The fighting was really getting out of hand.

After the battle of the blackout, followed shortly by the fridge offensive, things quickly escalated. There was the unfortunate incident with the dinner table, specifically Vegeta "accidentally" splitting it in half with a powerful thrust of his fist during a verbal skirmish where Bulma called him a "pompous ass." Then, Bulma told the maid (and her mother) under no circumstances were they allowed to wash Vegeta's clothes. This tactic only lasted for a few days, though, as Vegeta vowed to work out even harder, making every room he entered smell grotesque.

The following day, an explosion in the spaceship rocked the entire side of Bulma's lab. Bulma's refusal to fix the spaceship, or lend any of her team to offer a helping hand infuriated him, which led to Vegeta "redecorating" the lawn with ki blasts, saying if he had a space to train, this wouldn't be an issue. Bulma finally relented to oversee repairs on the ship at the behest of her poor, rattled father.

All the while, the deadline for the chip was creeping up. Bulma threw herself into the project and took out all her pent up anger on snide remarks to Vegeta. With only five more days, she was so, so close. She just had to focus. She locked herself in her lab and refused to even see the Saiyan prince no matter what he did to try and bait her out.

For his part, Vegeta was increasingly frustrated. Every night as his head hit the pillow, he only dreamed of her. On top of him, underneath him, watching her big, blue eyes peer up at him as she took him in her mouth. It was tortuous. And now that she was locking herself away as if some princess in a tower, the thoughts only increased.

Now he was thinking about her even in the daylight hours.

He shifted his focus. He flew out to some desolate swath of desert and unleashed attack after attack, slicing down boulders the size of small buildings in a single throw. Every night he trudged home, hoping to catch a glimpse of her as she retired to the house. But she never emerged.

One evening–two days until the prototype deadline he noted to himself, before thinking how pathetic it was that he even knew the date of such a thing–he sat at the kitchen table, poking at a dish of pork and rice. Three days had passed since he saw her and she had not yet retaliated at him for the incident in the lawn. The ball was in her court.

Maybe this was her punishment, he thought. Maybe leaving him alone when he struggled to contain the all encompassing want he had for her was her way of pissing him off. He hated losing, and he didn't want to admit defeat, but he was also a man driven by his raw appetite: For fighting, for power, for sex.

If this was her way of telling him off, he was going to beat her at her own game.

He made a beeline for the lab, his boots slapping against the tile as his pace quickened. He was going to demand that she talk to him, he was going to waste her time so hard that she had no choice but to get riled up and fight back. He was going to feel the sweet release of angry pressure bubbling up underneath his skin.

He swung open the door and stormed past row upon row of shelves full of strange odds and ends. Finally he got to her desk. She looked practically frail. All those hours hunched over her work made her shoulders curve inward. Her hair was slick with grease and blotches of dried shampoo. Cups and bowls and plates piled up on the desk next to hers, stains of various color splashed across the pages of her blueprints.

She had earphones in and seemed to be very, very focused. Before she even noticed him, he looped his finger around the cord and gently pulled.

"Hey!" Bulma shouted as she straightened her back. "What is your problem?"

"My problem is that you're absolutely pathetic." He gestured to the squalor. "It's absolutely disgusting the way you're allowing yourself to live."

She scoffed in disbelief. Vegeta was a known asshole, but this seemed a bit much.

"Are you serious?"

He laughed. "Look at yourself, woman. You've done absolutely nothing to take care of yourself in days. You look positively feral and honestly, it's quite sad."

Maybe it was the lack of sleep, or perhaps it was the fact that she hadn't had a shower in days, but something in Vegeta's words felt like a punch straight to the gut. Of course she looked like shit, she had purposefully stopped acting like a human so she could turn on the more robotic side of her brain, the one that would successfully finish this stupid project so she could once again be free to do whatever it was she wanted to do.

And now Vegeta had the audacity to barge into her laboratory and lecture her on self care.

All she did for him was work. All she did for him was give a shit. How could he not see that obviously one iota of her being cared for him, because if she didn't, why would she let him live there or eat her food or train on her property or perpetually destroy her inventions?

"What the fuck is your problem, Vegeta?" She stood from her desk, slamming her chair against the metal, sending off a loud ding that echoed in the high ceilings of the lab. "After everything I've done for you, you still come in here and shit on me. And for what? Do you get some sort of sick satisfaction from hurting my feelings?"

He held back a grin. Yes, this was what he wanted. This fight, this energy, this repartee.

"I'm just trying to point out that you're better than this," he said smoothly.

"Better than what?" She snapped. "Better than caring about my work so much that I'm willing to forgo basic human needs? Better than wanting the business my father built from the ground up to continue prospering?"

Her anger was palpable. And it wasn't the playful anger she usually engaged with, this was something much more pointed. Dark circles encased her eyes and he noticed she looked incredibly pale. Suddenly, bothering her didn't feel so good.

"I have spent my whole life trying to be the best." Her voice was bitter and frantic, as if she was on the verge of crying. "I have spent years slaving away here, and for what? I have no husband, no social life, people up my ass for inventions left and right and now an unruly houseguest who thinks it's funny to insult me when I already know how pathetic I am."

Heavy tears brimmed her eyes and Vegeta's heart sank. This wasn't the reaction he wanted or expected.

"Bulma, I–"

"No," she interjected. "Just stop. I've heard enough from you for one night. Actually, I've heard enough from everyone for one night."

She shoved past Vegeta, stripping off her lab coat and throwing it on the ground in a rage. He turned to follow her but she already anticipated it.

"Leave me alone, Vegeta," she snapped as she opened the lab door.

"Where are you going?" He asked sincerely.

"It's none of your fucking business."

She slammed the door shut and he listened as her footsteps stormed down the hallway. Regret started to sink in and he hated himself for it. He had never seen Bulma this mad.


A red neon light illuminated the oak bartop. Bulma clicked her fingernails on the ledge as she nursed a glass of wine, staring at herself in the mirror behind the bar: etched glass with a fleur di lis pattern all along the edge.

She wasn't much of a drinker, but she didn't really know where else to go this late at night. After her bout with Vegeta, she rushed upstairs, scrubbed her hair, slapped on some makeup and found the tightest black dress she could find before calling her driver. All her friends lived too far away to go see and the last thing she wanted to do was call Yamcha.

So instead she found herself sitting at The Berkshire Room sipping on a $15 glass of okay pinot noir. It was a classy joint, one with the modern styled shelves that housed top notch bottles, that had small tables with candles and mood lighting all around the side. Everyone else seemed to be coupled up or with friends, she was the only one alone.

In reality, it wasn't the wisest decision to go out drinking. Tomorrow marked 48 hours to get the prototype done. It was 99% there, but that last 1% proved more elusive than originally thought. Maybe a night off would help her rethink things in the morning. At the very least, getting out of the house would put her far away from Vegeta.

What was it about him that drove her so crazy? She felt kind of bad for blowing up on him the way she did. It was only after she saw herself in the mirror that she realized Vegeta might be right. She looked almost sickly. It was an incredibly rude way to tell her he was worried about her, but in the end that's sort of what he was doing. It was his way of saying he was concerned, she thought. Brutish and cruel, no doubt, but with an undercurrent of genuineness. As she sipped, she considered offering him a half-assed apology in the morning..

"Hi there." A blonde man wearing an expensive gray suit took the empty seat next to her. "Anyone sitting here?"

She shook her head and gestured for the man to join her. The man was very, very handsome. In the dim light, his golden eyes sparkled and he had a jaw cut from the gods themselves. On his wrist was an expensive gold watch encrusted with diamonds. She got the feeling he was a regular here.

"Adam." He reached out his hand and she shook it politely. "And you are…?"

"Bulma." She smiled. He was watching her so closely. She had forgotten what it felt like to be admired like this.

"It's nice to meet you, Bulma." The man flagged down the bartender and ordered a whiskey neat for himself before turning to her. "Can I buy you a drink?"

She looked at her half full glass. It was probably a good idea to call it a night, she thought. She had a long day tomorrow and this was already her second glass. Any more and she was flirting with a nasty hangover, one that did not bode well for her impending project. But the way he smiled at her made her feel a little light headed.

"Sure," she looked from Adam to the bartender. "Another pinot, please."

"Wine. It's a classy choice."

"Well, I'm a classy girl."

Adam flashed a perfectly white smile. He truly was handsome. Bulma took another drink from her glass, letting the wine go down her throat, leaving her core feeling warm.

"How is a beautiful woman like you sitting here all alone?" Adam leaned in closer, close enough that she got a whiff of his cologne. Sandalwood and rich, oaky smoke.

"Let's just say it hasn't been that great of a day for me."

"You can tell me all about it, if you'd like."

Bulma thought for a moment. How do you explain to someone that you have an alien houseguest whose sole mission, besides training his freakishly strong body, is to annoy the everloving shit out of you? She would spare him those details.

"A work project isn't coming together and the deadline is approaching," she sighed. "Just thought maybe I would take the night off to regroup."

"Well, then," Adam lifted his glass toward her. "Let's regroup together."

She raised her wine and clinked it to his glass. This was kind of exciting. A gorgeous stranger in a fancy bar, buying her a glass of wine and being genuinely interested in her life. Was this what the dating world was like? She had been out of the game for so long, she must've forgotten.

Hours passed and the two were chatting away. After a few glasses of wine, Bulma had to stop herself from divulging some of the oddities of her life, so instead told him in great detail about the launch and the project. He, in turn, told her about himself. A financial analyst, he was working on some of the biggest business accounts in West City.

Heat burned in her face and the world was getting fuzzier and fuzzier. If she wanted to get home in one piece, she was going to have to stop drinking. Adam's cheeks were flushed and she had the strangest urge like she wanted to kiss him. Maybe a nice, normal guy was who she should be chasing after.

As if reading her mind, he leaned in and kissed her lips. She waited for the electricity to hit, the jolt of pleasure that throbs through when kissing someone special, but it never came. When they broke apart, she looked into his eyes and felt nothing. Disappointment swirled. He checked all of the boxes: Well spoken, good job, nice to look at; but there just was no spark.

"Adam, I think it's time that I get headed home," she said politely, making sure to smile extra kindly. "I have to finish that project."

"Let me take you." He got off his chair as soon as she got off hers, motioning to the bartender to bring his bill.

"No, no, it's okay," she said. "But maybe I'll see you again soon?"

The bartender brought over their checks and Adam grabbed hers before she could, laying down a hard, black metal card. She went to hug him and bid him farewell.

"Are you sure? I thought we were having a really nice time tonight."

"Oh, I had such a good time, the best really," she said, rubbing his arm. "But it's just that I have so much work to do."

"Right." He was crestfallen. He handed her a business card and watched as she tucked it into her purse. "Call me, I guess."

Bulma gave a polite wave and headed toward the door. Man, she drank a lot more than she thought. Back on her high heels, she felt like a newborn giraffe, wobbling a bit before finally finding her groove. She took out her cell, called for a driver before heading to the restroom and then walked outside into the summer night, gulping in the fresh air like it was water. In the distance, thunder roared. It was humid and sticky, one of those nights just begging for rain.

"Bulma," Adam's voice came from the sidewalk. The neon restaurant sign bathed the concrete in an electric blue light while people milled about, smoking cigarettes and waiting for cabs of their own. "I think you should reconsider going home with me tonight."

"Adam, that's very sweet of you to offer, but I don't think so."

He shoved his hands in his pockets and walked toward her. The look on his face was not that of the man she met in the bar. Instead, he had been replaced by someone who seemed cross, someone willing to do whatever it took to get what he wanted. Suddenly, she felt very, very small.

"Why not?"

"I'm just not that kind of girl." She shifted uncomfortably before glancing at her phone, waiting to see if her driver had called her to say he was close.

"Dressed like that, I would say you are that kind of girl." He inched closer and she held her breath. "You don't go to bars looking like that, sitting all alone, guzzling wine unless you are asking to be fucked."

The shift in tone made Bulma gulp. She backed up. Suddenly, all the people that had been standing there were nowhere to be seen. It was nearly 2 a.m., and she was standing all alone on a dimly lit street in a nearly abandoned part of town. Most of the patrons at the Berkshire had already left, as last call was bound to happen any minute.

She tried to think of what she should do. If he grabbed her, should she scream? Should she try to fight? All those years of hanging around nothing but fighters and yet she couldn't recall the proper technique for a punch.

He was now right next to her, his hand reaching for her forearm, his eyes full of something evil when she heard a cough from behind her.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

Bulma spun around. Standing there with his arms crossed and his brow furrowed was Vegeta.

"Oh yeah?" Adam laughed. "And who are you?"

"That's none of your concern," Vegeta said cooly. "But it will be if you don't leave her alone."

Adam scoffed. "Look, pal, I've been the one buying this bitch drinks all night. You can go find your own piece of ass if you're that desperate."

Bulma didn't even see Vegeta move. One moment he was a few feet away and the next he was pinning Adam by the throat up against the wall. Adam clutched Vegeta's hands, gurgling as the Saiyan's grip wrapped around him.

"Don't you ever call her a bitch, do you understand me?" Vegeta hissed. Adam managed to nod, prompting Vegeta to release him. Slumping down the wall, Adam coughed and rubbed at his neck, sucking in air as while cautiously eyeing Vegeta. Bulma looked on in awe.

"Come on, Bulma," Vegeta said, grabbing her gently by the wrist before taking off down the sidewalk. "We're going home."

As they moved down the street, Bulma could hear Adam gagging. She turned to see him on all fours, his chest heaving as he desperately tried to breath. How much force had Vegeta used on him?

"What are you doing?" Bulma asked, sounding annoyed solely out of habit.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Vegeta stopped and stared at her. "Did you want to go home with that loser?"

She blushed. He had it all wrong. "No, no, not at all. I was just…surprised to see you, that's all."

Had Vegeta been there all night? Oh god, what if he was sitting in the bar when she kissed that jerk? Embarrassment flooded through her. Then, confusion. Why was she so upset that Vegeta might've seen that? She was free to kiss whomever she wanted.

"You shouldn't stay out so late. When you weren't home at a decent hour, I came to find you. I tracked your ki to this sorry excuse for a place." He leaned in and sniffed her. "You reek of booze."

In her purse, Bulma's cellphone went off. She pulled it out and examined the screen. Vegeta watched her with a burning intensity.

"Who is it?"

"It's just the driver," she waved him off. "I should probably go meet him back at the bar."

There was no way he was going to let her go back there, not after what he had just witnessed. All night he waited for her to come home. He even tried to go to sleep, tossing and turning in anticipation, running through a litany of scenarios as to where she might've gone. Reading ki was not a particularly easy thing if the energy level wasn't elevated, but he had been around her for so long, picking her out was almost second nature even if she was far away. Part of him desperately tried to ignore it for fear she might be rendezvousing with that dipshit Yamcha, but when he flew to the bar and didn't feel the human fighter there, he became less worried.

Instead of barging in like he wanted to, he waited outside. Disturbing her at the lab had been a lesson for him. When she needed to decompress or work, she didn't want to be bothered. He figured storming in on her as she sought respite from life at Capsule Corp., probably wasn't the best idea.

But apparently, his instinct to confront her the moment he found her energy had been right. For the two hours he waited outside on the adjacent rooftop, waiting for her to emerge so he could follow her home safely, she was inside flirting with this white bread sack of shit. When he saw them walk out together–and saw him ignore her attempts of rejection–his blood began to boil. How dare he lay a hand on her.

He had no intention of intervening in Bulma's night out. He wanted to act as a bit of silent security for the heiress. All of that changed when that loser threatened her. Under Vegeta's grip, the man was nothing more than a coward, and it took everything in him not to snap the man's neck.

Above, dark clouds rolled overhead and another crack of thunder roared. Drizzle came down. A downpour was sure to follow.

"Tell the driver you have a ride." It was a command, not a suggestion.

He grabbed her by the waist, jumped into the air and off the two went into the night sky.