I am updating this more frequently, once every 3-4 days. So please check that you've read the previous chapter before this. The midnight snacks scene. If you just thought 'what midnight snacks scene?', go read it :D


Bulma woke with a start, gasping and sweaty, and it took a moment before she realized that it had been a dream, there was no Vegeta offering to demonstrate for her that sex was nothing like chocolate, with a sexy smirk and an impressive tent in his shorts. Where the heck had that come from? Weird. Ok, Vegeta had been way less of an asshole than usual, going after late-night snacks. Way less of an asshole. Almost… nice. But still… why was he showing up in her dreams, propositioning her? Vegeta didn't give many shits about anything other than fighting, training and food.

So weird…

She showered, brushed her teeth, wrestled her still-wet hair into a tight tail, and slipped on some comfortable cutoff jean short shorts and an old shirt that she didn't care much about, because it would get covered in food debris while cooking. She decided to skip everything but mascara, considering she was about to slave away in a hot kitchen all day. A light spritz of her favourite floral perfume later, and she counted herself ready to go. She grabbed her book and headed for breakfast.

Her mother had French toast on the go, when she got down to the dining room. Her father was already at his newspaper, cigarette smouldering, Scratch occupying his usual shoulder perch. She ate French toast and read her book.

Vegeta wandered in a few minutes later, looking just a little rougher than usual. Maybe they'd been up too late, or maybe the food hadn't sat well. He slid into his seat.

"Good morning, Vegeta, dear," her mother chirped, swirling out of the kitchen with a huge stack of French toast and a mug of coffee. "I made French toast."

"Thank you, Panchy," Vegeta replied. He looked like he needed that coffee, damn. Bulma was a little surprised by the fact that he went straight for it, instead of the food. He took a long draught of coffee and then went for the food.

God damn it, she could feel his eyes on her again. She looked up, catching him in the act. He met her gaze, completely unreadable, still.

"What is the book?" he asked.

She rolled her eyes. "Just a bodice-ripper."

His scrunched-up brows of confusion were always kind of cute, she thought. Why had she just noticed this?

"What's that?"

"Tawdry romance. You know, hot, rich dude and gorgeous, period-inappropriate independent woman mince around each other for a good third of a book, pretending they don't actually want to bang and that they absolutely hate one another, finally fall into bed in a terribly-described sex scene full of horrific euphemisms, face plot contrivances designed to pull them apart by making them appear unfaithful, and after exactly three over-the-top bang sessions, finally realize their biggest problem was their own stupid selves all along, and live happily ever after," she drawled.

His face froze into an incredulous mask partway through her description. He looked sorry he asked. Bulma dropped her lashes and took a sip of coffee. He still looked like he didn't know how to react.

"Sometimes it's a series, and the author ships all the side characters from the first book in their own separate books. Sometimes the author even starts shipping the children," she continued.

His brow scrunched again. "Ship?"

"Relationship. You know, when two characters… uhh… nevermind," she said, seeing the blank look cross his face. She rolled her eyes.

"Sounds…" he started, looking like he suddenly decided that maybe he shouldn't comment.

"Stupid?" she supplied. He made an awkward face, like he had just thought exactly that but didn't want to say it for some reason. She took another sip and smiled at her coffee. "Yeah, it's totally stupid. Formulaic as shit. Slightly more intellectually stimulating than a bag of chips. About the literary equivalent of a bag of chips. Every woman's secret, guilty little pleasure. Anti-literature. Unlike a bag of chips, it won't make you fat, just a little bit ashamed of yourself for finishing the whole thing."

"I love a good romance," her mother beamed.

"Romance writers make a lot of money," Bulma stated. Vegeta made one more absolutely incredulous face and went back to stuffing food into his maw.

She finished her breakfast while Panchy was fetching more French toast for the bottomless pit. She got up, stretching, hearing joints pop. Vegeta's eyes were on her again. Just great. Oh well, back to business. "The gravity room's ready, so go knock yourself out. Not literally, please. And don't destroy the ki monitor, or I'll make the next one rectal," she threatened, heading for the kitchen. She had a lot of pasta to make.

Panchy was just inside, with another pile of French toast. Her mother floated gracefully out into the dining room with a smile for Bulma. Bulma paused when she heard Vegeta's voice, more uncertain than usual.

"Thank you, Panchy… uh… what is a 'heinie'?"

"It's a butt, dear. You have a very cute heinie!" she heard her mother reply.

Bulma really, really wished she could have seen his face.


With the gravity room restored to operation, Vegeta seemed to go back to being normal for a day. It was a bit of a relief to Bulma. Now he could really burn off some of that excess energy and angst. Her pasta prep day passed without any weirdness, and the next morning and afternoon, and then it was lasagna night. Her lasagna night.

She had made twelve. She hoped it would be enough. If she somehow failed to deliver on her lasagna promise, Vegeta would no doubt find some way to make sure she never lived it down.

Her parents were waiting patiently at the table. Today, it was Bulma who got to play lady of the house. Panchy attempted to make small talk with Vegeta, who arrived freshly showered and looking like he'd properly exhausted himself training. No cuts or scratches, that she could see. Good. She poured the first glass of wine for everyone and came out with two steaming pans of lasagna on a sturdy tray. She served her mother and father, then used oven mitts to place the entire pan in front of Vegeta, while he watched her out of the side of his eyes, expression hungry. She half expected him to start drooling.

"Thanks," he said.

"As promised," she replied, smiling. His eyes seemed to blank out for a moment when she smiled. Huh. Weird.

"Thank you, Bulma," said her father.

"I'm so proud of you," said her mother. Bulma made a wry grin and took her seat, dishing herself.

"Here's hoping it'll be good enough," she said.

"It should be, you used my recipe," her mom smiled.

Bulma took the first bite and was unsurprised to see Vegeta go for his immediately after she lifted her fork. Actually, it wasn't bad at all. It was a perfectly acceptable lasagna. Her mom's recipe truly was the best, and there was no improving on perfection.

Five pans later, he was slowing down. Each time, he thanked her, more or less by reflex. Bulma remembered her parents attempts at operant conditioning and gave him a bright smile back. Lasagna wasn't something one could dish extra when the serving was the whole pan. But her smile seemed to bring that same weird blanking out in his eyes.

Bulma and her parents had long since finished, her mother working on a puzzle and her father flipping through a magazine over a cigarette. Finally, Vegeta seemed to come to a stop.

"Well?" asked Bulma. He glanced at her, looking almost wary. "How was it?"

"Really good, thank you. I like lasagna," he managed, after a moment. She smiled, feeling chuffed, and his face did that thing again.

"Whose do you like better, Vegeta, dear?" her mother asked, grinning in such a way that Bulma knew her mother was well aware of what she was doing. Panchy acted pretty vapid most of the time, but Bulma knew her mother was a lot cleverer than she let on. Panchy clearly still had not given up on the idea of her daughter and Vegeta. Bulma wanted to snort. Like that would ever happen.

The Saiyan froze, clearly aware that this was some kind of trap. Bulma almost felt sorry for him.

"I think," he said, cautiously, "they're both good, very good. I might have to sample several more batches to be sure."

Oh, clever. Bulma stifled a grin. It was the best dodging of a Morton's Fork that she'd ever witnessed. 'Might have to sample several more batches to be sure,' indeed.

At least she'd made enough. There were five and a half pans of leftovers. Whew.

"I'd better deal with cleanup," Bulma said, rising from her spot, more steadily than last lasagna night. She'd been too busy bringing out dishes to keep up with her own wineglass, though she'd finished at least one. She pulled the empty pans into the kitchen, bringing them over to the industrial dish pit for the bots to deal with. Then she loaded up her family's dishes in the family's washer. This one wouldn't strip the artwork or gold from the china or tarnish the silver, Bulma had designed it herself. It cleaned gently, but effectively.

Her mother swept in partway through and started packaging leftovers with a cheerful hum. "Good job, sweetie, if you keep cooking for him, I'm sure he'll be throwing a ring at you in no time!"

"Mom!" Bulma shouted, outraged. She felt her face burn. "It's not like that. I agreed to make lasagna in return for a movie night. Nothing more."

"Oh, I don't know about that, dear. I've noticed how he looks at you," her mother commented, before leaving the kitchen for the dining room again.

What? Bulma pushed the start button on the dishwasher and it quietly hummed to life. Ok, so he'd been acting weird lately, but not that weird. Vegeta? And her? Surely not. Ok, he was hot, but so were all her friends. He was an asshole, and he wasn't even her friend. Ok, so maybe recently her parents had managed to condition him into some parody of tameness. But she knew underneath that was still Vegeta, Asshole Prince of Two-and-a-Half Saiyans.

No way.

She pushed away the memory of his hand on her wrist – the only time he'd ever touched her willingly. She pushed away the heat of his alien black eyes on her when he thought she wasn't looking. The way they blanked out and got distant and inscrutable lately whenever she smiled after he thanked her at the dinner table, and the other night, when she'd helped him with his late-night binge. She pushed away that ridiculous, suggestive dream of Vegeta propositioning her. Her face hadn't stopped feeling warm since her mother said that.

And then she remembered his snack attack the other night, and the square of chocolate she'd given him, and the way he'd given her a smirk filled with challenge and mischief and made the comment about chocolate being nothing like sex, and her face got even hotter. For all the casual flirtation and dirty comments she'd thrown at him, he'd never responded with anything other than that weird stiff face he made that told her he had reacted and was refusing to acknowledge it. That moment had been the only time he'd ever tossed anything her way that was even remotely sexual. She'd been privately convinced he was asexual, until that moment.

Ugh, there was absolutely no way.

Ridiculous.


Vegeta had tried to hold it together over supper. Every time she served him, she brought with her a puff of scent, redolent with lasagna, sweat, and her. He'd thanked her out of reflex, and she had smiled at him. Every time, it had made him feel like all his balance had fled for just a moment.

The lasagna had been good, though. Every bit as good as Panchy's. Not quite identical – there was more of one of the spices that he didn't know the name of, and the sauce was a little sweeter, but otherwise it was identical in quality.

Panchy was in the kitchen, so he couldn't excuse himself to leave the table. Come to think of it, he wasn't sure if he should excuse himself to Panchy, or to her, seeing as it was her who cooked this time. Vegeta stared at the table. Damn these earthlings and their confusing table etiquette.

"Mom! It's not like that," her voice rang out from the kitchen, loud enough for him to make out through the door. He cocked an ear, listening. Nothing else. Too quiet to for even his Saiyan senses, with the door there. She sounded pretty outraged. A vision of her with flashing eyes and that thing she did with her teeth when angry that looked like almost like a proper Saiyan snarl snuck into his mind, triggering that dreaded burn in his gut.

Panchy emerged from the kitchen, with that same cheerful, vacuous smile and eyes that never seemed to open. He'd seen them once or twice. They were the same blue as her daughter's. He tried not to think of her daughter's eyes. Or her daughter's smile. Something about that expression did weird things to him and he didn't want to acknowledge that.

He decided he wasn't going to wait around. He could train after dinner now; the gravity room was back online. He excused himself, and went straight for his quarters, changing into a pair of training shorts, and then went to train. Impulsively, he cranked the gravities up five levels past his current setting and attempted to exhaust himself. If he didn't exhaust himself, he would no doubt need another very cold shower.