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XIV.
Challenge
Breaking for a much needed lunch, Vegeta entered the eerily quiet house he had begrudgingly taken to calling "home." He cracked open the refrigerator, as per his usual ritual, and inspected the contents to find nourishment that met his specifications. Distantly, he wondered where the rest of the house occupants were. He did not make it his business to concern himself with the daily schedules of his family members, but he did, for practical reasons, like to have a general knowledge of their whereabouts in proximity to himself. Growing more curious as he disqualified one food item after another, he casually felt around for the ki of his humans and offspring; he sensed only one level, which he assigned to either his mate or her mother. Closing the refrigerator door, the Saiyan pinpointed the location of the ki and approached it. He found, much to his preference (usually,) his wife, sitting cross-legged on the couch and flipping through a magazine. She looked up when she felt him enter and grinned. "Hey," she said cooly, eyes then returning to her reading material.
Suspicious, Vegeta carefully surveyed the room. "Where are the children?" he asked, noting the almost deafening quiet which surrounded them—an uncommon occurrence in the past few months.
"With my parents," Bulma replied, turning a page, "for the whole afternoon."
Now, the Saiyan Prince was very suspicious. His mate had some sort of scheme, which, although not uncommon, was something he had learned to always be wary of. "Why?" he prodded, temperament as even as he could muster, eyes narrowed.
Grin stretching, Bulma gave a sigh. "Well, you were training, and I needed someone to watch the baby while I went to my doctor appointment," she explained, voice sing-song.
Suddenly, it was all clear. Today was the doctor appointment. The doctor appointment. When this date, coupled with an explanation of its significance, had been set six weeks ago, it was very much on Vegeta's radar. However, with the chaos of the newborn and his everlasting desire to seem aloof, he had actually forgotten this very important appointment.
Watching the Saiyan's expression as he began to put the pieces together, the scientist chuckled to herself. "Aren't you going to ask me how it went?" she drawled, setting the magazine beside her and giving a long, bored-looking stretch.
As she stretched, Vegeta took in her appearance, wondering how he was just now noticing it. Her tight jeans and black crop top, as well as all visible skin, were not covered in infant stains, but instead seemed neat and clean. She was also sporting a new fragrance—similar to, but not exactly the same as the last one he had admitted to liking. Normally he would have reminded her that his sense of smell was far superior to her human sense, and she was foolish to think he would not be able to tell the difference between the original scent and a replacement. But today was not a normal day. His muscles tightened, a warrior's instinctive and biological response whenever faced with a situation in which action may be taken.
"Well?" Bulma rose an eyebrow, waiting for his response. She wanted him to want it. No, she wanted him to show her that he wanted it. But, he was not so easily manipulated by her and her woman tactics.
"Well, get on with it. Can you or can't you?" He snapped, eye twitching in annoyance and anticipation. He wasn't going to beg, after all. He had his daily training to complete. He had other things he could do (at least, that's what he would tell her if her arrogance became too insufferable).
Exasperated, the blue-haired genius growled and dropped her hands to her side. "Come on, you can't play along even a little? I'm trying to be sexy here, some freaking support wouldn't kill ya. Do you know anyone else who could pull off a crop top after kiddo number two? Because I sure don't. Any other guy on Earth would be trading their souls or wishing on the dragon balls for a chance with this. And you got it, buddy. At least you did. Doc says I'm right as rain!"
Vegeta looked at her blankly.
In turn, Bulma rolled her eyes. "Sorry. That's 'I-Can' in Vegeta speak," she retorted, crossing her arms and assuming the defensive position in her seat.
However, before she could protest, the Saiyan had hoisted her into his arms. "No earth man could ever be worthy of you," he assured his mate, annoyed with how desperately he wanted, no—needed her. Although his tone was much more because-you-belong-to-the-prince-of-a-superior-race than because-you-are-the-best-woman-in-the-universe, the genius shrugged and decided she could count the comment as good enough.
"That's more like it," she replied, threading her fingers through his hair and kissing him intensely. "Now move it, homeboy, we have like four months to cover in four hours."
"That sounds like a challenge," the Saiyan countered darkly, tossing her back on to the couch. There was, decidedly, no time to waste. Vegeta, Prince of All Saiyans, never backed down from a challenge.
