A/N: I really appreciate all the feedback everyone! Seriously, I'm grateful for the opportunity to be critiqued by some serious B/V fans. Now, about these chapters of mine. I don't think they're ridiculously short, but they aren't long enough for my satisfaction. For that reason, if the storyline permits it, there will be nice, long chapters ahead full of B/V action. I'm such a sucker for these two.

DISCLAIMER: I pwn Dragonball Z.

Vegeta tilted his head back in the shower and let the hot droplets of water cascade down his face and chest. He had a horrible headache and wanted nothing more than to lay down. The steam in the shower was somewhat calming though.

If he were completely honest with himself, he supposed that the reason he even had a headache was due to that loud woman and what she had said to him earlier that afternoon. Was it true? Was he delaying his inevitable surge to greatness by training reclusively?

It was something to think about, of that he was certain. Perhaps he ought to train with Kakarot, or at least with someone who would give him the sort of fight his Saiyan blood had been itching for ever since his blasted arrival on Earth.

Vegeta curled his upper lip and growled, grabbing the thick yellow soap from the soap dish and squishing it between his fingers. He couldn't fight Kakarot. Not yet.

He wasn't ready.

The thought alone was torturing him, churning his stomach. He was the Prince of all Saiyans! He was the chosen one! Not Kakarot! Not some idiot third-class!

He turned off the water and let the silence wash over him. He refused to let this anger consume him as so much of his anger usually did.

His head gave a nasty throb and he stepped out of the shower and flared his ki to dry off. Wrapping a towel around his waist, he opened the door and stepped out into the hallway.

The woman's mother was there with a giant grin on her face.

"You missed dinner tonight, dear! I saved you a few plates downstairs in the kitchen!"

Grunting, Vegeta began to make his way into his room so that he could change into his customary sweats. Seconds later, he sensed that the silly woman was still behind him and he turned around with a glare.

"What is it?" he asked gruffly.

She widened her eyes at his tone. "It's not healthy for a growing boy like yourself to skip dinner so often! You really should eat, Vegeta!"

The Prince placed a hand on the doorknob and opened his room door. "Bring it to me," he ordered, shutting the door in her face.

He listened to her skip down the hallway and trod down the steps.

"No one's normal around here," he muttered, dropping his towel.

Bulma had been reading for hours. Curled up on the world's most comfortable sofa in the world's most delightful den, she was oblivious to the world around her. Her father's black cat, Scratch, was lying on her stomach, her tail twitching whenever the young heiress flipped a page.

"This is nice, isn't it kitty?" Bulma asked the feline, gently stroking her ears. She sighed and leaned back on a fluffy green pillow. "We could lay here forever."

"Mrow," purred Scratch, arching her back and gently digging her claws into Bulma's nightgown. She settled back down again and closed her eyes.

Bulma placed the magazine she had been reading over her own eyes and stretched out her toes. It had been a very relaxing day. There had been no papers to fill out, no Gravity Room to rebuild, no complaints from any assholes she knew.

"This is life as it should be," she said aloud to Scratch, who acknowledged her with a flick of her tail. "I've kept myself sparse you know. I didn't bother Vegeta all day."

Scratch didn't answer.

"Yup," Bulma said with a winning smile, "He owes me big."

Pulling the magazine off of her face, Bulma sat up. Scratch, whose resting place had been disturbed, leapt off of the young woman's stomach and onto her head instead.

"No! Get down from there!" Bulma shouted. Her hair was poofy and she could hardly get a comb through it, much less a scraggly cat!

"Honey?"

Bulma turned from her franticness and to her mother, who was leaning against the doorway to the den in a bright green apron and oven mitts.

"I went upstairs to see if Vegeta would eat something. I don't think he will."

Bulma flinched when Scratch's claws pulled at her hair. "And? H-He's old enough to take care of himself, mother."

Her mom winked at her. "I think it would be nice if someone would take his food up for him. He's very tired you know…."

"And just... ow! And just who would that someone be?" Bulma asked, knowing exactly what her mother meant.

Bunny shrugged and looked up at the ceiling with a grin on her face. "Oh, no one I guess. Just someone warm and sensitive to his needs."

There was quiet for two seconds.

"I think you should do it!"

"No way," Bulma said, standing from the couch and grabbing onto Scratch, whose claws had managed to tangle her hair together. "I haven't seen him all day. Why do you think I'm so happy? Besides, there's probably a good reason why he hasn't eaten."

She couldn't think of one, but she hoped she was right. The last thing Bulma wanted to do was leave the warm sofa and enter Vegeta's bedroom of doom.

Her mother looked downcast. "I guess I could always do it," she said sadly. "Though I'm getting old and I'm not able to walk the steps like I used to."

That was false.

"Fine mom, I'll do it," Bulma said, rolling her eyes at her mother's see-through plot.

Her mother clapped her hands together and grinned wider. "Such a nice young girl, Bulma!"

"Baited is more like it," the blue-haired woman mumbled.

"Oh, and Bulma?"

"Yes mom?"

Bunny smiled innocently. "There's a cat on your head."

Bulma grabbed the large tubs of spaghetti that her mother had placed in the fridge and thumped them down on the counter. Cooking for Vegeta was no easy task. Not that she would know. Bulma had no aptitude for cooking. She wasn't even allowed near the toaster.

"Fork… bowl…"

Bulma picked the tubs up in her hand and the bowl and fork for Vegeta, and then began making her way to the steps. It was at this moment that she experienced a pang of brilliance.

Within moments she had grabbed another bowl and utensil and was climbing the stairs, a skip in her step. By the time she had reached the prince's lair, she was actually smiling.

Because her hands were full of food and dishes, Bulma kicked at Vegeta's door with her foot. When there was no response from inside, she kicked at it again, this time much harder and with a less happy intent.

"Open the door, Vegeta!" she demanded, the tubs becoming heavier in her arms. "I'm going to drop all of this food!"

The door cracked open to reveal Vegeta standing in front of her in dark colored sweats. He gave Bulma a once over.

"Aren't you going to invite me in?" she asked, trying to keep a smile plastered on her face. It was getting harder to do.

"Does it matter if I invite you in?" he asked as he opened his door further. "You'll let yourself in anyway."

Bulma pushed past him and walked inside, flicking the light on with her elbow. "Yeah well, I'm impressed to say the least. Most men don't figure that out until the second date. Maybe there are brains in that thick skull of yours!"

And there went her attempt to be nice.

Come on girl! You can do this!

Bulma set the food down carefully on an end table and looked around the room. It was very different than before. Vegeta had obviously cleaned up. Even the smell had changed.

"A woman can actually breathe in here," Bulma said, stepping towards his window and looking out into the night.

The Saiyan folded his arms across his chest and glared at her. "That's unfortunate," he said. "Now get out."

"No," Bulma said simply, turning to face him and leaning against the window. "I'm going to join you for dinner."

She took glee in the shade of red his face turned.

"It's going to be nice, Vegeta," she said as though she were his mother, convincing him to do something he detested. "It's spaghetti." She began to set out the bowls.

"Woman," said Vegeta with narrowed eyes. "I won't say this again. Get out."

Bulma turned around and blinked her eyes. "You can't make me."

Vegeta's dark eyes did not betray his emotion, but Bulma knew she was making him angry. His eyes were almost slits when he spoke to her.

"Is that so?"

He was nearing her, coming much too close for comfort. And then his eyes widened and he pointed behind her in outrage.

"What are you putting on my food?" he spat at her.

Bulma faced in the direction he was pointing. Exasperated, she grabbed the green and white plastic container and showed it to him.

"This is Parmesan cheese, Vegeta," Bulma explained. Rolling her eyes she sprinkled some into her own bowl as proof. "Sheesh! Not everyone is trying to poison you!"

"My life is valuable, much unlike your own," Vegeta said once she had given him his bowl and fork. "Those that fear me would have me dead in an instant."

"Ever stop to think that it's because you're a jerk?"

And even though Vegeta looked murderous, it had been worth it.

"Okay, okay," Bulma recanted, throwing up her hands as a show of peace. She grinned. "You know what? I bet on your home planet I would have been a comedian."

Vegeta growled. "On my home planet you would have been executed."

"I doubt that," said Bulma, sitting down on the floor and taking a bite of a warmed meatball. "I'm useful."

"For headaches," Vegeta said to her, making a face as he joined her on the floor. "Nothing more."

Bulma became defensive, as she always did whenever her intelligence was discredited. "Hey! In case you've forgotten, I not only helped design that gravity room you've sold your soul too, I helped build it too!"

"Relax, woman," Vegeta said, eyeing her with a smirk. "I am not implying that you are unintelligent."

This answer satisfied Bulma. "So, what were you implying then?"

His smirk became more pronounced. "Only that had you been born a Saiyan, there would have been other uses for you. None of them pertaining to science."

Bulma creased her forehead, letting his words sink in. And when they did, she was none too pleased about it.

"You're disgusting," she responded, not particularly enjoying his sudden amusement. "If that's how women were treated on your planet, then I'm glad I was born here on Earth."

Vegeta raised a brow. "You give yourself too much credit," he told her. "Earthlings have created non-existent distinctions between men and women that have left this planet light-years away from exceptional power."

"I never believed you to be so into women's lib," Bulma said with a slight smile, forgetting that just seconds before, she had been angry with him.

Vegeta gave her a curious look. "What are you talking about?" he asked her.

Bulma placed her bowl down on the ground and returned his look. "You mean about women's lib?"

He grunted.

Drawing her knees up to her chest, Bulma responded, "It's pretty lengthy. I'd have to go into great detail just to describe it all-"

"Then forget it," he cut in.

Bulma was quiet for a moment, watching Vegeta eat his food. "You know, whether you like it or not, we are going to be friends."

Vegeta nearly choked on a meatball.