Vegeta strolled through Capsule Corp, thinking over his plans for the day. Something wasn't right. He could feel it in the air. Something big was about to happen, but for the life of him, he couldn't figure out what it could be. He paused when he heard the sound of laughter - one voice he recognized as Bulma's mother, the other he couldn't quite place, though it did sound familiar. He followed the sound into the living room, freezing in his tracks at the sight before him.

"Oh, Vegeta dear!" Mrs. Briefs giggled in her high-pitched voice. "I was just having the nicest conversation about you. This young lady says she used to be your friend! Why don't you join us? I'll put on another pot of coffee."

Vegeta could only stammer as Mrs. Briefs got up and went to the kitchen. "The hell are you doing in my house?" he growled at the woman sitting on the couch, smirking at him.

Fasha smirked, standing up and bowing dramatically. "Why, I'm here to honor the last prince of the great Saiyan race, m'lord," she said with almost sarcasm. She gestured to the table laden with cakes and coffee. "Join me for some breakfast, my Prince. I have a proposition for you. We do not have to fight unless you wish it." She sat back down and sipped at the bitter hot liquid, a smirk playing across her lips.

Her threat wasn't lost on him, despite the politeness in her voice. The last thing he wanted to do right now was to fight her - especially in his own house. His mind was racing, wondering if he could somehow overpower her or distract her, blind her long enough to attack and eliminate the threat that was sitting on his couch, sipping coffee. Though his expression remained stoic, he growled inside. There was nothing at the moment. He had no choice but to sit and listen to her.

Vegeta sat himself at the opposite end of the couch, keeping as much space between them as possible and he curled his tail tightly around his waist. "What's this all about?" he asked gruffly.

Fasha set her cup down on the table, looking the prince over. Compact, powerful, royal blood coursing through his veins. Yes he would be more than adequate. "How horrible it must have been for you. Stranded on this planet, unable to take a proper mate, unable to truly continue the proud Saiyan line, keep the blood pure. My proposal is myself m'lord. Join our cause, our people. We are more powerful than anything this silly little planet can offer up to defend itself. Once we win this war, we can repopulate this planet with true Saiyans. With me, you can produce a royal child of pure Saiyan blood."

Vegeta felt like coiling in on himself, wanting to retreat from her. Dear gods, no. "Why should I join your cause? I know who you're working with, Fasha. Those Atlantians can all go to hell for all I care. I would never join them. They're weak, pitiful, hiding behind their magick because they possess no strength of their own. I'll have no part of it," he answered coldly. He wrinkled his nose in a sneer at her. "I have no interest in fathering your children. If it's so important to you to continue our race, get one of those other third-class warriors you work with to do it."

Fasha snorted, "The Atlantians are but a means to an end. Once we have this world in our clutches they will have run out of their usefulness. And I have no desire for third class children. Surely you want to further our race when we are so few. Rekindle the proud line of Vegeta. You cannot honestly tell me you are happy with these half-breeds. Humans are so weak. They break with the slightest touch. Would you not want to mate with someone who can handle all that a Saiyan can truly give?" She stood and walked over to him, looking down, her tail uncurling from her waist and reaching around to caress his cheek.

Vegeta recoiled from her, a cold loathing in his eyes. How dare she touch him like that? "And I have no desire for third-class children either, you low-level excuse for a warrior," he spat. "I have all I need here. My line continues in my children - my sons, who are accomplished warriors, worthy of the royal blood that runs through their veins." He smirked at the expression on her face. "And I already have a mate," he said, his voice dropping dangerously low as he tilted his head to the side, proudly showing off his mating mark. "And she's perfectly capable of handling all that this Saiyan gives her."

Fasha's expression fell cold at his words and an evil smirk grew on her face. "Surely you jest, m'lord. I can easily take care of her. She is nothing to me. She is a weak human." She snorted, "No matter. I don't need your permission to get what I want." She blatantly looked down at his groin, letting out a pleased hum. "Anyone can see how well-endowed you are. It would be a simple matter to enchant you, make you want me, but it would be of a greater pleasure to me if you wanted it as well."

"Vegeta!" Bulma called out from the hallway, "Have you been using my tablet to play Angry Birds again?" She rounded the corner and entered the living room, "I can't find..." She stopped short when she saw the strange woman there, her eyes going wide and she took a step back as the other woman saw her, a snarl on her lips.

Fasha growled and quickly caught the other woman, catching her hands and twisting her arms behind her back. "This is your mate, my Prince?"

If Vegeta had never experienced true fear before, he felt it now. He was on his feet in an instant, but Fasha was holding Bulma almost as if using her as a shield. Vegeta felt the animalistic growl rumbling deep in his chest as he scowled at her, baring his teeth. "Let her go," he demanded in a dangerous tone. His mind was working furiously. If he attacked, Fasha could kill Bulma before he even made it across the room to her. At the same time, he couldn't give in to her demands. The idea of being with Fasha like that was nothing short of repulsive. "I swear to you, Fasha, you harm one hair on her head and I will rip you to shreds with my teeth and laugh while I do it," he threatened.

Fasha laughed, moving to hold Bulma's wrists in one hand and reached around to stroke Bulma's cheek. "Seems we have a bit of a predicament here, my Prince," she purred and nuzzled at Bulma's neck. "Tell you what; you promise me to give me what I want and I promise you I won't hurt a hair on her pretty little head."

Bulma's eyes went wide and she tried to jerk away from the woman, a tendril of fear racing down her spine and she looked at Vegeta pleadingly to help her. What the hell did the woman want from her husband?!

Oh he could have ripped her throat out for touching his mate like that. It disgusted him, the suggestiveness of her voice, the purr in it. He locked eyes with Bulma, silently trying to tell her to remain calm, that he would get her out of this. He was just about to agree to Fasha's demands in order to save Bulma when he felt them - two energies moving swiftly through Capsule Corp, heading straight for them. He needed to buy some time.

"Now, listen," he said slowly, his mind screaming at them to hurry up. "Threatening my mate doesn't exactly put me in the mood to give you what you want." He could see them now, prowling silently up the hallway behind Fasha. "Let go of her and we'll talk about this."

But Fasha didn't have a chance to answer because the next second, a vine cracked like a whip and wrapped tightly around her throat, Catie snarling, "Let my mother go."

Fasha let out a strangled cry as her neck was suddenly yanked back and the shock made her lose her grip on Bulma, who took advantage of the distraction and broke free, running to Vegeta. She whirled around to look at her attacker, her heart pounding in her chest as she scrubbed at her cheek where the woman touched her. Gods she felt so unclean.

Fasha growled at the loss of her bargaining chip and clawed at the vines around her neck. She scowled at Vegeta. "No deal huh? Don't think that this is over. I always get what I want. You can't protect her, you'll let your guard down." She smirked, "I've seen firsthand what happens to a Saiyan when their mate dies. It's quite excruciating. I wonder if you can still get it up after she's dead!" she spat and snapped her fingers together, disappearing in a puff of purple smoke.

Vegeta tried to hide the fact that he was shaking, his arms held back from his sides protectively as Bulma stood behind him. He looked around the room, growling. "Where the fuck did she go?" But Fasha's energy was long gone. He heaved a shaking sigh and turned to Bulma, pulling her to him, wrapping his arms around her tightly as he crushed her to his chest. He kissed her temple, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment, trying to stop his heart from hammering against his ribs so hard. Oh, he would gladly kill that bitch.

Catie cast a sideways glance at Trunks, her hair still green from her transformation, prepared for that Saiyan bitch to pop back in at any moment. "What the hell is going on?" she demanded. "That was that Saiyan from Leelee's vision! How the hell did she get in here?" She looked over at Bulma, worry in her eyes, "Bulma, are you hurt?"

Bulma was shaking in Vegeta's arms. Her life had been flashing before her eyes and she shook her head, pausing to look over at Catie. "Do you always call your mom by her first name?" she asked with a trembling voice before reaching out for her children to come to her, embracing them and kissing their cheeks. "If you both hadn't come along when you did…" She shook her head again and turned back to Vegeta, holding him tightly. "What... what did she want?"

"Sorry, Mom," Catie muttered, letting her hair turn back to its natural dark brown. She still wasn't quite used to calling Bulma her mother, but she'd felt compelled to ever since she'd taken the Saiyan brand.

Trunks stepped back after a moment, his blue eyes flashing darkly. "I want to know what that bitch was doing here," he snarled. "I swear to God, I'll slaughter that bitch when we face her on the battlefield. NO ONE threatens my mother like that."

Vegeta licked his teeth, not wanting to tell his children what that bitch had proposed to him. "She wanted me to join her and the Atlantians," he answered. It was the truth, just not the whole of it. He stood a little straighter, a commanding look coming over his face. "Trunks, Catherine, I want you to check the house. I don't know how long she was here. Make sure nothing seems off or out-of-place to you."

They both nodded at his words and headed off.

"Come here," Vegeta said softly to Bulma, going to the couch and pulling her gently into his lap. He tucked a piece of her hair behind her ear, his eyes studying her. "Are you alright?"

Bulma nodded, curling in on herself, wrapping her arms around his neck, shuddering at the feeling of that woman on her. She rubbed her cheek against Vegeta's. She felt sick on the inside, she wasn't stupid. After considering Fasha's words for a few moments, she figured out what the Saiyan really wanted. "If she touches you in that way, I'll cut off her arms and legs and shove them in places that the sun don't shine," she said fiercely before resting her lips on the mating mark on his neck. She shuddered. "How did she even get in here?" The answer occurred to her before the last word left her lips, "I'm going to kill my mother. Not that that bitch was going to take no for an answer though. Oh Vegeta, what if she comes back?"

He shook his head, cradling her to him, moving to cover her mark with his mouth, trying to soothe her. He rubbed her back, drinking in the secure feeling of her in his arms. He wasn't letting her out of his sight again. Not until this was all over. He was frightened. There was no doubt in his mind that Fasha would make good on her threats at the earliest opportunity. The war suddenly seemed even more dangerous to him than it had before. "You let me worry about that," he said softly in her ear. He rubbed her back, shifting her a bit to look at her. "Come on, let's get you a shower," he suggested.

Vegeta awoke the next morning, his head feeling heavy and foggy, almost as if he'd had far too much to drink the night before. But that didn't make sense. He hadn't been drinking at all. Still, he felt incredibly well rested. He stretched in bed, the sheets cool and comforting against his naked skin. Something was off, something wasn't right. He'd had on clothes when he went to bed, yet now he was naked. He could hear the shower running and could smell Bulma's bodywash, the door to the bathroom slightly open. He smirked, thinking maybe she'd managed to strip him before she went to the shower as an invitation for him to join her. He stretched again and groaned, rolling over, and jumped when he found himself face-to-face with Fasha. "What the hell?!" he roared, scrambling backwards from her naked form.

Fasha grinned, moving to trail a hand along her body, tweaking one of her nipples. Her tail flipped back and forth, the look on her face as if the cat got the canary. "Mmm. My Prince, you were wonderful last night." She flipped the covers off of him with a flick of her wrist, looking at his naked form, her eyes coming to rest on his crotch. "You certainly did not disappoint." She giggled and reached her tail out, teasingly touching his thigh. "I will bear a son in your name, I am sure of it. I do thank you for your seed, m'lord."

Vegeta backpedaled off the bed, grabbing the sheets to cover his nakedness. He felt sick, he felt like crying, he felt dirty. "You... you... disgusting, loathsome cunt!" he bellowed, his face going hot. "The hell did you do to me?!" He was seeing red, his vision blurry as his eyes burned. "I don't know what you're trying to accomplish, but it won't work. I would never willingly betray my mate! Are you proud of yourself? The only way you can get a man is by bewitching him? You're pathetic." He wanted to attack her, he wanted to KILL her. Oh, he felt like getting into the shower and absolutely scrubbing his skin right off. He could feel the bile rising in his throat as he looked at her. There wasn't a single thing about her that he found attractive. How could this have happened?

Fasha laughed, moving off the bed to stand over him, her hands unashamedly on her hips. "Oh ho ho. The defeated Prince is hurling insults at me. That's no way to speak to the mother of your child. What's the point of having magick if you can't use it?" She wiggled her fingers at him, purple sparks jumping from the tips. "Magick kept your mate asleep while you and I had some fun. You are quiet wild under my spell." She tilted her head as she heard the faucet turn off and Bulma calling out, asking Vegeta what he said. She scowled, "That bitch..." She snorted and looked down at Vegeta. "But since you fulfilled your end of the bargain, I won't harm a hair on her head." She puckered up and blew him a kiss. "See you around," she purred before she vanished.

Bulma opening the door to the bathroom, using a towel to rub at her hair, "What did you say Ve..." She froze when she saw him naked on the ground, looking horrified. "What happened?"

Vegeta was frozen to the spot, Fasha's words swirling through his head. He felt sick. He pushed himself to sit on his knees, grabbing his head, fisting his hands into his own hair. No. No, no, no, no, no! He could scream. His shoulders shook with his ragged breathing, trying to calm himself. He couldn't do it. "She did it," he managed to choke out. He looked up at Bulma, his beautiful mate, the woman he would lay down his life to protect. She was his everything. His reason for staying on this planet, for fighting to protect it over and over and over again. His eyes were pleading for her understanding, her forgiveness. "Fasha was here," he said, his voice raspy and quiet; he could hear the disbelief in his own words. "She cast some sort of spell over you and me. She said it kept you asleep while she... she... had her way with me." He cringed, not knowing what to expect from Bulma.

Bulma felt her face growing hot, angry tears prickling in her eyes. "She did what?! That's not... It's not possible!" She thought back over the night, everything she could remember. She and Vegeta had gone to sleep in each other's arms last night and they had woken the same way. She felt sick just imagining that disgusting woman using Vegeta like that. She looked at Vegeta, seeing the way he recoiled from her and she fell to her knees, crawling to him, taking his face into her hands. "No. No, you listen to me. It wasn't your fault. I'm not mad at you. I am beyond furious with her." She pulled away her hands, clenching so hard, her nails broke the skin and blood trickled from her palms. "How dare she?! How dare she come into my home and claim such an act took place!" She punched the floor. "You, don't you dare blame yourself for this. If I ever see her again, I am wringing her neck for touching you. For even daring to look at you." She reached out, covering the mark on his neck.

Vegeta felt relief at her words, the feel of her hand over his mark. "Bulma," he said thickly, "I would never betray you. You know that, right?" He heaved a sigh at her nod and squeezed his eyes shut, wanting to scream his rage at the situation. He couldn't remember a time when he'd ever felt so humiliated, so manipulated, so used. And that was saying a lot, considering his past. "She said she's certain she will bear a son... my... my son..." Oh, he could feel the bile rising in the back of his throat again. How was he supposed to face her in battle now? He was the prince of his people, a people who were so few in number as it was. Taking Fasha's life was one thing, but killing an unborn child just didn't set well with him. Especially a Saiyan child. "What do I do?" he whispered helplessly.

Bulma sent a curse after that woman, how she had struck her husband, her mate. She stood up and tugged on Vegeta's hand. "Get up," she said, pulling him into the bathroom with her, throwing her towel aside and stepped into the shower, turning it back on when he was in it. She picked up the bodywash and her scrub, lathering it in her hands until white foam was everywhere. She washed him and spoke, "You do what you have been training to do. If she comes to that battle pregnant, then she has no respect for the life she's just created. If she even is pregnant. She could have just done all this to make you this upset so she can gain the upper hand in battle." She rubbed hard at his chest, moving down to wash his legs. She stood up and squeezed more into her hands, lathering it up before she reached down and grasped his flaccid length, scrubbing as gently as she could. Her eyes blurry as she thought of that woman touching him, touching him here. Had she touched his mark? It made her sick

Vegeta nearly sobbed at his wife caring for him like this. He suddenly appreciated her in an entirely new way. He was so incredibly lucky to have her as a mate. No one could ever compare to her, could ever compete with her. He stood still, letting her wash him from head to toe. He still felt dirty. He turned and leaned his forehead against the shower wall as she carefully worked the shampoo into the fur of his tail. He didn't know what to think. He was going to have to figure this out before they entered battle with the Atlantians.

"Bulma," he said, still keeping his head pressed against the cold tile. "I don't want anyone else to know about this. Especially not our children. I don't want them to worry; I don't want them distracted in battle. I cannot let them see me as some weak fool who fell under the spell of that bitch. This is important to me. I need you to promise you won't say anything to anyone."

Bulma nodded. "I promise," she said, "And stop it. You are far from a weak fool." She grit her teeth, careful not to clench her hands tight while she was washing his tail. "That bitch," she said in an angry whisper, "making you doubt yourself. Sometimes I hate all this magick crap." She growled as she let her fingers slide through the soap slicked fur of his tail, massaging from the base to the tip, making sure to wash out the suds before she picked up the scrub again and worked on his back. She reached his hair and she grabbed the shampoo. "Vegeta, I know you. I know how loyal you are to me and that you would never do this of your own free will." The word rape flashed through her mind and it made her sick to think that someone had raped her husband. "You didn't. There is no way."

"Perhaps it didn't work," he muttered to himself, daring to hope. Surely one time wouldn't be enough to ensure a pregnancy, right? He mentally slapped himself. It only takes one time for it to happen. "She probably used some spell to make sure she did conceive. She disgusts me," he growled, clenching his fists at his sides. He needed to train, he needed to kill something. He wanted to kill Fasha. He reached out with his mind, searching for her energy, thinking of taking her by surprise and slaughtering her in the most gruesome and ruthless ways possible, but he couldn't sense her. Now that he was thinking about it, he couldn't sense any of their energies. Either they'd learned to suppress them or they were too far away to be felt. He tried to relax under Bulma's touch as she washed his hair, but he just couldn't. He was too tense, too angry. But he appreciated her efforts. "I'm lucky to have you," he said softly to her.

She nodded, grasping the shower head and using it to wash his hair free of the suds. "I'm so mad right now, I could spit fire if I tried really hard. Rip off her tail in battle so we can hang it over the mantle or burn it. I'm good either way," she said firmly as she finished washing him and turned him around, cupping his face in her hands. "You promise me something. Do not let this get to you. Do not let this hurt you in the battle. I do not want you to die because you were too distracted by this in the war." She growled, "If you die, I swear I'll go up there and kick your ass myself." She pulled him to her, wrapping her arms around him under the spray of the shower. She pulled back to kiss him fiercely, sliding her fingers into his slick strands of hair before she pulled back, resting her forehead against his. "Go train. I'm going to go...aggressively cook something."

Vegeta let his eyes fall closed, nodding weakly. He needed time to himself, time to think, to gather his thoughts, to plan how he was going to handle this should he come face to face with her in battle. A small smile pulled at his lips as he placed his hands on her hips, pressing his lips lightly to hers. "Make it something rare and bloody," he murmured. "And make a lot of it." Perhaps ripping his teeth through a deliciously rare steak would satisfy him in some small way.