Her slipper-clad feet padded across the carpeted hall, and she peeked into the doorway before entering to see Vegeta sprawled out on her bed, calves tangled in the mess of purple blankets, one arm dangling off the edge. His head was turned to face her and she smiled around the toothbrush hanging from her mouth at the calm expression on his usually severe, angular features.

It was nine o'clock in the evening, and though she'd just showered after waking from their post-lunch nap less than an hour ago she was surprised that Vegeta had continued to sleep. Swiping the toothbrush noisily across her teeth, she watched as his back rose with each breath and wondered how long he could sleep. When her mouth filled to the brim with minty foam, she reluctantly trudged back to her bathroom and gargled, swishing the cool from one bulbous cheek to the other.

Smiling at her clean, white smile in the mirror, and winking for good measure, Bulma tightened the belt of her bathrobe and made her way downstairs, not without glancing in at the Saiyan still asleep, tanned cheek mashed into one of her fluffy, purple pillows as he snored softly.

She couldn't help but smile fondly as she turned her back to the sight. She only hoped he awoke feeling as refreshed as she had, and as she made the short trek downstairs to check the mail and go about her daily business she remembered that just yesterday she'd convinced herself that she'd never have the privilege of seeing him sleep in longer than her.

"Well," she murmured aloud, rounding the living area with what felt like a near-permanent grin on her features, "what do you know. He does require sleep after all."

She wondered if his mood would improve now that he'd finally gotten a bit of uninterrupted shut-eye, but doubted that his personality had anything to do with his exhaustion. No, he was just a temperamental little prick with a chip on his shoulder and a stick up his arse. A temperamental little prick she was starting to concede she rather liked having around.

He'd awoken to find himself, alone, in the woman's bed. The clock at her bedside told him that it was nearing ten o'clock with its glaring red numbers, and the darkness outside made it apparent that it was not morning. Cursing, he got to his feet and dressed quickly before fleeing to the Gravity Chamber. As he crossed the lawn, he glanced across the yard to see the lights in the woman's lab were still on. Six hours later, when he exited the Chamber, the lights remained stark against the cool, dark single-hours of the morning.

After his shower, Vegeta burst into her lab to demand a meal. He wasn't sure if lunch was the right term for a four-in-the-morning snack, but as his stomach rumbled and he pushed the door open the order died on his lips. Bulma turned to face him, flashing him a toothy grin as the door slammed back into its frame behind him.

"Hey Vegeta," she greeted, tipping her head before turning back to the drill in her hands and the project laid out on the table before her.

He'd forgotten all about the dull ache of hunger in his gut as the blue-haired woman leaned forward, sporting a slinky top and a pair of shorts. And even though he'd just showered, the sheen of sweat on her breasts and across her brow was not unappealing.

Bulma released a gasp of surprise and nearly dropped the power drill the moment she felt a pair of hands on her hips. As soon as she recovered from her initial shock, she leaned back into the warm chest and felt his hands snake from her hips to her stomach. Her shirt riding upwards with the path of his touch as she tilted her head to the side to allow Vegeta's lips to drop to the spot where her jaw and neck met. She sighed but shut off her drill and turned to face him, grinning as he pulled her closer still.

"All that sleeping and you're eager to get back into my bed so soon?"

"Hn," he grunted against her ear, his breath hitching as her fingers traced the muscles of his thigh, slowly, torturously moving upwards. "I have been making good use of my time since then."

"Oh?" She asked, her fingers inching closer to the bulge in his shorts before retracing their path in reverse, back down his leg despite the twitch in protest. "And what have I been doing? A lot of nothing you suppose?"

Despite the amusement in his dark eyes, his lips pulled to a taught frown.

"I'll have you know," she continued, but momentarily forgot where she'd been going with that train of thought as Vegeta's warm breath was near her neck, his teeth scraping against the smooth skin just below her jaw line. Regaining control of her vocal cords, Bulma continued with a shake of her head, sounding strangely unaffected despite the fact that her knees were quaking and her breath caught. "That this," her eyes darted down to the pile of metal she'd been piecing back together, "is one of your training bots." Her blue eyes narrowed though his head was bent against hers and he couldn't see her, and she faulted, eyes sliding closed as he moved back to her the side of her face and bit down gently on her earlobe.

"Yes," he smirked, pulling away to look at now familiar lusty glint in her blue eyes, "fixing broken shit. The one thing you are useful for."

He saw her lips tighten into a frown before one of her thin brows arched, taunting him. "Hm," smirking smugly, her fingers shifting upwards, teasing the muscles of his inner thigh, "is that so?"

He chuckled and moved his hands beneath her shirt, trying to unclasp the stupid contraption that secured her tits. When he succeeded in removing it and she tugged it off from beneath her tank top, his mouth moved from her lips to her shoulder, wandering lower to press against the top swells of her breasts.

"Vegeta," she moaned, and he felt her arch against him. It was unnatural, unhealthy even, how badly he wanted her. At times he wondered when he'd gone from toying with the idea of having her to making tough decisions like whether to press her against the wall or to bend her over the workbench in her lab.

Either way, it didn't seem to matter. He had a knack for making her squeal.

Bulma's parents returned the following day, and though Vegeta had caught Mrs. Briefs flashing Bulma a cheeky grin the moment she stepped through the doorway, nothing was said and nothing much had changed. Bulma worked and in the evenings, or the mornings, or whenever he was finished with his training, Vegeta would seek her out.

Sometimes they had a drink, and often times Bulma was able to squeeze a bit of conversation out of him. It was never anything serious; Vegeta tended to shut-off when personal matters were breached, but he wasn't as cagey as he'd been in the beginning when they'd flat-out avoided one another. What shocked Bulma most of all was how amused she was by his sinister sense of humor. And over the course of a week, they'd fallen into a routine.

Bulma was never one to think in terms of 'forever', and she was one-hundred-percent sure Vegeta even less so, but there was something about their arrangement that felt comfortable. Until the androids came she was sure it would continue without a glitch. She was hesitant to attach any string to it; sometimes sex between good-looking housemates was just sex. But no matter how she brushed it off, Bulma felt herself dreading the coming of the androids beyond just the possibility of their imminent deaths.

He had less than a year before the androids arrived. Two thirds of the time had gone by, and still he hadn't become a Super Saiyan. Twice he'd felt the power inside him thrashing to be released but not matter how hard he concentrated on controlling it, it never came.

"Fuck," he growled, slamming his fist into one of the woman's recently upgraded bots, watching as the metal dinted and skidded across the floor. Bulma had been nothing but accommodating, and he was secure enough in his callousness to admit that he liked having her around, but he wasn't sure he could stay on Earth. Not when he could feel Kakarot powering up each day, strengthening the gap between them, and not when he could train at 450-g's with no promise of ascension. Things were too cushy here, too frustrating.

He contemplated leaving, going somewhere where he would not be distracted. Somewhere where he could train in peace, but for some goddamn reason he couldn't pull himself away from the compound and the three idiots living inside it. One in particular was beginning to have a rather inconvenient hold on him.

He'd come to he lab, tossed a broken bot on the floor and glared at her before turning on his heel and leaving without a word. Sighing, Bulma rolled her eyes and slid off the stool to inspect the proof of Vegeta's latest tantrum, but after taking two steps she stopped and teetered forward, gripping her desk to steady herself with a curse. She felt as though she'd just ridden a roller coaster after eating a chili cheese dog. She also felt cold, clammy and tired all at once. Feeling the inescapability of bile rising in her throat, she quickly moved to the waste bin and hurled the contents of her breakfast into it. Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, Bulma blinked, hands resting on either side of the bin. It was like motion sickness. One minute she'd been fine, and the next she moved and had the overwhelming sensation to vomit.

"No," she whispered to herself, suddenly fine. Her head didn't reel and though she still felt cold, she wondered if it had anything to do with her apparent sickness. A sickness which sounded all-too-familiar.

Grabbing her purse, she quickly exited he lab, passing her mother who was blabbering about the intricate workings of her rose garden to Vegeta as he sat trying to concentrate on his meal, and through the front door.

When she returned to the Capsule Corps. Compound purchasing an extra-large bottle of water, empty from the ride home, and three different brands of pregnancy tests, she paced in front of the bathroom door before taking a deep, steadying breath.

"You can do this Bulma," she murmured to herself, nodding confidently and opening the door, gripping the sack in her hand for the support she was busy convincing herself she didn't need.

Vegeta was surprised as he continued towards his room to feel the woman's weak, stagnate ki inside. When he opened the door, he found her sitting at the foot of his bed, the white blankets bunching where she sat, spine-straight, pulling at the tightly tucked sheets.

He smirked and just as he was about to make a lewd comment about the convenience of finding her in his bed, he looked at her. Really looked at her. Her eyes were large, her skin a shade paler than usual. She winced when his brows narrowed in concern. Bulma looked almost timid, but the moment he closed the door behind him she flashed him a confident grin.

"Hey."

At her greeting, he simply stared. Jaw set, all he could do was stare at the wide, fearful eyes of the woman. It was an expression he hadn't seen since Namek and one that was far too disconcerting for some reason still unknown to him.

Bulma hadn't expected him to respond, and so fidgeting nervously she took a deep, calming breath. "We need to talk."

Vegeta felt the beginnings of inward groan. One of the things he liked most about his relationship with Bulma was that it had been so casual. She didn't demand to know where they stood, and she never expected more from him than sex and the occasional conversation. He'd even allowed her to snuggle against him when they lay in her bed, only because there was no use fighting it. 'It' being that he actually quite liked her and didn't mind being in her company. So he'd began to admit that they had something, yes, but he never wanted to have a conversation about the mechanics of what that something was. He was content to acknowledge that it was simply what it was, but at Bulma's pained 'we need to talk' he dreaded she was about to ruin everything.

"I'm," her eyes darted to her lap to her fingers digging into the blankets of his bed, wanting to look anywhere but into Vegeta's dark, judgmental gaze. How had she forgotten how threatening he was? How only a few years ago he'd plagued her nightmares, not her dirtiest fantasies, but this was Vegeta, not the terrifying warrior from Namek. Willing herself to be strong, to tell him the news he deserved to hear from her nearly the second she'd learned it herself, she swallowed audibly. "I'm pregnant."

It was not at all what he'd been expecting her to say, but it shifted the nature of their relationship drastically more than what he'd been anticipating. He blinked, his composure faltering as her words sunk in. "What?"

She ran her hand over her stomach, still flat, and even though she knew the baby growing inside of her looked more like something that'd hang off the edge of a martini glass filled with cocktail sauce, it was her baby. Their baby, regardless of Vegeta's feelings on the matter, and it wasn't surprising to her that Vegeta was angry. She knew he wouldn't be the kind to race forward, to catch her in his arm and spin her around at the news. He wouldn't react to any news that way, really. If it'd been Yamcha's baby he'd been thrilled, but it was Vegeta's and Vegeta remained rooted on the other side of the room, watching her beneath the weight of his steady gaze.

Finally, his lips pulled to a slight frown. "I thought you said you were protected."

"I was," giving into her own frown, Bulma sighed, feeling suddenly tired, all the revelations of the day catching up to her. "But maybe I wasn't the most careful. Or maybe it doesn't protect as well against super fast, crazy strong Saiyan sperm." She almost smiled at the last bit, but when she glanced towards Vegeta she saw that he was not in the least amused.

"Look Vegeta," she sighed, bringing her hands to rest on her lap, "I'm not asking you for anything. Honest. I just thought you should hear it from me. " She bit down on her lower lip as she watched his clouded expression. "We can just see how things go."

What she was asking wasn't unfair. She wasn't pushing him, and she certainly wasn't one to beg him for anything. Blackmail, argue, insult - sure, but Bulma Briefs did not grovel. Watching her from the corner of his eye, he attempted to decipher the thoughts racing through his skull. He didn't know how he felt; he wasn't even really sure how he was supposed to feel. His fingers flexed outwards before compressing back into balled fists at his side and he exhaled, slowly, through his nose.

"I have to go."

Her eyes narrowed. "What?"

"I have been thinking about it," he watched her features darken with each word, "and I am going to get off this planet."

A silence settled between them, and Bulma felt the anger boiling inside her numbing her earlier fear. "You promised me." She snapped, and then, gentler; "You promised you wouldn't leave."

She wasn't going to ask him to stay. She was stronger than that, but the words stung. One night over drinks she'd made him promise that he wouldn't leave them to fight the androids alone the moment he figured out fighting Goku was pointless.

"Fine." She said, her eyes narrowing, nose turning upwards and the words bitter in her mouth. "Then go. That's what Saiyans do, right? Fighting first, family second. I've been around Goku long enough, it should come as no surprise that you're even worse."

"Don't," he snapped, his deep voice dropping an octave. She felt a shiver at the slight shift of his strong jaw and the way he spat the words as though she'd actually managed to insult him. "Do not compare me to him."

Frowning, Bulma watched his knuckles whiten as his nails dug into the skin of his palm. She didn't say anything as she tried to rationalize the thought that Vegeta was going. And she would be alone.

After a few moments his shoulders pulled back and he turned away from her.

"Wait," she said, causing Vegeat to pause near the doorway. "If you're just going to run off, then I've changed my mind. I'm going to have a baby, alone, so you don't get off that easy." Her eyes narrowed as she watched the muscles in his back tighten. "I'm going to shout at you for a bit."

He smirked at her words, so much more like the Bulma he knew, not the terrified, uncertain woman from earlier, and with his back still to her, turned his head to watch as she rose from the bed to stand in front of him. She wasn't much shorter than he was, but she looked tiny and frail beside his hulking frame.

With her finger she jabbed at his chest, and his eyes darted down to watch the contact instinctively.

"You're a selfish jackass," she began, pulling her finger away but never tearing her eyes from his. "Fine. Go back into space and don't come back. See if I care. You think you're so -"

"I'm coming back," he snarled, cutting her off mid-tirade. "I just need to get away. There are too many distractions," his eyes lingered on hers for a moment before darting to her flat abdomen, "too many things holding me back. It's too fucking frustrating sensing Kakarot every day and being powerless to do anything about it. I have to ascend or it will never be enough."

She rarely heard him confess things so openly, and with a solemn nod she realized what he meant. "So you'll come back then. You have to. To fight Goku."

He gave a stiff bob of affirmation, and Bulma sighed.

"And then you'll blast this planet to smithereens like you've always planned." Her eyes were even, but he could clearly read the hurt and rage that surfaced as she contemplated the meaning behind her words.

"That," he grunted, the words sounding tired leaving his lips, "Remains uncertain."

It was the most disconcerting way in the cosmos for the father of your future child to confess that he was no longer fanaticizing about your death, but Bulma was beyond caring. She knew Vegeta better than anyone in the entire universe, quite possibly dead or alive; he'd come to terms that he wouldn't be destroying Earth when he was done with it. A part of her wondered if he was giving slight admittance to the idea that he was unsure if he'd ever really be done with Earth at all. She smiled, but wisely kept all positive theories to herself. If he knew she was dreaming up ways to keep him here he'd already be inside the Gravity Chamber, prepping it for flight.

"I'm not naming the baby Vegeta."

He grunted. "I don't care what you name the brat."

"And you'd better be back before this thing is born," she looked stern. "Chichi said giving birth to a half-Saiyan was hell, and she's a hundred-times stronger than me."

"Hn." He crossed his arms over his chest, knowing that the power level of even a half-Saiyan infant would be more than she could bear. She'd go about complaining, more so than usual, and he was not sorry he'd be missing out. "Bulma, I will come back when I am ready. It will have nothing to do with whether or not you've given birth to the child or not."

She'd always liked that Vegeta never held back, that he never pretended to be anything other than what he was; he wasn't one to sugarcoat things or lie for anyone else's benefit. She just wished it didn't sting so much when those traits were directed at her.

"Well, be safe." The words sounded dumb after she'd said them, lingering in the air of his bedroom. She felt his eyes on her face, and she continued to glare at the spot on the wall behind him. Space seemed cold and frightening. She'd only been once, and it was far more dangerous than she'd expected. Where would he go, she wondered, and though she knew he was incredibly strong, she felt a tightening in her chest as she contemplated his wellbeing.

"Feh, I will be anything but." His arms tightened across his chest. "I will be going out of my way to push my body to new extremes. I will not rest until I am a Super Saiyan."

She rolled her eyes. It seemed his tougher-than-thou routine had long since fallen short on her. She'd heard it before, and she knew how perilous his training regiment was.

"You can have my father refuel the ship for you," she said, finally, after the silence in the room became too much for her to stomach. "I'm not going to help you run away."

He turned from her once again, taking two long strides towards the doorway before pausing. Not looking back, he said, "I'm not running away."

When she turned around, he was gone.

She knew the next time she'd see him he'd be an entirely different person. He'd either have ascended, and with it his ego would skyrocket, the haughty smirk would likely be a permanent fixture, or he'd return defeated. Never in her life had Bulma met someone who was so hard on himself, and while he was gone she'd do nothing but keep her faith in him.

The other option, the scenario where he didn't return at all, was unthinkable.

"Well boy," the old doctor said, patting the control panel as he stood up. "You're all set."

Vegeta opened his eyes and glanced at the controls. His arms remained crossed against his chest and he leaned against the ship's hatch, his fingers itching for departure. He'd already been lectured about the food stocks, and now that he had fuel there was no reason to linger on this planet.

Dr. Briefs nodded before leaving the ship, lighting his cigarette the moment his feet were back on the green grass of the lawn and quickly moving out of range of the ship. With a shake of his head, he watched as the Saiyan closed the hatch and moved to sit behind the controls.

Vegeta wasn't running. He checked the dial one last time before cranking the engine to life. He wasn't trying to escape. He simply needed some uninterrupted training. Some space so he could concentrate on becoming a Super Saiyan. Rest hadn't helped, relentless training in intense gravity hadn't done it, and the news that he was going to be a father hadn't suddenly set an affable spark in him, altering him somehow.

Defeating Kakarot came first. Ascension was more important than the foolish woman and her blasted child. It would be easier, he convinced himself, when they weren't around to distract him all the time.

As the ship broke planetary altitude and Kakarot's ki and Bulma's energy faded in the distance, he watched the dark, familiar view of space staring back at him through the thick glass. He felt truly alone for the first time since he'd been wished back to Earth with the Dragon Balls.