"Bulma, sweetie, I think it's time to get out of bed," her mother informed her with a sing-song voice.

It was just past noon, and the sun was mercilessly attacking her curtains. Bulma was nestled in her blankets, enjoying her rest and trying to keep out the post-breakup blues. Or indulge them.

"Mom, let me mope around a little more," she whined, rolling over and showing her mother her back.

Panchy's weight pushed down at the foot of the bed, her gentle hand patting Bulma's leg. "Sweetie, it's okay to take some time to yourself. But remember, you've got some work to do, too."

Bulma let out a dramatic sigh. "Yeah yeah. Building bots for prince boy, helping him train to save the world, blah blah blah."

Come to think of it, she hadn't heard from Vegeta in the three days since her blow out with Yamcha. That was actually sort of surprising, considering his usual schedule or harassing her daily.

"Exactly!" Bulma could just hear her mother smiling.

"All right, all right!" Bulma heaved her comforter to the side, rolling out of bed. "You owe me coffee, though."

Panchy smiled serenely. "Atta girl!" She scurried out of her bedroom.

Bulma shut the door, turning to face herself in the mirror. She had seen better days. Her eyes were a bit puffy, and her hair was a greasy, tangled mess. But overall, it could've been worse. She stripped her clothes off and made her way to her en suite bathroom, turning the knob on her shower and cranking it up to hot.

"Okay. One last cry. Then no more tears," she said to herself, sliding her glass shower door to the side and stepping under the falling water.

She let herself cry, allowing herself to feel the pain she had gone through over the past few days. Part of her knew she would never be able to trust Yamcha again, not after even his first transgression. But another part of her had always held out hope that things would work out. That they would get married, that she would have his kids someday.

The amount of times she had discovered that Yamcha had been unfaithful, how often she forgave him, only for him to turn around and betray her trust again…it made her miserable.

But who was the bigger fool here? It obviously had to be her. She kept handing her heart over to the wrong person over and over again, never learning from her mistakes.

Well this time would be different. She was too old for this back and forth game.

Her tears eventually subsided, and she took a deep, rattling breath. She was determined to make the best of this.

She squirted some shampoo into the palm of her hand, massaging it into her tangled, wet hair. Her mind took her back to the break up, a dramatic shit show that turned sour very quickly. What had she expected?

Well…not for Vegeta to intervene. That was very surprising. Did he think Yamcha would hurt her? She looked down at her arm, seeing some faint purple splotches from bruising.

She knew Yamcha didn't mean it. He was never one to get violent when he didn't get his way. Looking back…of course he was going to try to defend his car from her.

She snorted to herself. While she knew it made her look like a psychotic ex-girlfriend, it was so incredibly satisfying to beat the shit out of his car. It served him right after all the times he smashed up her heart, after all.

She rinsed her hair, taking a glob of conditioner and slathering it on her wet strands. She hoped the conditioner would do its job and help soothe some of her tangles.

Bulma grabbed her bottle of peach scented body wash, squeezing it onto her body poof. She scrubbed off the last few days' worth of sweat and dirt, hoping this would be a refreshing start for her.

She washed her shoulders and neck, suddenly remembering Vegeta's hands there. Her stomach did a somersault. The same hands that had killed countless people, were responsible for such brutal violence, that nearly ended her ex-boyfriend's life so effortlessly right in front of her…

They were firm, but also so tender. So surprisingly soft. What an oxymoron. How could he be so savage, but so gentle?

She couldn't lie to herself. His fingers felt really, really good on her neck. She couldn't stop thinking about it.

She felt a thrill surge from her stomach down below.

What the fuck was wrong with her? She shook her head and rinsed her poof off, letting the water rinse away the suds from her skin. Vegeta was essentially an evil alien from a planet of barbarians.

Well, a possibly reformed alien from a planet of barbarians…

And even Goku was one of those aliens. He couldn't be a kinder person.

But Vegeta was definitely not Goku. One was practically a saint, the other a demon.

She bit her lip, cleansing the conditioner from her hair.

She never really wanted a saint though, did she?

—

He was avoiding her.

After the incident the other day, Vegeta couldn't stand the thought of going near the Earthling woman.

He had been working, again, at his training without bots. It was grinding on him that the woman couldn't complete this simple task of creating new robots for him to train with. Then she ruined his concentration by raising his alarm bells with her erratic and aggressive ki. Her ki was usually a dull pulse. He could sense it on the Capsule Corp. grounds whenever he reached out to feel for it.

The other day, however, it was almost jagged. Like there was a strange, bristling sharpness radiating from her otherwise relatively normal ki.

He decided he had to investigate further, cutting his training short. He was surprised to find her sitting in a chair and not ripping apart another Earthling with her bare hands. He was curious enough to even ask her what was going on, and her sharp tongue went to work assaulting him.

It all became clear when the puny boyfriend appeared. She was enveloped in a fiery aura, her ki was chaotic. It was still pitiable, but it was…different.

Vegeta felt entitled to watch the show that unfolded in front of him. Bulma was ready to fight, and was mocking the sad little Earthling. It was quite entertaining, actually. She even got violent and started destroying his property. He liked it.

He liked it a lot.

Then the piece of shit grabbed her.

His mind went completely blank as a blind rage took over his body. Next thing he knew, he had the scum in a chokehold and the woman was begging for him to release him.

He entirely wasn't sure why he didn't kill the worm. Bulma had touched his arm, anchoring him to her. As much as he didn't want to admit it, it helped stave off his sudden bloodlust.

Closing his eyes, he channeled all of his inner strength. She pleaded for the weakling's life.

With a sharp inhale, he made his decision. He dropped the Earthling to the ground. It was the most dissatisfying feeling. Like deciding against scratching an itch. It was his most base instinct that he was refusing.

He got out of that situation as soon as possible. He fled like a coward.

He didn't know exactly why he didn't go through with killing the weakling. It wasn't as if he wasn't responsible for his death once before. But he'd rather not dwell on it.

It had been three days since he made that decision, and he made due with flying out to a desert area to train, blasting boulders and canyons and working himself to exhaustion.

He would stop and occasionally search out for her ki. She was a weakling herself, but he wanted to avoid her at all costs.

Around midday, he flew back to Capsule Corp. feeling famished. He approached the older female, Panchy, to request some lunch. She had offered him meals in the past, after all.

"Of course, I can cook you up a big meal in a jiffy," she smiled at him. "Have a seat, Vegeta, dear, I've been meaning to ask you some questions."

He raised an eyebrow. That was very straightforward for someone so feeble. He obliged, curious and hungry. He sat at the small table in the kitchen, where she placed a glass of water in front of him. Panchy pulled out a frying pan from a cupboard and some red meat from the refrigerator.

"Now, dear, I've been meaning to ask you: what happened to your bedroom door?" She seemed downright chipper.

"I…tch…It fell off," he lied, unsure of how to explain.

"Ah. Well, please see that it doesn't fall off again!" she giggled. "I'm having it fixed later today." She turned the flame on the stove top up and put the ground beef in the frying pan.

"And your bathroom sink?" she cheerfully inquired, peeking her head over her shoulder.

"It…uh…broke."

"Well, try not to let that happen again." There was a firmness to her kind voice that he hadn't expected. She turned her back to him to work. "Now, dear, I hate to pry, but I must ask: were you there during Bulma and Yamcha's little tiff?"

Little tiff? Did she mean their absolute blow out that nearly ended in total bloodshed? He swallowed. "Yes."

She grabbed a spatula from a drawer and broke up the raw meat in the pan. Vegeta began to drink from his glass out of anxiety.

"Well good! I was curious about it. Do you think they'll be getting back together soon, or that that's it?"

He sputtered for a moment, then regained his composure. "I…" Why was she asking him these things? How would he know about these stupid human relationships? "I…doubt they will be back together." How long would this food take?

Panchy took a few spices off a rack and began seasoning the browning meat. "Huh. That's interesting. They've broken up and gotten together so many times before," she confided.

Vegeta tried to mask his irritation. "I do not know what that weakling has to offer, but I don't think your daughter will be putting up with him any longer."

She turned the beef over a few times, crumbling it in the hot pan. She turned to face Vegeta at the table. "Really?"

He looked away from her, feeling uncomfortable. He shrugged.

"Well, dear, you're probably right. I found part of a headlight and a lot of glass on the lawn, and I don't think Yamcha did it to his own car…" She smiled again, then turned back to the refrigerator to pull out some more ingredients. "Bulma's always been a feisty one."

He sat there in silence while she finished preparing his meal. She rinsed off some lettuce, chopped it up, then got out a large plate for him. She laid out the lettuce, poured some hot ground beef on top, then added some sort of red sauce with cream.

"Dig in, dear!" she chirped happily, placing the piping hot plate in front of him. "It's a taco salad! You know, for Taco Tuesday!"

He let it cool a moment before grabbing his fork and shoveling the food into his mouth.

He decided that Taco Tuesday was something he very much enjoyed.

He hadn't realized that Bulma was quickly approaching the kitchen until it was too late. He was on his third serving of this "taco salad" when he felt her ki down the hall, mere feet from them.

"You might as well put another pot on, because I'm going to be needing a coffee transfusion today," Bulma told her mother as she rounded the corner. Her hair was soaking wet, dark like the ocean, and she was wearing a tank top and loose, flowy pants. She met Vegeta's eye, then looked down at what he was eating. "Mom…enough with the Taco Tuesday thing."

Bulma opened up a cabinet and pulled out a large thermos, pouring hot coffee from a pot into it.

"Well, I think he likes it," Panchy told her with a huge smile. "Right, Vegeta, dear?"

He gave an affirmative through his chewing. Panchy giggled at that.

"Well, I need to go find someone who can replace a sink for us. Vegeta, dear, I'll leave the rest on the stove if you want more!" And with that, Panchy left the two of them alone together, Bulma at the counter, and him at the table.

"Vegeta…" she started. He finished chewing and pushed his plate away, eager to get back to the desert. "I'm sorry that I've been MIA for the past few days. I'm going to the lab now, and I'm not leaving until I have updates for your bots ready to go."

He gave her a nod to show he understood before standing up.

She was watching him like a hawk. It made him feel…uneasy. She was not the superior one here, he was. So why was she looking at him like that?

He decided against more food and made his way to leave the kitchen, once again looking for a quick escape.

An intriguing, sweet scent captivated his senses for a moment, stalling him. Vegeta allowed himself a moment to observe the woman: her big blue eyes looked a bit irritated, but other than that, she was fresh faced. Her scent was….

Something that had been sleeping inside him stirred awake once more.

He moved to continue his hasty exit when his eyes grazed over her arm.

He saw red for a moment. He was unable to control his ki, sending out a wild flare of his energy. He took a hold of her shoulder, reeling in some of his fury to ensure he didn't singe her with his energy.

"Did the weakling do this to you?" he managed to rumble out. He was containing a thunderstorm inside himself. Her arm had purplish marks on it, shaped like fingerprints, the telltale sign of a healing bruise.

The woman's eyes were wide as windows, and they may as well have been. He could see right through her. He felt her heart rate increase through his finger tips, he sensed a slight fluctuation in her ki: like a flame, it fluttered and surged.

She swallowed nervously. "Not on purpose."

He felt like he was going to explode. "Everything is done on purpose. Everything is a decision." He growled, showing his teeth in a simian grimace. "You're weak. He…hurt you."

Bulma took a deep breath. "He really didn't mean to. He was just trying to stop me from destroying his car." She tucked her wet hair behind her ear. That fruity, delicious scent invaded his senses again. Vegeta couldn't bring himself to remove his hand from her shoulder.

"This doesn't hurt. He was an asshole, and he hurt my heart, but I'm okay," she told him, staring into his soul, if he had one.

He sat with that for a moment. They stared into each other's eyes, Vegeta searching for confirmation that she was telling the truth. That the weakling really hadn't caused her much harm. He needed to know.

"Bulma, sweetie, can you pack up the leftovers before you head to the lab?" Panchy called from the other room.

Vegeta leapt away from the woman as if her skin had burned him.

"Yes, mom," Bulma called back.

He made his way to the door.

"Have a good day, Vegeta," she told his back. He was already gone.

—