"Good God, woman," he grumbled as he observed her perform the same task on the balance beam for the past hour. Vegeta's arms were crossed in questioning perturbation as he surveyed her form for the 10th time that session. He could practically feel her dramatic eye roll aimed at him while his gaze fixated on her waistline.

Six months on, six months off in the performance circuit had always been perpetually intensive and stressful. The steady, daily routine of pre-workout stretches, followed by high bars, beams, vaults, weight lifting, swimming and meals of baked, skinless chicken without oil or flavor pushed the acrobatic troupe into the third week of practice for the upcoming touring season. In spite of all the luxury comforts restricted to training and dieting, Vegeta couldn't quite figure out why Bulma was having the hardest time considering the obvious progress she was making in such a short amount of time.

"What are you bitching about now?" She retorted while adjusting the protective, elastic grips on her hands and hoisting them above her head once satisfied with the fit. Physically, she was trim and toned, showing distinct muscle definition where it counted. In the back of Vegeta's mind, he considered if she was cheating.

"I've seen you do 20 pull-ups in a minute, 50 squats in two, and yet this," he pinched her side where muscle met softened flesh under her thin, sequined tank top tucked into even tighter athletic pants, "won't go away." He stitched his brows with irked scrutiny as she stood above him, poised and centered on the balance beam.

"I don't know how anyone puts up with you." She huffed under her breath as she jerked away from his fingertips. "Women age differently than men, Vegeta. I'm not 19 anymore." She emphasized as she bent her arms and torso backwards in a slow, even arch to connect with the beam at her heels and pull the rest of her body over itself with a controlled exhaled.

He watched her lithe frame execute the maneuver flawlessly, ending with a self-satisfied grin. As her spotter, he directed his attention to checking her feet as she stood up straight, arms held above her head with perfect, pointed fingers. She had twisted her ankle the previous week and was currently sporting a tight Ace bandage encasing her entire left foot under black, leather-soled slippers. He was there to make sure she didn't injure herself further like 'an inattentive klutz'. Her thick skin seemed to make up for her weak ankles.

"If you keep holding onto that excessive flab, we're going to have a hard time getting you into costume." He replied flippantly in an almost helpful manner if it hadn't been laced with insult.

"Keep talking. Just be careful what you say or karma's gonna bite you in the ass." She stuck out her tongue as she repeated another controlled backwards arch on the beam.

He ignored her comment with a shrug of his broad shoulders. "Not to mention, I won't be able to lift you for most of the acts. Now, how safe is that?" He smirked matter-of-fact into her face as she dropped to his eye level, viewing him upside down. Her feet came over her middle fluidly, she stood and smirked back at him from atop her perch.

Clearly fed up with his dickish attitude, she reached her arms out and fell to him as he grasped her around her waist reflexively, picking her up with minimal effort to bring her against his chest. Her expression curled up into a simpering grin as proof against his claim while her arms wrapped around the back of his neck.

The muscles in his jaw tightened while her hands curled into his hair at his nape. After the ex-couple's grievances had finally been aired out several weeks before, ending with his abrupt departure, neither remarked on their last words, establishing an unspoken agreement to just move on and field more productive ways of frustrating the hell out of each other through repeated, arduous routines. The tension between them, however, was only made worse with contact.

The press of her body contoured to his ignited small, reminiscent pangs that prickled across his shirtless chest as she slid down to the mat, her tank top riding up with her descent. The triumphant glint in her smiling eyes gradually receded with the more unpleasantly familiar sensation of loss as Bulma pulled away from him unexpectedly quick, regaining her senses to keep things straight forward while pulling her shirt down with embarrassed, quick fingers.

He watched her cheeks flush modestly as she opened her mouth to speak. The words never came as they were cut in on by a perspiring but cheerful Launch bounding over to wrap her arms around Bulma's neck in a friendly hug.

"Hey! I don't mean to interrupt… whatever this is, but Roshi told me to tell you it's your turn to do the highwire." She eyed the two with her tongue between her teeth.

Vegeta scoffed, picking up his shirt and pulling it tight over his chest. "Why didn't he come over and tell us, then?"

"He didn't want to intrude on your… bonding." She whispered the last word with a wink. He stared off at the ceiling so as to not shoot his daggerous eyes at her.

Clearly privy to the tension between the two partners, she giggled mischievously into her hands and flitted away to the lockers. Vegeta grumbled. Being in a close-knit group, the little side-eyes and tittering comments were mildly irksome in the beginning. At this point, it was beyond annoying.

Bulma groaned, seemingly realizing their private moment wasn't as private as she hoped, taking a swig from her water bottle. They both avoided eye contact, with Bulma giving a shy smile to the floor. This hadn't been the first time they had an awkward embrace while practicing since she'd been back and as much as he was curious to know her side, Vegeta made the conscious decision to maintain professionalism despite the lingering sensations evoked across his skin.

The tightrope was stretched across nearly a quarter the length of the airplane hanger and suspended 30 feet above ground with a less-than-forgiving nylon safety net positioned underneath.

Vegeta stood with half interest, observing Bulma climbing the red pole deftly, the paint chipped from overuse, to a platform large enough for two with Chichi helpfully taking her hand at the top.

The raven-haired trapezist smiled encouragingly, grabbing the safety harness and holding it out for Bulma to put on, much to the confusion of the blue-eyed professional gymnast.

"I don't need that." He heard his charge say incredulously, despite the noise from the other teammates who were diligently practicing around him. He crossed his arms in vexation.

"Stop being difficult, woman. Put on the harness!" He yelled up brusque and loud enough to cause both women to look down, startled.

"I don't need it." She called down as Chichi tried to reason in her ear.

"This is your first time back up there. That drop is gonna hurt like hell. Put it on!"

He saw her place her hands on her hips in dramatic defiance. He remembered that look annoyingly clear. "I don't need it, Vegeta. If memory serves me right, I distinctly recall that I was the best tightrope and aerial silk performer in this company. Without a harness!" She screeched back, while Chichi held her protectively about the waist to keep her from slipping in her heated state.

He rubbed his fingers into his eye sockets before glaring back. "You have limited options at this point. You can either go without the harness and fall into that net like an ungraceful, flailing idiot due to the loss of TWO YEARS experience or you can put on the damn harness and fall the thirty feet like a flightless bird who at least has some pitiful control over her movements."

"You think I'm gonna fall? I never fall!" She screamed indignantly.

The hanger dropped into near silence as the rest of the troupe stopped their training to turn their attention to the obnoxious ruckus at the highwire station. Goku and the others slowly meandered over and were promptly ignored by Vegeta becoming more and more irritated by the obstinate woman on the platform.

"You are going to fall! So just wear the harness!" He barked, the veins on his forehead prominently displayed.

"As much as I hate to admit it, Vegeta may have a point. C'mon. Just put on the harness, Bulma." He heard Chichi rationalizing. Vegeta had all but made the final steps to the beam to put the damn thing on her himself then ceased as he observed the stubborn aerialist wretch the harness from her friend's grip, put it on aggressively and extend her hands up in mock surrender as her teammate adjusted the straps. He waited.

"20 bucks says she's not gonna fall." he heard Yamcha offer, sidling up to his right with a confident grin. "She's in too deep, now."

"She's probably up there altering gravity to her advantage just out of spite," Piccolo commented under his breath while giving Vegeta a crooked glance.

"We shouldn't bet on her falling, guys." Goku chimed in, scratching the back of his head uncomfortably. A freshly showered Launch nodded in agreement, her dark wet hair dripping at the ends onto her shoulders.

Without missing a beat, Vegeta continued to look up with unemotive expectancy. "I'll take that bet. She's gonna fall."

After several repetitive safety checks and a frustrated huff to her overly cautious support, Bulma made it a point to not look down at her assembled audience and placed a tentative foot on the rope's rigid surface. It gave way with some slack as she added more weight, the thin and flexible leather-soled slippers curving around the wire and under her arch. She added her other foot in front of the first, perfectly parallel, and became completely suspended over the netting, half a foot from the starting platform. Her arms extended from her body in perfect balance as she took another step.

Stillness overtook the troupe as they followed her assured foot placement, gradual and determined. Vegeta remained patient, confident of her eventual descent.

Halfway across the wire, small cheers under their breath became gradually louder as she swayed with purpose partially bent knees, distributing her mass and finding her center, keeping unnecessary pressure off her ankles.

Her partner blinked smoothly under dark brows as Yamcha whooped in echoed encouragement behind him. With only a mild twitch of her injured ankle giving any sign of faltering, Vegeta observed her continue, her chest held higher, swagger a bit bolder.

With a final carefully placed foot and her other touching a toe on the second platform, she cocked her head down with a side longed smirk as she managed to make it to the other side without fail. The small parting of his lips was the only outward indication of surprise that she had made it across successfully.

Unhooking the harness, Bulma practically sailed down the beam to the floor, her feet landing on the ground with triumphant flair, if her superior expression hadn't already said it all.

"You don't have to look so smug," Vegeta remarked. "Sit. Let me see your ankle." He instructed, taking her hand roughly and guiding her to the floor as the cheers of her success echoed.

"I think you owe me an apology." She preened, hoisting her foot in his face.

"For what?" He carefully unwrapped and rewrapped the bindings, assessing and prodding the raised, red skin with meticulous concentration.

"For doubting my abilities." If she felt any discomfort under his practiced hands, she didn't show it as she continued to lord her victory over him. "I told you, I never fall."

Vegeta ignored her comment as well as the others, who teased him for his false prediction. The jubilation died down, as the team made their way over to the lockers, glad to be given a rare half-day to relax. The bandage pulled tight, Vegeta glanced over his shoulder, hearing his name shouted from the far end of the gym.

"We're all going out tonight at our usual place. You should come, Bulma!" Chichi cheerfully declared before disappearing through the swinging door to change into plain clothes.

Putting the finishing touches to his handiwork, Vegeta looked up, feeling as though he was being watched, to the woman whose gaze had changed from vaingloriously confident to an unnerving unreadability. He held out his arm in good sportsmanship which she took, her gaze still piercing. He noted with her hand was still pleasant to hold.

"Aren't you going to say good job?" The statement escaped her mouth in a hush and he was transported back in an instant.

The whisper of her girlish laughter, the gleam in her eyes, the press of a friendly kiss on his cheek when they first met. Her hair was shorter then, her tongue sharper. He was the one that showed up last, rounding out their group dynamic. She glommed onto him like a beautiful parasite, burrowing under his skin and refusing to let go. The memories flew across his mind quickly, like a collection of movie clips he would have rather not revisited.

"Aren't you going to say good job?" She'd ask with that brazen smile of hers, fully aware of her skill with ego to match. She didn't need the praise. She said it just to be antagonizing. He never gave her the satisfaction of a response.

"Well?" The inflection in her voice asked more. He felt the pressure of her hand on his, a subtle reminder of how he used to play with fire. He recognized the look. Why are her eyes so damn blue?

He hadn't intended the clearing of his throat to sound so awkward as a change of subject seemed necessary. "You should go with us. To the bar. Take a night off from… whatever you do after practice." He offered, unsure of her answer.

"Are you going?" The look receded back, much to his relief.

"I seem to have to. To make sure none of them end up in a ditch. It would ruin our lineup." He replied flippantly. Her brows scrunched somewhat. It amused him to see that she couldn't quite tell that he was joking.

"How adult of you." Bulma gave a short chuckle. "I can't believe you guys still go bar hopping. Are you going to tell me to only drink light beer if I go?" She teased.

He couldn't help the tug at the corner of his lip. "I was going to suggest you only drink water." He countered wryly.