Every time that scar-faced idiot would come by for a visit, Vegeta always made a point in declaring his mighty presence at Capsule Corporation. He didn't do it out of friendliness, nor did he do it out of spite, but he did it, simply, for shits and giggles.

He didn't hate the man, nor did he like him; he preferred to say that he felt indifferent, which everyone found acceptable. Because it was true - Vegeta felt indifferent towards Yamcha, and anything that human did was nothing the saiyan cared for.

He never understood what it was about the man that Bulma had found attractive. He couldn't place it. The scars were very unappealing, his fighting level was embarrassing, and everything about him was unbecoming. Yes, he was taller than most men of average height (and Vegeta did count himself in the "average" category), but surely, that couldn't be his only redeeming quality, could it?

He had once asked Bulma why she had attached herself to Yamcha; rather than providing him with a detailed answer as he would've expected, since she was always so chatty, she instead gave him a snarky grin, and replied with a "would you like to know!"

His wife was a tease, and his wife was a flirt - he acknowledged that about her. But she could never give him a straight answer when he truly desired it. When he kept pestering her about the issue, she had requested that he drop it, and informed the prince that she chose him, after all, and that her heart would never belong to anyone else. He would be lying if he said he didn't care much about her heart, but he did care as to why she had desired Yamcha at one point in her life.

Currently, Vegeta was slowly making his way into the kitchen of his abode; he had already felt the energy of the Weakling within the vicinity of his home, and he was plotting his next move towards the man.

He didn't hate Yamcha, but he did enjoy seeing the man squirm. And he knew the effect he had on Bulma's ex-lover, and the fear he ignited in the man whenever he walked by. But alongside that fear was a tinge of jealousy that the prince could detect, and it made him feel at least nine feet tall. He did so enjoy rubbing into Yamcha's face that he got the girl, and that he got the girl pregnant. Such a wonderful gain for the saiyan, as compared to the devastating loss by the human.

Bulma already knew what he up to. She was hardly surprised anymore, every time he found a new way to get beneath Yamcha's skin. She usually shot him looks of warning, and sometimes - though very rarely - she'd even join in for her own amusement, but most often, she didn't condone his behaviour. He couldn't help himself though; pranking on Yamcha was one of his most favourite past times on Earth. It wasn't like he had a job (or needed one) to occupy his time. Bulma had once suggested spending more time with the brats, but he felt that this was a better waste of his time. And sometimes, he even got his children in on his pranks as well.

His actions weren't limited to pranking, as most of the time, he preferred verbally sparring with the man. He always won, of course - his quick saiyan wit was no match to Yamcha's idiot IQ. He preferred arguing with Yamcha, embarrassing Yamcha, and aggravating Yamcha, because he liked seeing the man's face flush, he liked seeing his temple throb, and he liked seeing the regret playing in the man's eyes every time Bulma walked by. However, Vegeta wasn't always pleased when the man's eyes fell upon his wife - as much as the prince liked to flaunt and brag about how beautiful and intelligent his wife was, he didn't always like it when other men took notice of her. And Bulma made it clear to him that killing off Yamcha once again was not an option, as he was still, and always will be, her very dear friend.

Vegeta personally found Yamcha's existence to be expendable; the man could barely fight, his face was scarred, which showed off all his losses, he was always whining and complaining (even more so than Bulma at times), and he just wasn't worthy of the title "warrior". But he had already killed him once, and as his wife warned him, if Yamcha were ever to die again at his hands, she would personally make sure that his sex life would be the next thing dead. And as weak as she was, compared to him, he actually believed those words, because she did truly hold some power over him, hated as he was to admit that.

As the saiyan rounded the corner of the hall, he could make out two distinct voices - one was his wife's, and the other one belonged to Yamcha. Vegeta had just gotten through a very good training session, was feeling particularly cheery (for him that is), and was in the mood for some tormenting. This day was turning out deliciously.

Unfortunately, the sight he walked in on was not too pleasing to his eye, as he found his wife by the sink, washing dishes, the Weakling, standing all too close beside her, and his youngest child, sitting happily in the arms of another man.

While Bulma and the man didn't seem to notice his arrival, his daughter did manage to pick up on his energy signals, as she looked over to him and exclaimed, "Papa! Papa!"

He grunted in response, walking into the kitchen and heading straight for the refrigerator. Sticking his hand into it, he pulled out the first thing he managed to grab a hold of, which was a bowl of salad. Fine by him.

"Papa!" Bra cried again, waving incessantly to get his attention. "Papa!"

He settled himself down by the kitchen table before he replied. "What is it, Bra?"

"Did you know that Uncle Yamcha used to be Mommy's boyfriend?" she asked, putting stress on the word "boyfriend". She then let out an extremely girlish giggle.

Vegeta inwardly winced at the noise his daughter was making. But what she had just told him piqued his interest. "I did know that, Bra. How did you come by that knowledge?"

"Uncle Yamcha told me!" she announced, smiling at the man. "He told me how he and Mommy were in love, until you came in and stole her away!"

As much as he disliked being painted as the bad guy, he supposed the human's version of the story was partly true. While he didn't exactly steal Bulma away, he did manage to swoop into her life rather quickly after she had detached herself from the man.

He decided not to answer his daughter verbally, but gave her an acknowledging look that he heard her. He wasn't really sure how to respond to such a statement anyway, and everyone was used to his silence by now.

"Hey Papa!" Bra continued, ignorant to her father's inner turmoil. "Do you know, Uncle Yamcha could've been my papa if Mommy never met you?"

Now this truly got his attention. "What do you mean?" he asked quietly, looking across at the wall, rather than at the three individuals by the sink.

"Well," Bra said, tracing her tiny fingers across the scars on Yamcha's cheeks, "Uncle Yamcha said that I would've been his little princess if you didn't trick Mommy into being with you."

Again, he said nothing, but this time, it was quite obvious that he was seething. His energy was sporadically rising at alternating levels, his temple was probably throbbing like it was about to burst, and the metal fork in his right hand was getting mangled by the second.

He slowly looked over towards the sink; his signature scowl on his face, except it was threefold as strong this time. Bra was smiling pleasantly at him, but he noticed the guilt in Bulma's reddened face, and the anxiety and apprehension growing within the Weakling. Dare that man call his daughter - his daughter - his "little princess"? As if his child was just a toy that could be passed around for ownership? He would have none of that.

"What mindless poison are you feeding the girl, man?" Vegeta asked scathingly, getting up from his seat to stand directly in front of the trio.

Yamcha shuffled nervously, unable to bring his own gaze to properly meet Vegeta's. His fingers tightened around Bra's little body, as if the girl could protect him from her vicious father.

"Speak up, moron," he demanded, his muscles bulging to make a point. The man swallowed quite loudly.

"Oh Vegeta, stop being such a bully," Bulma said chidingly. She wiped her hands on her apron, and gave him a pointed look. "We were just having a friendly conversation."

"Hn. Judging by the uncontrollable sweating on Yamcha's face, I believe it was more than just a friendly conversation."

His wife rolled her eyes at him. "Don't be such an idiot, we were having such a wonderful time until you came in and soured the mood!"

Vegeta bristled with annoyance - every time the man came to visit, Bulma always seemed to be on the defensive side against him. Usually, he hardly cared, since he knew he'd win anyway, but to corrupt the impressionable mind of his child was going too far.

"Like that moron could father such perfection!" Vegeta exclaimed, slitting his eyes towards Yamcha. He looked at his daughter. "Don't be fooled, Bra, by his stupidity. He could never be your father, he's much too dim-witted."

Bra laughed at her father's joke, but wrapped her arms around the other man's beck tightly. "Oh Papa, you're so silly! Uncle Yamcha's my favourite!"

He heard Bulma snicker, and his anger increased even more so. "Is he, now?"

"Uh huh! He's so nice, and handsome, and he's so tall!"

If there was one thing that Vegeta hated, it was being called "short". He was average, not short. "He's not that tall."

"Much taller than you, Papa," Bra gushed, rubbing her face against Yamcha's. "And he always brings me dolls!"

"Then I suppose your mother and I could stop purchasing those ridiculous pieces of humanesque plastic for you, seeing as your Uncle Yamcha is your favourite provider of all things good."

Bra's smile instantly froze over, as she turned a pale face towards her father. Her mouth gaped, and her eyes glazed over. "No more dolls?"

"Oh, many dolls," he said in a monotonous voice, "as long as that man is able to provide for you. He could be your father, as you have stated moments earlier."

"Mommy!" the girl exclaimed, wriggling free of Yamcha's hold. She ran over to her mother, clutching at the hem of Bulma's dress. "Mommy, why is Papa being so mean?"

"I believe it's his nature to be such a jerk," she replied sarcastically, crossing her arms in a manner that was so familiar with her husband. "Don't let your Daddy get to you, hon. He's just a little jealous."

"Of what?" Bra asked, scratching her head and peering over to her father with curiosity. "Papa never gets jealous of anything!"

Bulma outright laughed at this comment. Vegeta bunched his hands into fists as his wife continued to laugh at his expense. "Quiet down, you stupid harpy! Your cackling is unbecoming."

"It astonishes me that you think any of my traits are unbecoming."

"And what does that mean?"

"It means that most of you, particularly your personality, is unbecoming. I, on the other hand, am everything becoming, and everything that became, hence the reason why you adore me so much."

"Hn. I'll let you think that, woman."

"What is Papa jealous of?" Bra demanded, stamping her foot and tugging once more on the hem of Bulma's dress. "What is it? Tell me!"

"Oh, it's nothing," Bulma said nonchalantly. She walked over to her husband, and tapped him lightly on the nose. "He's just jealous of your Uncle Yamcha."

At that exact moment, Vegeta heard three things: Yamcha's incredibly annoying guffaw, Bra's squeal of delight, and his own veins, throbbing with the most irritation he ever felt.

Bra ran over to him, pointed a short, pudgy finger directly to his face, and yelled "Papa's jealous of Uncle Yamcha!"

"I am not!" he yelled, giving her his most terrifying glare. "Put that finger away you insolent brat!"

"Yes you are!" she said happily, though he did notice she put her hand down. "You only get mad when you know you're wrong!"

He didn't even deign to give her an answer. Instead, he stalked back to his seat, and began shoving his salad into his mouth with his hands like the barbarian he was.

"I suggest you not vex Vegeta while he's mad, kid," Yamcha said, leaning against the counter with a smug look on his face. "He's not generally the friendliest person on earth, so hitting him when he's already down is never a good idea."

"Shut up, Weakling!" Vegeta roared, slamming his fist down on the table. The empty bowl that had just recently contained his food rattled violently.

This was just getting ridiculous! How was it that this situation was turning out in his favour? He always got his way whenever it came to screwing around with Yamcha! This was insane!

"Calm down, Vegeta, there's not need to act like such a brute. We've company!"

As if he counted that worthless human as company. "My ass, company," he scoffed. Wanting desperately to remove himself from such a wretched situation, he shoved himself away from the table (or rather, he shoved the table away from himself), and stomped away from the compound kitchen. He decided to head back to his Gravity Room, a place of solitude where nobody would bother him.

He had enough of Yamcha, and the effect the man had on him.

And here he thought, all along, he had an effect on Yamcha instead.

It well past nine at night before Vegeta decided to come out from hiding. He had only had a salad the entire day, and had missed dinner, so he was extremely hungry. And he was just a little bit annoyed and angry at himself for letting the events of this morning bother him so much.

He made his way back into the kitchen, except this time it was empty. He could smell the lingering scent of Yamcha wafting through the vicinity, and he pulled a face of disgust.

The table was piled with plates and plates of his dinner, left over by his family. He noticed that many of the dishes contained his Earthly favourites - sushi, chashu pork, udon noodles, and salmon onigiri. Perhaps it was Bulma's way of saying sorry. As much as he appreciated the food, he would not let her get away with embarrassing him today, especially not in front of the younger brat and that idiot man she called a lover.

He sat down and quickly shoved everything down his system, as was his way for consumption. It was all very tasty, but he still couldn't get the foul taste of the day out of his mouth.

Once every plate was clearly, he gathered them up and thrust them into the sink for cleaning. Not that he'd be doing any of that since he was too high above such peasantry. He decided he'd leave it for Bulma to do.

Letting out a satisfied burp, he walked upstairs into his room. It too, was empty, which he was partly glad for, but the other part felt mildly annoyed since he had no idea where everyone was. Wasn't he the secretive one in the family? Since when did everyone decide to act like him?

He took a quick shower and changed into more comfortable clothing before settling into bed and turning on the television. He always found the device amusing, watching varying programs of dumb human antics. He particularly appreciated the shows that featured what Bulma had informed him were called vampires - he laughed at the way they were portrayed, and it always turned his foul disposition into something slightly more pleasant.

He had been watching the televised program for a while, when he heard the door to his room creak open. He saw a small shadow and a pair of blue pigtails bobbing their way towards him. Turning his head to the side, he watched as his daughter struggled her way climbing up onto his bed.

It was several moments before she managed to get onto the bed. Kicking off her slippers, she crawled to him, and kneeled beside his head, looking down at him in a way he found a tad creepy. He raised a questioning eyebrow at her.

"Papa?" she asked tentatively, leaning forward until her face was inches from his own.

He grunted, trying not wince at such close proximity to another being.

"Are you still mad?" she asked petulantly, biting her lower lip - a trait that was her mother's.

He grunted again.

"Why are you mad?"

"I'm not mad," he answered, looking away from her. He was growing more uncomfortable by the second.

"Yes you are. Why are you mad?"

"Not mad. Now stop asking stupid questions, you're acting as annoying as your mother."

"Why are you mad?"

Vegeta rolled his eyes. He knew full well how persistent Bra could be, and he knew that she wouldn't be satisfied until he gave her his answer. He also knew that she could tell when he was lying, which meant that she wouldn't leave him alone until he told her the truth.

"That Weakling irritates me," he said stiffly, avoiding her stare.

"Why?"

"He's an oaf, that's why."

She laughed softly at his comment. "I think so too."

He didn't reply, but he did offer a smirk at her direction.

"Uncle Yamcha may be an oaf, but he does mean well," she said.

He furrowed his brows. "Why do you sound so mature? You are only five years old, girl."

She made a tsk noise at him. "You told me to stop speaking like a nitwit and to use proper vocabulary because no child of yours will have the intellect of Kakarot or anyone related to him in anyway."

He sniggered at this bit of information, unable to contain his amusement that his daughter took him so literally. Although he was proud that she spoke properly, unlike the other small children she conglomerated with during daytime hours.

"Are you still mad, Papa?"

He shrugged his shoulders, his gaze still forward on the television screen. He suddenly felt a pair of small hands upon his cheeks, gently turning his face until he was looking directly at the girl.

"I like Uncle Yamcha, Papa. But that doesn't mean I don't appreciate you."

He pulled a face. He had no desire to "talk out his problems" the way Bulma so enjoyed, and he was not impressed that such another trait of hers was being passed down to their youngest child.

"I like it when Uncle Yamcha comes over to visit, but I like seeing you every day."

Great. She was getting sentimental now, which always made him feel guilty, though he never knew why.

"I think Uncle Yamcha would be a good father, but I'm glad he isn't mine."

"Hn."

"He's not as handsome as you are, Papa!" she exclaimed, smiling at him brightly. She gave him a small kiss on the nose. "And he isn't as smart as you, or as strong as you are."

"That much is obvious," he said snidely, giving her a satisfied grin. "Whoever can't figure that out is more of an oaf than Kakarot and Yamcha combined."

Bra let go of his face. She made herself comfortable on his bed, squirming around until her right side was completely attached to his left.

"If Uncle Yamcha was my father, I wouldn't be a princess, would I?"

"Of course not. You have me to thank for that."

"And maybe I would have scars on my face." Vegeta chuckled at this comment. He decided not to tell her that the Weakling had somehow acquired those scars, and that he wasn't born with them. As long as his daughter knew the other man was inferior was good enough.

"I don't think I'd be so pretty if he was my father," she continued, yawning into his bicep. "Don't you think?"

"I think you're fine the way you are. He's not your father, so you can give this conversation a rest."

He felt her nod, and he heard her hum, and within a few seconds, the girl was asleep by his side. Vegeta grabbed the remote on the nightstand, and lowered the volume of the program.

He was beginning to get drowsy when his bedroom door opened wider now, revealing the silhouette of his wife. Through heavy eyelids, he watched her lean over the bed, patting the girl awake.

"Bra," Bulma said with a lilting voice. "Get up now, kiddo. You need to go back to your own room."

Bra moaned softly, but slowly came to consciousness. "Huh?"

"Wake up, hon, Mommy and Daddy are tired, and you need to sleep in your own bed."

"Okay," the girl replied sleepily, getting up and rubbing her eyes. "Good night, Mommy."

"Good night, baby girl," Bulma said, and the two exchanged a kiss on the cheek. "And don't forget a kiss for Daddy."

"He already got one tonight," Bra said, glancing over her shoulder to her father. Vegeta grunted in confirmation. "But I guess it wouldn't hurt if he got another one." She gave him an especially sound kiss on his cheek, which made him inwardly wince. But he did appreciate it, all the same.

Both parents watched as the girl hopped off the bed, grabbed her slippers, and pranced out of the room, shutting the door behind her. Bulma left the bedside momentarily, changing out of her dress and into a nightgown. She padded her way across the room and slid onto the bed.

Minutes of silence passed between them. Usually, Vegeta would've felt nothing at such an exchange, as he preferred silence over any type of talk at all. But tonight, her silence made him slightly apprehensive.

"Say something, woman," he muttered, folding an arm beneath his head. "I know you're just bursting to run your mouth off."

"I do say," Bulma began, turning to her side and propping her own head up with her hand, "as much as I love how gentle you are with Bra, I would like that you showed me the same courtesy sometimes, instead of speaking to me like I'm your subordinate."

He made no reply to her comment, but he did tighten his mouth into a thin line. She always found a way to make him feel guilty.

"I know you're not in your best mood tonight, but should that really allow you to treat me so poorly? After all, I'm not that one you're upset with."

"You chose me, you moron," he ground out, turning away from her. "You left that dunce for me."

She sighed. "I'm very well aware of that fact."

"Hn." He had thought that that'd be the end of the conversation, until he felt a smooth hand running along his side in a tantalizing manner. He closed his eyes, and shifted his weight until he was once more lying on his back. He looked over at her, and saw that she was smiling. She may have always known how to make him feel guilty, but she always did know how to manage getting him to succumb to her too.

"I know that you like upsetting Yamcha. But I think it's rather funny that you got served today."

He quickly snatched her hand away from his stomach, stopping her movements with his grip. He shot her a steely glare.

Of course, Bulma wasn't fazed by this, as she was used to him from years of his companionship. "If you let go, then you'd get to listen to my explanation."

He didn't want to listen to anything, but he let go of her anyway. He sat up and crossed his arms, waiting for her to begin.

"Oh Vegeta, stop sulking like a baby, you're much beyond that." She moved closer to him, pried one arm away from his clutches, and held onto his hand, thumbing his palm in circular motions. His nose twitched at her actions.

"I think it's only fair that Yamcha gets to win once in a while, you know. You should be able to sympathize, as a fighter yourself. There's a sense of pride within him."

He gave her a disbelieving look and snorted. "What does he know of pride?"

She raised her brow archly at him. "I'll have you know, Yamcha is an incredibly proud person. A lot like you, actually. And you know full well how it sucks to have your pride taken away from you. Can't you imagine what it might feel like for Yamcha?"

"No, nor do I want to."

"Well," she began, running her fingers along the inside of his arm, "it must be awfully terrible for him to be constantly embarrassed in front of his friends."

He rolled his eyes.

"And it must be trying to pretend like nothing's wrong because he doesn't want to lose face."

He grunted.

"But most of all, it must be excruciatingly painful to have to tolerate such embarrassment in front of your ex-girlfriend, her children, and the man she married, who just so happens to be the same man who killed him once, seduced his girlfriend, and the one causing the embarrassment."

He had to admit, she did have a point there.

"Understand that yes, I did choose you. But that doesn't mean that I can't sympathize with Yamcha. Nor does it mean that I'll always side with you. If you're constantly being a jerk, then it's inevitable that you'll eventually get shot in the ass with your come-uppance."

He let out the breath he was holding in. He turned to face her, and said, "He deserves such treatment if he is to constantly come over to my house, and act like he owns it. I'm the leader of this household, he should know that!"

"He does," she told him, her hand now transferring to his chest. She rubbed him in circles. "Why else do you think he does it?"

He waited for her answer, and moved very slightly over to accommodate her touch.

"You may have been jealous of him today. But I'm pretty sure Yamcha's jealous of you every day."

"Go on."

She shook her head slowly at him, but smiled indulgently. "Think about it, Vegeta. Sure, you can't match him in height - " he shot her a look, " - but you're stronger than he will ever be. You're a saiyan prince, compared to his common man. You're far more intelligent than he is, and you have common sense. Plus, I find that you are the most attractive man, and I in no way regret leaving him for you. Even when you're being a douche."

"Perhaps."

"Let Yamcha wish what he wants to wish. And let him prattle on about whatever he wants to say. Everyone - including him - knows that I love you, that you're the only one I'll ever consider having kids with, and that I'm content with the way things are. He lives in the past. Don't let him drag you there with him."

Vegeta often hated it when Bulma insisted on conversing right before bed. But tonight, he didn't mind as much. Probably because she was singing his praises, which did nothing but stroke his ego to new heights.

"You were bored when I came to live with you in this compound," he said, looking at her with an arrogant smirk. "You should be glad that you were able to gain my affection. Your life would be highly unbearable if not for my presence."

"Much agreed," she murmured, and pulled his head in for a kiss. Adjusting her position, she lifted one leg across his, until she straddled him, and wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, kissing him more deeply. She moaned and gave a breathless sigh, before pulling away, slightly.

"Are you still mad?" she asked in a small voice, looking at him with large, round eyes.

He didn't give her a verbal answer, but instead, stroked her thighs with his palms seductively, and captured her lips with his own. She complied, letting his tongue wander into her mouth, as she pressed her body onto his.

No, he was no longer mad, and, because he wasn't in the mood to hold a grudge, he dropped his anger to make room for more concentration on finding pleasure with his wife.

a/n: I hope you have enjoyed reading the second chapter! Again, this is a series of one-shots, so I can't really say how many chapters there will be. And no, there is no particular timeline, which is why Bra is five, rather than an infant. And don't worry, I haven't forgotten about Trunks.

Review please, because I'd like to know how I'm doing writing for DBZ!