I feel this one-shot is way overdue, but ehhhh, whaddaya gonna do.

Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Ball, Dragon Ball Z, Dragon Ball GT, or Dragon Ball Super.

"Now, go over there, and think about what you've done!"

A subtle pout infused itself with Goku's features, the newly born Super Saiyan God mumbling under his breath, "I'm not a little kid…"

Both his Earth name and Saiyan name were simultaneously growled out sinisterly at his remark. Goku jumped in fright, fearing another onslaught of slapping, and waved his hands in front of him. "Alright! Alright! I'm going, I'm going!" he cried out. Gulping, the full-blooded Saiyan scurried away from the small gathering to the other partygoers. Oolong stormed after him, snorting and still yelling at his old friend for his careless actions.

Piccolo grunted, his expression furrowed in annoyance, and followed the two back, his cape billowing behind him.

Bulma, exasperated, folded her slender, pale arms under her breasts, pursing her ruby red lips. She couldn't believe that Goku would do such a thing! Didn't he know that Beerus could've wiped out the whole planet if he had not stepped in? Sighing, she breathed out in minor contempt, "My whole birthday party was almost ruined because of him! The nerve of him…"

"Kakarot is an idiot, what do you expect?"

The blue-haired woman turned to face the owner of the voice, frowning. "Isn't that a little harsh?" she quipped. A scoff met her remark, a roll of the eyes in annoyance.

"Says the one," Vegeta retorted, "who slapped him silly."

Bulma, matching his look, replied without missing a beat, "Oh, contraire, dear. I was only following your orders."

"You still started it."

The birthday woman chuckled, sensing this "argument" wouldn't be going anywhere. Smiling, she stepped over to her battle-worn prince, brushing her fingers over his tattered jumpsuit. "You fought well today," praised Bulma, her voice soft, soothing. He grunted.

Vegeta casted a long glance on her fingers and he appeared to scrutinizing the ivory phalanges with a thoughtful look, brows knitted in concentration. His behavior puzzled Bulma; she understood a little bit of his predicament—encountering a figure from his twisted childhood, who laughed in the face of his father and slandered his bloodline, and did the same to him. Her husband had been battered around like a throw-away ragdoll by this godly being, all because a certain bubblegum creature didn't share his pudding. Such a thing would be a sting to anyone's pride. "You're mistaken."

"Pardon?" Bulma drawled, snapping out of her thoughts.

Vegeta scowled at her, his eyes averting from the hand on his bicep. His charcoal orbs pinpointed a light mark on her cheek—a soft purpling bruise from earlier today. With a frustrated growl, he elaborated. "How can you say I 'fought well', Woman? You're clearly delusional if you think that."

The heiress pursed her lips. "I don't believe Beerus hit me that hard to—"

"And there it is!" the Saiyan Prince snapped angrily, clenching his fists.

"What? Are you still sore about Beerus and Whis?"

"Woman, you should know by now I'm sore about everything."

Bulma couldn't help but laugh at that. "Yeah, I suppose you're right." She referred back to his previous statement, "But what did you mean before?"

The prince opened his mouth to speak, but Bulma was met with a soft, forced: "I…I couldn't…" to which she asked, "Couldn't what?" The alien warrior blinked a couple times, baffled as to why he could not utter another sound.

"I couldn't—" Vegeta started forcibly. The words were caught in his throat. Snarling, with a violent shake of his head, he grumbled, "Forget it." He began to storm his way past his wife, hissing under his breath in an unusual dialect.

"Vegeta, wait."

"Drop it, Bulma," the prince hissed, his stiff strides leading him further away—Bulma mused he was probably thinking about retreating to either some shadowy corner or the gravity room.

"I won't drop it!" Bulma scuttled after the incensed warrior, and she took her dainty hands and clasped his muscular shoulder tightly, as she possibly could. "Tell me what you meant!" She did not waver when a very sharp, fiery glare was thrown back in her direction, warning her if she did not fall back, but, being the boisterous (maybe foolish?) heiress she was, Bulma looked him square in the eyes, frowning. "Couldn't what, Vegeta? You can't stand here and tell me you did nothing today that wasn't praiseworthy."

Knowing he would at least stay and listen to her spiel, regardless if he found it ridiculous or not, Bulma released his shoulder and crossed her arms. "Think about it! Neither Buu nor Gohan could touch Beerus, and even Goku couldn't defeat him! You were one of the few people who actually landed some good hits on the guy, yet you—"

"—And it took you getting hit for me to do that!" Vegeta blurted out, abruptly spinning around.

Bulma was taken back by his declaration, her eyes fluttering rapidly. She opened her mouth to speak, to question him, but the words were forced back down in her throat when he grabbed her by her small shoulders, holding her in place. "What in the seven hells were you thinking, Bulma?!" cried the agitated Saiyan Prince, shaking her faintly. Or was it him who was shaking? "What could have possibly led you to even believe that slapping him was a brilliant idea?! Huh?! What would that have done to help?! Nothing! For crying out loud, Bulma, he could have incinerated you on the spot!

"And don't you dare," he spat, aware that she was about to rebuke him, "spoon-feed me that crap about how you're surrounded by people who could do the same thing! They're your friends—they would never do that! Beerus is different—Beerus is a damn God of Destruction! What would stop him from killing a measly human like you?! So, no, I did not fight well today. I failed because I couldn't protect you."

There was a pregnant silence between them; as the couple stood, his eyes hardened with anger and her eyes wide with shock, the sounds of the party drew on, serving as a backdrop to the tense quiet.

"…That's it?"

Vegeta broke from his rigid posture and gaped at his wife, bewildered. "… 'Th…That's it'? 'That's it'? What the hell do you mean 'that's it'?!"

Bulma cocked her head. "You say you failed because of that?"

"Y—Yes!" He let her go. The prince bemusedly growled under his breath, "You moan about me not caring enough, but when I do, you say it's no big deal?"

"Vegeta," Bulma said, shaking her head. "You didn't fail anyone—you didn't fail me." She smiled warmly at her mystified husband, and the blue-haired beauty closed the distance in between them, laying her ivory hands on his armored chest. "You defended me even if you knew you couldn't beat him. That's…'fighting well' at its finest. Vegeta…"

The Saiyan placed his gloved hand on the small of her back, the beating in his chest quickening with pleasurable anticipation.

"Thank you…"

Vegeta never thought he'd be so relieved to feel his lips on her sweet, pink lips.

No…thank you…