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Author's Notes: I have good news! I updated! I also have bad news… How do I say this without making you too angry…? I edited the previous chapters a little? Alterations that are not drastic, but not entirely minor. Some dialog, actions, and reactions were changed, but the outcome was the mostly same. Yes, I know I'm a terrible human being for doing that to you, but I know you'll find it in your hearts to forgive me. I think they were good changes. Don't feel obligated to read the changes if you don't want to. Here's what I did:

-Made Vegeta take a few more shots in Chapter 1

(For the record Mrs. Briefs gave him seven Long Island Ice Teas, five Cosmopolitans, and six Jager Bombs.)

-Added to the beginning of Chapter 2

-Dialog and action changes to the dinosaur scene in Chapter 3

-Some dialog in fight at the end of Chapter 3 (I recommend you at least skim this.)

Your patience with my changes is greatly appreciated.

I also changed the summary in case you didn't notice because the old one was getting dated. It will be missed.

If you started reading this story after 10/06/2009 date then disregard this note. You have read the updated version.

-- --- -- --- --

Bulma arrived back at Capsule Corp exhausted and defeated. What had she expected Vegeta to do? He had already made it quite clear to her he didn't want any of her help ever. Any bit of kindness she showed him he just threw back in her face. She thought if she kept at it he might change, but even if that was true, she didn't care anymore. He had hurt people close to her and obviously felt no guilt about it. That asshole could just sit in the desert and sunburn for all she cared now.

It was close to one in the morning and most of the lights in the house were out; Bulma fervently hoped that her mother hadn't rearranged the furniture too much since she had been to Namek. These hopes were quickly toppled as Bulma walked into an armchair, banging her knee. Cursing her terrible luck, she made her way further through the large dark house until she found a single light in the living room from Mrs. Briefs' favorite lamp. Bulma followed the light and found her mother reading on a couch with Dr. Briefs slumped against her shoulder, sleeping. Her mother was sheathed in a light pink, see-through robe and wearing a lacy, but modest nightgown beneath that. Her father was still wearing what he wore that day and perhaps the day before that. All his clothes had a rumpled, slept-in look to them, so it was difficult to tell.

Bulma smiled. They were certifiably insane, but she really loved these two. Her mother looked up when she saw Bulma approaching. Talking to Mrs. Briefs usually cheered Bulma up. She seemed to only see the bright side of things and if she couldn't make you see them too she gave you enough baked goods or liquor to forget your troubles.

"Hi, sweetness, weren't you bringing someone back?"

"I forgot he was a murderous asshole," Bulma said, referring the absent prince. She scowled and flopped into an armchair, causing a small dust cloud to rise off her clothes. She noticed the ashtray on the table was full of grey ash and cigarette butts and she wondered if her father had been chain smoking while waiting for her to get back.

"Oh, dear, you tend to do that."

"Um, I do?"

Her mother put her book down gently so as not her disturb her husband. "You jump to these conclusions about what men are going to be like and they never live up to your expectations of what you want them to be."

"I'm an inventor. Of course I have ideas about the way things should be." Bulma spoke tartly, but was unsure of what her mother was driving at.

"Men aren't machines. You can't build them into what you want them to be."

Her father snored against her mother's shoulder, interrupting Bulma asking exactly what her mother was not so subtly hinting at. Bulma looked at her sleeping father.

Bulma often wondered how an odd couple like her parents ended up together. Her mother was so glamorous and her father was so… not. He slouched, chain smoked, and rode a bicycle indoors-- among other eccentric habits. Although she was a homemaker now, Bulma knew her mother once did modeling work, had her picture in papers, and went to parties with movie stars almost every night. The extent to which she still lived her once fabulous life style was to help Bulma pick hair styles, clothes, and make up whenever she had to do the whole rich heiress routine.

"What about Dad made you marry him?" Bulma asked her mother.

Her mother dodged the question by shaking Dr. Briefs awake. "I'm pretty sleepy and you've had a long day," she said. "How about I tell you some other time?"

Bulma was going to ask why her mother didn't want to answer that question, but her father was awake.

"Welcome back, pumpkin. Did you find, Vegeta?" he asked, yawning.

"Yes," Bulma said, her tone glum now that she was reminded of the prince of the jerk offs.

He looked around. "Where is he?"

Bulma shook her head. "I found him, he offended me, I yelled at him, threw an airship at him, then left him in the desert. I behaved very maturely."

"Oh well," Dr. Briefs said, rising slowly; Bulma heard his knees pop ever so slightly as he stood. "He'll come back eventually… We have the dragon balls and I am the only person on the planet with a spaceship. That is, unless he likes it here."

-- -- --

Vegeta did not like it here. He suspected there was something in the air on this planet that made it feel like his sinuses were being crushed. He'd had a perpetual headache since he had returned to this miserable excuse of a terrestrial class three dust ball. He ignored the pain. He was good at ignoring distractions.

Vegeta had made a camp, though it was barely that, under an overhanging cliff face of one of the many collections of rocks in the desert. It wasn't the desert where he had encountered Bulma; this was north of that and had more vegetation than the wasteland with the castle, but it was still arid. He had been there nearly a week and was not disappointed to admit he would have to leave it soon. Game was becoming scarce and he was getting sick of the arid climate.

The only thing his present base camp had going for it was the view. There was a cliff face on one of the mountains in the valley with several ledges with overhangs in it. Vegeta had chosen the largest to sleep, eat, and think on. From his vantage point in the cliffs he could see the entire valley he had stopped in. He could watch storm clouds break over the peaks of the mountains in the distance or watch the weather patterns in the entire valley shift and change. He could also watch the herds of four legged mammals he had taken to preying on as they grazed on the terse and spunky grass that grew in patches intermittently across the valley floor.

He was sitting barefoot and gloveless with the legs and sleeves of his jump suit rolled up to his calves and forearms. He had removed his armor, which was so damaged it was hardly useful any more. It was too hot to be covered up from neck to toe and there was really no point in keeping up appearances. He scratched under his chin and realized the stubble was becoming a beard. He also realized that he didn't care. He curled his toes against the sandstone, trying to remember the last time he had been able to relax without looking over his shoulder for a backstabber. It had been a very long time, maybe not since Garula.

There seemed to be a storm growing from the collision of the day's hot air and the cool evening air. Vegeta didn't mind much; the storm would take the edge off the day's heat, but if the storm was on his side of the valley and if the wind was strong enough and the rain didn't evaporate before it hit the earth, it would blow into his pseudo-cave and make everything damp. It wasn't a problem, just a nuisance— like some other things. He knew he was being watched. Not literally watched, but someone was carefully watching what he did with his chi. Vegeta had greatly improved his ability to sense chi on Namek, but he knew it was still not perfect. He knew someone was there, someone very good at concealing their own chi. He was sure it was the Namekian, Piccolo. He couldn't feel the presence of his chi distinctly; he only felt something faint hovering, perhaps five hundred kilometers always north or to the west of him. The chi was controlled, but radiated power waiting to be used. It reminded him of the storm clouds.

When he had first noticed the chi he had tried to discern the source, but whenever he was getting close it would vanish only to reappear a few hours or a day later. Vegeta continued trying to find Piccolo, assuming it was indeed Piccolo, but the slug continued to vanish whenever Vegeta came close. Despite his frustration, there was nothing for him to do but tolerate the energy lurking in the distance.

Unfortunately for Vegeta, Piccolo wasn't looking for a fight. How was he supposed to stay in shape to kill Kakarrot when he returned to Earth?

Vegeta sneezed then groaned loudly. He did not like it here.

-- -- --

Bulma kept herself busy working with her father on the spaceship or some other new designs for the next several days and tried not to think about Vegeta or Yamcha. It was such a relief to be able to do something after spending weeks cooped up in a spaceship flying to Namek or hiding from crazy aliens with nothing to do forever on that rock. There was no point in mourning Yamcha; in a few months he would be back and everything would be wonderful again. However, when Bulma was repairing something or working on a new invention her thoughts would drift and she would find herself wondering what Vegeta was up to.

Two weeks after he had called Bulma about Vegeta missing, Gohan managed to escape his rigid schooling schedule and come by to visit Dende and Bulma. The one condition was that his mother accompanied him. She had expressed some concern about Gohan disappearing to another alien planet.

When the air car landed Gohan kissed his mother on the cheek and dashed out of the car to meet Dende. He waved a greeting to Bulma as he joined the Namekian children in the yard. ChiChi watched him run away, trying to shout words of caution after him, but they seemed to be lost on the boy. ChiChi looked…downtrodden, Bulma decided, as the single mother stepped out of the air car.

Bulma did not know ChiChi that well. In fact, she had only met her a handful of times and those had only been occasions when she was looking for Gohan or escorting him around. ChiChi behaved very differently than the girl she had been six years ago. She had cornered Goku at the world martial arts tournament, reminding him of his childhood promise to marry her. Bulma had trouble believing the excited young girl who was swept away on a cloud with Goku had become the high-strung woman she was now.

From what Bulma had gathered from Oolong, Yamcha, the Turtle Hermit, and Goku had said about her, ChiChi was mildly psychotic and prone to unexpected outbursts of violence. She had unnecessarily attacked the Turtle Hermit with some sort of blade to test his identity, she had tried to shoot Yamcha with a laser weapon, she routinely smacked Goku with a cast iron skillet (probably an ineffective weapon on him), but Oolong still thought she was a "babe." Goku had explained that he lived a good deal of his time with her in fear of upsetting her.

ChiChi was standing awkwardly next to her car, watching with concern as Gohan started a game of freeze tag with the other boys.

"Hey, ChiChi," Bulma said, walking up.

"Oh, hi Bulma," ChiChi said uncertainly. Bulma could not tell if she looked uncomfortable because the two had never spoken alone before, or if when ChiChi wasn't screaming at her husband or son she was actually shy.

"You want some tea? My mother set a tray up on the porch."

ChiChi twisted her hands and glanced at Gohan, who was running and laughing.

Sheesh, lady, I think he can handle freeze tag. He is Goku's son, Bulma thought. Instead she said, "We have a good view of the yard from the porch."

"Then yes," she said with the formal manners of an unfamiliar guest. "Tea would be… nice."

"So how was the ride over?" Bulma asked, leading the way to the porch.

"Oh… uneventful," ChiChi said. "Thank you for letting Gohan come over," she continued as they both sat down at the table.

"You're welcome. He's a great kid; I'm glad you let him take a break from his school work," Bulma replied as she passed over a saucer and cup.

ChiChi frowned. "He tricked me. He said this was a study group."

"Oh," Bulma said, trying to work up some sympathy. She thought ChiChi was more than a little heavy-handed with the schooling. When Gohan had returned from Namek he had asked Bulma if he could hide at Capsule Corp until he finished his homework. She had talked him out of it, since she didn't want ChiChi coming after her when she found out her son was on Earth and at Bulma's house. When your children were scared to come home you were doing something wrong.

ChiChi's lower lip began to tremble. "I'm just so worried he's going to become a good-for-nothing deadbeat like his father."

Bulma was preparing to defend Goku when ChiChi's shoulders began to shake and she started to sob.

Oh, gosh… Bulma thought. This was unexpected. She snatched up a bunch of napkins from the table and began handing them to ChiChi and looked around to make sure Gohan couldn't see them. She didn't think it would be very healthy for Gohan to see his mother crying.

"I really don't think growing up to be like Goku would really be a bad thing," Bulma said. "You should be proud to have him as a husband. I mean, he's the bravest, most morally upright human-- er, I mean-- person I know." Definitely the most morally upright Saiyan she knew.

"What good is that when you're never there for your family?" ChiChi sobbed and blew her nose loudly into a napkin.

"Maybe when Goku comes back you should tell him how unhappy you are."

"All of my life I just wanted to be a good wife to my husband," she let out an especially loud wail. "I just picked a terrible husband."

Bulma decided it would be unwise to remind ChiChi it served her right for tricking her husband into marrying her. "If you're that unhappy… You could always leave him…" she suggested.

"What are you, crazy!?" ChiChi shook her head. "I couldn't do that. It's just his nature. You know, you've known him longer than I have."

"I certainly have…" Bulma sighed.

ChiChi began drying her eyes. "I'm just frustrated. I feel like I'm raising Gohan by myself even when Goku is around."

Bulma felt terrible for ChiChi, not because she was grieving her missing husband (although she did feel bad about that), but because she had centered her life on a husband. Bulma constantly shrugged off Yamcha's suggestions for marriage in the future, citing his unfaithfulness; the truth was, she was scared to get married. She would spend a small fortune on a meaningless ceremony, then be expected to take care of him, raise his children, and adjust her whole life so he was the center of her universe. Bulma knew that it wasn't supposed to be that way, but she could think of many women whose marriages were not like that. They would end up like ChiChi, stuck with a man no matter what they did because they wanted to get married.

At the same time, Bulma couldn't help but feel a little bit like ChiChi didn't deserve Goku.

ChiChi took several deep steadying breaths. "I think I'm okay now."

"I'm glad…" Bulma said awkwardly. "Any time you need to talk, I'm here."

"Thank you, Bulma," ChiChi said sincerely and smiled at her.

-- -- --

Bulma had spent the afternoon talking with ChiChi about their respective lives. She decided she found ChiChi overbearing, but she did appreciate how honest she could be, although she was very blunt about it. ChiChi wasn't malicious, although she was bad-tempered; she was just very naive. Bulma had learned ChiChi had never gone to high school; this afternoon was only the third time she had been to a major city; the only boy she had ever dated was Goku (that thing about her and Yamcha was total nonsense and Bulma knew it); she loved cooking and reading; and had never spent more than an hour with other girls her age. Bulma realized almost everything ChiChi knew she had learned from magazines or books.

"I am never getting married," Bulma said after dinner when Gohan and ChiChi had left.

"Oh, why's that?" Mrs. Brief's asked, rubbing a dishcloth with a rooster print on it over a plate. There was something wrong with the robot that did the dishes, so they were stuck washing the plates from dinner on their own. It was turning out to be not so bad as Bulma had initially thought it would be. She was washing, her mother drying. Mrs. Briefs didn't want to ruin her manicure.

"Women just pick some guy they meet, then they marry him and spend the rest of their lives unhappy because they grew apart. Like how ChiChi met Goku and decided to marry him," she explained, putting a clean dripping wet dish in the drying rack for her mother. "Now she's stuck with him."

"Sounds exactly like you," Mrs. Briefs said off-handedly, putting a plate in the cupboard.

"What do you mean by that!?" Bulma exclaimed.

Mrs. Briefs sighed and picked up another dish. Bulma could see she wasn't going to elaborate without some prodding.

"You can't say something like that and not expect to give an explanation."

"Well, it sounds hypocritical… Accusing someone of picking up a guy she met, like, oh… In the desert, then spending the rest of their lives unhappy because they're always fighting and breaking up, but refuse to leave each other."

Bulma froze with disbelief, then repeated everything her mother had just said in her head. "Are you talking about Yamcha and me?"

After the clink of the plate being placed on top of another plate came her mother's reply. "Well, d'uh."

"We're different. He and I have taken time apart and we've realized that we're happy together. We're prefect!"

"Sweetie, there's no such thing as perfect. Especially with relationships."

"Well maybe he and I are," Bulma sniffed, sticking her nose up in the air.

"Okay, sweetheart," her mother said. "Then why don't you marry him?"

"I love him, but I don't want to marry him. He wants the white picket fence and a cute little house with me inside pregnant and barefoot making him dinner. Married women have that sort of thing forced on them all the time. What I want is more important than starting a family."

Mrs. Briefs put down the dish she was drying. "For some women, having a family is what they want. You shouldn't be so dismissive, you wouldn't be here if it wasn't for women like that."

"Mom, that's not what I meant…"

"That's exactly what you meant, Bulma. And I think raising a child into an adult is just as admirable as following your own interests."

Bulma bit her lip. She supposed that was what she had meant after all. Maybe some people just weren't meant to get married. "I'm sorry, Mom."

Her mother grinned. "It's okay, sweetheart, you're young and stupid."

Bulma groaned and the two continued washing dishes. When her mother was putting away the last dish Bulma spoke again. "You think ChiChi tricked Goku into marrying her? Do you think he'd be happier if he wasn't tied down?"

Her mother walked over to Bulma and patted her on the cheek. "Have you known Goku to be anything but happy? Besides, I don't think it's any of your business."

She supposed it wasn't. Bulma stared at the floor, thinking. "Do Yamcha and I really have that many problems?"

"You two spend more time apart than together," her mother pointed out as she hung up the dishcloth.

"But I love him."

Her mother smiled. "Then maybe that's all that matters." Mrs. Briefs kissed her daughter goodnight and left to change for bed, leaving Bulma standing alone in the kitchen.

Bulma sighed. She was unsure of what to do. She didn't feel like continuing any work for Capsule Corp. tonight, or watching TV, or reading, or doing anything. Damn, she wished Yamcha were here.

Bulma opened a drawer in the kitchen and pulled out one of her father's packs of cigarettes and lighters and went out on the porch. She wasn't a habitual smoker, just occasionally, when she was bored or stressed out. Plus, she knew it made her look cool, even though her mother nagged her that if Bulma kept smoking she was going to have skin like a crocodile handbag and the voice of a man by the time she was fifty. That was discouraging, Bulma thought as she stood next to the railing and lit up.

When she exhaled the first lung-full of smoke she wished all her worries would leave with it. As she watched the smoke dissipate into the air above her, she began looking for stars in the sky. It was a clear night, but the city lights blocked out most of the stars and Bulma was upset that she could see only the brightest ones. She knew the star that was Namek's sun was somewhere in the west sky right now, but that was so far away that it wasn't visible in the city, with or without a telescope. She lay down on her back on the porch and stamped out the cigarette next to her.

She wondered which one was the star for the Saiyan home world. They said it was destroyed, wasn't it? Where did Vegeta go when he wasn't fighting if he didn't have a home planet? Maybe he never stopped fighting because he didn't want to go back to a place that wasn't his home.

Which star was Goku near?

Somewhere out there was her friend. She hoped he was okay.

"Goku, come home," Bulma said aloud.

Wherever Vegeta was right now he could probably see all the stars. Bulma wondered if he was looking up at them and thinking the same thing she was thinking.