Summary: Vegeta and Bulma have a date... of sorts.

After changing into more office-friendly shoes, Bulma rushed through the lobby of the soaring building where her practice was located on the eleventh floor. One of the beefy security guards who stopped in to chitchat with the front-desk staff swiftly helped the busy physician put on her white lab coat.

"Can't stay away, can you, doc?"

Bulma laughed. "I got ambushed today, Roman. No rest for the weary. How's the kid?"

"Doing a lot better with the new inhaler Doctor Nance prescribed! Thanks. When will you be back in the neighborhood? Anna and I still have a bowling shirt ready whenever you are."

Bulma held up her palms. "These hands are made for healing, not ten pins. Just make sure you have enough pierogi for me to eat when I come watch you score a 300."

"As much as you want," Roman said, confidently trundling out the door like an elephant. "We're all proud of you, doc." He nodded courteously at two well-dressed men leaving the elevator. The younger one appeared pleasant enough. The other, despite wearing a mask, didn't. The guard had witnessed a scene like that many times before. Poor guy probably felt like less of a man going to see the docs, he thought.

Vegeta observed the door's frosted-glass paneling and cursive lettering. "Trunks, did I tell you that Tarble is considering the purchase of this building and two others?"

"Don't do that with me." Feeling uneasy, Trunks blocked his father's entry. "'Did I tell you?' the man asks. Come now. Maybe seeing Doctor Brief isn't such a good idea."

"Don't look at me like that," Vegeta said. "I didn't know until I saw the address. It's not like I can tell the woman anyway. The news hasn't been made public."

"Clearly."

"Good tenants are reliable tenants, Trunks. I doubt that he'll want to kick everyone out of here for a complete overhaul and then raise the rent."

"Remember, dad, we live on planet Earth. This is your brother we're talking about - or did T.R. suddenly receive spiritual salvation?"

"I'm telling you this early to keep you informed - mostly because you look way too much like your mother when you're irritated with me. Don't make me regret my action, as the board meets next week and you're expected to participate. I'll text you when we're done here. Go find something to do."

"But I want -"

Vegeta looked intently at Trunks, pulling him aside. "It… seems like your grandfather's death is hitting all of us harder these days. See what that door says? Nothing about oncology, neurology or cardiology."

"OK." Trunks' lips folded as Vegeta's hand reached behind his neck, holding it firmly - and lovingly. The grief the young man felt over their mutual loss resurfaced. "I know, dad. You know, it's just with you and mom, I just I want you to be happy. Papa wanted that for you too. He really did."

"And like I told my father before he died - when he held on to me as I'm doing with you now - I will be OK. Rub your victory in my face with more passion, boy. You got me here."

Father and son slapped the back of each other's heads before parting ways. A towering brunette with long legs and silky green eyes passed by, smiling at them. Her regal, admiring gaze lingered on Trunks long enough to capture the men's attention. Vegeta's thick black eyebrow peaked with interest as his son's posture straightened like a military cadet. He politely suppressed his laughter, sauntering into the doctor's office while Trunks eagerly trotted away to hold the elevator open.

After meeting with another doctor and reviewing the results of several assessments, Bulma entered Vegeta's examination room more than two hours later. His sleeves were rolled up, with horizontal rows of pinkish welts from allergy tests dotting one forearm. Bulma expected him to be pensive, given their forthcoming discussion. Vegeta was standing by the window, watching sidewalk dwellers below. She walked beside him. Oftentimes when faced with bad news, she let her patients address her first.

"Don't worry, doc," he said, as if Bulma needed more assurance than him. "Like you told me earlier, better to get ahead of the problem."

"Yep, it is," Bulma replied, reviewing his medical chart. "There's no way you haven't had breathing difficulties at night. You must be exhausted."

Vegeta smirked. "Mostly when I have nightmares about my divorce."

"Mr. Regele, I asked you…"

"To take this seriously - yes," Vegeta interrupted, returning to the examination table. "I know how to calculate the odds well. If I follow the right treatment plan to the letter, then I can continue to have a full and rewarding life. But there's always a chance of -"

"There's always a chance you could get hit by a truck also," Bulma said, turning on the X-ray viewer. "I bet you're a maddening jaywalker too."

"Guilty as charged." Vegeta contemplated this. Bulma definitely had a talent for reading him. "In this case, I made a promise to my boy that I would be OK. I intend to keep that oath."

"How does a man of twenty-seven feel about being called a boy?"

"I don't do it often. As you found out, I like to irritate people when they try to stick it to me. Trunks and I practice on each other like, um, jousting partners. The rest of the story is… he'll always be my boy."

Vegeta's unusual and highly personal moment of candor confirmed to Bulma that his divorce, though stressful, wasn't the only burden he carried. She then remembered Goku telling her about the death of the businessman's father. The story about her dad must have made more of an impact. Being a divorcee, Bulma also understood feeling emotionally unmoored. Not everyone goes through it, but illness can be the result when the pressure becomes too much. But Bulma also realized this proud man wasn't in a position to admit that, and it wasn't her business. She'd already spoken enough about her personal life.

"Our pulmonologist and allergist have shared their combined treatment plan for you with me. Luckily, I have two friends who run a practice like mine in Toronto. They're diligent professionals, and the office is well-managed. We can send your electronic records there so you can follow up with them regularly, but you're welcome to seek out other health-care providers, of course."

"I want to maintain my treatment primarily in one place - right here. I plan to see my son more often and can arrange checkups before arriving."

"Mr. Regele, with the city's climate being so severe this month, I highly suggest wrapping up your business here soon, getting back to Toronto and taking a break so you can adjust to your treatment. I also recommend that you use a medical practice in your hometown."

"The one you recommended will be my backup," Vegeta said, quickly peering at his watch. "My primary-care physician's office back home is also standing by to receive my records. Anything else?"

"Well, it seems like you have all the answers," Bulma replied. "I'll leave your care in my colleagues' expert hands here. You won't need to see me regularly - or, actually, not at all."

"That's unfortunate, Doctor Brief, because I would like to."

Bulma's back was to Vegeta when he made what sounded like a non-work-related request to see her again. Was he asking her out on a date? After her heart nervously skipped a beat, the recognizable prickly feeling in her nostrils re-emerged. Her right arm rose, covering her face as she tried to stifle her sneezing. She didn't feel ill, but maybe Goku was right. Maybe she just exposed a potentially vulnerable patient. Damn it to hell.

Vegeta found Bulma's frustrated reaction rather... attractive. "If I were a less confident person, I would think that you're allergic to me."

"I'm not worried about myself, Mr. Regele," she replied, putting on a surgical mask. "If I have a cold, I don't want to put you or anyone else at further risk. The medications we started you on today are relieving your symptoms, fortunately, but your immune system has been in overdrive for a while, so until we get you back to baseline -"

"I'll be more at risk for secondary infections," Vegeta said. "I'm a quick study." Noticing Bulma's discomfort, he retrieved his suit jacket to leave. She might have thought he was trying to throw his weight around, which he wasn't, or maybe disrespecting her position.

Bulma opened the door, exiting first. "Regarding your other comment, I've never dated a patient and don't plan to start now. I suspect that having someone show care with no strings attached - in the craziest way possible - may have prompted your request. Your true appreciation should go to my friend Goku instead. Take care of yourself and him, Mr. Regele."

Vegeta threw his jacket over his shoulder as the door shut behind her. His phone's screen had a blizzard of texts and emails from various contacts, to which he paid no mind.

"Hey, it's dad. Yeah, we're all done here. Let's grab that food and eat in my suite. Your… new assistant general manager can wrap up business for the day, yes? Don't sound so excited, Trunks. Show some restraint. Goku better live up to that title, you hear me?"

As the months passed, Vegeta attended his in-town checkups faithfully. Bulma monitored his progress from a distance, reviewing his medical records periodically, but never made contact. She stayed busy with other patients, surgeries or administrative work during these visits, and Vegeta made no attempt to seek her out. Still, she did take more notice when his name appeared in the news, especially when a report surfaced that his brother considered buying the building where her office was located. She also learned that Vegeta, and now Trunks, served on that private company's board of directors.

The thought of moving locations, even temporarily, made her queasy. Asking either Vegeta or Trunks directly about the tenants' fate was unthinkable, and the building's current owner hadn't said much. Bulma decided not to wait around, though, setting out to find new real estate regardless of the outcome. Stress was building up, and she needed relief. Time to call in reinforcements.

"When are you off duty, Mr. Thurston?"

"I work normal work days this week, Bulma."

"That's not answering my question. You're next in line to boss junior. Can't you take off a little early for happy hour? It runs from four to seven, hmm?"

"How long has it been since you've been laid, kitten?"

"None of your fucking business, Goku! Fine, I'll just go somewhere else. Don't bother calling me for a while."

Goku stuck a finger in his ear to shake off the ringing in it. "Sorry, not sorry. Be here at half past four. I'll make the first round of drinks, and keep your gold Amex card in your purse. Trunks said a while ago that you don't pay - always and forever."

Bulma smiled. "I would have been there months ago had you told me that."

"Exactly," Goku replied. "I took my time. Your mouth gets you into trouble when you drink sometimes."

"You don't have a problem when it's convenient for you," Bulma shot back.

"I love you," he replied, blowing a noisy kiss. "Be here on time."

"Wait, wait, wait. Is Regele in town?"

"Not that I'm aware of. He usually notifies us at least a week before coming. I would think you would know since he always visits your office. Why?"

"He asked me out a long time ago. I didn't accept."

"So you're hiding? Oh come on, Bulma! So that explains why he never mentions you after his checkups."

"I'm not hiding, Goku."

"Sounds like it to me."

Bulma shook out her hair. "He shouldn't have asked me out at all. I was treating him. It was inappropriate. I wonder how many other women in important positions he does that with."

Goku sighed. "Bulma, listen to me. Fine, you had every right to reject him, but the man is actually shy around ladies. If he asked you out, then that's a big deal. I've worked in this business a while. Wealthy guys are in here all the time chasing women - or the ladies are swarming them. When Mr. V does eat at the restaurant, it's far away from the bar. I've seen women approach him. They always leave disappointed."

"Goku, you can stop with the sales pitch. Your job is safe now."

"I'm just telling you this to set the record straight, my friend. Mr. V isn't the easiest person to deal with because his standards for excellence are high - like yours."

Bulma picked up her coat. "Try to put a little less faith in people so they don't disappoint you as much. Remember, your sainted Mr. V wanted your severed head on a platter not too long ago."

Goku hid the disappointment he felt about Bulma's cynicism, but she was entitled to her feelings. "I live by my code. You live by yours, hon."

This October day had been especially lovely. Leaving before sunset put Bulma in a better mood, so much so that she decided to walk a little before hailing a cab. She looked amazing, dressed in an all-black sleek single-breasted coat, which stopped a smidgen below her knees. Her hair bounced with a new haircut, with one side longer than the other. Lips sparkled with gloss. Her black boots were to die for, evidenced by the envious stares she received after arriving at Sadala's front door, where Goku was chatting with a doorman.

"Where's boss junior?" she asked.

Goku held her hand as they strolled across the lobby. "Trunks is off for a few days. He texted to check in, which he shouldn't have. Says he's sorry he missed you. Did you bring an umbrella, by the way?"

"Yeah. I heard about the rain. TV weatherman says it will be light tonight."

"So what will it be, doctor? Martini, cosmopolitan, gin and tonic, or an old fashioned?"

"Old fashioned, please."

"That's a great fall cocktail! I think I'll make two for myself too."

Goku and Bulma caught up, entertaining other barflies with jokes and gossip through their boozy drinks, and losing track of time.

By seven p.m., two men were positioned on opposite ends of Sadala's front desk to speak with attendants. The one on the right stood at six feet, wearing a fedora hat and slim-fit black overcoat. His leather shoes shined brighter than brass. The shorter man on the left had on a vintage peacoat and handsome turtleneck that accentuated his eye-catching chest.

"Nice coat you got there, fella."

A listless Vegeta didn't look up until Eloise touched his shoulder. He thought the guy was speaking to someone else. He certainly hadn't done anything to attract this man's attention.

"I think the gentleman over there is talking to you," Eloise whispered.

"Oh, uh, thanks," Vegeta replied. "Thanks… fella." Gentleman. Right. Asshole was his true thought. Usually "little" preceded fella, and Vegeta could smell testosterone-fueled condescension eight-hundred miles away.

Earlier, Vegeta made the mistake of removing his mask in the car that retrieved him from the airport. He was also angry with himself for catching a cold that didn't begin its most devastating physical rampage until he stepped on the private jet to Chicago. This trip would be short - no longer than three days - to discuss a tantalizing new business opportunity. He usually sent other executives on such fact-finding missions, but sometimes he enjoyed surprising those seeking his company's attention.

"Don't get too close, Eloise," he warned. "It's the real deal this time. I caught a bug."

"Oh you sound terrible, Mr V. This is different. At least let me send tea and cough medicine to your suite. Does Trunks know you're visiting?"

"Just have room service bring the tea to his office," Vegeta replied. "No medicine. I have some work to finish - and, no, Trunks doesn't know. He's vacationing, and I want him to enjoy it without bothering me. No more questions."

"Yes, sir," Eloise said. "I apologize -"

After finding his key card to unlock the door, Vegeta handed her a wax-sealed envelope. "Apology unnecessary."

"What's this?" Eloise asked.

"Order ginger tea with lemon and honey," he replied, closing the door.

Eloise opened the envelope, finding a one-thousand-dollar check attached to a note that said: "I heard you completed your associate's degree not long ago. If you tell my son or Goku I gave you this, you're fired." Tears brimmed in the grateful woman's eyes as she dialed room service. She also considered informing Goku about Vegeta's arrival but decided not to, assured that the big boss would make his presence known before retiring for the evening, which she hoped would be soon.

The fedora-clad man knew the hotel well enough to access a back-hallway entrance to the restaurant. He stopped by to see his baby brother, only to spot his ex-wife yakking at the bar. Bulma's appearance dazzled as always, but their reunion would likely be awkward. Neither had seen each other since the final days of their divorce, and Bulma had stopped taking Raditz's calls. He found a table in a corner partially shielded by velvet curtains, where he sat, drank too much and watched. He tried not to resent his brother for staying close to Bulma, but high-quality friendships were hard to come by, and their ties to the working-class neighborhood where they all grew up ran deep.

Goku murmured something in Bulma's ear, bringing about a hug and kiss. Raditz knew then that his brother was leaving. The texts he sent asking Goku to meet him at the cigar bar across town worked. By then, Raditz had also stopped caring about the drinks that his waitress later said he downed like spring water.

You always knew how to put yourself together well, kitten. Surely, you didn't pick that outfit for my brother.

Though Bulma didn't seem drunk, Raditz hoped that she was tipsy. Maybe it would be easier to communicate with her that way, like it was for Goku. He followed his ex-wife out of the restaurant, observing her pass the front desk and proceed to the end of a long hallway. Now was the best chance to seize her attention before she took a black car home.

Vegeta's strict regimen to stay healthy had shown good results thus far. He was exercising differently, lifting weights, using an inhaler when necessary, eating cleaner and trying to get more sleep. The past month, however, had been difficult because reported its first financial loss in eight years, sending the company's share price down on the New York Stock Exchange. Three-to-four hours of sleep every night couldn't continue, though, especially while traveling all over the world, giving news interviews and making deals to keep the company on track - and something was still missing from his life. The chilly air, both in Toronto and Chicago, wasn't doing him any favors this month either.

Where is my fucking inhaler? Shit. One more thing I have to deal with.

"Yes, Anton. No, Anton! Please, if you say 'I told you so' one more time, I'm asking security to throw you out for good. No one will miss you either. My cough sounds worse than it is. Stop nagging. Tell that PR firm I'm not taking any more reporters' calls for at least a week. I actually do have work to accomplish. Also, contact Grand's Pharmacy here to deliver two inhalers tonight. It seems that I have lost mine."

Vegeta vowed to never hold another employee's snotty baby again just to be respectful - not without a mask and gloves. Whatever plague that kid passed to him started to feel worse than a routine cold. He also had not expected his otherwise manageable case of asthma to be aggravated anywhere close to this. He finally accepted that it was time to throw in the towel and relax. After locking down the office, he dragged his exhausted body down the hallway to the hotel-suite elevators. The ladies' restrooms were on the opposite end.

Though the lights in that area were dimmed for ambiance, Vegeta's business brain wondered if that policy should be changed for safety reasons. Maybe the decision was partly fever-driven, but his intuition steered him toward the other end. A man's body bestrode a nook not far from the restrooms. Vegeta recognized the guy instantly - and the woman arguing with him. Neither had raised voices, but the bobcat ferocity in Bulma's eyes was plain. This scoundrel had her cornered.

Tell me what's on your mind (about the story and its characters) in the comments! Hope you're having fun.