Chapter 7

Brought to you by Joy's Canvas and Gue22

~0~0~

As the bow-tie clad gentleman passed them with a tray balanced on his hand, a gentle breeze touched Chichi's cheek. Then it wafted on to touch the delicacy on the tray, fanning it until the aroma of cinnamon and apple was so tantalizing, she thought she'd expire if she did not taste it.

But the gentleman had not lingered; he had moved on to offer his wares to the other guests.

Which was just as well, she was embarrassingly full. She and Goku had eaten all the food from earlier, just the two of them. Chichi had not thought it possible, but with Goku's appetite they had methodically cleaned out delicacy after delicacy until there was nothing left.

Now he had brought them back here, near the large fountain whooshing at the centre of the gathering. He had acquired them an empty wrought iron table sitting prettily under the trees. They sat, just the two of them, watching the meanderings of the rest of the guests.

People in lavish outfits and glittery jewelry milled between them and around them like swarms of colorful fish at the bottom of the sea. Their voices were loud and obnoxious, the clash of their glasses and cutlery gnashing on the teeth. Even worse, their loud irritating laughter was intensely grating on the nerves. No one came to bother them though, so she was coping with the evening just fine.

It would not do, to clear up a throat in annoyance whilst trying to be a good companion to Goku.

Chichi shook her head, watching him stuff more food into his mouth. He had brought them back here — where he'd plainly confessed that his friend Bulma had forbidden him to come— because, of all things, he could still eat.

"You are an oddity, am I correct?" she regarded him frankly. "Most people are incapable of eating as much as you in one sitting."

He chuckled, stuffing something else in the bottomless pit that was his mouth. "I guess," he shrugged. "It's 'cause they're too busy worrying about useless things."

That was a rather ominous thing to say. "Such as?"

"Well," he began licking off the sticky barbecue sauce from each finger. "My Grandpa," he licked the corner of his mouth, "worries about costumes."

She shifted in her chair. "Costumes?" There was something rather disconcerting about seeing his tongue.

"Yep," he said. "He likes it when his cooks wear weird costumes in the kitchen."

She blinked. "You mean uniforms. There is nothing wrong with that. I wear a uniform at work too."

He turned up those dark eyes of his, chuckling. "But yours is normal. It doesn't come with bunny ears or a fluffy tail."

She raised her brow at that. Bunny ... ears? That was strange. But she had worn a strange uniform too, once."I wore something with a lot of frills and flowers at the Florist's," she confessed, causing Goku to cringed.

"Yes," she shared his sentiments. "It was ridiculous and useless, but it was the uniform of the shop. I was obliged to wear it."

He polished off what remained on his plate, then pushed it aside. He leaned forward, his elbow on the table as he held his chin in his hand. "How long did you work there?

She looked away, stared at the cascade of water down the three tiered fountain. "Just one day," she shrugged.

"You didn't like it?" She could feel the keen interest of his eyes on her face. "Oh wait," he exclaimed. She turned back to face him. "Is that the job you got fired from?" he grinned, pumping his eyebrows up and down.

She scoffed, sat back against her chair and crossed her legs. "It was a useless job anyway. I am not sorry that I was terminated."

He laughed, his teeth flashing white in the dim lighting. "No doubt. Food trumps flowers any day right?" He leaned even closer over the table.

She considered it: food or flowers? There was no contest. "I wholeheartedly agree," she nodded. But quickly realized they were treading on dangerous waters. What if he asked her why she was terminated. He might very well frown upon her answer. "So," she moved to change the subject, "what other useless things do people worry about? Other than costumes?"

He drew himself up and sat back in his chair. "Let's see, there's my friend Bulma." He shook his head. "Oof, she's always worrying 'bout finding the perfect husband."

She frowned. "What does she want one of those for?"

"Um," he pressed his lips together. "I'm not sure actually," he laughed. "It's just her thing I guess. That and her great invention."

She leaned forward. "What has she invented?" Now that seemed like a noble pursuit. The Craftmaster back at The Clan was a great inventor too.

"Uh-huh," he tapped his chin as if he was in serious thought. "I don't really know that either," he laughed at himself. "But um, yeah ... she's very smart, so I'm sure whatever it is will be great."

He was such a strange one, he had no idea what this Bulma was inventing, but was confident that it would be praiseworthy. How ridiculous.

"Mnn," he was still thinking, clearly. "Let's see — Krilin. Boy! He worries about everything." He frowned at that, as if this Krilin's worrying was of great concern to him.

"Such as?" she prompted.

He began to count with his fingers. "School grades, pimples, his bank balance, girls, prison." He shook his head. "He never has any peace if he's left alone to think."

"Prison?" she blurted without intending to. That was alarming. Was this Krilin person involved in some illegal shenanigans then? Was he an assassin? She cleared her throat. "Why does this Krilin worry about incarceration?"

"Huh." Goku slumped in his chair this time. "That's a good question. Hmm," he tapped his chin. "I never really asked you know," he smiled sheepishly. "He just reads a lot about the judgical system and things."

"You mean the judicial system?"

"Yeah," he nodded. "That. He's always following the news about people being sent to prison and mumbling to himself about it." He sighed. "He grumbles a lot about that kinda stuff."

She swallowed, uncomfortable with seeing his face in that less than content way. Uncomfortable that her first instinct was to say something to soothe him. "Perhaps he wishes a career in law enforcement?"

"Nuh," he shook his head. "He's always grumbling about how useless the cops are. How rotten, and things like that," he shrugged. "He grumbles a lot, Krilin. Heh."

"You are right," she said abruptly. "All that worrying," she crinkled her nose. "It all sounds exhausting and useless."

"See," he leaned back in his chair. "It's like I said, all that worrying is the reason most people have so little time to think about food," he grinned, and something altogether unexpected unfurled in her chest.

"You mean," was her breath catching? "You mean, you do not have any worries of your own?"

"Just two." He put up two fingers. "Training," he counted off, "and doing good at my job."

"You have a job?" she blurted. She had assumed he was just a student.

"Of course," he said, sheepishly. "And as long as I'm doing good in it," he shrugged, "why should I spend half my awake time worrying about things I can't change, instead of plotting my next meal?"

This was not good. The sight of that smile, those teeth, the corners of that mouth all curved and twisted in mirth like that ... God, it made her mouth want to quirk in return. "Goku, I like your philosophy."

"You do?"

"Yes," she admitted. They were not too unalike it seemed. "Now that I have found a job I am good at," she shifted in her seat. Why did he look at her so intently every time she spoke? "I only worry about two things: excelling at it and plotting my next meal."

His grin was so wide just then, she found that this time she could not prevent her mouth from curving at the corners into one of those ridiculous things — a smile.

His face lit up exponentially, as if he'd borrowed the luminous glow from one of the lighting contraptions dangling above them and claimed it as his own. "Really?"

This time the smile came a lot easier. A lot smoother. "Absolutely."

"What about clothes and shoes?" He leaned all the way in with his torso this time, his eyes dancing. "I'm sure you worry some about them."

She was truly baffled. "Clothes go on my body," she said. "They keep me warm and decent," she added, not understanding why they would be a cause for concern. "Why would I worry about them?"

"Ha!" He slapped his palm on the table, startling her as he laughed. Then he practically loomed over her like a cloud, he was leaning so much. "You know something, Chichi?"

Her heart thumped. Skipped. Then thumped again. "W-What?"

"I knew I liked you for a reason."

She looked away, quickly. Unable to accommodate the allure of that smile that split his face. It was too bright, too vast and it made her uncomfortable. Besides, her chest was misbehaving; perhaps the air out here was bad.

She ran a finger down her neck, hoping the sight of the cold water running down the fountain would be enough to cool this swarm of heat that was spreading in her body. Still, it was humiliating that she felt the need to hide from his eyes. What did she care if he liked her?

"That's a silly thing to say." She turned back to face him. She did not care one whit about it. "There is nothing impressive about not worrying about clothes."

He smiled knowingly. "You're a girl, right?" His eyes scanned her from head to toe — excruciatingly slow and thorough — as if to confirm. A sly smile crawled onto his face. "Trust me. It's impressive."

She scowled, wondering why he had needed to confirm with his eyes that she was girl. Did she not possess sufficient attributes? She had always assumed so.

"You'd find it impressive too," he was quick to assure her. Probably wrongfully misinterpreting her scowl for doubt. "Believe me, if you went to my school you would."

She did not believe it for a second. It was an entirely harebrained notion. "The only things I have found impressive on the outside, are: the ki you showed me when we met." She pulled out her thumb. "And all the techniques I've learned at The Delish," she counted on her pointer.

"Techniques?" He jumped on his chair. His body rapt with attention. "You've been learning techniques at The Delish?" His eyes grew wide in astonishment.

"Of course," she said, drawing herself up. "Dessert making is an art you know. I've learned a lot of impressive techniques from Mr. Kuku. How to macerate, to blanch, to book-fold, to crimp, to dredge, and, my favourite so far, flambeing."

"Man," he slumped, slouching back in his chair. "I really don't know what all those techniques are, but mnn." He rubbed his tummy. "From the sound of them, they sound pretty tasty."

She gaped at him. Was he an idiot? How could a technique sound tasty?

"Except for the book folding thing." He made a disgusted face. "I don't ever wanna try a folded book, not even if it was folded by you, Chichi. Gah!" He shuddered.

He looked so horrified just then, his face contorting into all manner of unpleasant folds as he shuddered, poking his tongue out in a noisy and dramatic faux gag. Wha —

A spontaneous sound rose from her chest and exploded out of her mouth in hoots. It was loud and rich and ... her shoulders had hunched and were quaking with the outpour of all that sound.

She was actually laughing.

The sound had no discernable pattern, no comprehensible purpose. Just ... vocal expulsions of air from deep inside her and ... and it felt good. A free run through the meadows at dawn without instructors breathing down your neck. The first clasp of her release papers to the outside world.

She laughed, and laughed and it was freedom. She felt good, light and nimble like a fresh bean sprout. She felt ... alive.

"You are so ridiculous, Goku." Her shoulders still shook, she could not stop them. Did not wish to stop them. "Book-folding," she managed to expel between breaths,"is the delicate technique of f-folding butter into dough. To make puff pastry and such." She had to take a deep breath here. "Not, literally folding books!"

God, he was so silly, so ... she looked up then, and all that laughter instantly froze on her cheeks. Wha—

His face had changed. His eyes had darkened, no longer filled with mirth or mischief. They'd sobered, lowered and were hooded with ... pleasure?

The air was so still just then, her throat utterly dry.

"I made you laugh," he said. So soft she almost didn't catch it. And his eyes ... they looked at her with such awe that—

He was up. Up from his chair, offering her a hand. "Come," he invited.

What was happening? "Where are we going?" She was so confused now. So confused she fumbled as she pulled out of her chair.

"For a demonstration." He already had her hand clasped in his. It was warm and gently firm, and she could feel the callouses there, callouses worse than hers.

"A demonstration?" she said stupidly, following behind him with clumsy steps as he led them through the crowd, past the crowd and into ... the house? "W-Wa," she stammered, reason returning to her foggy brain. She planted her feet in the ground like a seed and refused to budge. "What demonstration?"

He turned, his eyes glinting. "Your favourite technique. I wanna see it. Flamingo or something right? I wanna see it,"

"F-Flam ... f-flam," she sputtered. "You want me to demonstrate the visual effects of flambéing a dessert here?

"Why not? This house has a kitchen, whatever you need, I'm pretty sure Bulma's mom has got it covered." He turned and began to drag her along all over again. "Unless," he stopped abruptly, blast! She'd nearly crashed into him too. "Unless," he said again, all hang-dog as he tipped his head and scratched at the spot above his ear. "Um, did you wanna dance or something?"

She recoiled. She absolutely did not want to dance. Or something. Being held in his arms like she saw some of the other people doing? She shuddered. "All I need is a dessert, a kitchen torch and some alcohol," she fired off, because suddenly flambéing sounded like a rather splendid idea.

~0~0~

Krilin slumped against the weeping tree, shielded by the curtain of its long droopy branches. The tension in his shoulders softened like a candle under fire as he spied the last disappearing spec of the car's taillights.

He was gone, finally. That bastard Vegeta Sei was gone. He'd trailed him from the party, through the pathways, all the way to his prissy car. He'd hidden behind the tree and watched every move till Vegeta got into it and fucked off.

He'd looked pissed. All tense muscles and tight jaw as he clipped and grunted at the poor valet. Not the look of a man who'd just been snared. Not at all.

He ran a hand through his hair, thanking god that Bulma had turned out to be useless at seduction. Now he wouldn't have to worry about her on that front. It was enough worrying about one mad man, no need to add an unscrupulous criminal to the mix.

Besides, after having his ass handed to him by Goku, Krilin knew for a fact that the prick's pride alone wouldn't let him come back. Some things never changed.

Slipping his hands in his pockets, Krilin pushed away from the tree and inconspicuously made his way down the well groomed grounds of Capsule Corps.

His job here was done.

~0~0~

He'd made her laugh.

He couldn't get enough of remembering it. Of how her face has changed when she had. Man, it made him so high you'd think he'd mastered something better than a Kamehameha.

Her tiny hand in his, he led her back to the spot Bulma'd picked for him, balancing the stolen pyramid of the croque-whatever on its tray.

"Goku, I repeat, this is not a good idea," she began.

Boy, he'd thought Bulma was the talker, but let a guy make off with a little dessert and man, the girl could lecture. His ears were blistered from all that talk, all those warnings, especially since she used all those words he didn't get half the time.

"It is indecorous, Goku." There she went again. "I am sure your friend Bulma will be greatly displeased if she discovers that we have—"

"Won't tell if you won't." He turned, grinning at her. Ha! She looked so flustered! He didn't think she had it in her, being so proper and all, all the time.

"I still think—"

"You helped make these right?" He floated the tray next to her face, making sure she got a good whiff at all that goodness.

"Yes?" He hid his smile, the little dart of pink tongue at the corner of her mouth saying it all.

"So," he thought it was obvious. "C'mon! It's only fair that you should get to eat some, right?"

She pursed her lips, heh. He wasn't fooled. "One or two pastries perhaps." Her chin went up. "The entire pyramid? Absolutely not."

Ah, they were here. The large table Bulma'd set aside for him was just a few steps away now. Someone had clearly come by at some point to clear it 'cause all the dishes and trays and crumbs they'd left behind were nowhere to be found. It was all spickety-clean.

He set the silver tray down and let go of Chichi's hand. "There," he said, rubbing his hands together. "Let's see it."

She blew out a breath, but pulled out the bottle clasped under her arm. "Oh, very well." She approached the yummy tower.

She twisted the bottle open, and held it at a weird angle above the pyramid. And with one finger covering the opening, she began to splash the liquid all over it in patterns.

Huh. The smell from the bottle shot straight to his nose. It was sharp and crisp like he'd snorted up an orange peel.

Scowling, she held out her palm after putting the bottle on the table. "Torch," she said.

"Oh!" He had completely forgotten. He reached behind him and pulled out the torch he'd stuck in the back of his pants. "Here we go," he sing-songed, placing it in her palm.

"You should stand back," she warned and set the pyramid on fire.

"Whoa!" He jumped back, goggling at the dancing flames. "It's real fire," he blurted; for some reason he wasn't really expecting it to be hot! How stupid was that?

Blue and orange, the flames danced in swirls around the towering cakes. His stomach clenched painfully at the smell, it was like caramel but not. Richer, deeper. God, he'd surely die if all them cakes burnt to a crisp and he never got to try some.

"So?" Her face was flushed, her eyes bright and alive like he'd never seen them before. "What do you think?"

"I think." He paused. Man his heart was beating out of control. "I think it's just," he breathed out. Had he ever felt adrenaline kick in a rush like this over seeing someone's flushed face before? No, never. This was ... weird. "It's amazing, Chichi," he finally said through a dry throat. "But um," and more importantly too, "We can still eat it, right?"

She grinned, actually grinned at him. Whoa! "Of course," she said. "In a minute the flames will die, and then," her eyes grew even bigger, "we shall feast!"

And sure enough, the flames did die. And if he'd thought the pyramid smelled good before, wow, it was over the top right about now.

She beat him to it, reaching out with her tiny fingers while he was still trying to get his racing heart in control. She picked the pastry ball sitting at the tip of the pyramid and carried it — dripping sticky delicious syrup and all — to her mouth. She held it there for a second and just ... took in the aroma. Then she opened her mouth a tiny tinsy fraction and bit it with her eyes closed.

He groaned. He'd promised himself earlier, hadn't he? Promised he'd taste the food straight from her mouth if he made her laugh? Well—

He moved, before he could think it through, leaned in and—

She blocked him, arm raised like she was deflecting a blow. And she was already two steps away from him. "Get your own, Goku," she reprimanded as she frowned. Then she popped the rest of it into her mouth and chewed. Slow and deliberate, which made him want it even more.

But those reflexes ... whoa! And she insisted she didn't know how to fight? Right.

~0~0~

With sword-like precision, another minute cut the air and ticked down on the grandfather clock. The antique lamp resting on the night-table reflected the dance of moonlight through its dangling crystals; threatening to take her back to the glint and sparkle that had been the cocktail party.

Unable to sleep, the light danced on Chichi's face as she stared at the tick and tock of the second handle, inadvertently judging how much momentum she'd need to leap out of bed and kick the annoying device into oblivion.

She turned onto her back and shut her eyes tightly. To have such a violent thought spurred by emotion would have surely ended in disciplinary action back at The Clan. Still, with each tick, and each tock, she couldn't help but think of him.

How much could one person smile in one night? Or laugh? He had undoubtedly exceeded whatever limits morality and propriety demanded!

And what more… she'd found the muscles in her own face helplessly relaxing; the corners of her mouth – treacherous lines that they were – curved and bowed and twisted until they were upturned into one of those things – smiles. And then her whole body had seemed to retaliate— chest tightening and relaxing, spontaneous sounds escaping in trills and hoots— all flowing helplessly out her mouth.

She'd laughed, laughed of all things! Something she'd been taught that only the foolhardy engaged in.

He is nothing! Her training reminded. The debt was adequately repaid, now you need think of him no longer! Long, dark hair flailed as she let out a breath, commanding her well trained body to shut down and rest.

But memory, it seemed, was not an obedient thing.

"I made you laugh," he'd said with awe, as if he'd achieved the impossible. Had mastered the 100 Ways in one day or something equally as impressive.

Turning to her side, her throat felt just as constricted as it had then. She forced one eye open and spied the giant handle ticking and tocking on the wall— two full minutes had already passed since she'd spied it last. "Urgh!"

She tugged at the string dangling from the lamp and soft light followed. "Water. That should help." Pulling back the fluffy comforter, she slid her bare feet into her bedroom slippers and quietly slid into her en-suite.

A cup rested on the marble sink. She twisted the cold water tap and placed the little cup under the silver spout; shutting her eyes momentarily against the image of a certain infectious grin as the cool water filled up. Almost desperately she placed its edge to her lips and took a sip. Cool and soft, water poured down her throat as if to flush out all memories of the spiky haired boy.

Gripping the cup firmly in her hand, she turned and flicked the light out and quietly dragged her feet back to her big comfy bed. She sat the cup next to the lamp and took a long sigh, switching the lamp back off to remain vaguely illuminated by the moon. Now then, sleep.

Silence filled the bedroom for a good two minutes and then she grunted. Unbecoming or not, she was thoroughly annoyed with that part of herself that would not leave well enough alone.

Does it really matter how warm his hand was against your back? Does it? When it did not respond, she felt compelled to press her point home. He is a mammal after all, not a type of amphibian! Of course his hand would be warm. There.

Satisfied, she shut her eyes once again. There, she thought, ensconcing her head snuggly in her pillow. That should put those recalcitrant thoughts in their place.

Two minutes later she threw the covers off, yanked the cord and stormed out of bed.

Paper rustled, something else clanked as she rummaged through the contents of the little drawer of her night table. A few seconds more of rummaging and finally, there it was — his phone number. It was carelessly written on the back of a crinkled flyer from The Delish.

Good thing Mr. Kuku had left plenty lying around in the hopes of snagging a little business from the affluent guests. Flyer in tow, Chichi dashed for the phone mounted on the wall without wasting a single second.

"Great," she muttered, when all she received in turn was the internal line.

She went rummaging again, trying to find the piece of paper Ox King had given her upon her arrival. Surely the external code was written in there somewhere.

But no, no matter the quality of her methodical search, ultimately she was unable to locate the blasted thing; and she knew she had placed it here somewhere.

Scowling, she straightened her shoulders and resolved to speedily do away with the obstacle. And it was that resolve that had her storming out of her room, turning down the passage and pushing through the large doors of the main bedroom without remorse.

Walking straight towards the large snoring mound on her adoptive father's bed. She drew out a finger and poked at it. "Please forgive my intrusion," she followed with a polite bow.

But a few seconds of waiting revealed that the man was still in slumber.

She poked him again; several times actually. Though, inwardly she cringed at the thought of how many lashes she would have earned back in The Clan for intruding on one of her superiors in such a fashion.

But this was home, and the large man had insisted on numerous occasions that when she needed something— all she had to do was ask.

Well, she needed something now. Rather urgently, she felt.

"Ahem …. Father!" she teamed up the poke with a little yell.

"Waindasauce?" he mumbled; turning over with loud creaks and cracks.

"Excuse the intrusion on your time of rest," she spoke clearly. "I need the external code for the telephone."

Again she awaited for a response, but to her irritation, the big oaf was snoring all over again.

"Wake up!' she clonked him on the head with the heel of her palm; and that caused the giant to jackknife, eyes wide.

"Chichi?"

She froze. She'd… actually struck him! Struck him!

"A-ah— " he rubbed his eyes. "It's you, Chichi."

"Yes," she said thickly, heart skipping a few beats. She'd struck him! What if he reported her? "I have returned from my night out," she stated the obvious. "And now," she swallowed. "I'm in need of the external dialing code."

"Oh. A-a. Code?" he wiped at his mouth, eyes big and round.

"I need to make an urgent call."

"Right. Call." He scratched his head." It's zero – eight - eleven." A yawn. "Did you have fun?"

"The food was praiseworthy."

"Ah, that. Good." He yawned again in the midst of a nod. "Very good." He mumbled as he drew up the covers, lowering his body back onto the mattress.

"Thank you for your trouble," she turned for the door.

"See you for breakfast." He rolled over and returned to sleep as though he had never been awakened.

On her way back, she pondered on the peculiarity of the code. Ox King had picked a number that matched the date The Clan had given her as a birthday. It couldn't have been a coincidence.

Once in her room, she yanked the receiver and punched in the code. Relieved to hear a dialing tone, she promptly fed the number from the flyer. And then she waited.

And waited.

Ugh! How inconsiderate! Someone pick up the phone! It rang. And rang. And then some. Until it cut. She glowered; then punched in the number again.

It rang. And rang. And—

The veins of her fingers pulsed as her grip tightened, nearly crushing the plastic. It was not a complicated feat! No self-respecting individual she knew could sleep through such an obvious noise. Even the newest of recruits at The Clan snapped right awake at the merest hint of the drop of a pin!

Just then, the ringing stopped. A sleepy voice mumbled a groggy, throaty, "Hello?" And her heart was suddenly thumping so hard she could hardly hear herself think.

Promptly, she hung up.

What was that? She clutched the fabric of her nightdress over her chest, then shook her head. After all that, why did I drop the receiver?

She punched in the numbers again; rapidly. And this time they picked up with an aggravated tone. "Hello!?"

"Goku, this is Chichi calling." Just then she heard the sound of something being thrown, followed by a man's scream.

"Ow Krilin! What was that for?" Goku's voice came yelling out of the phone.

Something was muttered that Chichi couldn't quite understand, and then his voice again. "Hi, Chichi?"

This was really odd. Suddenly that tight feeling in her stomach again. She sighed. "Yes. Hello."

"Chichi?" The voice on the line chirped happily. "Hey! How are you? Is there something wrong? I mean, I'm really glad to hear from you so soon and all, but Krilin is kind of mad you woke him." That laugh came belting out, which made her hold the phone out a bit. "Hey, everything okay?"

"No. There is something wrong. I— " I what? Cannot stop thinking about you? Surely that was a foolish thing to say.

"Are you hurt?"

"No. It's you. I keep thinking about the time I spent with you and it's disrupting my sleep."

"Y-You— " she could hear his breath hitch. "Y-You have?"

"Yes," she said plainly. "It's quite a nuisance."

A chuckle. "I've been thinking about you too, Chi."

She pursed. "No. Judging by the amount of time it took you to answer the phone. I'd safely wager that you were sleeping rather thoroughly."

This time he laughed out loud. "That doesn't mean I wasn't thinking of you right till I fell asleep, you know."

"Well, regardless. This is just a diligent follow up on our evening."

"Huh?" Was the reply from the other end of the line.

"As in ... did you enjoy yourself at the party?"

"You bet! We had a great time, right?"

She could simply feel the smile in his voice. It was undoubtedly plastered on his face too.

"You made going to that stuffy cocktail worth it." He went on to say. "You made my whole night Chi," he added softly.

"Good," she said, almost breathless. Which made no sense at all because she had not exerted herself in any way. "Good," she repeated for good measure, strengthening her voice. "That means I was a good companion. I have repaid my debt to you in full. I do not owe you anymore."

A short silence fell between them.

"Well..." It was Goku who broke the silence. "No, I suppose you don't, but you never owed me in the first place, you know. That was all Bulma. I was gonna call you tomorrow anyway. Let's meet again sometime, you know, outside Delish, I mean. When you're not working and stuff."

"I— " she swallowed, thinking back to the warm press of his hand along the small of her back. The way the whole world had seemed to light up when he smiled, and the intolerable way with which all of her had reacted to all of it. The answer was simple. "No, Goku. That would not be wise.

"Who cares about wise? It'll be fun! C'mon!"

Her throat was tight. Was she coming down with something? "My debt is repaid," she said firmly. "And as such, I need not see you again. Goodbye."

"Wait— "

She did not dare wait this time.

A steady beep replaced his voice as she promptly dropped the receiver, willing her heart to calm with a few practiced breaths.

Once there, she turned and walked back to bed.

~0~0~

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