A/N: Soooo… you may have noticed this chapter took extra time and you may have noticed that extra time corresponds with the release of Fallout 4. Interesting coincidence that. Anyway, thank you guys for all your support and your patience, and for having it this chapter is all about Bulma/Vegeta interaction. Well almost all about it. I won't lie providing an alternate view of Bulma in the form of Yamcha this chapter was pretty fun to me, but they won't get their interaction until next chapter. Starting then you can expect to see more time jumps and the like, and this chapter marks the turn towards a darker tone. So far it's been the Bulma show, which has been fun, but things are about to get mutual. There is a warning for this chapter, there is what I consider mild violence and it is depicted with some sexual overtones. To be clear this isn't sexual violence. There's not going to be rape or the threat of it in this story, but control, dominance, and masochism are underlying themes so certain things will be written somewhat erotically. I haven't even decided if I'm going to write any smut for this story yet. If there's enough demand for it I will.

You guys know the drill, your reviews keep me motivated to keep this story going, and I love to hear any thoughts or opinions you may have on it. Thanks for reading!


He wasn't sure how many times he'd tried calling already, and Yamcha wasn't about to check to find out the depressing truth. When he'd received the call from one of Bulma's many lackeys, he hadn't been shocked. Alright, that's not entirely true; he had been surprised that now was the time she decided to end their relationship, but certainly not with the method. That didn't piss him off any less. She couldn't even be bothered to do the dirty work herself. He wasn't going to pretend he'd been a perfect boyfriend, or that he was so deluded as to think that their relationship was going anywhere. That didn't mean her casual disregard for his emotions was alright by any stretch of the imagination. At first he'd stayed calmed, reminded himself that he was expecting something like this, and that there was no conceivable way in which they weren't both better off out of the relationship. That lasted all of fifteen minutes before he sent the first text message, and to his credit, he started out mostly civil.

Call me. Even if you don't want to we have to talk.

If you want to break-up, fine, but we need to talk.

I won't let you ignore me. I deserve more than that.

After half an hour of silence he'd started calling, which of course she didn't answer. She didn't answer his calls when they were together, why would she bother right after having someone else dump him? It didn't take long after that for his texts had become decidedly less pleasant; a few of them were full of sentences he was so ashamed of that he wouldn't even read back through them. He was goading her, he wanted a reaction, but he wouldn't get one. He knew he was essentially shooting her with foam bullets, no matter what he said they were just going to bounce right back off her. She didn't care what he thought, and she hadn't for a long time. That was the most frustrating thing that at the end of the day, he'd lost all of his power in their relationship years ago, his opinions and wants didn't matter. He didn't matter, and now she was undoubtedly smirking as he pitched what ultimately amounted to a temper tantrum in her eyes.

It wasn't one though, and that made it all the more infuriating. He wasn't wrong for feeling this way, he wasn't being emotionally immature or expecting things from her he shouldn't. He knew and had known for some time that their relationship was coming to an end, he wasn't stupid, and he wasn't hopelessly idealistic. His problem was that he was nostalgic.

When they were young, Bulma was different, and not just in the way teenage girls are. She was self-centered then as she was now, she had a massive ego, and was prone to attention-seeking histrionic behavior that would have made a soap opera star blush. She entered every room and handled ever situation in a way that just commanded focus. Technically, those maybe were faults, undesirable traits, but it was such a large part of what made her attractive in the first place. She was and had always been a force to be reckoned with.

What had changed was far more sinister than the typical behavior of a pampered heiress. She was no longer optimistic and adventurous; she was no longer a woman or girl, who despite her selfishness, still wanted the best for everyone. She'd been so vibrant, so intoxicatingly enthusiastic about life, about her plans and her adventures that it was impossible not to get swept up into that excitement. Excitement. That was the word; she used to be so excited about everything and now she was not.

Now? Now she was bitter and cold. Now with the weight of the world on her shoulders, she'd slowly become more and more reclusive. The kindness and joy that was buried beneath her selfishness had simply vanished. She did nothing because she wanted to anymore; she did things because she had to. She'd say she'd grown up, but that wasn't it. She'd lost her ability to find delight in silly but meaningful things, and now took that pleasure from control, from taunting and teasing. He couldn't even remember the last time he saw a grin of pure delight on her face. These days they were either maliciously gleeful or a sinister smirk.

If pushed into a corner, he wasn't sure if he really did or did not agree with what she'd done in regards to Frieza. Sure, they always fought about it, and he most definitely did not approve of anything he knew she did these days (he'd stopped wondering long ago about the things he didn't know), but he wasn't stupid. He knew they were in a shit situation and no one was really coming out ahead. He knew he was lucky he'd never been put in her position.

It occurred to him that the thing he really missed was the simple conversations they had. For so long their conversations had been nothing but flimsy attempts to bait one another into an argument. They never just talked for the sake of talking. He didn't even really know what she liked anymore, if she ever wanted to do anything just for the sake of fun. He didn't know if she ever just wanted to get a pizza and beer like they used to. Did she even think about that sort of thing anymore? Probably not. That was a depressing thought. That brought him back to what his problem really was nostalgia. He couldn't save her, as much as he would've liked to. Even if he could there was no turning back the wheels on this. She now was who she was. She'd jumped down that hole and he was just lucky he hadn't fallen in after her. He put his phone in his pocket, rose from his chair, and tugged the jacket over his shoulders; a walk would do him some good. Clear his mind a bit; maybe refocus on things and…

His train of thought derailed when he opened the door and saw the gift basket sitting on his door step. He reached down and read the card as a fresh wave of rage washed over him. She'd already fucking won, why did she always feel the god damned need to rub it the fuck in? They'd been together a decade, he'd been good to her, showed up whenever she wanted him to, and did damn near everything she asked. When she said they needed to be more low-key to avoid all those people who were so justifiably pissed off by what she does, he'd said fine. They stopped doing things he loved doing and he never once voiced a complaint about it. He'd done damn near everything he could for her. Shouldn't that fucking count for a little respect when all was said and done? All those bittersweet nostalgia feelings were gone by the time he kicked the basket as hard as he could. A bottle of lotion broke open and spilled all over the floor in front of his apartment. The bottle of wine managed to survive but rolled away. One of his neighbors hesitantly peaked out, but she shut the door as soon as she saw the look on Yamcha's face. Bulma didn't want to answer his calls? That was a-fucking-okay with him. He'd give her the chance to be shitty to him in person, at least then he could return the fucking favor.


Vegeta wasn't worried because he didn't worry. He wasn't scared or nervous. He did however notice obvious warning signs when he spotted them, and his day so far had been absolutely full of them. He and Kakarot were woken up early, before the schedule dictated they normally would. Given that it was the humans that dragged them off, this was no doubt to avoid any incidents with the other slaves. Everything about the human's behavior was off. They weren't chattering or barking condescending insults. They were almost completely silent save for any necessary conversation. Worse than that were the concerned and tense stares they continuously shared with one another. Saying it was troubling was putting it mildly, humans seemed to be such incredibly social creatures, they fucking voiced damn near every thought they had. At first he was certain this meant that he and Kakarot were about to be swiftly dealt with in the deadly way. Instead they were taken to a tiled room with a drain, instructed to strip and hosed off until the water ran clear. It was worse than it sounded, much worse. The water was cold as ice, and the water pressure was unforgiving. His already cracked rib almost shattered, and after enduring the cold temperature for so long they were both in danger of hypothermia. By the time they finished his bruises were an even darker shade and he had a few new ones to add to the collection. Yesterday he'd have been indignant at the injury; today he needed a clear mind. Something was going on and he had to maintain his focus. They were given fresh clothes, and then carted off in separate directions. That was the last time he'd seen Kakarot and that was hours ago.

From there he was dragged through a part of the compound he hadn't yet seen, a place with a lot of humans and every single one of them looked scared shitless. Strange as it was, there was some comfort in seeing them react in a more emotional way. There was a barely controlled chaos that was not characteristic of the tight ship he'd seen so far, employees darted back and forth, whispered to each other with wide eyes, and dispersed whenever someone with any authority strode past. He knew they were panicking over the call from Frieza. It was so obvious even Kakarot could probably have pieced that puzzle together. It may have been bad news for him as well in the long run, but it was just so delightful to see all the obnoxious creatures so terrified. He didn't get to witness it for long though; he was dropped off in an undecorated room with a table and a chair on either side of it. They set him up in a seat that wobbled and his arms and legs were cuffed together with very little slack to offer.

And that was it. The humans left, he wasn't remotely sure how many hours ago it was, and he was stuck staring at blank walls. Whether or not he was a patient man was debatable, but self-discipline he had an abundance of. It had not come naturally to him, a prince that by birth right was owed his will, but it was a lesson that had been forced upon him time and again under Frieza's rule. Swallowing his pride, and tolerating humiliation, blindly obeying the man that destroyed his race. He'd sworn years ago that the second he was out from under Frieza's thumb he never abide any of it ever again. Yet here he was, battered and in pain, waiting endlessly on a different tyrant to decide how best further his shame. His chest was uncomfortably tight and it wasn't from the damage, he had to force himself to take in slow, deep breaths. It was no easy feat with the pain, but he couldn't afford to let any amount of his emotions take over right now. The woman had him on his physical weakness; she'd get no other kind of it from him.

His thoughts hadn't quite left her when she entered. Her arms were loaded with files and a data pad, not to mention the can of something that smelled like poison clutched in her fist. All of it combined was clearly quite a burden for the woman as she kept shifting the weight around in her grip. His frown deepened, she was feeling just as much of the stress from Frieza's call as the others, even if she avoided showing it. He pictured her this morning, staring into a mirror and trying to figure out how to hide those dark circles under her eyes. She'd failed, and even though it was a small one, any failure of hers was something he was going to relish. He wondered if she'd grimaced whenever she caught her reflection and saw her own bloodshot gaze. Otherwise she looked as put together as she had the other times he'd seen her. Her hair was tucked back into a sleek bun, and her make-up was immaculate. She wore a black suit with a skirt that was only an inch off from being indecent, she had a soft pink lacy top on underneath and a pearl necklace. Then his eyes hit her shoes. They weren't as fancy as the ones the day before, but they were still tall and had that damnable heel.

She cast him a quick glance when his thumb went back to the spot on his hand, it was scabbed over now, and smirked. His eye twitched but he kept any emotion off his face. If she wanted a reaction she was going to have to work for it. The burden in her arms was carefully placed on the desk in front of the chair opposite him, but she didn't sit yet. Instead she unbuttoned her suit jacket before tugging it off and setting it on the back of her chair. The pink shirt underneath had small straps that exposed much of her creamy skin as well as the straps to her undergarment, in black. His gaze lingered on her almost nude shoulders for longer than he'd admit before he finally stared at her face. She wasn't looking back at him though.

"You know, I don't usually bother getting involved with your sort personally," she remarked before picking up the foul smelling can and downing a sip, "I don't know if you should feel proud of yourself or ashamed." He opened his mouth to respond but she was quick to silence him. She held up a finger and shook it as she spoke. Her movements were abnormal, not so much so that it was cause for concern. They were awkward and jittery and she was quick to shift in her chair. She looked both exhausted and alert, no doubt the result of whatever putrid concoction she was pouring down her throat.

"Nuh-uh. Shh. You'll be silent unless prompted to speak with a question. You've already pushed the bounds of what I'm willing to tolerate from my slaves. Besides, you were right the other day, what was it you said? That I have trouble hearing anything that's not my own voice? It was something along those lines. Dickish of you, but accurate." She waved a hand dismissively before leaning over the table to flip through her files, and he had to wonder if she was intentionally offering him the view down her top. His tail tightened around his waist and quickly relaxed, he didn't pine for women, or crave them. Where the other men he'd worked with always delighted in the local charms of where ever they were dispatched to, Vegeta could never be bothered. He detested having his focus diverted, that's not to say he was a stranger to that particular pleasure, but when he indulged it was merely the scratching of an itch. This was perhaps the one place he and Kakarot had always been similar, they both had strongly preferred training and focus to feminine distractions. So while the image was not unwelcome, he reminded himself who he was dealing with and looked instead at the stack of files she'd brought along with her.

"I thought that you would know all about humoring narcissists in position of power, I mean you've been a slave most of your life. Not in name, granted, but nothing you've seen here is really new to you is it?" She finally sat down in the chair, it didn't wobble. He drew in a long slow breath to avoid any visible emotional reaction. She was pushing buttons. He just had to not fall for it. She turned a few pages and held one up for inspection. After a few seconds of silence she shot a glare over the page.

"That was a question," she said and replaced the paper in its place.

"The specific level of disrespect is new," he spoke in a cold, calm, but clipped tone. She'd just so casually rubbed his face in his previous torment under Frieza. She hadn't even bothered looking him in the eyes while saying it. His fists clenched as she smiled so frustratingly pleasantly at him, if he'd been able to, he might not have been able to resist punching that look right off her. That's where he'd start anyway. He didn't normally delight so much in the thought of torturing someone so much weaker than him. There was no pride or honor in tormenting them (that's not to say he didn't occasionally find it enjoyable to watch them panic like with the humans earlier). During purges they always went quickly, cleanly. Yet with all the time he'd had alone with his thoughts since last he saw her, he'd spent a large portion of it picturing breaking her. Making her beg for his mercy and stripping her of every ounce of control she held. Perhaps it was simply that she was a suitable stand in for Frieza. Perhaps it was that she represented everything he should've had but didn't. Obsession wasn't uncommon to him, he'd always struggled with it, be it in surpassing Kakarot or defeating Frieza.

"Bullshit," she clucked her tongue at him and wagged her finger, "Frieza and all his ass hats were no sweeter than I, you just don't like dirtying your hands with menial labor." His fists clenched once more at her tone, like he was some unruly student and she was his chastising teacher. His mouth was going before he could tell it to stop.

"And I suppose your perfectly manicured nails have been-" it didn't really matter what he had to say after that, she didn't really care. He knew it. The condescension only grew as she spoke.

"That wasn't a question, so I don't understand why you're talking. Since I'm in a good mood, I'll humor you though. You're only partially wrong," she said and held out her hand so she could inspect her nails.

"These hands haven't always been so pretty. Do try to contain your amazement, even I have, well had flaws. When I was younger I spent a lot of my free time personally building all sorts of machines. I had mechanic hands. That was always just for fun, of course. I never had to do anything. Does that piss you off?" She asked the question and titled her head in a conversational manner. She enjoyed this power over him. Well, not him specifically, she just liked the control. She was looking down her nose at him, telling him his place beneath her far predated his enslavement.

"Yes," he replied far too quickly. He knew he didn't matter to her, that she didn't spend even a tenth as much time thinking about him as he had about her over the past twenty-four hours. Even if she didn't have to deal with whatever Frieza was up to, she wouldn't waste any extra thought on him.

"I thought it might, and you know, I swore I wasn't going to be petty about this… well pettier than usual, but that does make me happy. It's the simple pleasures, as my father would say. Of course he was talking about a cup of coffee, a good cigar, and the like."


She couldn't resist a growing grin when his eye started to twitch, the previous day had been exceptionally rough, and so any pleasure she could derive from this little interaction she was going to take. Sure she'd had fun reading some of Yamcha's creative attempts to get her attention. She was going to get a few pictures off the internet later of that angry looking cat and photoshop the messages on them. Maybe she'd arranged it into a coffee table book and mail it to him. That coupled with all the caffeine she'd consumed she was on a rush. She took another sip of her energy drink, this was her second today after four cups of coffee. She had that fidgety superficial energy tied to bad caffeine decisions, but frankly with the sheer amount of sleep she did not get last night, it was the only thing making this day possible. Well that and the opportunity to antagonize a few people that deserved it. She'd actually taken a little time to read up on the Prince in front of her on her way to this little meeting. He had a very impressive kill count, which was probably why he got shipped here. No one can risk being too good but uncontrollable.

She was being at least a little hypocritical on that, and just a touch sadistic with how she was handling the situation, but she was going to allow herself to indulge in that just this once. Especially with how quickly Capsule Corp collectively freaked the fuck out. She'd taken longer routes to get wherever she needed to go while coming in contact with as few people as possible. The goal was, and she did achieve it, to spend most of her time with people that were considerably cooler headed, the people in charge of departments, her board members, and those already working on doomsday devices. Those sorts tended to have stomachs of steel. Due to that fine sort, she'd managed to update, modify, and re-plan all the projects she'd wanted to get done today. She was now ahead of schedule, and that was a truly glorious thing. That didn't mean a nap was in her future, she still had to devote every free second to finishing her weapon for what she had now dubbed as the FF Plan.

Her weapon was simple because it wasn't obviously a weapon; it was based on technology that was already used on a massive scale at Capsule Corp and in the Frieza Empire in general. Ki suppression. As the devices currently worked, skin contact had to be maintained since it was impossible to just pull it from the air. Or that was conventional thought anyway. She'd heard of warriors drawing upon the energy of living things around them before, if they could do it, why couldn't she? So under the guise of improvements to the collars and cuffs she used, for years she'd had her research team work on methods of long range ki-suppression. Wasn't that just the perfect poetic justice? Take all of the power away from Frieza literally and figuratively before murdering the shit out of him.

Granted there were obstacles, no one really knew just how strong Frieza was and that was problematic. Rumor was he was capable of powerful transformations, and even if they weren't true, he still held a seriously impressive amount. She didn't think it would be possible to strip him of it completely without using the cuffs or collar, since a sustained drain would not be possible without them. It would require a hell of a suppression to make a meaningful dent. If she could though, that coupled with any number of her thoroughly well tested weapons already sitting on his ship, and Frieza would be a memory. Thankfully, from her previous sit down, she'd already gained a lot of information. She'd come here from her meeting with the other monkey, and he'd proven to be extremely helpful. While he didn't know any secrets, he did have working knowledge of the innards of Frieza's empire that most just weren't privy to. She still didn't have exact numbers, but she had a better idea of what she would have to be up against.

She'd devoted much more thought to what she was going to do with that monkey as opposed to the short one in front of her. Unfortunately for him, his future was more or less written in stone the second Frieza mentioned him during the call. She was going to aim to gain as much favor as she could when his men arrived and if that meant serving up the Saiyan prince on a platter, she was more than happy to oblige. He was going to be turfed to MRD until the crew arrived, and she had a strong suspicion that would the exact state Zarbon would be glad to find Vegeta in.

The tall one though, she'd had to make some decisions over. He hadn't really done anything wrong, in fact quite the opposite. He wrangled his cohort to the best of his abilities, and ever since he'd arrived things with the tier three group ran more smoothly. Initially she'd planned on just letting him off the hook, but given just how useful he'd been, it didn't take long for her to have a better idea.

"A lot of people don't like you, you know that right? I mean, a lot of people don't like me either, but they at least to my face they pretend to. People seem to think you're just a shithead in general." His lips thinned and brows knitted. He knew when he was being toyed with, but couldn't figure out what the game was yet. It was hard to keep her favorite bitch grin off her face.

"None of that is a surprise to me," he responded after a brief pause.

"Kakarot, though… I mean I couldn't even stay mad at the guy. After all, I was really expecting too much from him wasn't I? How could he be expected to handle all his responsibilities, yours, and your smart fucking mouth? I'm guilty of many things, but I'm not a monster. He's just been so incredibly useful throughout his entire career here. It seemed like he was overdue for a promotion." She made air quotes when speaking the word "career", and her tone made it clear she knew just how callus she was being referring his enslavement in such a way. She was dimly aware that that was now the second time in as many days that she'd told someone she wasn't a monster.

"So he's been moved to tier two," she said as she started clapping her hands, "and invited to participate in some very unique technological testing we've got going on. This is first completely optional test for any slave in Capsule Corp and the first time anyone from tier three has moved up, he's really making history here. He was as excited about it as I am. He's the only slave that gets to spend time without his ki being suppressed that isn't about to be blown to shit in a weapon's test. I know you must be so proud of him" His eyes narrowed on her, his clenched fists were shaking, and the tail wound around his waist visibly tensed. She'd definitely struck a nerve. She finally finished her round of applause and let her wrists come to a rest on the table. One of the many things that they'd been working on was gravity simulation, and given some of the very interesting things she'd learned from him during their conversation, Kakarot was definitely the pony to hedge her bets on. That's not to say she was stupid enough to let him wander around the premises without the supressors. They'd remain on and only be deactivated when he was safely locked in the chamber, to be reactivated before it was opened. If he tried to break through the walls, simply crossing over them would cause them to turn back on. Bulma was nothing if not a thorough woman. Traditionally supressors were only switched off fifteen minutes before a weapon was tested, that providing enough time for the subjects to overcome any lingering effects. This was so that the maximum effectiveness could be tested. She realized how shitty it was to give someone back their full strength before murdering the ever loving shit out of them, but… well. She just didn't think about that.

"That does bring me to my first real question. "Yes" or "no" will do you fine, no need to get wordy on me until prompted." She gave him another quick glance for reaction, his features darkened and she could see the breath in his chest. Oh he was pissed at her. She just smiled and rearranged the stack of files until she came to the notes she'd taken during her previous conversation.

"On your way up here, did you happen to notice something? Like say, my employees seeming…" she trailed off and rotated her hand in the air as if she were summoning the proper word.

"Frenzied?" That was probably the best word to use without sounding too insulting of her paid staff. She quickly picked up her pen, and tapped it against the paper as she gauged his responses. He was losing patience with her.

"Yes," he grit out through a tight jaw.

"I'm certain you remember what interrupted our previous conversation, Lord Frieza does certainly have a way of inspiring something in people. It's been a while since I've spoken with him, so it was nice to catch up. What did you do to piss him off and get sent here?" His eyes narrowed on her, she knew she was trampling on dangerous territory here, but he was safely bound. He was easily the most intense person she'd ever dealt with; he was quiet and observant until poked. She imagined seeing him at his best, unbound and in charge, would be impressive to say the least. She was fairly certain it would take all of a second to kill her though if he did get free. Well that depended on how badly she pissed him off, he may take his sweet time murdering her. He wouldn't get that chance though.

"None of your fucking business," he said. He didn't yell it, he didn't have to. He spoke firmly with such venom. She blinked a few times to break through the intense stare he was pinning her down with. She didn't show the effect he was having on her though, and she let out a quick laugh.

"Oh, ha, Vegeta, that's a good one. In the same way it's my business what store my furniture comes from, or if the chicken I order for lunch is cruelty free, it's absolutely my business why my slave ended up here, especially such a disobedient one like you. I am deciding what to do with you, and I'm wondering if I'm wasting my time. So, why did you get sent here?" She picked her data pad from where it was buried in her stack of files, and tapped in a few choice places on the screen. She was prompted with an access code before the image she was waiting for popped up, the one that gave her access to ever ki-suppressing collar on Earth. She rose from her chair, and moved around to the front of the desk and leaned against it. She scrolled through the names and information before finding what she needed, with one more tap he'd be a twitching mass on the floor. She was within grabbing distance right now, so despite the fact she was blatantly daring him, she was going to be careful.

"Frieza was under the impression I was trying to find whatever Saiyans were left so that I could kill him." He hadn't hesitated when she moved, but he did shift his weight a bit in the chair making it wobble. She suppressed the smirk; she always put people in wobbly or uncomfortable seats. It was a small form of manipulation but one she enjoyed none the less. His tongue darted out to just barely wet his lower lip, which made Bulma aware that she was actually staring at them.

"Were you?" She leaned forward so that their faces were about a foot apart. His nostrils flared as he inhaled, and she knew he'd just taken in her scent.

"Does it matter?" Silence fell after the angry question, and Bulma fixed him with her most patronizing, eye-brow arched stare, silently reminding him of his position. His eye twitched again.

"Yes," was all he could manage out. She remained silent while she absorbed all the information that simple yes had offered. He knew he wasn't strong enough to take on Frieza alone, but he thought that he and other Saiyans working together stood a chance. She already knew all of this; Kakarot had been extremely forthcoming, and frankly excited to talk about one part that their plan had hinged on. Still, it did tell her a bit about him personally.

"Yeah, Cockrot mentioned something about that. You guys training to become the legendary Stupid Saiyans or whatever. You know, I thought you both qualified for that, but apparently you have to ascend to a special level?" She tilted her head up so she was looking down her nose at him, a small smirk on her lips. It was spoken softly given the close quarters they now shared, and in a tone more teasing than antagonistic.

"Super Saiyan," he corrected, and if his jaw clenched any tighter, he was going to fuck up his teeth. For some unknown reason that little gesture, that righteously indignant response made her stomach feel uncomfortable. Not because she regretted inspiring it, she actually enjoyed it. That was the problem. Peeving this man, testing his admittedly remarkable control, gauging his intense but measured reactions was pleasurable, and she there was a very decent chance this was going to be the last conversation she had with him. He'd spend a month in MRD and it wasn't likely he'd last long after Zarbon did as he was wont to do. Those thoughts wouldn't do her any good, so she put the physical and emotional distance back between them when she straightened up and adopted a less pleasant tone.

"That makes so much more sense," she said as she straightened out her skirt, "I mean, all due respect, and you guys are due none, Stupid Saiyan is a bit redundant." She cleared her throat loudly before he could say anything, she knew she was about to cross some lines. While the scientist in her was dying to prod and see the reaction, she knew she couldn't allow herself to enjoy this interaction any further. It was time to severe any weird connection she may be forming. She had a feeling later tonight when she reflected upon the day she was going to deal with a bout of self-hate over toying with a man before dooming him to a very unpleasant future.

"Anyway, back to the important stuff. Do you know why Lord Frieza contacted me?" Her arms crossed over her chest, the data pad held against her chest. Her finger was no longer hovering near the button.

"No."

"Oh good," she said pleasantly, "I get to deliver this wonderful piece of news to you. We're going to have some visitors arriving in oh say about a month, some of Frieza's favorite fuckboys. It was actually quite sweet, you know, Lord Frieza mentioned you specifically, seemed to think a dear friend of yours would be happy to see you again." She pointed her finger at him when mentioning Lord Frieza. His expression hardened considerably, but the color draining from his face more than gave him away. He hadn't until then realized the scope of the situation.

"The pretty one," she snapped her fingers, like she was trying to recall something, "oh right. Zarbon."


He didn't even feel the pain from his battered body in that moment, all he felt was a far too familiar combination of panic and rage flowing through every inch of his being from the roots of his hair to the tip of his tail. His mind had barely registered the words before his body reacted, he's not sure he would've stopped himself if he'd had control at that moment anyway. He knew he wasn't going to win this, he knew that no matter what happened from this point forward he was fucked. So when he swung his fists as hard as he could, his body rising from his chair, and they landed on her cheek all he could think was good. He couldn't maintain balance with the way his ankles were bound but that didn't matter, he was more than pleased to land atop her. The flimsy desk wouldn't hold and screeched out of the way so they hit the ground with him on top. Her papers went everywhere, and the can dropped to the ground and spilled its vile liquid. Her scream, loud, shrill, and close to his ears was more musical than anything he'd ever heard. He'd hurt her. Good.

He was fortunate that the way they landed that both their hands were pinned between them, she'd eventually be able to free them, and so he had to do whatever it was that he was going to do quickly. The data pad had not landed far, and she'd have no problem reaching it. So he didn't risk any movement to free his own hands from their position beside her warm body. He deliberately dropped all of his weight on her, using only her body for support. His tail wrapped around her exposed thigh, clutching as tightly as possible. She gasped out, her chest compressing under the weight, it was enough to silence her screams, but not enough to stop the whimpers. Good. Her lips were parted just enough for her to try to pant in air, her eyes were wide and brimming with tears and for the smallest moment of almost silence, they simply stared into one another's. It was solid obsidian against her deep blue oceans that under the pressure succumbed to spilling a single tear.

"You say you're not a monster, and you're right. You're a spoiled child. You're a little girl in a situation you only think you control, while bigger forces than yourself tug the strings. You hide behind your frankly adorable little performance of being tough and scary, but you can't handle the things you've done. I saw you shake, I see you falter, and I feel your weakness." He'd dropped his head so that he didn't have to keep it raised in a precarious position while neither had access to their hands. This put his lips right by her ear, and he was all too happy to have her feel his breath while he whispered the words. Whispered though they may have been, they did not lack in strength and bite. If only for a moment, he had the power, and he was going to enjoy it. He heard her suck in breath, but continued speaking before she could interrupt.

"I will not be a toy for Zarbon's amusement," he almost yelled those words, and he knew it betrayed some of his own weakness. He'd suffered at the hands of his betters for far too long. Even though he could not convince her to spare him, he could at least make sure she understood. He may have unwittingly shown her some of his pain, but in this moment it was worth it. It would be something that bothered her. She was strong, but he knew she'd failed to bury all of her softness.

"You," her voice trailed off as she struggled to draw in a full breath under his weight, "absolutely will be." She tilted her head and gave him a kiss on the cheek before exhaling deeply, freeing up just enough room for her hands to wiggle free. She didn't go for the data pad though; her thumbs went straight for his eyes. He jerked back when her nails pushed against the flesh of his eyelids, getting away just in time to avoid any damage, and that gave her enough room to deliver a well-placed knee against his groin. It was over in a moment. She'd forced him off of her and regained her footing. The pain shot through him, and he couldn't resist when she shoved him off. He was clenching up when the first kick came, and all the pain flooded right back in. The kick landed against his ribs, it was almost impossible to breathe.

"It just drives you mad, doesn't it? You're always someone's bitch aren't you? Someone's slave. First it was Frieza, and that's bad, don't I know it, but at least he's strong, at least everyone has to obey him anyway. You got downgraded, to a fucking human. To me, the weak little girl that pretends to be tough and scary. " Each sentence she punctuated with a fresh kick, his vision was completely blurred by the time she finished and his stomach was knotting up preparing to evacuate the food he hadn't been fed. He couldn't prevent the tortured moan that ripped from his mouth.

"And that just wrecks you, but not as much as knowing I'm going to just hand you off to Zarbon like the piece of yesterday's trash you really are. You don't matter. Your fucking race doesn't matter, and I am just going to love seeing what they do to you in MRD. I-" Her foot came to a halt right before delivering another kick and it remained in the air for a moment. His body was tensed up painfully waiting for the next blow to his already damaged ribs. Breathing was a labor in and of itself, but he managed to gain a few calming breaths. He blinked to clear his sight just enough to see her foot at its halt, to see her other ankle wobble at being the only source of support. Finally she replaced the foot on the floor just in time to stabilize herself. He swallowed the rising bile in his throat and drew in a couple of excruciating breaths to regain any amount of composure. It could have only lasted a few moments, but the silence between them stretched for what felt like an eternity. His gaze finally slid her shapely, long legs, past her hips and chest to finally stare back into her face. For two days in a row he was stuck on the floor staring up at the woman, a similar position he'd often found himself in while working for Frieza. He growled, but not really, his body just wouldn't make the proper sound, so he groaned instead.

She was scowling, but it kept flickering to some unidentifiable emotion as her lips twitched. Her rage was losing the battle with her conscience, which was good for him. Finally she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, then gently rubbed the spot on her cheek where his fists had landed. Even as fresh as it was it was clear there was going to be a dark mark to mar her perfect porcelain skin. Bitterly he took delight in once more picturing her at her mirror fussing over another flaw. He wondered with contempt how she'd explain it away to people. Yes he'd destroyed just a little bit of her perfection, if only in a temporary fashion. He shut his eyes for just a moment to picture how the dark purples would look on her fair skin, and he found it strangely calming.

"You are not wrong, about any of it really," she mused aloud, but she really wasn't talking to him. He didn't think he could do much talking while struggling to breath and not vomit as hard as he was anyway. She sat down on the corner of her desk, and the edge was just so that it nudged her legs apart to give him a view, black satin like the strap he'd noted earlier. He shut his eyes once more, now to avoid the image of a spread-legged woman looking tussled. Her perfect bun had loosened, letting wavy strands of aqua free, her skirt and top were wrinkled and pushed over her body oddly from the scuffle. In the back of his fogged brain a single word was whispered, and he did his best to suppress it: beautiful. He wasn't sure if she lost her sense of decorum and provided those glimpses because she wanted him to look, or because she'd rendered him so little of a threat that it didn't matter if he did see. His eyes flickered back open, and shifted back to him. One of her legs shifted just a little further to the side, and that settled it. She did want him to see, and suddenly he noticed he could still feel the warmth of her body on his. One of her hands dropped to the spot on her thigh where his tail had been, and he knew she was having a similar thought. The inevitable hike in his breathing only surged the pain in his chest and he let out a low groan.

"You know what I wanted to do when I was younger?" She asked the question with a hollow voice. Her brows were knitted and her lips had pursed to try to cover a rather miserable looking pout. Her eyes bore into his meaningfully, but he just couldn't quite gather what she was trying to impart upon him. It was possible the first moment of genuine emotion, he'd witnessed from her, the first moment of vulnerability that she didn't try to keep hidden behind a well-trained persona. His heart thudded uncomfortably in his chest, and he couldn't pin point why. She finally broke the stare to roll her eyes and let out a scoffing laugh.

"I was going to build my own ship and adventure across the universe," she said and then pushed her hair so firmly out of her face it tugged her skin back when she did it. It was a wasted effort; disobedient strands quickly fell back to their original place. He swallowed, and furrowed his brow, he couldn't articulate in words why he understood why she was telling him this, but he did nonetheless.

"I was so fucking stupid," she voiced his thought for him. She bit on her lower lip just hard enough that when she let it go it had been tinged a darker pink.

"But, I suppose that's neither here nor there. I daresay you've earned yourself a great deal today, don't you?" He couldn't resist a frown at the sudden shift in tone; she was back behind the facade. Anger rose, but not at her, he was disappointed and he shouldn't be. She leaned back against the desk to reach into the pocket of her jacket for her phone. He shook his head to free himself of the pleasant image of her stretched out against the desk, she was so close. Her skirt had pushed up far enough that with a quick enough hand he could rid her of the satin underwear she so deliberately taunted him with. He couldn't deny how much he'd enjoyed in those few moments having her beneath him. Another shaky breath was enough to remind him of the pain that would make anything similar impossible. The mood between them had shifted so quickly, it was becoming difficult to keep up. He heard her phone beep and a familiar feminine voice came through it.

"Yes, Ms. Briefs?"

"Would you have security personnel come and remove the monkey from my office? He needs an escort to MRD; he's going to be there for a while."

"I'll have them up immediately, and the gentleman from your lunch appointments-" the sentence was cut off when she tapped on the screen. She rested there for a few more tense moments, looking at one of the ceiling. They both knew his eyes had not left her. She quickly sat back up and Vegeta finally released a breath he'd held since she'd sprawled over the furniture.

"Well I've wasted enough time on you today," she said as she hopped off the desk and retrieved her jacket from her chair. With a well-practiced grace she had it on and buttoned quickly. She rearranged her clothes in a more presentable fashion and in her return to normal, his stomach started to churn painfully. He'd been too swept up to remember exactly who he was dealing with and where he was about to be sent to. He thunked his forehead against the floor and swallowed painfully hard.

"I was wrong," he finally managed the words out, quiet as they were. She was in the middle of gathering all her fallen paperwork and such when he spoke, and she paused to stare at him curiously.

"You are a fucking monster," he let out a sharp, but hollow laugh. He wasn't looking at her any longer, and was frankly surprised when she didn't bother to respond. She finished gathering her things, including the data pad left on the floor and quickly left the room.