?" he said shakily.

"What? Oh…" she swallowed heavily, shaking her head. "I… um…"

Vegeta took a breath to steady his nerves, then turned around to face her, giving her a steady glare. "Let me make this very clear. We are not copulating while in one another's bodies, is that understood? It's not happening."

Bulma dropped her hands and blinked rapidly, trying to rid her clouded mind of the intense feelings of lust. "Look, believe it or not, I really don't know what came over me," she said, slightly baffled. "I really just came in to help you, and then… God, it's my body! What the hell is wrong with me? I feel so freaking narcissistic right now…"

Vegeta inwardly groaned—he knew exactly what it was. He'd worked to keep himself in check his entire life, and he'd become almost flawless at it (well, until she came around, that is—the Prince's jaw tightened in frustration at the thought); but the woman would certainly have no clue how to handle it. But did he really want to tell her? Vegeta sighed. If he didn't, then she wouldn't know… she wouldn't be able to attempt to practice restraint, and if she didn't, she'd give them away in no time.

He took a deep breath. "You're not narcissistic," he said.

"Vegeta, you just saw me. I started groping myself," she said dryly.

" Will you shut up and listen to me?" he snapped. "You're not—at least not in this case. It's in your blood. You have the blood of a Saiyan to deal with now," he explained. When she stood quietly and simply watched for him to explain, he rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Woman, are you really that airheaded? I'm a pure-blooded Saiyan Elite. The prince of a Saiyan race. A warrior that feeds on adrenaline in all its forms. Whether I still possess my tail or not, the animalistic drive of the Oozaru in me is still there—the insatiable hunger, the need to fight, the need to rip things apart…and the need to fuck. All the time. Every minute. And that body is hardwired to seek out any way to satisfy those needs. It will pursue any attractive female it can find to copulate with… believe me, I know." Bulma simply looked at him, and Vegeta felt a tinge of blush rising to his cheeks—what sadist would have him explain every physical urge of his body to this woman? It was all like being in some horrible dream.

"…Oh," was all she said after a moment.

The Prince's blush only grew from her unusual lack of commentary. "Yes. Fantastic. Well, now that you've been enlightened, I will remind you again: we are not having sex while we're like this," he snapped.

"…Right, definitely not," she agreed. "It would be more than weird."

"Definitely."

"Absolutely."

"Good."

"Great."

They both stared at one another for a few moments. "…Do you not have a son that's leaving today? Or are we going to continue standing here discussing my body's sexual urges?" Vegeta sneered.

Bulma jumped at the reminder, and backed into the doorway of the bathroom. "Oh, right! We definitely need to get going. Do you need anything else?"

Vegeta ran his tongue along his teeth in agitation. "No."

She looked him over once more—luckily, her eye makeup had miraculously stayed intact from the night before—however the hell that had happened. She knew Vegeta wouldn't be able to do it himself, and he damn sure wouldn't let her help him now, and it needed to be there so people wouldn't notice. "Alright then. Put your shirt on and meet me downstairs so we can leave." She walked out of the room, and Vegeta could faintly hear her steps as she descended the stairs. The sound dissipated much too quickly; her hearing really was terrible. No wonder he was able to sneak up on her all the time.

The Prince sighed, pulling the light-blue shirt onto his shoulders and buttoning it. There was no way this was going to work—as soon as someone saw them, they would know something was off. How were they going to keep this charade up for an entire year? It hadn't even been three hours, and the woman was already coming on to him. And to top off what already ranked as one of the worst days of his life, the woman now knew about all of his urges and instincts. Something he had worked his entire life to conceal… to show that he and he alone controlled himself… and she now knew his weaknesses. His ability to always be the brunt of cosmic irony never ceased to amaze him. Would he ever have any dignity?

Vegeta checked himself in the mirror one more time, and once he was certain everything appeared fine on the surface, went out to join Bulma.