These Things Come in Threes

by BonJiro

They were all prepared for the worst, hurtling ever closer toward the inevitable encounter with the Androids and their own potential destruction. But life has a funny way of changing when the end seems nigh; counted days become precious, and even the rarest opportunity can become obvious... if only one has the courage not to see it squandered.

10. Cracks in the Facade

Chapter 10: Cracks in the Façade

A few weeks had swept by since the Prince returned to Capsule Corporation, and most things had settled down into a steady and predictable pace, each day passing with relative calm. Overjoyed, Pansy once again cooked for the whole family—instead of settling them with uneaten leftovers—and had taken to spoiling Vegeta even more than usual, as if trying to prevent him taking off again. Much to Bulma's chagrin that meant the Saiyan's preference now governed most of what her mother prepared, though the blonde was remiss in admitting to her slight favouritism when it came to cookery. It crossed the Heiress' mind that perhaps her mother thought he had left because the food wasn't good enough or some such nonsense, but hearing Pansy sing cheerfully again as she went about the kitchen, Bulma hadn't the heart to tell her such efforts held little sway over Vegeta's want to stay there.

Dinner conversation had perked up again as well, and surprisingly, even Vegeta began to engage in it to some small degree. When Pansy laid plates before him with a bright smile, giving an affectionate and motherly squeeze to his shoulder as she always did, the Saiyan now offered her a curt nod and a grunt or so, whereas before she had only ever received aloof indifference or expectancy. To Doctor Briefs' chuckling comments on the Prince's hearty appetite, he gained the odd glance or a subtle smirk in acknowledgement as well, instead of a glare or some semblance of a snarl; when he hadn't previously been ignored.

At one point, Vegeta even passed the salt to Bulma, herself—without so much as a sneer or a 'get it yourself, Woman', the Heiress had found herself staring stupidly at him with disbelief. At least until the Saiyan frowned and waved the shaker at her impatiently, snapping her out of the surprised silence.

Bulma noted these changes, tiny though they might be—sure, he wasn't exactly the life of the party, but neither was Vegeta openly rude or constantly indifferent and ornery since coming back. At the very least, he seemed to be responding to those around him with a significant decrease in his previous hostility, and that was more than she could've asked for where the surly Saiyan was concerned.

Between the two of them, there had been no serious or noteworthy arguments of late either. He still refused to take Fridays off, but he was much less prone to chasing her for maintenance and making other obnoxious demands… it was early in the piece yet, though. For the moment, Bulma expected it to be another week or two before Vegeta's impatience started get the better of him again. Even so, she couldn't help but enjoy the refreshing change while it seemed to be lasting.

The unsure, lonesome gaps left in her days seemed to disappear once he was back as well, and although a few still remained where Yamcha's absence left them, the Heiress no longer felt loneliness looming over her in every waking moment; isolating and stark.

Focussed upon her work and the Prince, she found she missed the Bandit a little less than she would've otherwise, and her transition into single life was not so devastating as it once seemed. Certainly, there were the odd moments when Bulma could only stop and sigh, swallowing a lump in her throat as a precious memory surfaced with the glimpse of an old photo here, perhaps his face in a magazine or commercial there… but where once she might have longed to have him home, she now accepted Yamcha's scarcity with ease, content enough in knowing he was doing okay.

All around, things had definitely started to improve, and without the misunderstandings, extra issues and lingering hurts—the negatives that strained upon their odd relationship—the Heiress found herself growing more fond of the Prince, and more comfortable without Yamcha, each day.

"Oh Rex, how could you?" came the melodramatic wailing of an actress as she rans across the screen, wearing a red dress that caught Bulma's eye with some envy.

"It's not what you think! Natalie…!" he called after her, a brunette behind him hugging the covers to her nude form as the man fell to his knees. "What have I done? Nataliiiie!"

From her position on the couch, snuggled up with a blanket as slippered feet were tucked up beneath, Bulma nearly spat out her hot coco with laughter; form twitching with amusement as she struggled to put down her mug without spilling any. Her hand fanned at her mouth when she swallowed it in a large gulp that seared her throat, but she hardly noticed the burn as she cackled gleefully to herself, throwing herself back and kicking a leg out.

"Serves you right, you jerk!" she crowed, grinning from ear to ear and throwing a cushion at the television playfully. "I can't believe this show is still running! Seriously, Waves and Rocks…? You made nine seasons of this?! Ha!"

Floating through the kitchen window, Pansy's chipper tone rang out clearly as she watered her roses, yelling out from afar. "Did she find the letter from Kate?"

Settling back into the couch, the Heiress would cock her head back to shout in reply, resting an arm casually over the back to the lounge. "Yeah, Mom, Rex got caught out in the act! Natalie just walked out on him!"

"That naughty boy!" the blonde tittered back, seemingly shocked as she poked her head through the kitchen window briefly, "Oh my, and that Natalie has his grandmother's ring too! But he's so handsome… and Laura did warn Natalie at the party!"

"Mom, how can you watch this stuff? It's terrible!" she laughed, snatching up the remote and ruffling perky blue curls. "I'm changing the channel!"

"Record it for me, Sweetie! I don't want to get all muddled up like last time!" tapping the window pane, her mother would send a smile before turning away to attend more of her garden.

"'Kay." Bulma hollered back lazily, waving the remote at the screen with a negligent click, saving the program to system memory.

Over the distance then, Bulma heard the blonde addressing somebody else. "And while we're on the subject of handsome men, good morning, Vegeta! My, you're looking stronger every day!" the high pitched giggle was all the warning the Heiress would have as a frantic mashing of buttons ensued, flipping through the channels in the hope of finding something more suitable for the Prince to catch her watching.

Bulma nearly threw the remote away when she heard the screen door go, clattering shut as she took up her mug and tried to look natural, sipping casually at it and watching a lion tackle a gazelle upon the screen.

Her ears perked to the muted sound of steps behind her, and blue brows furrowed—somehow, his approach sounded off, but she barely got the chance to turn her head back and look before a pair of sneakers were thrust forward and held beside her face; hanging by two gloved fingers. A pungent stink rolled off of them in waves, filling her nostrils almost as soon as she'd registered the sight of them. Surprised and disgusted, the Heiress flinched back and away from them with a small squeak, instinctively smacking at them to get them away from her nose and spilling some coco on her blanket.

The tattered shoes went flying from the Saiyan's limp hand to bounce off of the couch and onto carpet, but the awful sweaty smell of them remained to linger, and frowning up at him Bulma was almost surprised to find a rather bored expression lining his royal features. "Ew, Vegeta! What the hell; just walk in and stick your gross sneakers in my face, why don't you!?" she shrieked, waving her hand to clear the stink away from her and grimacing with repulsion. "Ugh, have you never heard of socks!?"

Standing behind the back of her lounge, the Prince let his arm retract back to be crossed over his scarred chest with the other, and giving a cursory glance over the screen—somewhat relieved to find it was showing 'entertainment' of decent value, for once—Vegeta offered a small and unsympathetic shrug.

"Socks or not, I refuse to wear them again." Dark eyes squinted toward the scene of wildlife, watching with mild interest as a gazelle was slowly torn to pieces by hungry predators. "As you've so astutely noted, Woman, they are indeed… 'Gross'."

Glaring up at him spitefully for a moment before she righted herself with a sigh, Bulma picked at the coco stain on her blanket with a frustrated pout, leaning to set what remained of her drink down on the coffee table. "Then put on some new ones! Jeez… I really did not need to smell that… put them outside or burn them or something, Vegeta! If that stink seeps into my carpet, I'll…!"

But the Saiyan was quick to interrupt, flippant to her discomfort. "So you agree that I require new footwear… Good. That saves time." He mused with a growing smirk, allowing his gaze to fall upon blue curls with an expectant flex of his brow. "Your mother granted me a stock of appropriate attire, including sixteen pairs of 'sneakers', at the outset of my training under gravity… I highly doubt they do anything to enhance stealth, but in any case, those were the very last of them."

Gesturing a gloved hand toward the discarded shoes as he rounded the couch—worn ragged with warped shape, holes forming in the soles and laces entirely missing from one—the Prince cleared his throat and lifted his foot to settle it on the arm of her lounge. When the hand shifted to point downward, the Heiress could only stare morbidly as a cheeky wriggle of his toes was given to draw attention to the fact that they were uncovered.

Gorgeous features twisted into an irritated frown, slightly put off by the fact that it was exceptionally weird to see Vegeta's toes. She wasn't quite sure why it seemed so weird, but faced with a perfect view of his foot as idle fingers pawed at her blanket, she was absolutely sure that it was. It wasn't as if she hadn't seen them before, right? Well, maybe once or twice…?

But caught by an odd curiosity, and perhaps just because his bare foot was there—not to mention the amusing face he might make—Bulma indulged in the opportunity to get a whiff of it, expecting to find the same awful smell so she could tell him to have a shower and maybe buy herself more relaxation time. Leaning forward slowly, pressing a hand to the couch cushion, she brought her nose closer to its target; a hesitant twitch of it betraying what she'd done as the Saiyan's eyes widened. To her surprise though, the only bad scent in the room was coming from the sneakers themselves, and with a confused blink, she noted that there was no dried sweat or filth about his toes either, and even the nails were neatly clipped and smooth.

When the hell did he get nail clippers!?

With a furrowing of brows she glanced upward, finding an awkward look plastered on his face for it all, and the Heiress drew a slow breath as she considered just coming out and asking the obvious question. Her mouth ghosted the words as Vegeta stared her down, visibly unsure of himself now as all his previous cockiness fled him and his toes curled somewhat self-consciously—it was very faint too, but she swore she saw him blush some.

"…Hang on." She finally managed with a suspicious squint, shaking her head some and looking about as perplexed as he was. "If your shoes are so nasty, why don't your feet stink?"

The foot was sharply withdrawn as the Prince gaped at her a moment, stuttering a few syllables with an affronted—and bemused—scowl. "Wha—You—I…! I washed them, if you must know…!" he snapped defensively, flashing his teeth at her as fists formed either side of him. "I don't know what you were expecting, but they are clean, and I won't sully them with footwear in such a disgusting state! Now if you're done sniffing me, Woman, go and fetch me a replacement pair!"

Settling back to sit on her knees, Bulma sent him a disapproving look to hold hands to her hips, hissing back to chastise him. "Hey! It's not my fault you wore them out too quickly! If you want another pair of shoes, you can ask for them nicely!" Tilting her head up stubbornly as he bristled to growl back at her, the Heiress was quick to wag a finger, tapping her ear expectantly and closing her eyes to wait. "No. No grunting, no growling. Say my name. Go on, Vegeta, you know what it is… 'Can I have some new shoes, Bulma?'"

Gritting his teeth, the Prince looked her up and down with a dark glare before settling some, reigning in an annoyed seethe and fighting back another insult. Turning his head to distract himself with the television—just an excuse not to look at her—he conceded slowly to ground the words out through clenched teeth, reluctant.

"…I want some new shoes."

Bulma was merciless though, blue eyes snapping open to correct him with an authoritative gaze. "Can I have new shoes, Bulma." She repeated slowly, as if teaching a toddler some new words, and though she didn't really want to be condescending, sometimes he truly did remind her of a spoiled three year old. This time she simply refused to relent to his stubborn attitudes. No, he has to be told. He's doing really well, and this is the next step…

His whole left cheek seemed to twitch then, ticking the corner of his mouth and flashing across his eye in agitation, and the Heiress could guess she was effectively poking the beast with a stick. Though the Prince maintained his fixation on the television, a considerate wag of his jaw hinted that he may humour her, and Bulma found herself pleasantly surprised by the possibility, her frown fading into a fascinated—and somewhat eager—stare.

After a few more moments and a bracing roll of his shoulders, Vegeta's lips parted and she could almost see the words swirling on his tongue. His eyes drifted upwards in slight defeat, half rolling for it all, and he closed them in frustration. "…Can I have new shoes, now." He growled it low like a demand, but the question was in there somewhere. That was some small progress, but Bulma couldn't help being disappointed that he had not conceded to her name just yet, a slight slump overcoming her as it finally left him.

Well, Bulma, you don't look a gift horse in the mouth, her mind swiftly told her, and with a hidden sigh she offered him a light smile and a nod.

"That's much better, Vegeta. Alright, I'll get you some more sneakers later on, okay?" shifting to get comfortable again, she gave an idle tussle to the back of her hair and went to reach for the remote, but the Saiyan moved quickly, snatching it up before she could lay hands to it.

"Hey..!" She pouted up at him, but it didn't hold the effect it usually had on Yamcha, and glaring down at her with a haughty grimace, Vegeta held the clicker high. It was his turn to be condescending then, feeding her back that same patient tone one gave a small child when they misbehaved. "No, Woman, I need them now. I asked you nicely, so get up."

With a defiant huff, Bulma waved an arm to reach for it, instinctive as she bounced in her seat trying to grab it off of him, but to no avail. Uncomfortable with how the Woman was very nearly rubbing up against him, the Prince stifled a grunt to flick his wrist, tossing the remote clear across the room; much to her chagrin. The Heiress watched helplessly as it sailed far beyond her reach, bouncing off the top of a stereo speaker to be hidden somewhere behind a potted caladium. Heaving an averse sigh, she threw herself back to fall into the folds of her blanket and sprawl there, thinking of any excuse she could not to go down the street just yet—she had to put on make up and get dressed first, plus calling ahead to organise a bulk sale.

Squinting up at the ceiling, lips pursed in thought, fingers came to drum pensively upon the hem of her tank top. Stalling, she glanced up at him with an inquisitive look, propping herself up on her elbows. "What size shoe do you wear again?"

Almost automatically, in one of the most monotone voices she'd ever heard him speak in, the Prince responded immediately with a slight shrug, crossing his arms over his chest. "GX class forty-eight, bipedal male, expandable."

Blinking up at him blankly, Bulma's cerulean eyes narrowed as she tried to make sense of whatever babble he'd just spouted, leaning to glance down at his feet again. Slowly wrapping her lips around the words, she guessed instead, choosing to ignore the odd piece of information about alien fashion. "So… size nine, maybe…?"

Cocking his head back with a dismissive furrow of his brows, a derisive snort was quick to follow. "How the hell should I know?" he spat impatiently, grimacing down at her as if she was the one spouting nonsense.

The Heiress fought the urge to kick out at his legs, frustrated already—So much for being less demanding! I knew it was too good to last! "Check the shoes!" she cried, throwing her hands up in a fit of pique and pointing down at the tattered monstrosities he'd presented her. "The size will be in written on the insole, Vegeta! Ugh, do I have to do everything around here!?"

To match the vivid roar of a lion as it sounded loudly from the television behind him, the Prince flinched with some shock for her suggestion, dark eyes widening as sharp canines were bared in a defensive snarl. "What?! You've got to be joking; I will not be touching those vile festivals of bacteria again! It's bad enough I had to carry them in for your inspection, though your lack of urgency seems to have made that effort for nothing…!" he too would point at them accusingly, gloved finger thrust toward them as if they might carry a plague of disease. "You check them!"

"Ugh! You're the one wearing gloves, you jerk! There's no way I'm going to poke my nose in there just for some stupid little number, they're your sweaty old shoes! You do it!" grabbing a throw pillow, Bulma would flip it onto herself and bury her face in it to hide from the smell. Holding it there defiantly as the Saiyan growled above her, she welcomed the comforting blackness and tried to focus on the warmth of her blanket instead of him. Voice muffled, more calmly she would add, "…If you can't tell me your shoe size, than I can't order you new ones, Vegeta. It's that simple."

Fed up with her unruly nature already, the Prince's hands clenched into fists, falling to tremble at his sides again as he grit his teeth with vehemence. Narrowing his dark gaze upon the throw pillow, she would've seen him visibly tense like a force was building up within him, winding tight and threatening to snap, had it not obscured her vision.

She always had to be this way; to fight him on everything, any little triviality that she could for no more than argument's sake... He still didn't trust her as far as he could throw her, and this kind of behaviour didn't help her in that regard—no, if anything, she was just proving, once again, how worthless and how much of a hindrance she could be; the Tufflish little snipe.

With haste and a great sense of vindication, the flame haired Saiyan set about her quickly, gloved hand darting forward to grab the golden tassels of the pillow and pull it away from her so that she could hide behind it no longer. Fingers twisting harshly about the fabric, his arm would yank it back only to be met with meagre resistance; the Woman clinging to it and struggling to keep it. A stronger tug would see it torn away without much effort however, leaving the Heiress uncovered once again with gorgeous features twisted in offence. Gaping a little for his audacity in stealing her pillow, Bulma made a vindictive swipe to snatch it back, though the Prince withdrew it from her reach only to lightly bat her in the face with it in return. Her arms came up too late as she fell back into her lazy sprawl, still flinching for the playful blow and pouting in defeat.

"I want my new shoes, Woman." He issued with a hint of finality, the barest hint of a smirk flirting with his mouth, and with a negligent toss of the pillow to the other side of her couch, it seemed he had won.

With a harassed groan, she took to a flurry of restless fidgeting and drummed pink slippered feet on the couch cushion in something of a small tantrum, struggling with her body as the will to get up just wasn't there. There was no way in hell she was touching those sneakers; he could hold her at blast point and she would still refuse. Watching her odd spate of languid flailing, Vegeta's brow creased further, and irritated by the show—as well as slightly unsure of what to make of such odd behaviour—found himself taking a wary step back; cautious of her. For all he knew, this might be some sort of human hexing ritual.

As he watched her little fit with bemusement, he held his tongue until it passed and wondered if this kind of display happened often or just where he was concerned. To him, the request seemed simple enough, but it was clear the Woman was finding great difficulty in acquiescing to it… but then of course, he had already established her laziness.

Look at her, acting like a child… I don't know why I should even bother with her, if she's so useless she can't even manage to sit up; he growled internally, now breathing through his mouth with shallow pacing to avoid the overpowering stench about the room.

With a final jerk of her frame and one last muted moan of reluctance, Bulma allowed herself to go limp, an arm flung to hang over the side of the couch to let fingers graze the floor as she glared up at him with a bitter twist of her mouth. And of course, he would just stand there like an ass! He wanders in, ruins my nice warm morning with a mug of coco to throw his gross shoes in my face, and now it's my problem? This is so unfair…I just want to relax…!

Blue eyes flicked over his form to take in the state of him, and she couldn't help but wonder what the rush was—he wore black spandex shorts and a pair of white gloves, nothing more. In fact, Vegeta barely wore any clothes at all during most of his stay at Capsule Corp… for the life of her; she couldn't see how training bare foot would make any real difference to him.

I mean, jeez, he practically works out in the nude, anyway. What's the big deal?

But on that thought, her mind swayed towards old habits, and Bulma wondered if there may be one last way she could worm out of getting up just yet. After all, she wasn't wearing all that much herself—a grey tank top, a comfort bra and yoga shorts worked well to her advantage. Saiyan or not, Vegeta was still very much a man.

A wry smile curved her lips with cunning as she shifted some, lifting her hand from the floor to let fingers suggestively drag her blanket aside. Propping a leg up to cross over her knee, she turned to lie on her side, posing with flirtatious expertise while putting a great deal of effort into making it all look natural. Above her, the Saiyan's brow twitched in curiosity for her sudden shift in demeanour, but that was all he gave, unrelenting as his arms crossed over his chest like a barrier to her coy charms.

Resting on an elbow, one finger would twirl a perky lock of blue as she sent the Prince a saccharine smile. For reasons he couldn't quite place, Vegeta found the look she gave him immediately unnerving—there was almost something evil about it, though it boasted nothing but sweetness, and it made his biceps tense and his spine tingle anxiously. Had he a tail, the tip of it would be twitching to and fro with cautious unease.

"…I know what you're trying to do." She purred, teasingly poking out her tongue as the Saiyan cocked one brow, awaiting an explanation. "Getting me to look at those sneakers… You just want me to bend over in these shorts so you can get a nice view, huh? I mean, I don't blame you… I am a very beautiful girl." A self-assured tilt of her head saw blue eyes close in feigned modesty, as if it were so obvious it didn't even need saying.

For a moment, she wondered how he may react—she had expected a defensive sort of horror to sweep his form, quickly hidden behind a veil of indignant anger. There was always the possibility of a surprise though. Perhaps the Prince would keep his cool, grunt dismissively, and shrug it off like she never said a word. By some miracle stretch, what if she caught him out in a lie, and was actually right about such perverted intent? It was such a mixed bag of chance, it left her feeling giddy with a rush of excitable warmth swimming in her veins, eager to see the result of her flirtatious suggestion unfold.

But despite her hopes, Vegeta was—at first—unmoved by her statement, a quirk of his mouth betraying some bemusement as the words clicked together in his head. Surely she hadn't just accused him of lecherous behaviour with a smile on her face, as if she were content for him to eye her over as if checking a diamond for any clouding or flaw…? Was it some perverse pleasure of hers instead, to be drooled over so obviously? Quite likely, given her crude nature… instinct had his blood bubbling to retort, flash a sneer her way and tell her not to be so ridiculous. But wary of her now, and having braced for such unpredictable behaviour, the Saiyan simply refused to be caught off guard by her wherever possible.

Biting the inside of his cheek as her stared down, dark eyes widened a fraction as the only hint of the aversion she was hoping for, the Prince offered the offending footwear a brief glance before his attention scoured her splayed form.

…Vulgar as she is, this is probably just some attempt to get a rise out of me, he conceded to himself mentally, biting back on his temper as it flared through his muscles like wildfire. No, if it were genuine, she'd react with anger. He studied her features closely, squinting with an incredulous leer as if she may suddenly lunge at him and sink hidden fangs into his flesh, and her little rouse gained some transparency for the expectant look she wore. So, accounting for her vanity and laziness… she must be trying to charm her way out of her task with 'good looks'. Well, perhaps I should rectify her notions of grandeur.

And much to Bulma's horror instead, a wry smirk curled the corner of his mouth, and she felt her own coy smile vanish immediately to the low rumbling of his chuckle; dark and amused. "…And I know what you're trying to do as well. Nice try, Woman."

"Wha…?" taken aback as her seductive pose did nothing to sway him at all, Bulma blinked helplessly, feigning innocence as he caught her out. "What do you mean? I'm not doing anything…? I was just relaxing and minding my own business… and then you came in with your perverted little plan to check me out." She mused casually, as if it were obvious—internally though, she cursed him for it. It was one thing for her gorgeous figure to fail her like this, but quite another to be caught using it.

"On this backwater planet, perhaps your looks are considered fair enough that they make for an effective bargaining chip. Your little group generally does consist of slack-jawed hicks and lecherous cretins; no doubt their fawning over your 'beauty' has made such bartering a habit." He scoffed lightly, knowing now he held all the cards—he wouldn't be caught in her honey trap like those other fools. No, it took far more than a batting of eyelids to change the mind of a Saiyan Prince. "By all rights, they certainly wouldn't be persuaded by your obnoxious personality…"

"Hey!" she scowled suddenly, shifting to prop herself up further on her elbow defensively, playful mood dissipating as her ploy held—if anything—the opposite effect upon the Prince. "Now you hold it right there, Buster, you have some kind of nerve telling me I'm the obnoxious one here…!"

"I'm not the one that goes around trying to bribe people with my body, am I?" Closing his eyes with self satisfaction and giving an idle shrug, Vegeta's smirk grew.

The Heiress' lips parted with a retort, but as the words sunk in, cerulean eyes went wide to leave her voice stuck in her throat. There was no doubting Vegeta was a little smarter than the average Monkey… but to catch her out so quickly was certainly impressive, even for him. Staring up at him, slightly mortified now, she decided to play it off as a rare miss—which it totally was.

There's no way he's gay… right? The thought struck her with some horrifying mental images as she stared blankly, but she quickly decided it was more likely he was just too much of a blockhead to care. All work and no play makes Vegeta a dull boy… That makes sense.

To save face—and also address her disbelief—Bulma gave a dismissive, if slightly embarrassed, giggle. "For the record, it usually works… but fine, one more thing to add the list of why you're weird. Any normal guy would be begging to check me out." She mused with a careless shrug.

"Unfortunately for you, Woman, compared to some of the specimens I've seen over my travels to many parts of the galaxy…" he turned on his heel, arms folded and scarred flesh stretched taut over the sculpted muscle of his back as it turned to her, a nonchalant tone held for calling her bluff. "…In all honesty, I find you rather plain. Go ahead. I've no need or want to peruse your bland form any more than I already have to."

And adding that insult to injury, Bulma's jaw dropped in shock. Was he blind? No, just a liar… he must've been. She was one of the most beautiful girls alive—well, according to her mirror, anyway. But then he made such a fuss about keeping his word, perhaps he really didn't find her attractive. Affronted by this possibility, the Heiress stuttered to repeat him, simply unable to fully process the gall behind what he's said.

"…Plain…? Bland…!?" she gaped at the sight of his back to her still, shock and horror washing over her body to leave her cheeks flushed with the heat of it. Though she knew he wouldn't see, a thumb was jut toward herself. "Well, I don't know what kind of freak shows the rest of the galaxy offers, Vegeta, but they must be pretty damn interesting if you think Bulma Briefs is plain! What, do I not have enough tentacles for you!? You're not exactly Prince Charming for looks yourself, while we're on the subject; if I'm 'plain', you're just straight up ugly!"

Without even turning back to her, she watched the Prince's shoulder rise with another chuckle—apparently, he found this funny. Bastard. Standing his ground much like the lion gracing her television screen, she traced the back of his form with ire as she heard his tongue click.

"And here I thought I was 'kinda cute'… What a pity." He levelled her own words back at her so cleanly, they hit her ears like a slap to the face, and Bulma winced for it.

Internally though, the Prince wore an evil grin. Her temper flared fantastically, and he could feel the hazed flicker of her ki for such frustrations… it seemed her vanity was as much her undoing as it was a great source of ego. Tucking that realisation away for later, he continued to watch the predator on screen, smirking as he saw it overpower a rival. Sure, perhaps he was being a little dishonest with her, but it was well worth the reaction—her bluster and ire made for a far more familiar thing to deal with, easing the strains of being sociable with her.

"Check the shoes, Woman."

Gorgeous features blanched with dismay for him getting the last word, Bulma's hand quickly took to removing one of her pink slippers, and unable to think of anything more to express her rage, it was promptly thrown at the back of his head.

The lightweight slipper struck his shoulder instead, not even a flinch drawn as it bounced off thick skin harmlessly, and between the Heiress' glare and the silence, the Saiyan let slip a quiet sigh; knowing full well they had met an impasse. If it wasn't made clear enough by her footwear aided protest, her lack of movement confirmed it otherwise. Tapping a gloved finger on his bicep, Vegeta would look back over his shoulder at the frowning woman, and though Bulma sent an evil leer his way, the Heiress quickly turned her gaze to one side and refused to look at him. He rolled his eyes before slowly turning his body back to face her, his amusement having faded once again—banter aside, his patience had worn thin now.

"Are you done?" his brow quirked at her as if he saw nothing more than a sulking toddler.

"No." Crossing her arms in kind, she flicked him a haughty glance and shifted to the edge of the couch. With a light wobble of her head, tussled locks swaying, she stood with all the dignity she could muster in one slipper, a self righteous and half-lidded gaze sweeping over him with harsh judgement. "I'm not buying you anything now. I don't care how 'nicely' you 'asked'. Nobody calls a pretty girl plain and gets away with it, Vegeta."

The Saiyan rounded on her, clenching teeth with a feral twitch of his muscled form, but as the Woman held her nose high, he sensed a trap had been sprung. Somehow, though he had clearly been the victor of this verbal spat, the conniving snake had still won the war of the sneakers to remain unmoved. Had he underestimated her cunning? As the awful thought hit him that this point may have been her intent all along—goading him into insulting her past the point of being obliged to his favour—a subtle itch trailed the back of his neck to stifle such anger.

Clever of her… underhanded, yes, but even so…Dark eyes narrowed and the subtle hint of sneer threatened to curve his lip for it, but the Prince quickly regained distraction by the wildlife on her television screen. To match her, a lioness slinked about with a controlled gait, watching the hunters from before, as if it had been on her call that their feast had been won.

After many arguments, Bulma knew him well enough to manipulate with finesse, it seemed. He had given her more than enough insight, by pure habit of rising to her verbal challenges, for the woman to counter him effectively if only she planned ahead. Such a thing only reaffirmed his want to be cautious of her. Silently, he cursed himself for such carelessness.

While she would never beat him in terms of a fight or show of strength, her cunning and prowess on a mental level was not so easy to ascertain. She made such an idiot of herself by day, it lulled one into a false sense of security, enough to make Vegeta oftentimes forget the sharpness of mind her technological projects displayed. A mistake that could've cost him dearly, were he not recognising it early, and this flash of her true colours would not be lightly forgotten.

His desire to get the last word had cost him any chance of attaining new sneakers promptly. She had pulled a feint with her talk of lechery and looks, and he had never seen the real blow coming; made by his own hand no less, and she had known enough to count on that fault.

More than that, the Woman knew he would not apologise for his slight against her. Thus, she knew he would back himself into a corner, refusing to lower himself, and she could continue with her daily habits of idle sloth once he had.

It was painfully clear to him—he had underestimated her, only to have been flawlessly outwitted by the Earthling. She had outclassed him in tactical ability, a rare and potent thing, and easily misled him into what seemed to be victory, when in reality he was causing his own effortless defeat.

If she could trick him so easily into shooting himself in the foot, the dangers she could pose were she to ever get into his head and figure him out were astounding. She had already talked him into many things more than he would've ever normally agreed to. If she could lure out the fragile and tumultuous things he kept locked away, even from himself, and sink her teeth in to poison him from the inside out… If she could trick him into letting down his guard, even for an instant, to glimpse what lay behind them… No amount of strength could possibly help him against such an assault.

If anybody could truly hurt the flesh beneath his amour; to destroy him, this Woman may well be the one. He would be utterly defenceless against such foreign and subtle technique, not even able to recognise them until the damage was being done.

That possibility scared the Prince more than even he truly realised, but thankful for the reminder, Vegeta resolved to renew his efforts at keeping her well at arm's length. He could never allow her venom to seep through the cracks of his façade.

In the midst of their silence, sneakers left by the wayside as the Saiyan stared and the Heiress made a point of ignoring him, the soft steps echoing from the stairway seemed to demand attention by contrast. Accompanied by a lazy yawn, Dr Briefs wandered into sight, eyes heavy-lidded from a night without sleep. "Arguing again, Dear? That's good… for a while there, your mother and I had begun to worry something odd was going on." He mused across the small distance, an unlit cigarette bobbing on his lips as he spoke.

Dressed rather casually in a fresh white coat, a pale teal polo shirt underneath and a pair of dark slacks to finish it, the Scientist cast a bespectacled gaze toward the pair and made his way towards them. A familiar streak of black graced his left shoulder in the form of a cat, and catching a blink from his daughter and a glare from his house guest, hands would come to be pocketed with an idle chuckle.

Shifting to turn her attention, Bulma sent her father a small frown, though seemed somewhat relieved to see him. "He started it…" she pouted quickly, waving a dismissive hand at the Saiyan beside her. A grunt came of him, but Vegeta seemed to refocus upon the television, most likely to avoid being strung into the conversation.

The Doctor raised his brow to question, but upon drawing breath to do so, a wiggle of his thick moustache quickly replaced anything he would've said. With a blink his head drew back, as if in some disbelief, and even his feline companion's ears flattened with a twitch of its own whiskers.

The pungent stink of the matter at hand seemed to have found him, and from it, the man drew some clue as to what issue the two were bickering about.

Hesitant to ask, the Scientist glanced between them from his place behind the lounge, but ultimately settled his gaze on the Prince's back. "…Well, with the boy's varied diet, it's not that surprising he might get a little gassy from time to time." he idly scratched his cheek then to offer his daughter a blank look. "Hardly worth an argument, Dear… Better in than out."

Cerulean eyes opened wide as Bulma gaped a little, surprised by her father's uncanny ability to be so flippant about these things, and unable to stop herself, whipped her head around to catch Vegeta's reaction to such an accusation. The Saiyan's whole body tensed, and likewise, a wide-eyed stare of his own was sent over his shoulder. A mixture of offence, disgust and indignation, the Prince's brows could hardly lower themselves enough to knit back into a scowl. A grin slowly took its place on the Heiress' features for it, and a silent rocking betrayed laughter she was trying very hard not to voice as she slapped a hand over her mouth.

Waving a hand to get the awful smell away from him and unperturbed by the harsh look received, Dr. Briefs whistled lightly to himself with good humour, brows rising. "Hoo… Well, if nothing else, my boy, you're definitely the victor between you and Goku in that event…" another chuckle escaped him, and it was clear the old Scientist saw no danger in the light jest.

Vegeta whirled about to face them fully then, unable to ignore such insult, and with a vicious growl thrust a finger towards the offending footwear. "It wasn't me, you old fool! The stench is coming from them!" he barked, tensing with remarkable restraint as the urge to leap over the couch and throttle the man jolted through him.

Shaking with anger, the Prince took a threatening step forward, and that was enough to move Bulma in turn. Even as she stood quickly to place some sort of barrier between the surly Prince and her father, holding hands up to halt him, the Saiyan continued to snarl over her. "And what exactly are you insinuating, bringing Kakarot into this?! You think he's better than me? I am his superior and everyone shall see that in due course, you insolent-!"

"Whoa, Vegeta…! Calm down, he's just joking! Chill out!" the Heiress moved to mirror him, wearing a concerned though stern scowl of her own to block her father from his line of sight—she knew Vegeta didn't ascribe to an 'out of sight, out of mind' mentality, but at least getting up in his face might reign him in a little.

While the Doctor stood behind, arching a brow and quite used to flashes of temper from both his daughter and her guest, he seemed content to watch it unfold with mild curiosity and notable patience. Bulma's tactic seemed to work, as Vegeta's livid glare shifted to the blue eyes in front of him, and with raised hackles and bristling hair, he would issue her with a sharp waring hiss.

"Get out of my way, Woman!"

Bulma's hand rose quickly as if scolding a barking dog, pointing a finger up at him in her own warning as her eyes narrowed and her other hand found her hip. "Don't you talk to my dad like that, and don't talk to me like that either! It was a joke, Vegeta! If you keep carrying on like this, I'll take away all your clothes and you can fight the Androids naked!" as if to add some finality to it, she would stomp her foot, and whether it was the sound of that or the word 'naked' itself was unclear, but she drew a flinch from the Saiyan all the same.

Halted by it and wary of her apparent ability to twist this horribly back on him, her threat found purchase enough to silence him for the moment. Having drawn the full weight of a murderous leer upon herself, Bulma fought the urge to put distance between them, her mind tugging at the very fibres of her being to back away. Silence, she knew, was far more dangerous when Vegeta was angry than having him yell and curse—the fists at his sides were white knuckled and trembling when she chanced a glance downward. He was positively seething, but there in his dark eyes she swore she saw it again.

That tiny shimmer of confusion, hurt or whatever it was, swirling amongst the smoke of his anger.

Withdrawing her finger she held her head high, drawing a slow breath through her nose and engaging in a tiny staring contest with him, before clearing her throat.

"Dad…" She began, turning her head ever so slightly to one side to address him though her gaze couldn't be torn away from his. Vegeta didn't know it, and she may never tell him, but she felt as if she could truly see him in those moments his looks betrayed him—there was an old saying that eyes were the window to one's soul, and she believed that where the Prince was concerned. "What size shoe do you wear?"

With a thoughtful blink for the unexpected question, the Scientist would hum to himself, a hand rising to idly stroke his feline companion as if the act would bring the answer more swiftly. "Oh, well Dear, I'm not terribly sure… Your mother always handled that sort of thing. Truth be told, I haven't bought myself a pair of shoes in almost fifteen years now." He grimaced a little at that, removing the unfinished cigarette to gesture it lightly. "Most of them I don't even wear, working with machinery and that. I, er… tend to hide them until I can give them away to the interns."

The confusion in Vegeta's gaze grew stronger as the conversation turned, anger slipping through his fingers to be replaced with something more quizzical as he found himself studying the Woman's features incredulously. He watched her authoritative frown lessen, brightening into a half smile as an optimistic glow seemed to surround her, shifting her entire posture into a happier one. The sudden change seemed odd to him, as if her bursts of anger were no more than shallow things put on for show that she didn't truly feel.

Perhaps that was her secret—he could never read her accurately, because she controlled with perfect precision when and what he saw at a level of skill that even he had not achieved.

Yes, surely, that was her advantage over him. How else could she best him, if not through outright trickery, catching him unawares?

She flashed him a satisfied smile, tossing her attention back toward her father, and Vegeta found himself instinctively retracting from her. It was a slow thing, leaning back and away to gain some distance from her without his discomfort being obvious, but the paranoid whirlwind of his mind roared at him to reduce his proximity to the vexingly unknown threat this Woman was.

The Heiress chirped with hope, both hands resting against the sides of her waist in a can-do manner. "Great! You wouldn't happen to have a pair of sneakers lying around somewhere Vegeta could borrow?" …problem solved without having to go anywhere, nice thinking Bulma! Her mind congratulated her privately, and the smile on her face grew. They look like they'd wear the same size… It'll be pretty close, anyway. But whatever, he can just deal with it, since he caused such a fuss.

Bringing the half-cigarette close to his mouth, Dr. Briefs tilted his head back to search the ceiling, thinking for a moment. "Now that you mention it, Dear, there might be a new pair of running shoes stashed downstairs. I put the last lot in the lockers so that if your mother found them, I could say they weren't mine." His moustache lifted in such a way that betrayed a wry smile, and chuckled. "Help yourself. Vegeta can have the lot of them, if they fit."

Almost smugly, Bulma turned back to the Prince, perky blue curls bouncing lightly to the motion. "There you go, Vegeta. Go with my Dad and you'll have all the shoes you need for at least a year."

She smirked haughtily, quite pleased with herself, but as was to be expected—she supposed—Vegeta's nose crinkled at such a suggestion. The Heiress was ready to match whatever excuse he gave, cocking her head belligerently as if to ward it off, but even before the Prince could voice his protests, her father intervened.

"…Actually, Dear, I was just passing through." He offered apologetically, gesturing toward the door and flinching a little as she cast him a sudden pout over her shoulder. "I have a press conference at noon down at Headquarters… I want to make sure the new airbike and SilverStar eight designs aren't put on the backburner. Seems all anybody can talk about is the fortieth anniversary of the Dynocap, lately." A slight grimace gave way to a sigh, and Scratch gave a light sway of his tail.

Though Vegeta held his tongue for the moment, having absolutely no clue as to why any of that was important, Bulma would turn away from him and heave a dismayed groan. Crossing her arms limply beneath her bust, the blue haired Heiress let her head loll back and sent a glare upward at nothing, muttering something about forgetting to contact somebody in advertising about botched logo design before Saturday—or at least, that what the Saiyan's keen hearing made out of her quiet cursing, anyway.

"Can't you just do a video conference from the office like you normally do and get the board to handle the rest?" she asked, a pleading tone in her voice, but Bulma knew what his answer would be already.

Her father rarely left his home unless business was urgent or a big event was taking place, and the scientific community was expecting a celebratory breakthrough in honour of the Dynocap's creation. What awaited them later this year was a month-long series of social gatherings, press releases, interviews, and the unveiling of the deluxe vehicle range in C class capsules that had taken up the last year and a half of their research and development time…

…Which was already under great strains thanks to Vegeta's demands, repairs, and constantly upgraded 'needs'.

"I wish I could, Dear." The old Scientist conceded lightly, making a move to continue toward the small hallway. "Tell your mother I should be back by three, if I'm not pounced on and dragged off to approve every recent development while they have me there…" a lazy wave was offered as he left them, and despite Bulma's want to protest further, she couldn't come up with anything convincing enough before the sound the backdoor shut on her and signalled his departure.

Tiredly running hands over her face in defeat, Bulma gave a muffled huff to herself—she still didn't feel she had the energy to bother with anything but TV today, and Vegeta had once again swooped in to make her day more difficult. From between her fingers, she turned to shoot him a harassed frown, but when she looked Bulma found him suddenly further away than he had been before. She hadn't heard him move, and yet somehow, he seemed two or three steps back. Letting her hands fall away, she gave him a once over just to be sure. Not only did he retreat further back, it seemed, his previous anger had left him to be replaced by an unsure and expectant look, as if he was waiting on her to get back to him—in fact, it reminded her loosely of a school boy whose parents had forgotten to pick him up. Was she imagining things?

…What's his deal? He's not getting sulky on me because I didn't rush off to get him brand spanking new shoes, is he? Jeez, he really is like a spoiled little kid.

Tilting her head a little, she softened, somehow unable to be annoyed with him when he looked like that. There was something so lonely about it, with him just standing off to the side quietly as others talked that saddened her. It seemed that was always the case with him. As far back as she could remember since he'd gotten to Earth, Vegeta had never been part of the group or even part of any real conversation…

In fact, he'd gone quiet when her father had come in, shifting his attention to the screen instead, like he had expected not to be addressed at all. The only reason he'd spoken anything within the last few minutes was to defend against a perceived insult. When people talked to the Prince, he responded with either hostility enough to divert them, or a dismissive grunting that was terse and guarded. Bulma had never caught him saying more than a few harsh words to anyone, beside issuing orders or deriding Goku. It hit her then, the realisation physically causing her to blink with some surprise and suddenly she recalled how she'd gotten him to come back in the first place—she had said to him then that they needed to stop arguing so much, and just talk more often instead.

What she hadn't noticed was that the only person Vegeta ever 'just talked' to was her. The only person Vegeta willingly initiated any form of conversation with was her, and even if it did usually end in a spat, he kept doing it.

Cerulean eyes flitted to one side, spying the tattered sneakers he'd brought in, and she wondered of them now. It seemed like no big deal to her, at first, him training barefoot. But his feet were clean. Toenails clipped, even. Then she recalled his sparse room, empty for the most part, but everything was immaculate. He wore gloves so often she was nearly certain he slept in them. Everything had its proper place in his world, and did not deviate—even his attitude toward Goku seemed to suddenly make sense, a lowborn was not meant to be stronger than a Prince. Dirty shoes should not be put on clean feet.

They had an accord, and by Vegeta logic, that meant the only person he could present those shoes to, ask for new ones, and walk away from without embarrassment was her.

"…Well? You heard the old man. Go and fetch me my shoes, Woman."

Blinking up at him, Bulma stared a moment before bringing a hand up to tussle the back of her hair considerately, and offering him a small and tired smile, finally relented. "…Okay, Okay…" she sighed light-heartedly, rolling her eyes as she turned, and beckoned him to follow. "But you're coming with me, Vegeta. I'm going all the way down there just so you can say they don't fit right and send me back for another pair."

Half expecting to take a few steps before turning around and urging him onward, the Heiress was pleasantly surprised to hear muted footsteps shadowing hers right from the moment she began to saunter toward the hall. Almost giddy with the small progress made, she'd glance back at him as they passed between a few pot plants, quietly awestruck at how effortless it was to get him to follow her lead and wondering if he was even conscious of it. She studied him a moment, watching as the Prince kept stride with her, arms crossed and mild curiosity given to the fixtures of her home as they passed by. He wore his usual scowl, not so much an angry thing as a silently stern, world weariness that seemed to suit him—Bulma couldn't really imagine him wearing anything else besides that and his haughty smirk.

Privately though, as she perused the regal lines of his visage, the Heiress wondered what he might look like were he ever to smile. A vivid imagination called up many approximations of it in her mind's eye, but none of them seemed quite right. She had the sense it would be a charming thing, subdued and surprisingly warm, tailored to a light chuckle as it brought a subtle boyishness back to him and softened his features. It would likely be the sort of smile given in a private moment, to an inside joke or a rare fond memory, or maybe a genuine compliment, and it would surely make the recipient of it smile back every time.

For reasons she couldn't place as such thoughts crossed her, Bulma wished that if he were ever to repay any of her kindness, he would do so with that smile.

Somehow, she knew, it would be more than enough.

But as the Saiyan's gaze travelled the hall, he spied her open stare, and the neutrality she had wondered of narrowed into hostility once again. "What do you want now, Woman?" he spat impatiently, shoulders rising in defence.

Blanching, Bulma whipped her head forward, making a point of staring straight ahead as she squeaked a quick, "Nothing! Just… checking… that you weren't lost… or anything…"

A derisive snort sounded behind her and he muttered lowly. "…A Saiyan's sense of bearing is far superior to that of an Earthling. I couldn't get lost if you paid me to." She could almost hear his smirk lilting on the end of it.

Believe me, Vegeta, I know…rolling her eyes to close them, the Heiress would shake her head lightly, making a mental note to avoid using the phrase 'get lost' to spare herself unwanted Saiyan facts in future.

Content with a comfortable, if not refreshing, reticence as they walked a few more minutes, Bulma slowed her pace as an elevator came into view before them, leading to the underground levels. When she stood before it, reaching to press the button, she turned to offer a patient smile to the Prince, but was surprised to find he had halted some steps back. Blue brows rose expectantly, but the Saiyan remained put, seemingly frozen in place as he stared not at her, but the steely doors in question.

She frowned. "Oh come on, Vegeta, seriously? Yes, you are coming down to the lab. Deal with it." Growing a little fed up with him now, Bulma would shift her weight to one leg, jutting out a hip and patting the closed door invitingly. Within seconds, a friendly chime signalled the elevator's arrival, and it opened to reveal a clinical white interior, save for black tiled flooring sporting uplights and a polished finish. Swinging a thumb at it, Heiress gave no room for argument now that they'd come this far. "Go on. Get in there, Buster."

Finally, dark eyes tore away enough to settle her with a vacant stare, as if she'd just spouted utter nonsense at him, and Bulma could've sworn she saw his Adam's apple bounce with a light swallow. The gears in his head were turning, and it was so obvious it made her brows knit together in question, thrusting an arm out as a second chime threatened to close the doors. "…What? You've never seen an elevator before?"

"Of course I have, woman!" he snarled back quickly, though his irritation faltered all too quickly for her liking. Drawing back a little, the Saiyan seemed to grimace as she held the doors open, looking to one side dismissively as the gravel of his voice dimmed. "…I was simply under the impression we would be taking stairs."

"What? No, Vegeta, the lab where the interns work with dad is like, three storeys underground." Scrunching up her nose a little for how fussy he could be, unable to understand his logic—three flights of stairs as compared with half a minute in an elevator? Naturally, the choice seemed simple enough. Seriously, who preferred stairs? "The elevator's quicker, now come on."

Hesitant, the Prince would pause a moment more before slowly moving forward to join her, and relieved, Bulma made her way inside and expected him to follow suit. Leaning an elbow against the side rail as she turned back again, however, such relief was shattered—standing at the threshold, the Saiyan stared at the metallic grate separating solid floor and black tile, eyeing the sliver of a gap with unease.

Made to rely on her damned technology again… curse her…his mind whispered it bitterly, but he knew there was more to it this time. How long had it been now? Years and years, of course, he thought he'd have gotten a grip on it by now. Shouldn't it have faded over such time, along with the rest of these ridiculous habits of his? He was free of his servitude now, and far more powerful. Such extreme measures for self preservation made no sense here. The Prince knew he was being irrational, but even now, he couldn't move past that tiny gap, only big enough for an insect to crawl through.

"What's wrong…?Vegeta?"

At the sound of his name, he glanced up at her, a distant and hollow look swirling in his smokey gaze that made her brow furrow in concern. Vegeta did not see this. Against the stark white walls of the tiny chamber, blurred by an old panic that had seized him, he saw the flash of blue awaiting him in the confined space and that was it—he could almost taste blood in the back of his throat, the phantom scent of a long dead bastard in the air around him. Behind closed eyes the streak of blue haunted him to form flesh. The sway of a long green braid behind as a devilish smile was sent his way from a head or so above his own height. The wet snap of his own bones breaking and the burn of the screams he tried so hard to withhold from greedy pierced ears.

"What's wrong, Vegeta? Surely even a monkey like you knows how to push a button or two…"

Jolted back like he might be set ablaze were he to step inside, the Prince shook his head forcefully and turned away, crossed arms shifting as gloved hands moved to grip biceps. He coughed a little, visibly shaken by something even as he realised what he'd done, trying to right himself. Quick glances were taken over his shoulder, hesitant as if the Heiress may suddenly shed her skin and become walking nightmare.

Instinct moved her to comfort, to question, to find out what had happened within him, her hand outstretched as she took a step forward, but he shied away quickly to turn side on and finally face her. When she saw his face again, whatever he had tried to hide from her had fled his features just as swiftly as it had come, and his dark eyes were clear once more to halt her there.

She blinked helplessly, a subtle shake of her head betraying her confusion, brows furrowed with a want to help and know as her hand curled back toward her chest. "Vegeta, are you okay? What—"

"Stairs." He interrupted quickly, decisive and clear, schooling his face to give nothing more on the matter. "Are there stairs leading down there, Woman, yes or no?"

Taken aback by it all and at a loss for what to really say or do, the blanched Heiress stuttered some to answer him. "Well… yeah, it's… a safety thing in case there's a… chemical leak or a small explosion… Nobody even uses them unless it's an emergency…" her hand rose weakly to point behind him, her head turning just enough to view him from the corner of her eye. "…Through that door on the left of you, Vegeta… But, what… just…?"

Leaving her no opportunity, the Saiyan turned on his heel, swiftly following the direction given and keen to leave her and her damned questions behind if need be. Bulma could do little more than simply stare after him in some disbelief and confusion as gloved hands slapped down on the bar handle, opening the large door with a shunt and letting it close shut behind as he disappeared into the dimly lit stairwell.

Remembering herself, a twitch run down her spine and spurred her to move, chasing after him as usual. Slippers were kicked off and cast aside as she went, so that she would lose no speed. Though she hurried down the steps, her body bouncing down them as a hand glided down the rail beside, her mind raced even faster to decipher what she'd witnessed. It wasn't quite claustrophobia. It wasn't him being stubborn. Panting by the time she was half way down, the winding descent a dark and lonely thing, she wondered why she was so hasty.

He would not discuss it with her, she knew. Why would he? But perhaps it was the realisation that urged her onward anyway—if ever he did want to confide, if ever he needed somebody to talk to, she was all he had. Whether he wanted to speak of it or not, it was her responsibility to be there just in case.

The fear in his eyes was something so foreign to her she simply could not just ignore and forget it, now that she knew it was hidden there beneath the surface. Like so many other things he hadn't yet divulged, this little slivers of a real person under that thick skin caught her and beckoned she investigate... just like the smile he never gave, there were horrors he never shared, but as she chased him in that moment, she wanted to know what they were.

She had missed him when he had gone, and she wanted to know him now that he'd returned.

As the last few step flew beneath swift feet, now as bare as his had been, they hit the cold floor of the locker room to stop; her hand still holding fast to the very end of the rail. "Vegeta!" she called out suddenly, surprised by how desperate it sounded when it left her, but blinking up she found him not meters away.

Not even bothering to look, foot planted on a wooden bench and tying the laces of the second shoe to match the other perfectly symmetrical bow, Vegeta righted himself to shut the locker door. Tapping the toe against the ground first, and repeating the action on the other side, he gave the new sneakers a final once over before nodding to himself.

He turned back toward her without a single glance, as if she was not even there. Regaining his usual gait as if nothing had ever been amiss, the Saiyan strode right by her as the Heiress simply stared ahead, speechless at how quickly this had turned and at a loss for how to react. Climbing the stairs behind her, she heard him pause on the sixth, and her heart fluttered with a fragile hope that he might give her some subtle sign—a nod, a look, a begrudging thanks of some description… some acknowledgment that a connection had been made in turn.

"I am a size nine, it seems." was all Vegeta offered before he left her there, standing at the bottom of the stairwell, barefoot and forgotten behind him.

A/N:

AAAAHHH!

Yes, finally, I FREAKING finished the Chapter!

Oh god I'm so happy right now. Tired, and I've had a month of utter hell, but YES. YESSSS. I've been chipping away at this for ages it feels like, I tell you! Ugh, between my husband paying off more than 8 grand of debt for his mother in the past four months, to her lying about having removed his name from a water account from back when he was helping her out and get a court summons come knocking on my door, to a friend's roommate being busted for drug trafficking (seriously, WTF), to my cousin's suicide last week….

It is good to have something nice happen. I sat down. I watched Battle of the Gods. I wrote the end of this chapter.

And slowly but surely, little by little, Vegeta is being unravelled.

Sweet relief.

Onwards to Glory!