Thank you to everyone who continues to read and give feedback on this story! I know I am not always consistent with updating, but I am always working on it whenever I can. I hope you enjoy this chapter, and the next one should be out before too long!

I also wanted to point out that I fixed up Chapter 28 a little. I wanted to update it to correct a few grammatical errors, and add a few details to make the story flow better. That chapter got a lot of positive responses (which I loved, by the way), so feel free to re-read it if you'd like!

Also, I don't think I mentioned it yet but I wanted to say that back in October I was nominated for "The Prince and the Heiress Annual Awards"! October was a really hard month for me, and being told this definitely cheered me up a lot. I don't think I won, but that doesn't matter because it's such an honor that one of you nominated me at all. I know you are supposed to keep yourself anonymous; but to whoever it was that did this, I just hope you know how much it means to me and how much I really appreciate that!

And now, on to the story... Enjoy! Happy Friday!

A thick line of blood was slowly oozing from the side of Vegeta's mouth. He was out of breath, his body spent. He didn't always train with such high gravity. Sure - he would increase it during his workouts, but he'd decided long ago that gravity wasn't everything when it came to training. In the same way that fighting as an Ascended Saiyan had its disadvantages; so did training with gravity so high. It had taken trial and error, but the saiyan prince had come to realize that strength was just as much of a mental trait as it was physical. Gravity hadn't been the key that had allowed him to achieve Super Saiyan, and it hadn't been the factor that had enabled him to ascend from there either. No, he'd realized that Gravity was simply a tool to accelerate exertion, and that was what he needed in that moment.

He was pissed, and working himself until every ounce of energy was depleted was what allowed him to forget.

Today he had opted to set the machine to level 500, and he'd programmed his battle bot to run at full capacity along with it. Frankly, this workout was kicking his ass. But that had been the goal, and he was enjoying every minute of it. The saiyan prince let out a growl and charged up, his veins popping as his hair shot into a bright blonde hue. Nostrils flaring as he wiped the blood from his chin. Vegeta reveled in the resistance that his body struggled with as he fought to keep his posture. His quads pulsating as the room pressed hard against him. There was a stabbing pain that throbbed in his lower left rib, and he could hear the hum of the bot behind him as it readied for another shot.

A smirk crossed his face. This was kicking his ass indeed. He would never admit how much has rib was hurting, and he let out a husky laugh when he pressed his hand again the wound.

This was turning out to be just what he needed.

..

She could hear shouting coming from outside. Bulma was standing by the window, peeking out from Vegeta's beloved red drapes. In the street was a mob of reporters and paparazzi, calling questions and remarks at the house as camera shutters went off relentlessly. Lights flashed as pictures were taken, and she stepped back from the window to mutter a curse under her breath. The media sure had gotten more extreme since she had been younger. What were they even getting pictures of at this point, anyway? She hadn't so much as stepped outside since the news had broken out. How many images could they take of the front of the house?

This was the third day that had passed since the rumors broke out. She hadn't turned on the TV since day one. There was no need to continue listening to the same story being told time and time again, with more exaggerations and lies added to it with each rendition. It was still only day three, but she'd hoped that things would be simmering down. Instead it seemed to be getting worse. The media really had turned into such a monster since the last time she'd experienced it!

Her phone was ringing now, and she glanced at the caller ID to see yet another unidentified number buzzing on its screen. Another reporter had somehow gotten her contact information, and she clicked the "decline" button.

A few moments passed, and suddenly the phone beside her was vibrating again. Eyebrows furrowed, the Bluehead turned to the phone with irritation. But her expression softened when she saw her mother's name on the screen. She clicked to accept the call, holding the device to her ear. "Hello?"

There was a momentary silence on the other end of the line. And then, seemingly all-at-once, it began.

"Bulma – Ms. Briefs! Finally, we've gotten a-hold of you! What is your response to the-"

She gritted her teeth as she pulled the phone from her ear, pressing down the power button until it shut down completely. It was one thing that the paparazzi starting to ring her phone endlessly. But now they'd started masking the numbers they were calling from so they would match her parents'? The level of invasiveness was ridiculous!

She threw her phone down on the counter with a curse. Staring at it, she could hear heavy footsteps moving down the hallway from behind. The steps growing closer, she glanced over at her shoulder indifferently, but when she saw him she did a double-take.

"Vegeta!"

He almost appeared to be drunk, staggering sloppily into the room and collapsing onto his knees near the table. The Bluehead bounced from the balls of her feet to assist him, placing her hands on his shoulders as she leaned down. "Are you okay?"

The saiyan smacked his lips dryly and then pulled himself back up, ignoring Bulma's touch as he dragged himself into a chair. She noticed his actions and immediately made a dash for the kitchen. A moment later she returned with a glass of water in her hand.

Air was rasping through his nostrils as he fought to catch his breath. A napkin had been folded neatly on the table by his placemat, and Vegeta was now using it to dab the sweat off his saturated forehead. "Water," He croaked, lips smacking again. The saiyan threw his napkin down and cleared a dry cough from his throat.

"Of course," She replied, placing a hand on his shoulder to steady him as she gave him the glass. Water was filled to its brim, and the saiyan downed it all in one swallow. He slammed the dish on the table, letting out a gruff breath as another jolt of pain rain through his bones.

"Are you hurt?" Bulma asked softly, though she knew how he would respond. This wasn't the first time Vegeta had come tumbling in after a workout, looking half dead but insisting that he was better than ever. In fact, he'd been doing this every day since the news had come out about Bulma's face. But this was the worst she'd seen him in a long time.

"I'll heal." Vegeta grunted.

Bulma bit her lip. It was just as she'd expected. He had very obviously injured himself, and now she was going to have to help nurse him back to health while he tried to act as if there was nothing wrong.

"Let me get you something to eat..." She made for the kitchen without waiting for a response from him. From the refrigerator, she fetched a plate that had already been prepared in anticipation for Vegeta's post-workout hunger. She'd been cooking non-stop since the news had come out – what else was there to do? Hiding away in this house – this house that she hadn't had the chance to finish even moving into - she had no lab or computer to get work done with. There was no mess for her to clean, no laundry that needed folding. And Trunks was only a distraction for her when he was awake. And even then, he was growing more independent by the day and wasn't as fond of her hugs as he used to be. So what was there to do while the boy slept or played on his own with his toys? Why, there wasn't anything to focus on except for cooking! And as a result there was now a seemingly endless supply of tupperware and plates that were loaded with various cooked meals in the 'fridge. She was running out of ingredients to work with, but in their place she'd prepared nearly two weeks' worth of food.

She popped the plate into the microwave and pressed "start".

.

Vegeta was still sitting at the table, and he had his eyes tightly closed as if lost in thought. He didn't react when Bulma walked in with the first warm plate and set it down in front of him. But when she set the silverware down next to the plate he straightened his posture. Grabbing a fork, he opened his eyes and began to shovel food into his mouth. It was as if his life depended on getting as much nutrients into his system as possible, and she watched as he downed an entire plate in only a matter of seconds.

Irritated with worry, she wordlessly returned to the kitchen to fetch another serving.

.

Ten minutes, seven plates, and six glasses of water later, and Vegeta was sitting back in his chair once again. His hunger satiated, the saiyan was still grunting – but not with as much strain. Bulma was beside him, clearing the plates from the table and wiping away any residual crumbs. She could hear as the saiyan wheezed beside her, his mouth dropped open with furrowed brows. Giving him a side-glance, Bulma began to carry the dirty dishes to the kitchen. "You're going to drive yourself crazy, you know."

No reply.

Returning to the dining room after tossing the plates into the sink, Bulma could see that Vegeta was starting to slouch over the table. She approached him from behind, eying his figure as she went. When she was just behind him she paused, as if waiting for him to speak. And when he didn't say anything she crossed her arms, throwing a hip out to the side. "So. Are you feeling better, now?"

"I'm fine." A growl through gritted teeth.

"You don't sound fine!" Bulma placed both of her hands on her hips now. "Honestly, you've been doing this all week and each day it gets worse!"

Vegeta choked out a laugh at this, pushing himself back in his chair. "I will never grow accustomed to how weak you humans are." He put his palms down on the tabletop. "This is nothing." And with that, he used his hands to push himself to his feet.

He was only standing for a few moments, but he had stood nevertheless. A frustrated groan, and Vegeta was down on the chair again. The saiyan let out a string of muffled curses before putting his hand to his rib. Bulma noticed this action and raised her eyebrows, zeroing in on his hand and allowing the scene to register in her brain.

"I thought you said you weren't hurt!" She hissed, rushing to his side and kneeling beside him. She placed her fingers over his wrist, eyes widening as she inspected his hand. It wasn't a lot, but there was blood curling between his fingers. "Vegeta…"

"Damnit, woman! I told you I'm fine!" He would have pulled away from her hold, but that would have required him to take his hand off his wound and reveal the injury. Turning his face away, Vegeta shot a stubborn glare at the door. Bulma was still gripping his wrist, and she gently began to tug at it. The saiyan has his palm locked to his rib, though, and her tugging didn't make his hold budge – not even by a millimeter. "Come on, now!" She said, pulling at his arm harder. "Let me see!"

Why wasn't she listening when he told her he was okay? Clearly he didn't want her to see his wound and twist the situation into such a big deal! He was trying to keep in mind that it was her – Bulma – who was insisting on having a look. But he knew that as soon as she saw his cut she would blow all things out of proportion, and create such a commotion over something that was obscure and a joke. To suggest that such an mere little bruise would be enough to down the Saiyan Prince was an insult! And yet because it was her who was fawning over him, and not some lesser being, he tried to remain calm.

He tried to tolerate her interrogations to the best of his extent. Yet the more she tugged at his arm while he resisted, the more his patience was wearing thin. And finally, with one final yank, he had completely run out. "You're coddling, Woman!" He snapped, a warn under his tone. He looked up at her from the door he'd been focused on, teeth gritting.

Instantly Bulma let go of his arm. Still kneeling, she leaned back to make distance between them. Vegeta could feel as a hush befell the room, his eyes locked with hers. He watched as her expression dropped, an ashamed sadness growing in her pupils. She stared at him quietly, her face openly expressing the hurt that was waving through her core at that moment.

A look of pain.

The clock ticked in the background as they watched each other in silence. With each second that passed, her eyes seemed to grow more sad, and he hated it. She was the one who wouldn't listen and had insisted on prying, and now he somehow felt responsible for her own gloom. What was with this girl?!

Letting out a sigh, Vegeta cleared his throat. Without saying a word, he broke their eye contact to look down, Bulma following his gaze. A moment later she watched as he slowly began to pull his hand away from his rib. Her eyes widened as his palm seemed to draw back in slow motion, revealing a deep looking wound in its place. The bottom of his hand was coated in thick red blood, which he placed down on his knee as he straightened his posture. Vegeta had put his focus back on the door now, staring straight ahead as if to act that there was nothing the matter.

"Oh." Bulma whispered, crawling towards him as she studied his wound. "Oh, Veg-et-a…" Her words seemed to drip with horror as she spoke, and he felt as she placed her soft fingers against his bicep. "What did you do?"

"I told you that I'm fine." He grunted, brows furrowing. He found that he was unable to look at her face in this moment. He wasn't sure if he wanted to see it – not if it had any resemblance to the tone in her voice.

"This isn't fine!" She breathed. "I knew there was something wrong! Oh - why didn't you say anything earlier? Why are you so stubborn?"

"Right," He cracked. "You choose to describe me with that word, when you are the one that will never cease with your relentless prying." She was speaking to him as if he were some type of delicate plant that couldn't withstand a slight breeze of wind. Overwhelming him with questions, speaking as if he were an inadequate child. And now she was going to call him stubborn? He just couldn't resist pointing out the hypocrisy of her words. He hadn't been able to hold back.

"Prying?" Bulma replied, her grip around his arm softened. "I'm only worried about your health."

This was ridiculous. In saiyan culture, if a male returned home with injury, it was seen as a sign of strength. To carry such scars without minding them was proof of one's toughness. The ability to withstand pain. It was honorable, it was expected. And yet here his woman sat, acting as if he'd just committed to worse offense she could have imagined. This Earth culture was pathetically feeble! He should be receiving praise for his successful training session, not guilt! Finally, with a frustrated growl, the saiyan said "My body is my business."

"How can you say that?" Bulma pulled away from him now, looking as if she weren't sure if she wanted to yell or cry. Her voice reached an even softer pitch, and she broke into a whisper. "Is it really so wrong of me? Am I that wrong to care about your wellbeing?"

Care?

Care.

He looked up when she said this, and in the process he made eye contact once again. She was looking at him with those big blue orbs – those pearls that seemed to deepen with grief as his words continued to sink in. Those blues that seemed to be filling with those dreadful tears, tears that he never enjoyed seeing slid across her cheeks. Something struck Vegeta as he watched, and he found himself overtaken with a need to comfort yet again. It wasn't just the gloom in her eyes that did it for him – it was the genuine disappointment he saw in her. The crestfallen lips that pursed as she lowered her gaze to the floor.

And just as she made to turn away, to give him even more distance, his hand shot out.

"Wait." He caught her by the wrist, gripping it firmly and willing her to look back at him. Bulma's eyes met Vegeta's once more, and he gave her a half-smirk. "There's a first-aid kit in the bathroom by the stairs. Your father insisted I keep it."

She raised an eyebrow expectantly. Was he really telling her what she thought he was?

As if reading her mind, the saiyan confirmed her suspicions. "Go get it." He said, the grip around her arm loosening. Without hesitation Bulma jumped up to find the kit, and he allowed himself to fall back into his chair.

"Woman." He growled.

.

A few moments later the Bluehead was returning to the room, a white box in her hands. She was oddly surprised to see that he had taken the time to remove his shirt while she'd been away. He'd prepared himself! Sitting half naked, Vegeta was looking up at her, a strained grin. With such open permission Bulma knelt down beside him again, giving his wound a look-over. It was large in diameter, and it appeared that the blood was starting to clot as the bleeding slowed. She looked down at the first-aid kit in her hands, inspecting its contents. Spotting a small vial of rubbing alcohol, she popped it open with a click. Vegeta eyed the container. He'd seen that type of liquid before, and he wasn't too fond of it.

Bulma was liberally soaking a cotton ball with the alcohol now. "I would warn you that this might sting," She said. "But I'm not sure if it will, in your case…"

Vegeta didn't so much as flinch when she began to dab at his wound. His posture had already been stiff, and he waited patiently as she cleaned his injury. There was a soft sizzling sound that could be heard as she worked, the alcohol coming into contact with his blood.

"Hear that?" Bulma said, her voice returning closer to its normal tone with each moment that passed. "My mom always told me that it makes this noise when it's actively disinfecting."

The saiyan didn't respond. The cotton ball was cool to the touch, and the way she rubbed it against his skin was so gentle that it glazed across his flesh like a coy tickle. He watched her face as she worked, noting the deep concentration in her eyes as she inspected his wound. She bit her lip, turning to grab a clean pad of gauze to put against his skin. "I've never seen a scar this deep," She said, sounding nearly amazed. "My, Vegeta, you really are something else…"

'Of course,' He thought smugly, his muscles relaxing as he continued to watch. Of course he was extraordinary. He was the prince of all saiyans, after all…

A few moments later and she was done. Several layers of gauze had been taped to his rib, and she sat back to wipe away some hair from her forehead. "There!"

The saiyan was feeling less weak now, having had time to recuperate during this entire ordeal. He began to stand from the chair, wondering how long he'd been sitting in it. The sun had set in the sky long ago, yet outside he could still hear chatter as reporters huddled about the front of his house. He could sense them – those puny life auras that seemed to only be fueled with their rat-like needs to impose and spy.

Bulma clicked the first aid kit shut and stood, wrapping her arms around Vegeta as she found her balance. The saiyan turned to face her, allowing her to sink into his chest with the embrace.

"Perhaps it isn't terrible to pry" He muttered, wrapping his scarred biceps around her.

And she accepted his statement as an apology. Coming from Vegeta, that was an apology.

"But those pests out there…" He continued, looking up at the wall. "When will they go away?"

Bulma had been relaxing into his hold, but when he said this she stiffened. It was apparent to her that the media was a lot more persistent than they had been even a few years earlier. She truly didn't know when it would stop. And that thought worried her. "I think," She whispered. "I think we need to give them a few more days… And then we need to make an appearance."

His hold tightened around her. "What."

"We should give them a few more days to calm, and then we need to go out. We need to be seen together, as a family, as a healthy pair."

This was the first time in ages that Vegeta could remember hearing Bulma use the word family to describe them. He raised his eyebrows, looking back at her. After so many months of resisting, she'd been sleeping with him like mad lately, and she'd even referred to him as family.

Bulma was looking at Vegeta, and she gave him what she hoped looked like a confident smile. "We can go to dinner somewhere. Sunday night. Okay?"

Sunday night? What a specific time. Perhaps she had performed calculations to determine that this night would be ideal for some reason? He found it interesting, but he didn't care to question her. She was the Earth woman that was familiar with these tabloids – not him.

"Sunday night." He repeated.

She smiled again, this time with more enthusiasm. She'd been telling the truth when she'd said that they needed to make an appearance together. But she hadn't told him the entire truth. She hadn't explained why she'd picked Sunday.

Vegeta would be finding out soon enough.

There we go, another chapter in the bag. I hope you liked this one! My goal for this chapter was to dive a little deeper into the growing chemistry between Bulma and Vegeta. The last several chapters have been working to do this and bring them together - and my plan for the next chapter is to continue doing that, but with less of a serious tone, and in a more "light hearted" and fun setting. I'm excited to start working on it! Thanks again for reading! I hope you enjoyed this one!