Chapter Twenty-One: Open Up

Bulma could feel the sting of betrayal behind her eyes and she hurried over to the still-open door. Her heart thudded in her chest; her stomach flip-flopped wildly. A small part of her was convinced that this all had to be a dream, but deep-down she knew better. As the trail left in Vegeta's wake slowly evaporated into the night sky, her heart sank. Was this it? Was this the end of…whatever they had? Could it be that he was so on edge about the whole predicament of being regarded as a permanent part of Earth that one human could drive him out of his own home?

She whirled around, glaring through the crowd to find the tanned, scarred, and totally embarrassed face of her former lover. "You," she hissed, eyes narrowing into slits. "What the fuck was that?!" Maintaining her pissed bravado was relatively hard, she admitted internally, feeling the betraying tears slowly roll down her cheeks. It had to be the hormones. Seriously.

Yamcha, on the other hand, still on the ground, couldn't bear to make eye contact with Bulma. He had felt her ire on numerous occasions over the course of their adventures with Goku, but never before had he felt such hate radiating from the tiny, powerless woman a few feet away. In all honesty he had expected the alien prince to, at a minimum, crush his jaw and skulk away to the Gravity Room, forever determined to pound his body into submission with his own training. Instead, he had merely caused him to flee the compound and have his best friend turn on him in the blink of an eye.

He slowly shook his head, running a hand through his hair and letting out a ragged breath that he felt he had been holding since Vegeta shot up from his chair. "Bulma, I—"

"No," she cut through, holding up her hand in his direction to silence him. "I can't stand to hear another word from you tonight or any other night. Get out of my house…and don't you dare set foot on my property again."

The warrior was struck by just how Saiya-jin-like she seemed, standing before her, arms now crossed over her chest, feet planted firmly. Granted, Bulma had never been a push-over as far as he could remember—she was spoiled, sometimes too soft, and more often than not too materialistic for even a former thief. But in that moment, she reflected the very aura of a warrior. She didn't need to be coddled or protected and she certainly didn't need him. A sad realization, he felt, but one that he could now confront having seen her pull herself together quickly.

He stood from his spot on the ground, dusting off his pants. For a second he thought of going up to the woman to apologize face-to-face, to own up to his mistake. But the first step in her direction was immediately blocked by a very sad, but overtly supporting Goku. The taller man placed his hand on Yamcha's shoulder and shook his head. "You should probably head home now, Yamcha-san," he whispered, taking a quick glance at the scientist over his shoulder. "She'll calm down eventually, once Vegeta comes back." Yamcha could only offer a nod, walking past all of his friends and family, and launched off of the same patch of grass Vegeta had.

He wasn't entirely sure where he was headed and to be perfectly blunt, he didn't give a damn. The feel of the air through his hair, over his skin, through his lungs…it felt like sweet, sweet relief. It didn't do much to quell the rage that still sat deep in his belly, but it was enough to stop him from blowing the whole damned planet into space dust. While it would rid him of the raw emotions surging through his blood stream, he was sure that he would either die in the aftermath of his actions or find it impossible to grasp at any bit of peace as he travels from planet to planet, looking for some place to call home.

Pathetic.

Things like "home" had never really bothered him before as a teen and young adult. Sure, he had continued to live under Frieza's shadow, choosing to blindly destroy various alien races and sell their home worlds to the highest bidder. He had never fully been loyal to the Cold empire, but he had been fed and clothed and practically allowed to run rampant throughout the universe. But now…

Now the thought of returning to that life made his stomach turn. He would be his own master, of course, but the basic destruction for the sake of destruction felt like he would be running from problems that he would only bring on himself. Staying on this planet, training until his ascension, beating the ever-living shit out of Kakarot—this would be the fuel to help him push through the idiocy and keep the bloodlust at bay. Indefinitely, with any luck.

After he was sure that he had flown around the planet for a few hours, he decided that landing somewhere to relax further would be best. What was the point in circling the planet over and over again anyway? He knew that the agitation would bubble up again and undo his sound reasoning.

Vegeta slowed down, glancing about the inky ocean that he hovered over. It felt much warmer than what he was used to in Metro West…he guessed that he was probably somewhere around the Southern Islands, although his geographic knowledge regarding Earth was poor at best. There had been times when he had traveled away from the hustle and bustle of the city for the purposes of meditation, but usually he found solace in the mountains or deep in the desert, unsprisingly close to where he and the third-class clown had first fought. Still, coming back to Capsule Corp had been easy—he merely needed to locate the woman's weak ki.

His automatic check of Bulma's ki caused him to stop mid-air. He knew that he could never claim to be in-tune with emotions, especially with those experienced by humans. They ranged from arctic tundra and hellfire and while he understood rage and annoyance, anything else outside of that spectrum left him puzzled. But he could tell that whatever had just occurred between Yamcha and himself had upset her to no end. He had wished he could've seen her reaction to him; as far as the Prince could tell, Yamcha had vacated the compound minutes after he did.

The thought of Bulma potentially kicking the scar-faced warrior out of her house brought a cheeky smile to his face. While the twit had a power level that rivaled his housemate's, his insults had been too much to bare. He should've blasted him away; that's what he fully expected anyway, right? So why the hell not? What kept him from ramming his fist through the bastard's face, feeling the give of skin, the crushing of skull, and ultimately the explosion of brain matter and blood out of the back of his head?

'Because she would never forgive you,' he mused, absently landing on a sandy beach. While he shouldn't care about trivial things like forgiveness, he knew that things would never be the same between them had he acted out on his initial instinct to end the pathetic human's life. Every time her blue eyes would see him, she would probably actually see the merciless killer that Yamcha had pointed him out to be. Bulma had never witnessed him ending a life with his own hands. As far as she was concerned, the Saibamen or Nappa had always done the dirty work. She wasn't stupid, of course. She knew he had been the one to pull the proverbial trigger over and over again. But she could see past all of that and, begrudgingly admitted, he was grateful. The fact that there was one person among the trillions of other life forms in the universe that was willing to find whatever "good" was locked away in his soul made him feel…well, he couldn't put a word to it. It left him confused but also gave him a smidge of hope that life didn't have to always be the shit-storm that he had experienced endlessly since birth.

He let a sigh escape his lips, finally turning his eyes away from the ocean. The waters were calm on this side of the planet, soothing away the last bit of rage with each turn of a wave. He paused, however, when he noticed just which tiny island he had landed on. In front of him stood a stilted shack, pink and red, surrounded by three wild palm trees.

'Kame House' was clearly painted along the top of the structure.

"You've got to be kidding me," he whined, raking a hand through his flame-like hair. The irony wasn't lost on him, although he was fairly certain that Yamcha hadn't lived in the Kame House for quite a number of years. Shrugging, he walked into the house, blindly searching for the lights and succeeding only after knocking over a coat rack, a side table, and what he assumed was a pile of the old timer's dirty magazines.

The house looked simple enough on the inside. You couldn't tell that the once strongest man in the world even lived there. It was tidy, practically sparking, rivaling his own room back at Capsule Corp. Who knew?

Kicking off his shoes, he decided that the events of the night warranted a beer, and he rummaged successfully for a few cans. Normally he wouldn't entertain the thought of having more than one beer but his mood had finally improved and he was sure that the bald men that inhabited the house wouldn't say too much if he sucked down at least three beers. He plopped on the couch, flipping the TV on. There was no doubt that nothing on channel lineup would keep his attention, but for once he was perfectly content to just "veg-out".

Krillin and Muten Roshi stood in the doorway of their shared home, eyes practically bugging out of their heads. While they had fully accepted that an irate Saiya-jin had been set loose on the planet, they did not expect to see him sprawled out on one of the couches, one arm behind his head, the other blocking out the light from the various lamps in the house. The coffee table was littered with emptied bags of chips, pretzels, and cookies, along with the skins and cores of fruits that he had eaten in his boredom. Cans of beer were spread across both the table and floor, causing Krillin to face-palm at the realization that there was probably nothing left in the house and that he would, yet again, have to make his way to the city to refill their kitchen.

The old timer smiled at the sight in front of him. Vegeta had a temper to rival a hornet's nest to be sure, but instead, he chose to just find some solitude and "hoosah" his way back to a clear state of mind. The man was making progress and there was no doubt that Bulma, and potentially Goku, had something to do with the slow evolution of the mercenary alien.

"What should we do?" Krillin asked, voice low so as not to wake their "guest".

Muten Roshi rubbed his chin, glancing around the room. Aside from the trash and beer cans, the house looked unscathed. "Well, I say we just let him sleep it off here. I reckon he'll have one hell of a hangover in the morning."

Krillin frowned, shooting a glare at his old master. "Really? Shouldn't we call Bulma? Or Goku…maybe have them come cart him off?"

"No," he replied, digging into a closet to pull out a blanket and a pillow. "He left Capsule Corp to cool off, I think. Calling Goku or Bulma to come fetch him like a child is sure to set him off again. Let's wait to see what he wants to do in the morning."

"If we even live to see the morning," Krillin mumbled, watching his housemate practically tuck Vegeta in. The Prince, much to his annoyance, tucked the pillow under his head and rolled away to face the back of the couch. Part of Krillin wanted to laugh, but the more sane, rational side decided against it. No need to piss Vegeta off and have him destroy their tiny island sanctum.

Blue eyes shut tightly as the owner tried desperately to stifle a yawn. The party had continued for a few more hours after "The [new] Incident", although it had spiraled down to a small get-together, leaving everyone feeling awkward and obligated to tip-toe around the Capsule Corporation heiress. Thankfully, no one had dared mention Vegeta or Yamcha, so the night passed as smoothly as one might expect.

Once her guests had exchanged their gifts and then hastily left for the safety of their own homes, she had trudged towards her lab—the holiest of holies. Bulma knew there was absolutely no point in worrying about Vegeta. Either he would return the next morning or a few days from now, but of one thing she was certain: he would return. His flight from the party had proven to her that he was willing to try damn hard to acclimate to his new life on Earth, regardless of the opinions of the rest of her friends. In its own dark way, it brought a sense of security to her life. He had promised her father that he would be there for as long as they were alive, to care for her and their son, to attempt to be that male parental figure the half-human, half-alien child would need to guide him through life. That was really all she could ask for at this point.

She stretched her arms over her head, feeling the satisfying pop of various vertebrae in her back as she leaned side to side. Time seemed to zoom by whenever she was in the lab which was a welcome relief after the insanity of throwing the holiday party together. Projects that had stacked her inbox were all mostly moved over to her outbox, ready for her Research and Development Department to bring prototypes to life. How lovely! Now she was just down to one last package that she had been working on without her father's knowledge.

Originally she had given up on figuring out the computers and other technologies from King Cold's ship after her father suggested that she should put her focus and efforts on Capsule Corp-directed projects. Now that she had hashed through the backlog, she was giddy with excitement at the thought of being able to pick up the schematics and start swimming through the haze of alien technology.

When she held the binder up, however, she noticed a yellow sticky-note with neatly printed script that she didn't initially recognize.

"Thought you could use an assist. Stop making this so damned complicated. – Vegeta".

She flipped past the cover page, eyes widening and a smile taking over her face as she saw lines through guesses she had made regarding components with the appropriate label written in the same neat script underneath her flubs. "No way," she breathed, a small laugh escaping her lips. On the next page, a photocopy of more prints she had found in what appeared to be a lab on the ship, Vegeta had seemingly translated the alien script into the common tongue. When she had first seen this particular print, she had bellowed throughout the house that she couldn't believe Goku and Vegeta's fight had killed her pilfered scouter, erasing the only database she had to translate these precious glimpses into the Cold's technology. How stupid she had been, she reflected as she continued to read each component on the page, to have not gone directly to the one source that literally lived a few doors down from her.

When had he done all of this? And where had she been when this all had happened? Granted, she hadn't bothered to look at one scrap of paper regarding these plans in months. She had tinkered with the actual hardware every once in a while, when time permitted, but had lost all hope in ever recreating anything within the package's contents. Now, however, there was a ray of hope. Who knew what kind of benefits humanity could gain from the newly-introduced alien technology? The thought of turning the evil emperor's own property into good use brought another grin to her face.

Take that, you little shit.

The rays of morning light attacked his face with such an intensity that he was forced to roll onto his belly, burying his face in the giant, fluffy pillow that had somehow ended up in his possession. The motion, however, caused his stomach to swirl with a fury he had though next to impossible to experience. Just what was this…this feeling? He let out a burp, eyes widening as he felt more than just air surging through his esophagus. The chaos was soon controlled, however, as he choked back down the bile that threatened to spray out of his body. He sat up, head swimming and pounding in a rhythm that felt like he had been in some sort of battle or even an accident.

"Guh," he groaned, squinting as he looked around the small living room. Oh, right. He had crashed at the Kame House. The trash that had been neatly piled on the table, along with the emptied beer cans, were gone, leaving the house to look just as clean as it was when he had barged in the night before. The curtains that had been drawn shut were wide open, windows ajar to let in the fresh breeze from the sea. It felt rather pleasant, the warm air easily overtaken by the cool winds that blew gently into the small shack.

Vegeta closed his eyes momentarily, relishing the absolute silence of the tiny island. Aside from the crashing waves and a few chirps from birds, the peace was undisturbed and most welcome. It was definitely a stark contrast to the bustling insanity of Capsule Corp: overrun with workers, curses from Bulma, and the clatter of tools as vehicles and various other machines were pieced together. He had grown used to it, of course—it all sounded like white noise to him now, and more often than not was drowned out by the hum of the Gravity Room's generator anyway.

He could now appreciate why the old geezer, Krillin, Kakarot, and sometimes even Bulma would retreat to this seemingly utopic grain of sand in the warm waters of the South. Getting away from civilization, hitting the reset button…it all seemed like the perfect way to decompress from all of the cares in the world. Maybe it would even be beneficial to have a few training sessions here—

"Oh, Vegeta. You're up!" The old master climbed down the rest of the stairs, a towel slung over his shoulders. "Good morning," he greeted, standing just a few feet away from the Prince.

"Morning," Vegeta answered back, absently rubbing at his shoulder. He could feel some embarrassment creep into his pores. In reality, he had broken into the old man's home and pilfered food and drink from him. As they continued to study each other, he noticed that the human didn't seem to mind at all. Hands clasped behind his back, sunglasses resting on the tip of his nose, he merely offered Vegeta a smile and walked towards the kitchen.

"I have no doubts," he said, rummaging through cabinets and the fridge, "that you might be a bit hungover. You tied one on last night, didn't you?"

The Prince felt his cheeks burn as he whipped around to face the TV. The motion, however, drew back the pounding in his skull and the rise of whatever treacherous liquid remained in his throat. It was all he could do to choke it back down again. His hand shot to his mouth, clamping over it in an attempt to shove it back down. He succeeded, although he knew it was only a matter of time before he would lose to his own body.

Muten Roshi stifled his laugh. "That's what I thought." He poured a few motrin into his palm and grabbed a sports drink. "Here, come take this. You'll start to feel better soon enough." Vegeta complied, wondering if this was some sort of Earth-medicine to help cure whatever this "hangover" was.

"I'm sure you don't want to hear this," he began, watching the alien struggle to keep down both the pills and the liquid. "One, you would feel infinitely better if you just went and retched in the bathroom." Vegeta looked appalled, but after another questionable burp, eyed the door to the bathroom with a new-found appreciation. "Two," he paused, watching as the alien looked back at him. "I don't think many of us there can blame you for being as…angered…as you were at the way Yamcha spoke to you. I'm honestly surprised you didn't kill him right then and there."

The old hermit walked outside, Vegeta hot on his heels with the sports drink grasped tightly in his hand. "Aren't you his master? Shouldn't you be, I don't know, taking his side?"

"Well, yes," Roshi replied, arranging his towel just right on his beach chair. "Yamcha has always been impulsive, not unlike Bulma. Despite all of his training he just rushes into situations head-first, with zero regard for the consequences of his actions."

"Tch, he's a fool," Vegeta responded, plopping down on the sand underneath the shade of the larger palm tree.

"That he is," the old man agreed, picking up one of his dirty magazines but leaving it unopened. "Vegeta, his pride was just hurt. That's all. Whatever he said, was said in anger and with the need to just get back at you somehow. Physically, he's obviously no match for you. I'd say the same for wit but that goes without saying."

They shared a smirk.

"What I'm trying to say is…thank you. I know your pride means a lot to you and that you had every right to get even. But you were the bigger person and he got punishment enough from Bulma."

At this, the Saiya-jin's ears perked up. "Oh?"

The old turtle hermit rubbed the back of his bald head, letting a few chuckles escape as he leaned forward in his chair. "A little much I think, but it got her point across. She kicked him out of her life…for good, it would seem."

Vegeta snorted. He couldn't seem Bulma holding out "for good"; most likely a few months, potentially a year or two. She was just as soft as the rest of her crew of rag-tag warriors, though. As much as he wished it to be so, she would be incapable of holding on to a grudge long enough against someone who had, apparently, made a permenant mark on her young adult life. He also supposed that it wouldn't bother him as much either. Yamcha seemed like a decent enough guy…if you overlooked the cheating, forgetfulness, weakness, and overall stupidity. Aside from being an annoying pest during his first arrival on Earth, Vegeta honestly had no issue with the scar-faced man. He had never posed a threat, neither in battle nor in his conquest of Bulma's eternal devotion. Had it not been for the "throw down" the night before, he probably would've never given the human a second thought.

"I highly doubt it, but maybe he will now steer clear of my path."

Muten Roshi only shrugged, unsure of what was in store for any of them. "Feel free to stay as long as you want. I'm sure Bulma wouldn't mind you take some time away from it all if we know that you're here on the island versus somewhere in the atmosphere, plotting to blow us all to bits."

A darkened glare was all that the younger man could offer in response. While he had felt like destroying the planet last night, he couldn't fathom bearing the weight of a temper-tantrum gone wrong for the rest of his days. The old fart a few feet away from him didn't need to know that—nobody needed to know that as far as he was concerned.

Again he felt his stomach churn. So this was a hangover? Who the hell wanted to feel this way after drinking those alcohol-laden beverages? He could remember the few times that Bulma or her mother would consume glass upon glass of alcohol; how they walked about the house like the living dead the next morning and whined about headaches. What was the point?

"Oi! Vegeta! Roshi-sama!" Krillin tried, unsuccessfully, to wave at the lounging men, arms full of bags of groceries. He landed ungracefully in the sand, bags squeezing out a few of their contents onto the sand. "Dammit," he muttered, looking to them for help.

Vegeta rolled his eyes and stood up carefully, trudging over to help the ex-monk out. It was the least he could do, he mused, after having consumed most of the kitchen. Bending over, however, proved to be the tipping point as he felt the bile he had been keeping at bay for the past half hour refusing to go back down. He dropped the bread and bag of fruit back onto the ground, standing straight up again.

"Uh, are you ok?" Krillin asked, watching as the Saiya-jin Prince's face shed its normally tan complexion for a much paler one. Vegeta offered one final glare as he darted back into the house, leaving a very confused Krillin and a laughing Roshi.

She felt the cool, winter air kiss the side of her face as the door to her lab slid open. Normally she would be curious enough to look up from her work, but she was so close to figuring out the end of the equation to fix a particularly interesting looking computer from Cold's ship that she couldn't tear her eyes away. There was no doubt as to who had dared to cross the threshold into her habitat though—his presence had a way of announcing itself without him uttering a single word.

"Welcome back," she called out, scribbling furiously against her notepad.

The intruder raised an eyebrow, closing the gap between them as the lab door swished shut behind him. "I half expected you to jump out of your seat to greet me. You know, hormones and all."

The blue haired beauty offered a half smile as she neared the solution to the past hour's worth of work. "Trust me, there's nothing more that I would like right now than to bombard you with my overtly human emotions and gush at your return…but this lovely gift you left me has completely stolen my attention."

Curious, the man came around to stand directly behind her, placing one hand on the back of her chair and the other next to her arm on the desk. His eyes took in her work on the formula that he had translated, following line by line until he let out a small chuckle.

"Wrong." He stated, causing her to stop mid-fury.

"W-what?" Bulma stared at the lines of numbers and constants, eyes slowly taking in each portion of her solution. There was nothing wrong, as far as she could see, and she was starting to wonder if Vegeta actually knew what he was talking about.

"There," he pointed at a line, nearly mid-way through her work. She leaned forward, backtracking a few steps to where the supposed mistake was. And there, plain as day, she saw her error. One blue eye twitched as she followed the hand, to the arm, to the shoulder, and finally to the face of the man who she now understood to be smarter than she was.

"Are you kidding me."

"It is clearly there…plain as day."

Bulma stuck out her tongue before leaning back in her chair. "Where were you an hour ago when I was working on that part?!"

"Obviously not here. I leave you all of these hints and you still manage to get it wrong."

"Oh shut up," she slapped at the arm that was still supporting his weight on the desk. "You smell like…like seaweed? Sand? Sun? Where have you been?"

Vegeta turned, choosing to sit on the desk instead. "After I left I just flew around. I didn't really have a destination in mind, I just wanted to get away for a bit." His scowl deepened as he watched Bulma frown. "So, when I was finally bored I landed on a tiny island. I didn't realize where I was until I saw just how small that little speck of sand is. I apparently found this Kame House you and the idiots are so fond of."

The woman in front of him laughed, absently rubbing at her growing belly. "Really? You went to Roshi and Krillin's place?"

"Again, obviously not on purpose. It just happened. I let myself in, got drunk apparently, ate practically all of their food—"

"Woah woah woah…Drunk?! I've never even seen you finish a whole beer!" Blue, wide eyes stared at him in completely and utter shock.

"I didn't mean to," he ground out, feeling the heat rise to his cheeks yet again. "I just kept drinking and it felt good to just do and think about absolutely nothing. Would you rather I had started destroying surrounding islands and villages?"

It was now Bulma's turn to glare at him, making a small smirk creep onto his face. "Look, I found a non-destructive outlet for my rage. Are you not pleased?"

"I am, trust me Vegeta. You're still an asshole and I'm sure you're still a bad guy, but deep down I think you're finally starting to grow as a person. Not a human, don't get me wrong…but I think your moral compass is finally starting to align, just a bit."

Vegeta let out a small, dark chuckle, glad that she wasn't at least praising him as a newly-reformed ex-mercenary. He was far from it, but reigning in bad habits was working and made him feel as though he could have come semblance of normalcy in his life.

"I'm sorry," Bulma murmured, playing with the hem of her shirt.

"For what?" He looked at her, puzzled.

"I should've said something from the start of Yamcha's stupid tirade. I just stood there and let him speak to you like that; like I was some kind of weak and dishonorable fool."

Vegeta rolled his eyes. "There was nothing you could've done. He had a lot to get off of his chest, apparently."

"Even so, I shouldn't have let him talk to you like that. Those things he said—that's not you anymore, Vegeta."

He leaned forward, grabbing her chin to face him. Her eyes stayed locked on the desk in front of her. "Look at me," he said softly, giving her small nudge with his thumb. When she finally complied he offered one of the smallest, but most genuine smiles she had ever seen. "Do I look heartbroken over all of this?" She shook her head. "Yes, that's not me anymore. And it took a lot of restraint to not bash his skull in. But he just wasn't worth the time or effort it would take to make everyone forget that I killed him. Again."

Bulma smiled, feeling some of the weight lift off of her chest. He let his hand drop from her chin but she reached out, grabbing it between both of her own. "I knew you would come back," she admitted, tracing a few of the scars that decorated his hand.

"Oh?"

"Mm. I didn't know when, of course," her smile widened a fraction, "but I knew you weren't running away. You were…collecting yourself. Dad was thoroughly convinced that you were going to steal the ship and head off into space again."

"I thought about it. Don't get me wrong, this planet is making me as soft as the baby food your mother insists on experimenting with…but I'm trying this new thing where I don't always turn tail and run to space like a child."

The silence that fell over them was a comfortable one, vacant of the usual awkwardness that they felt around one another. Despite having been back together for a handful of weeks, they were still too afraid to do anything that would spook the other. There was no talk of feelings or concrete future plans. Bulma knew better than label him as her boyfriend or anything of that nature. And while she wasn't entirely sure how he viewed her in his spectrum of concern, she was fairly certain that he was slowly coming to terms that she was, indeed, his.

"Vegeta?"

He looked up at her, eyes free of watching her trace the lines across his palm.

"Will you, maybe, help me with some of these plans?" She gestured towards the pile of papers, loose from the binder she had stored them in. "I know that you'll be training like always, but any pointers you could give me on this would be great. I saw plans for this 'Regeneration Chamber' that I think would be an amazing asset to us. You know…in case some idiot alien tries to come and take over the planet and you oafs feel the need to get beaten up in battle."

Vegeta let out another chuckle, picking up her haggard notebook. "I suppose I could find some time to sit down and go over these with you. I'm not an expert by any means, but I think I can point you in the right direction."

"Great!" Bulma chirped, standing up from her chair. Vegeta winced as he heard a few of her bones pop from the effort. "Yeah, yeah, I know. I sound terrible right? This kid is destroying my body from the inside," she threw her arms around him, his retort forever lost on his tongue. Crazy, hormonal, female human. He had to be just as crazy though, he relented as he wrapped one strong arm around her.

There was no denying it now. He could no longer lie to himself anymore. She was definitely his, and she was definitely his family. It was as close to "good" as he figured he'd ever get, but somehow he didn't mind. The planet was making him soft, but no matter how many times this mantra fluttered across his mind's eye he knew that there wasn't much chance in combating it. His path in life was forming without his realizing it and there was nothing he could do about it.

But it didn't merit much more thought for the night. "Ready for bed?" He asked, nose now buried in Bulma's hair. She only nodded, zero squeaks escaping her lips as he hefted her up to head to the living quarters. He was back home, and damn did it feel good.

A/N: Well, that was surprisingly easier to write than I thought it was going to be! I know that for most of this fic, Vegeta has seemed just a smidge on the OOC side. Honestly I am summing that up to a free and loose interpretation of how different Present and Future Vegeta are from each other. I think that without knowing of the impending doom coming their way, Vegeta was a lot more open to life on Earth because he knew, even if he did lose to Goku, that he would really have nowhere else to go. Present Vegeta had one drive during those three years—to become a Super Saiya-jin in order to kick Andriod ass.

Now, would Future Vegeta have let Yamcha get away with the insults? I let it roll this way because I think Vegeta, at this point of his story, is still conflicted with how he feels about the people in his life and how assimilated he feels to Earth. Present Vegeta probably would've just ended him on the spot because Yamcha would've died in the upcoming battle anyway, and he and Bulma were together off and on while he prepared for the Androids.

Any who, I hope this has been a good read for all who continue to grace my work with their presence! Please leave a review and let me know if you have any questions, or just how you feel about the fic in general! Writers get sooooo happy when readers leave some love!

Ja ne,

Pearl3