The day after they got back from the mission, Bulla came straight home from school. No outings with her friends, no parties or dates. Vegeta didn't recognize the significance of this until later, however, so he merely looked up when she entered and said,

"Good, you're home. Kohra has invited us to dinner and I refuse to be late again because you were doing your hair."

"Fine," she said. Her tone was flat. She hadn't even looked at him. He paused.

"What's wrong with you?"

He meant it kindly, but she flared to life instantly, turning on him with eyes flashing.

"What do you mean, what's wrong with me? You think there's something wrong with me? Maybe there's not, huh? Maybe there's something wrong with everyone else!"

She burst into tears and ran to her room, leaving Vegeta as devastated as he was confused.


They went to dinner, even though Bulla was still moody. Bulma had waved away arguments from both Bulla and Vegeta that she wasn't up to company, simply saying that getting out of the house would be good for her. In some things, Vegeta reflected, Bulma could be far more ruthless than he could.

As usual, Bulma and Kohra spent the majority of dinner and then after dinner tea in close discussion over who knew what, leaving Vegeta and Cabba to make conversation on their own. Usually they spoke of training or sat in uncomfortable silence. Unusually, however, Bulla actually engaged Baji in a conversation of their own instead of tagging along with her mother. Baji, delighted and tongue tied, did his best to be engaging and charming, but Bulla was only using him to distract herself, and did not seem to notice either when he failed to be charming, or when he succeeded. Cabba and Vegeta watched this with the same fascination Vegeta watched television.

"Why," Cabba said when Bulla excused herself to the bathroom, and then stopped. "Master," he continued after a breath, "why… are you here?"

Vegeta raised an eyebrow.

"You know why."

"Yes," Cabba said impatiently, "but you seem to… disapprove of it. And yet here you are. I was wondering… why."

Vegeta sighed.


It had started, as many things had, with Bulla crying.

She was fourteen now, though, so her tears were far more frightening than they'd been when she was seven and had merely gotten less cake than she felt she deserved. His desire to murder whatever had upset her was unchanged, though. She was crying so hard she broke into coughs, gulping down air like she was drowning. He let her sob into his chest, his arms hovering just above her back like he wasn't sure where to put them. He knew where they went, of course. But she seemed so fragile right now he was afraid she'd break if he touched her.

"I w-w-w-want m-mom!" she wailed, and he took in his first breath since she'd ran into his training room, sobbing. This, he could do. The woman would know what to do better than he would, anyway. He started toward where he could feel Bulma working, on the other side of the compound, but before he took more than a step Bulla grabbed his arms with more force than he'd thought her capable of and stopped him.

"No!" Her voice was urgent, arresting, almost afraid. It gave Vegeta chills. "Not mom."

"What?" he demanded, too bewildered to even be angry. First she wanted her mother and then she didn't? What was going on?

But she just kept crying, getting more and more hysterical, and finally he did touch her, taking her elbows in his hands and holding her steady. She shuddered at the contact, but whether from comfort or not, he couldn't tell.

"What is it?" he asked. "What has happened?"

Bulla shook her head, tears and snot still dripping down her face. Vegeta pulled a towel from his pocket, mercifully unused, and handed it to her. She didn't even wipe her face, just pressed the towel to it and sobbed into that.

"If you won't talk to me, and you won't talk to your mother, then who will you talk to?" His tone was exasperated, but really he was frightened. Bulla had never cried much, even as a baby, and even when she did, as soon as the annoyance or discomfort was removed, she stopped. She had never once sobbed uncontrollably, like her heart was the size of the world and it was breaking. She gulped in a few breaths at his words, the sobs easing for a moment but not ceasing.

"Gohan," she said confidently after a moment, and then burst into tears again. Vegeta felt his blood turn to ice.

"He's not the reason you're crying, is he?" he said in a low, dangerous tone.

Bulla shook her head vehemently behind the towel.

"Then why him?"

She hesitated, then slowly shook her head, still sobbing into the towel. Vegeta waited, hoping foolishly for her to explain, but it was soon clear that nothing more would be forthcoming. Gritting his teeth, he led her gently outside, grabbing a capsule vehicle on the way. If she wanted Gohan, then Gohan she would have, but if the boy failed to stop her crying Vegeta was going to murder him.


Gohan was as bewildered and dismayed at the torrent of tears as Vegeta had been, and seemed utterly appalled by the idea that she wanted to talk to him. Bulla's vague explanation ("you're the only one who will understand') left no one any more enlightened, and it was Videl who gently nudged her husband to accept.

"A-alright," Gohan finally said. "What did you want to talk about?"

"In private," Bulla ordered, through sniffles. Vegeta felt everything shrink around him, and distantly he was aware that Gohan was stammeringly trying to dissuade her. She was adamant, though, and only Videl's gentle offer to listen to her as well saved everyone from a not entirely intentional Gallic Gun. It took him a moment to realize that everyone was looking at him expectantly, and another moment to realize that they were waiting for him to leave.

He did, slamming the door behind him hard enough to break it.

After he paced a groove in Gohan's lawn, Videl came to him and delicately explained the situation.

"I don't know if you knew Bulla was seeing someone," she began.

"Seeing someone?" he repeated dumbly, and then his brain caught up to him. "You mean dating someone? A boy? She's been seeing a boy?!"

"Yes," Videl said firmly, apparently undismayed by his rising temper, which proved that at least some of Gohan's Saiyan instincts were working properly. "It's been getting a bit serious, and earlier they were kissing and—"

"Kissing?!" He felt veins pop out on his forehead. "Who is he? Why hasn't she told me there's someone she's kissing?"

"She probably didn't want you to, ah…" Videl gestured vaguely at Vegeta, and even as he seethed, he knew what she meant. He just didn't like it. His little girl never hesitated to tell him what she was thinking. It was a habit that destroyed him even as it made him proud. That she would keep something like this from him, even keep it from Bulma…

"Who is he?" he asked, his anger giving way to unease as he realized Bulla was crying and it had something to do with a boy.

"I don't know who he is. But she apparently, ah, hurt him. Badly enough that he had to go to the hospital."

"Sh-she hurt… him?" Vegeta stared at Videl, who was looking back at him with worried eyes. He had expected that sentence to be the other way around. "She hurt him and she's… crying about it?"

"Yes," Videl said, girding herself for what she was about to say. "That's why she wanted to talk to Gohan. She figured as a fellow half-Saiyan he would understand."

"Understand… what?" There was something obvious here, Vegeta could feel it, but his nerves were raw and he was straining with all his concentration to sense his daughter's energy, to feel it strong and bright, still healthy and well, not dying like his heart was.

"What do you mean, understand what?" Videl demanded. "She just hurt someone she loved so badly she put him in the hospital. How would you feel about something like that?"

Ah. There it was. It was obvious, of course, but Vegeta hadn't seen it because he hadn't imagined it applying to Bulla. Vegeta had fears of hurting someone he loved (did she think he didn't? Did she really think only other half-Saiyans did?) but he feared losing control because of his demons, of succumbing to darkness and losing himself. Well, he had feared it. These days it was a remembered fear only. And he had never feared simply making a mistake. He had certainly never thought to guard against losing himself to passion .

Besides, Bulla was weak. She didn't train. She was the one in need of protection, not the people around her. That was how he felt as a father. But she wasn't a little girl anymore, and he had forgotten that there were more things that could hurt you than the physical.

"What do I do?" he asked Videl, who had a good head on her shoulders and was furthermore in a position to understand both Bulla and her hapless partner. Gohan had never hurt his wife that Vegeta knew of, but the possibility had to have at least occurred to her.

"Be there for her," she said simply.


"The woman seems to think it will be good for her," Vegeta said, " and I… trust her judgment."

Cabba nodded in understanding, and because Vegeta couldn't have that, he added, "Your son is a fine boy. If Bulla were to choose him I would not object."

Cabba inhaled an entire mouthful of tea, and as he coughed and spluttered and turned red, Vegeta smiled behind his teacup.


"Daddy, teach me to fight."

They were words Vegeta had been anticipating and dreading his daughter's whole life.

Anticipating, because she was a Saiyan. Fighting was in her blood. Strength was her birthright. But as she grew older, and dresses, and then makeup, and then boys had consumed her thoughts, he'd held his tongue. He'd learned his lesson with Trunks. As long as she was happy, that was enough.

But also dreading, because his children should never have to live in a world where fighting was necessary. Where two 8-year-olds (or one 11-year-old for that matter) should be all that stood between everything they held dear and utter destruction.

The stakes weren't quite that high here and now. But the desperation on Bulla's face was as potent as though they were.

"Why?" he asked, though he already knew.

"There's a school tournament coming up," she said urgently. "Everyone's going to be in it."

"And so you have to be?"

She almost stamped her foot. He watched her feel the impulse and then think better of it, and was proud even as he ached at how fast she was growing up.

"Yes, daddy! Everyone's going to be in it. I'd have to have a really good reason to get out of it and, anyway," she wrapped a lock of hair around her finger absently, "I want to do it."

He faced her, sizing her up as he would an opponent or a pupil. She had always had a natural wariness that could serve her well in battle, but she also did not deal with frustration well, and she was coming from so far behind that she was going to spend a lot of time frustrated. She was naturally strong, could already go Super Saiyan, and had the guts and poise to allow her to face down even opponents above her skill level.

But she had no battle instincts. She knew no forms, had no technique. And everyone she would be facing had those in spades.

"This tournament is in, what, a week?"

She nodded.

"You will not get far in a week," he warned. She glared.

"Try me."

He couldn't have been more proud.


Vegeta didn't know most of the students participating in the tournament, but Bulma, Kohra, and the Queen (who all seemed far more interested in the love life of a fourteen year old girl than Vegeta thought a bunch of grown women had any business being) ran commentary on each of them: this one was a nerd participating out of obligation, that one was expected to win the whole tournament, another one had been Bulla's favorite up until a week ago—

"Which one?" Vegeta said sharply. Bulma rolled her eyes.

"Tace. He's over there, with the green tassels."

"I thought she hadn't chosen anyone yet!" Vegeta seethed.

"She hasn't," Bulma said. "Not officially."

Vegeta glared daggers at the young man currently stretching on the sidelines, waiting for his match. He had failed to make much of an impression during the mission, but now Vegeta noted every hated detail— his side swept hair, his mooning eyes that followed Bulla's every move as she did her own stretches across the ring. Vegeta wondered what being her favorite had meant, exactly, that even a week of being ignored hadn't killed his regard. The thought made him itch.

Finally Bulla's first match was announced. Her opponent: Tace.

"You got this sweetie!" Bulma cheered. Kohra and the Queen and half the stands chimed in. Bulla, it seemed, was popular.

"Eviscerate him, Bulla!" Vegeta yelled, which for some reason had Bulma in stitches. He ignored his wife. Bulla, wearing simple garments and with her hair pulled back in a ponytail, stepped into the ring, head held high. She had a very good chance of winning the whole tournament, whatever the bookies said, if she could just concentrate on remembering what he'd taught her.

"Look, Bulla," Tace said before the match began. The audience hushed to hear him better. "I'm sorry, okay? I'm willing to try again if you are."

He looked earnest, and sweet, and sincere. Bulla merely set her feet apart in a wide stance, left hand up in a guard with two fingers crooked, right hand loose behind her, ready to strike. Her father's signature stance. Tace tried again.

"I've been thinking, and I really messed up. I should have been more willing to try doing it your way." Vegeta felt the armrest of his chair snap. Bulma huffed in annoyance.

"He means kissing, dear, not…"

"What do you say?" Tace spread his arms, cocked his head, smiled crookedly. A person would have to have a heart of stone not to be moved by a face like that. The countdown to the match ended, the buzzer rang, and Bulla slammed her fist into Tace's face so hard he flew into the stands: an instant ring out.

Vegeta roared in triumph along with the rest of the stadium. Bulla merely turned her back on the pile of rubble and teenage hormones and flipped her ponytail over her shoulder as she walked away.


The rest of the tournament went much the same way. As Vegeta had suspected, Bulla was so far ahead of her peers in terms of raw strength that almost none of them had enough experience or skill to be able to make up the difference. There was only one match that gave her trouble: her match with Chisha. The girl fought with a viciousness that took Vegeta off guard, though apparently not Bulla. She had been avoiding using Super Saiyan since none of her peers could do so, but for Chisha she powered up even before the match began.

Once the buzzer rang, Chisha shot forward, her body almost parallel with the ground in her speed. Bulla could only bring her arms up in a block and dig her feet into the stone floor of the ring, skidding backwards several feet before taking control of her momentum. She flung her opponent off her and pressed the advantage, striking mercilessly and without pause. But Chisha absorbed the blows, though they left marks and drew blood, and phased out of sight to reappear behind Bulla, kicking her in the back.

Bulla staggered forward and then caught herself, growling. She looked angry. So did Chisha. Whatever this was, it was personal. They both fought to their utmost, giving each blow every ounce of strength they possessed. The crowd was nearly silent as they watched in breathless anticipation, eager to see who of these former friends would triumph.

It was Bulla, of course. Vegeta had known it would be. But his daughter had been nearly tossed from the ring twice before she managed to trip up her opponent and slam her into the ground by the side of the ring. The referees made Chisha hold still as they checked to make sure if every part of her had been ejected from the ring, so close was it. After nearly a minute of deliberation they concluded that it was Bulla's victory, and as the crowd erupted Chisha bounded to her feet and began shouting at Bulla.

"Do you get it now? Do you understand? This is what it means to be a Saiyan, Bulla. This. If you don't like it then go home."

Bulla gave her former friend a look that could have frozen oceans. Vegeta felt his stomach plummet. His daughter had been laser focused on her training the past week, and he'd been so proud he hadn't even taken a moment to wonder why. He glanced at Bulma, who was watching their daughter with her thumbnail between her teeth. But she did not seem surprised.

"Is… she having a hard time at school?" he asked. She gave him a withering glance.

"Oh, honestly, you finally figured that out? You said you didn't care to hear what happened at school, remember?"

He hadn't cared to hear which pretty boy had caught his daughter's eye that day. This was different.

"They're arguing about what it means to be a Saiyan? Is Bulla… having trouble with that?"

Bulma's look was still withering, but with slightly more patience. "That's what this whole trip has been about, Vegeta."

Oh, of course. Obviously. Vegeta ground his teeth and watched their daughter sit down on the sidelines and drink water, not looking at or interacting with anyone. She pulled her hair elastic out and angrily smoothed her hair down, the blue strands now frizzy and wild even after falling out of Super Saiyan. She poured some of her water over her head and pulled her hair back so tightly it looked painful. She hated going Super Saiyan. She'd always said it was because it messed up her hair. Vegeta wondered now if that was the only reason.

The rest of her matches were easy, and Bulla accepted the trophy and the cheers that came with it with a blinding smile. She accepted all the congratulations that came her way, posed for pictures and gave interviews. But when the excitement died down and the crowds thinned, she watched her classmates file off to the afterparty with a hard-to-read expression and made no move to follow. Bulma put her arm around her daughter.

"You were amazing, honey," she said. Bulla only leaned her head on her mother's shoulder in answer. Bulma kissed her forehead. "Let's go home."