From last chapter: Bulma and Launch attempted to reconcile after their huge argument. Afterward, Vegeta and Bulma shared some steamy moments at the office. His mood has changed by the time he visits her penthouse later that evening.

Vegeta released Bulma's hand, giving her the key he found during their hide-and-seek game. She closed the door, looking back at him. Rather than say more, she walked behind the kitchen island, removing a tall bottle of sparkling water.

"Does… my behavior seem strange to you right now?" he asked with a strange, detached tone.

"I'm not judging you right now, Vegeta, given how our phone chat went before you arrived."

"I can count on one hand of all the times I asked anyone what they thought of me, Bulma, even when I somewhat cared to know. That goes back to my childhood. I defend myself when I'm pushed to it - always. I have never expected much understanding, and you know that everyone judges. I'm essentially asking what you think of me here, in this moment."

Bulma handed her glass over for him to finish, paying attention to eyes again. Vegeta didn't continue to shield his reaction beyond his sometimes capricious wall of inscrutability. That was the least he could do. He asked a simple question that on its face was clearly more complex.

"Strange, no," she replied. "Concerning, yes, but I'm learning to roll with these situations for the most part. None of that will change my honesty or criticism when believe certain things should be said, even when you pigheadedly don't want to hear either. If won't to listen to anyone else, then why not me?"

"You do realize you how much control you've had from the day I accepted your invitation to live with your family."

Bulma didn't answer at first. This man could detonate half a planet with his pinky finger. Her mind processed all of their interactions like a calculus equation.

"You had nowhere else to go."

"And you wanted to keep an eye on me."

"Of course, but you knew that from the start too. I'm confused, Vegeta. Dad and I weren't exactly hiding anything. That said, you are… free to leave at any time. Sounds like you're contemplating it. Am I right?"

She wasn't trying to be cold-hearted, but each night they slept together, hugged, kissed and held each other close she rejected the illusion of certainty between them. Now Vegeta was struggling with their intimacy. There was no doubt about it. She purposely looked away from the consequences because of how much pleasure she had with him. Her original concern had come to fruition. He was so very, very strong, and yet…

Vegeta crumpled a newspaper in his hand. "I never stopped contemplating leaving, but being here gets me as close as possible to what I want. When I left your office today, having enjoyed myself more than I thought was capable in a different way, I suddenly felt nothing - just nothing at all."

Bulma retrieved the glass, pouring more water. "Maybe it's anger…or pain," she said cautiously. She wouldn't touch the word "fear." He would likely shut down at the mere suggestion.

"Am I hearing you correctly?" Vegeta scoffed. "I rarely have problems showing anger. What are you talking about?"

"You numb yourself against true sources of your anger."

Vegeta didn't know what to make of her comment. He defined "numbing" differently. For his entire life, he boldly took each blow from adversaries, absorbing the searing pain, learning from it, and even insolently laughing at it no matter how afraid or broken he felt. To numb meant denying oneself the potential for a triumphant victory or sweet revenge. To numb meant accepting cowardice - and a loss of confidence. He drowned in his blood rooting for Goku to crush Frieza - because he couldn't himself - to avenge their race. But, in that moment, he had been rendered impotent. He raged against that reality.

Pain was transformative and essential. He grew stronger each time he was near death. Separating himself from that euphoria, no matter how destructive others perceived it to be, might be a worse fate.

And then came Bulma with her sassiness, beauty, smarts, and freedom. She was imperfect, like him, but was also the most interesting woman he'd ever encountered and… so natural. Seeing her tied up in bondage during their rendezvous confirmed all that and more. She trusted him to assist, watch patiently, and safeguard her, which he did. He obeyed when she asked him not to touch her during these moments, or follow her lead when she wanted him to. He could hold her in his arms afterward, listening to the sound of her breathing, without desiring more. She was no submissive in this partnership by any means.

Those encounters penetrated the mantle of his inner self. He wanted to submit to her, again and again. He was there now for this reason. This desire collided with his fractured identities and how he wanted to envision himself.

"I'm not angry with you," he murmured.

"Excuse me?" Bulma winked, playfully nudging a guarded, inquisitive smirk out of him. "I didn't include myself in that calculation, you jerk."

She was too good at doing that, he thought. He touched her face, shutting his eyes to think and appreciating her warmth. Bulma's gloved palm settled over his, intuitively feeling the leaden weight on his spirit but not allowing herself to be shaken by it. She couldn't let him sit with this burden alone.

Vegeta kissed her temple, moving to her lips. "I guess I put words in your mouth this time."

Bulma didn't want to end their cuddle, but it was time to move on. She touched his shoulder, moving a few steps back. "What do you want to know?"

"Everything I said before arriving here is muddled," Vegeta said with resignation. "I thought I knew."

"All right." Bulma led him to the sofa, inviting him to sit. "I understand. As I said when you came in, I know it's hard for you. Are you willing to let me help?"

With downcast eyes, Vegeta nodded silently.

"You said, 'I want to surrender.' Can you… tell me what that means for you?"

"I told you I don't know, Bulma!" Vegeta replied sullenly. "You can't tell me you do completely either. No matter how many times we share a bed together - no matter how much we pleasure each other - I see locked doors, even dream about them sometimes."

"So you feel trapped then," Bulma said, softening her voice. "What do those doors look like? Are you able to describe them with me?"

Vegeta's breathing relaxed as she stroked his head. She felt determined to keep his mind present with her. Once he retreated inside of himself, almost all attempts to break through those multilayered padlocks could be beyond exhausting. Bulma knew when to retreat, despite their growing closeness. Her patience - or the lack thereof - and sanity depended on her ability to withdraw too.

Vegeta's visions moved between two sets of doors, both tall and imposing. One bore a highly crafted engraving of the dark red Saiyan royal family's crest embossed with gold. The second door, awash in violet, white, and fuchsia, was a mind-altering phantasmagoria leading into one of Frieza's residences on a secluded planet. Whatever boyhood remained in Vegeta - even as a formidable fighter from a warrior culture - had been stripped mercilessly from him at that terrible place, scorching his soul. Frieza didn't engage in the abuse. He just watched from another room, drinking his wine and maybe raising an eyebrow during "that little monkey's freak show."

"Vegeta, can you still hear me?"

"Yes," he said breathlessly, bending over his knees. "One…one led to the main chamber at my father's palace. The other led to Frieza's great hall, where he…he… I can't say. I can't remember. I can't remember now."

His behavior confirmed Bulma's worst fears about his past. She had to be tender and vigilant, and trust he wouldn't hurt himself, which could take on any number of forms. Yet, despite the abuse he suffered without his consent, he was still able to open himself to someone sexually and emotionally on a deeper level. That alone was triumph he needed someone to validate, she thought.

Vegeta tried to collect himself, hoping to pull the internal mask over his soul that swung wide open with Bulma's simple questions. "I shouldn't have come or said anything. I'm leaving."

"You've made me… very happy," Bulma said as he headed for the front door. "If we don't ever sleep together again, please carry that with you. But even more important, you already allowed yourself to surrender to a degree - and freed yourself in a way. That's just as brave as any physical fight, I think."

"If you say so." Vegeta laid his head against the door, holding the knob. "Beliefs are perceptions that can be dangerously wrong sometimes, Dr. Brief."

He looked back, savoring her radiance in the moonlight. Then he left.

Watching him depart like this hurt. Bulma removed her gloves, sat down and cried - not for herself, but for him.

Vegeta's lithe frame broke through a few humble little clouds above the Briefs' property, dispersing them into twirled, misty lines. His landing ended up being more graceful than the descent from the sky, which normally would have irritated him, being the perfectionist that he was. Though it was late and he felt mentally tired after leaving Bulma's penthouse, he needed an outlet. Exercising all night might be required until the acidic buzz in his chest subsided and he could breathe normally again. He entered the carriage house for workout clothes and shoes, quickly changing into them. Grateful to inhale more night air, he chose to trudge through the property's lowlands for a while first. He stayed out for almost two hours, in the dark, listening to wildlife as if he were one of their lot. Maybe he was.

Slumber sounded more appealing as he left the area, frustrating him. During his prior life under Frieza, there were times when he didn't sleep for days after landing on planets or while engaged in battles. Yes, he enjoyed the luxuries of naps and occasionally sleeping-in late now, but only with the knowledge that he could forfeit them for as long as required to accomplish his goals. Thus, in his estimation, he could afford not to sleep now, overlooking how being outside had calmed him already.

The stables were on the path back to his destination. He didn't care for spending much time there to avoid attracting much attention from anyone, but Panchy's horse Candy held his attention. Other horses usually retreated farther into their stalls whenever he observed them, but she never did. The creature reminded him of Bulma in some ways. She always nickered a friendly greeting, inviting him to approach almost flirtatiously. None of her compatriots appeared to be awake when he entered the stables, though he assumed that some were, and she barely acknowledged him from afar. Horses were generally quiet animals, but this subdued reaction didn't seem right.

"Bulma's mother would spit fire if I ignored whatever this is," he griped. "Don't they have monitors to check these beasts at night? I can't have a moment's peace."

He picked up a lamp, dimming it while walking to Candy's location. Her head hung lower, but she still eyeballed Vegeta as she typically did, remaining silent. He listened closely to her breathing, which sounded rapid, but fear of him wasn't causing it. Her runny eyes drooped, and she was sweaty. Against his better judgement he warily entered the stall as Candy stumbled back to make more room. He stood on the horse's right side, touching her shoulder and neck, confirming what he had already suspected. He sighed, leaving his steady hand in place because the animal appeared to be calmer.

"Maybe it's your illness that makes you even more trusting of me than usual. Not the wisest response. Why you act differently with me, unlike the others, I don't know." He recognized the metaphor that defined his relationship with Bulma, in his dreary view, and then ignored the feelings arising from it.

He and Candy exchanged wary glances as the light crackle of footsteps approached.

"Who's in there?" a woman said softly. "I see a light. Is something wrong?"

Bulma entered wearing a crimson full-length hooded cape, beautifully accented by her black high boots and gloves. She was a striking vision in that ensemble, nearly taking Vegeta's breath away.

He raised a finger to his lips. "There are other sleeping beasts in here, woman, or did you forget?"

"Since when did you become an eager animal lover?" Bulma whispered, walking next to him. "Actually, don't answer that. What happened?"

Vegeta moved back, allowing her to take the lead. "The horse is unwell. She's obviously lethargic and feels feverish, from what I can tell."

Bulma stroked Candy's neck. "It's all right, my darling. We're going to help you feel better. This grumpy guy must really like you. You think he should get a medal for chivalry?"

"Must you really do that in front of me?" Vegeta complained, abruptly leaving the stall. "It's not like she can understand that babying drivel or your rude mockery of my assistance."

"Don't worry," Bulma said, looking over at him. "I didn't come here to harass you after our talk at the penthouse. I like to visit the horses alone to think sometimes. They're very soothing to be around."

"It's rather late to travel from downtown for a trip to the zoo."

Bulma glanced at her boots, hiding an elf-like grin. "Hn."

"You're wasting time," Vegeta said frostily, "and mimicking me is tactless. Go wake your mother."

Bulma pushed her hood back, shaking her hair out. "Are you holding up OK?"

"I didn't come here to think if that's what you're suggesting. I'm fine. I will stay until you return. Go on."

"Thank you."

By reflex, Bulma moved to touch his forearm - to re-emphasize her gratitude - but then stopped herself. Vegeta replied with firm nod. She removed her phone, calling a veterinarian as she exited.

He wished he could say how stunning she looked, among other things, but other concerns took precedence. He re-entered the stall as Candy slowly lapped water. She responded to him with another sweet, soft whinny as he poured more for her.

"I wonder how long you've hidden your pain. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised since your kind are preyed upon by other creatures. You have served your masters well, and from what I sense, you will die in peace soon. We Saiyans don't cry over our dead. We respect their strength in the face of adversity."

Many of them didn't shed tears, but others had - including him.

Bulma, wearing a black catsuit, put on plasma safety goggles and headphones. Her jet-propulsion shoes buzzed with eagerness. An over-the-shoulder vest crisscrossed her chest and back. Non-lethal laser guns were strapped on both hips. Her father and a robotic attendant, who watched from a nearby observation room in this Capsule Corporation warehouse, waited for a thumbs-up to begin the target practice.

"Are you ready, Dr. Brief?"

"Yes, Charlie!" Bulma said, beaming with anticipation. "Let her rip!"

With pursed lips and furrowed eyebrows, she glided around obstacles with veiled weaponry and other mechanical aggressors. All were programmed to aim for the targets on her chest and back, where the worst damage could be sustained during combat. Her father spoke into a microphone, directing her through parts of the sequence but tried not to overdo it. Bulma's established shooting skills provided more of an advantage than many others would have.

"Center stage, kid."

"I got it." Bulma's arms stretched, taking out laser spinners on both sides. "That was a little too easy."

"Overconfidence can get your ass kicked too, young lady, but I suppose you could be correct," Dr. Brief replied, lighting a cigarette. Bulma was correct, but why give her too much credit? All experimental training had value.

"How's mom?"

"Doing all better. Traveling with me after Candy's death lifted her spirits. Curtain raise!"

Bulma jetted higher to avoid a collision. "Good. Glad to hear it."

"You seen the Saiyan lately?"

"Not now, dad!" Bulma hollered. "Damn it! See what you did? That beam swept over my chest!"

"My goodness!" Dr. Brief chuckled. "Hearing Vegeta's name is it all takes to get almost fake 'killed' in training game? Anything I should know about? It would be nice if you came home more often to gossip."

Bulma landed with a thud, mildly shaking her father's eardrum. "You're the one working with him this month. I see all the reports."

Annoyed, Dr. Brief tugged at his ear. "Let's get started again, daughter. Work harder. Remember what happened with that Captain Ginyu thug during your trip to Namek - and that frog?"

"Dad!" Bulma slapped her forehead. "Hush up!"

Dr. Brief's gnarled fingers jiggled over the control panel. "Sequence three, sweetheart?"

"Whatever, dad. Just don't throw me off this time!"

Bulma hopped on top of a large tractor-trailer as virtual troopers chased with weapons. Closer and faster shots grazed by her, but still she managed to make some impressive hits.

"What is this?" she exclaimed, laughing. "This feels like the first sequence dad! Vegeta would give us so much shit for playing it easy."

Dr. Brief smiled, slamming a button to open an underground chamber. "Well, at least you got that one thing right."

"Indeed, she did."

"Shit!" Bulma spun around, aiming her guns. "What do you think you're doing?!"

Vegeta smirked, surveying the laser dots' pathways to his chest. "If this is some kind of imitation of my abilities, I can't say I'm flattered by the result."

Dr. Brief chortled at his daughter's shock, clapping his hands. "Vegeta, you have my full permission to fine tune these sequences to help her improve!"

"The hell with you both!" Bulma shouted, throwing down her goggles. She had to draw a line somewhere with this behavior. "I have other things to do!"

"Wait, honey," Dr. Brief pleaded. "I'm coming in. Don't go off in a huff. I was just having a little fun."

"Don't bother, daddy. Love you much, but I'm outta here. I'll call mom later." Feeling Vegeta's approaching hand, she jumped aside. "And don't you dare touch me! I can't believe you joined in this immature behavior with him!"

"It took your father a while to convince me," Vegeta replied calmly. "I expected this overwrought reaction from you. I can, however, help refine the sequences for a better experience that matches your skills."

"Ugh!" Bulma thundered out of the room madly waving her arms. "I'm so done! I built a revolutionary machine for this man, but he has the nerve to patronize me!"

Dr. Brief sauntered from the observation chamber, waving at her. "Come in here this instant, young lady, and stop all of this drama!"

"I said what I needed to say, daddy."

"Why are you so angry? You and Vegeta have come hard with teasing before. You usually had some great comebacks."

"I would call those infuriating, pull-my-hair-out arguments," she replied, taking a coffee cup from him. "You still need him here - and neither of us should antagonize each other."

"Just me?" Dr. Brief returned to his seat, relighting his cigarette. "We're in this together, kid."

"Oh please. I can't do this with you too. Mom is bad enough."

"I suggest you resolve the problem, whatever it is. You've had a great influence on Vegeta - amazing, really. I can also tell he misses seeing more of you."

Bulma exhaled. "He's fine. How many times do I have to say this? It's not my responsibility -"

"The hell it isn't, Bulma!" Dr. Brief said sharply. "Duty is duty - you got me? You started this. Despite Vegeta's more irritating moments, everything we learn from him can help others. I also see that he's still in the drill-training room. Go talk with him. Do it for me, honey."

"You're not being fair by asking me like that."

Dr. Brief reached to hug her. "Nope, I'm not, and I'm leaving too. See you for dinner at our home?"

"Sure, daddy," Bulma said, kissing both cheeks. "I'll do that for you too."

Her hand rested on the training room's door. She and Vegeta had given each other a lot of space, with him needing it more, she believed. Her strong response to seeing him and being teased definitely felt unnerving. He was hovering near one of the ceiling's laser simulators, thumping on it as she entered.

Bulma's jaw clenched at the sight.

"Can you please not do that? You have your own endless batches of equipment to destroy at home."

Vegeta landed, appearing slightly perturbed. "How come you've never said anything - like absolutely nothing - about this place since I've been on Earth?"

Bulma's eyes rolled. "I'm here because my father sent me back to talk - about what, I have no idea."

"He needn't have. I was on my way out anyway."

"You know, Vegeta, you could have crafted an original excuse to give me misery in person. I never thought you were the type to use an intermediary."

Vegeta turned, clenching his fists. "I'm not, until I met you."

"I'm so sorry." Bulma touched her lips, looking down. "I'm so sorry, Vegeta. I'll claim this. I started it."

"You will claim nothing!" Vegeta retorted, stomping in front of her. "You don't get the indulgence of martyrdom, woman, because I'm sure as hell not your victim or anyone else's! Understand me?!"

"Understood, Prince Vegeta," Bulma said with a sad smile. "Understood."

"Save that depressing look for someone else." Vegeta covered his reddened face, breathing deeply to calm down. "It won't work on me."

"This is out of your system now," Bulma replied. "Now we can resume our official duties as project collaborators."

"Just listen." Vegeta held her wrist, carefully bringing her closer. "I…I know… you've never meant any harm, Bulma. If you'll still have me, I want to finish what we started that night at the penthouse."

"All right," she said, patting his chest as they left together. "All right, Vegeta."

"I also have another request."

"Well this is your role play," Bulma replied with a curious glance, "but let's wait until we're at the penthouse to discuss much more. What is it?"

"Share what you do with that little box in your toy cabinet... with me."

"Uh." Bulma blinked, swallowing hard as Vegeta's piercing eyes locked with hers. "Um."

He hadn't forgotten, and he meant every single word.