Death Traps

"He's like a troll," she whispered aloud to herself, sliding her tongue over her teeth as she adjusted the knob on her binoculars. "A stupid, little, unruly, machiavellian, blustery troll..."

"Ah, honey," Dr. Briefs murmured nervously, mustache twitching as his eyes bounced from one Capsule Corp employee to another, "Do you think there might be a more appropriate use of your time and... money?"

Bulma waved her hand in agitation, eyes squelched against the lenses. "I'm not dying anytime soon and - money? Please."

"But, Bulma..." Dr. Briefs peered around at the clearly uncomfortable group of scientists holding their clipboards to their chests and shifting beneath their long white coats, "You have some of our best people here... with you... hiding behind the shrubberies."

Someone coughed. Bulma didn't seem to notice. "Is there something wrong with our location?"

Eyes looked in every direction but the heiress and her father, who was looking distinctly more perturbed by the second. "It's not very - ahem - appropriate to have your people on what appears to be a stakeout with you." He squinted down at a nearby clipboard. "When you could probably just ask the poor boy... These are rather basic queries."

One of the male scientists turned his board around for the benefit of the boss and indicated with his pencil what appeared to be some rather crude cartoon doodles of what also appeared to be a spiky-headed Saiyan in various scenes. The page was entitled "Research and Analysis." A trickle of sweat fell down the man's cheek. Dr. Briefs carefully flipped to the page behind it, grimaced, and made a quick survey of the clipboards around him. "Bulma," he said, this time adding some steel to his voice, "This is highly unusual and for all intents and purposes looks like you're taking our workers hostage in order to assuage some strange obsession of yours."

Hearing his tone, Bulma finally lowered the binoculars, blinking owlishly up at her father. "But Daddy," she wheedled, "They have all the medical and general calculations and observations you've made about our monkey Prince since he got here!"

Dr. Briefs ignored her and turned to the group, holding his hands out. "All of the clipboards. Hand them over."

Bulma stood swiftly then, clutching her father's arm. "But DADDY I can't do any research without an unbiased control group to set my own theories against! And these lunkheads-" there was a collective grimace and grumble "-are the only group that has interacted with him on a completely impersonal and scientific level, unlike you and Momma and me!"

The older man shifted his cache in his arms, unruffled. "Bulma, I personally don't see the benefit - much less, the reason - for you conducting - What did you call it? Research? - on our house guest. I'm thinking another word for this is stalking." He looked down his nose at the clipboards. "Have you even asked his permission?"

Bulma turned her head to peer through the hedges to where the Saiyan sat in rather close (and odd) proximity to her mother. "What he doesn't know won't hurt him," she chirruped.

Her father's face screwed up, and he raised a hand to rub the bridge of his nose. "That sort of thinking has led to all sorts of scientific atrocities in the past, Bulma. You know that."

His daughter had already picked her binoculars back up. "Yeah well Vegeta's got the power to kill me in his pinky finger. Inherently I can't do anything that would endanger my own life, so don't worry. It's all good."

Dr. Briefs was growing more irritated by the second. This sort of rabid ferocity about a project was what made the blue-haired scientist a revolutionary of her time (much like himself), but the particular subject was much more dangerous than any reactor she'd dared to tamper with before. And something in the back of his mind blared a warning that this scientific inquiry could be a mask for personal interest in the matter, in which case, he wouldn't leave her on her own. Not a chance. His eyes shifted over to his daughter kneeling in the grass, face stuffed into the bush. She was beautiful in every way, a bright, pealing bell against the darkness that so often invaded their home - and Vegeta was, by his own choice or not, a part of that darkness. He may be rather oblivious, but he had seen the man's eyes slide to Bulma's figure when he knew she wasn't looking. What was more alarming, his gaze didn't linger, but snapped away quickly as though burned. It registered with the old man that Vegeta was trying his best to stay away from them, and specifically her. The doctor's cheeks burned a little as he remembered one particular incident that Bulma remained unaware of.

"You can have Tress," he blurted, interrupting his own thoughts. A tall woman with a bleached pixie cut slumped as her co-scientists high-fived each other. "Everyone else is coming with me."

Bulma looked away from the bushes and glared up at her father. "Fine. Whatever. Just leave the clipboards."

"Of course, dear." He began to turn away and then stopped himself, staring at the audio and visual equipment chugging along in the background. "Ah, Bulma, why do you have those binoculars?" He left out the phrase 'relatively-useless.'

She blinked and looked down at the object in her hands, a sheepish look sliding over her face. "It's more fun this way."

A stifled groan erupted from Tress' mouth and Dr. Briefs nodded, choosing not to respond. Perhaps things were worse than he thought.

Unaware of the titterings from beyond the hedges, Vegeta had stalked out to the garden patio, where he'd met the vaguely-disconcerting, closed-eye smile of Bunny Briefs. It was the last Saturday of the month, and she had prepared for his company as usual, loading a banquet's worth of food onto the table and pulling out the sun loungers from the pool deck. There she waited, sipping on a watermelon cocktail, hair piled up on her head, and legs stretched out to meet the sun. Her surly house guest had arrived as per usual at ten AM sharp, ready for his massive mid-morning snack. With barely a rustle he sat down on the lounger next to her - not too close as to inspire the idea of friendliness, but not so far as to raise their voices to one another in conversation.

Bunny lay in the sun patiently, enjoying the breeze on her face. She had learned early on that her chatter annoyed the Prince, and to be quite honest, she was pretty sure that even now he merely abided her presence. It had been frustrating at first for the woman, whose hospitality skills were whispered of in hallowed halls, to be so blatantly disliked by the man. For a while it had baffled her, until she got a grasp of the idea that she was dealing with an alien. It was, for the most part, similar to raising a teenager. Very similar. Eerily similar to her experiences with Bulma. So it was the fly to the honey trick all over again.

It was her basic intelligence that actually aided Bunny in being such a good hostess. She registered, more or less, when people did or did not like things. She knew when people did or did not come to events. And though the idea of mathematical equations that her husband and daughter drooled over sent shivers up her spine, Bunny could do a little addition for herself. She realized that Mr. Vegeta appeared when the least amount of people were around. He liked food. He liked the quiet. He did not, perhaps, like her, but Bunny wasn't so sure that he liked anyone and didn't take it to heart.

And most importantly, he liked to be informed. She had caught him on a number of occasions out of the corner of her eye reading the newspaper. He rarely watched the news, as being in the common room would hazard group interaction, but she had even seen him pick up the Capsule Corp newsletters with interest. So, with a burgeoning idea at heart, Bunny had taken to meeting with him on the Saturdays he spent at the compound. The first time, Vegeta had been lured there by the smell of cooked meat and, with a distrustful glare at her, had immediately dug into the feast without a word. Bunny didn't know if he was aware she wouldn't be eating or didn't care. Either way. When he had finished he waited, cocking his head in her direction. He had been greeted by the slurp of her straw against her glass, and when she didn't speak, he had stood, looked her in the face, and nodded with something that she assumed might be an attitude of thanks. She had grinned back at him and then continued to drink, dropping her gaze back to her magazine.

The next time, the incident repeated itself, and on the third try, Mr. Vegeta had done something unprecedented: He ate more slowly, actually sitting with comfort in the patio chair. Bunny's patience had won out. Just as with young Bulma, Vegeta had relaxed under the idea that there were no expectations waiting for him. On the fourth Saturday meeting, the Prince surprised her when he hesitantly opened his mouth to speak, gaze focused somewhere on the horizon. "That new technician you hired for general maintenance of the Machine," he muttered, "He's trustworthy?"

Bunny had jumped at his voice. "Little Totori?" she ventured. "Red hair?" He had nodded in assent. "He's the son of one of my husband's oldest friends. Don't worry, Mr. Vegeta, we wouldn't let someone whom we didn't trust near your training."

The Prince hadn't responded, merely poking at a piece sushi still left on the plate.

Bunny had grabbed at that little chance at conversation though. "I'm not sure if my husband has told you about some of the hiring changes he's made in the last few weeks. Everything is really ramping up here, you know." Again Mr. Vegeta had made no reply, but she took his silence as an assent. Without a hitch she began to relate the recent hiring changes in the company - who was out, who was in, why they were important, etc. Though she couldn't have explained to him exactly what they did with regards to science, she could very well explain the more political nature of things. Again, only in simple terms, but as the wife of the head of Capsule Corp., she knew a thing or two about the Who was Who game.

Eventually her words had petered out, and the Saiyan had unceremoniously left, but two Saturdays later he had appeared again. This time, she had a rather informative magazine in her lap, and in the moment of silence after his meal, she related some of the more pressing planetary issues that were going on. Not that she knew much, but headline summaries seemed to be enough for the man to go off of. And so each Saturday that he deigned to be on the grounds had passed that way, and Bunny couldn't help but be rather self-satisfied in the matter. No one had questioned her about her very short, but very meaningful, moments with Mr. Vegeta. She supposed that, since his visits were irregular, her morning disappearances weren't often enough to warrant curiosity. Now, however...

Bunny looked across the yard, the hubbub behind the shrubberies catching her eye. The Prince, on the other hand, seemed rather unfazed. Perhaps the oddities of their scientists had relaxed his self-preservation in general. As he sat and ate, feet still planted firmly on the ground, Bunny found herself wondering and concerned as to what was going on on the other side of the bushes. What if it scared him away? She had worked so hard to make sure that Mr. Vegeta had at least a few moments with another person, and if they alarmed him, he might never come back. A frown graced her features as she saw the unmistakable lavender mop of hair that belonged to her husband totter off back towards the laboratories, a group of people in white coats close at his heels.

Much better.

She was pretty sure some people were still over there, but by the time the Saiyan had finished eating he had not raised a complaint, so Bunny assumed all was well. Vegeta swung his legs up on the lounger, hands behind his head, and from across the yard Bulma nearly fell over in surprise at his relaxed state. She could have eaten her hand, too, when Bunny began to speak to him in a very familiar way, not looking at him, but merely flipping through a magazine. Bulma turned the volume up on her earpiece and ignored the recording video, instead opting to watch through her grimy binoculars.

"...and his responsibilities with the company have doubled since he bought up a competing company," Bunny was saying, absently turning pages. "Thank God we have Bulma to pick up the slack, but even she has her own things to deal with..." Vegeta remained impassive, and Bunny continued, "I mean, I know you're interested in real news and not the day-to-day things, but between you and me, I'm worried about my little girl. She and Yamcha dated for so long and now that they're over she's thrown herself into her work twice as hard! And with the upgrades to the Gravity Machine and how much she's worried about the earth's future... I just hope she doesn't work herself to the bone. She needs to keep those curves of hers if she wants to be a mommy one day!"

Bulma had nearly fallen over at the mention of her name, but now she wanted to vomit. Vegeta appeared to look a bit more uncomfortable, and stunned her when he replied, "If she is too inundated with tasks then she will not be able to execute even the most simple ones well. Have the red-haired boy replace her for the easy maintenances. Only work on the core requires much intellectual effort," he grunted.

You could have knocked Bulma over with a feather.

Bunny smiled. "I'll let Trunks know he has your permission for that. I'm sure that will be helpful."

Vegeta nodded and they lapsed into silence. Nonetheless, Bunny could tell he was agitated by a thought. Finally, he asked, "What do... what you call... 'curves'... have to do with bearing children?" Vegeta's cheeks reddened.

Bunny pointedly looked away, doing her best not to jump up and down in excitement. "Well, a healthy mommy needs to have extra fat on her to keep the baby fed well. I mean, I guess it could be an old wives' tale, but a woman is supposed to be rounder and simply radiant when she's pregnant. Of course, that all goes away when she gives birth... But that wasn't your question. Anyway..." Bunny trailed off. "Was it the same on your planet?"

A darkness settled on his countenance, but his continued blush gave away his curiosity. "I wouldn't know," he replied, and abruptly stood to leave. He paused, letting her know he acknowledged her, and then left.

Meanwhile, Bulma sank to her knees in the grass, fist stuffed in her mouth to keep her from laughing. Or crying? She felt rather bizarre, to be honest. Behind her, Tress frowned, tapping her pencil against her mouth. She couldn't think of a better waste of her time. "Are you ready to pack up the equipment, Ms. Briefs?"

"What? Yes. Yes. Right. The equipment." Bulma dreamily stood as Tress got to work. "Be sure it's all recorded... I mean damn! How the hell did I not know Momma and Vegeta were something like civil?"

Tress shook her spiky, bleached head. "Is your purpose to gain favor with the Saiyan?"

Bulma shrugged, looking back towards the house. "Yes and no. I mean... Momma suggested I actually try to make the guy's life a little easier... you know, be nice to him and stuff. Hang out with him, I suppose. I just wanted to get some Beta on him before I attempted anything."

"You're aware that love cannot be gained by scientific inquiry."

Bulma gasped and rounded on her fellow scientist. "Now who the hell said anything about that? What are you thinking, Tress? Are you serious? This is a real experiment!"

Tress remained unmoved, her face rather flat as she packed the equipment back up. "I would assume that your father left me here for the purpose that I am your opposite, Ms. Briefs. That being said, your attempts to study him are rather-"

"Nope! Don't want to hear it!" she exclaimed, slapping her hands over her ears. "We are not talking about Vegeta like that, is that understood?"

The taller woman lifted a shoulder. "Fine by me. I'm not attracted to men anyway."

Bulma huffed, crossing her arms and turning on her heel. Good. She didn't need some bimbo salivating over her project.

Tress rolled her eyes behind her.

Dr. Briefs stroked his cat's head as it purred contentedly against his neck. The circus that had invaded his yard this morning still clawed at his mind like a headache; more importantly, the thing that had been unmentionable to anyone before, including his Bunny, kept popping in his head between projects.

Fingers drifted over the keyboard. There at his fingertips was the moment that his household had changed for him, and he still wasn't quite sure what to make of it, but the audio session that Tress had played for him from earlier today prompted him to worry over it again. That moment where Vegeta questioned Bunny about her comment on childbearing... Trunks grimaced and pulled his glasses from his nose, rubbing his temples. He was not a fool. Most likely Bunny had some very basic ulterior motives.

Sighing, he tapped the screen and pulled up the video feed he'd bookmarked three or so months ago, remembering his first encounter with it. He'd been looking for the very cat on his shoulder, wondering where it had gone when he hadn't seen it for the last few hours, and had scrolled through the security feeds looking for any sign of hide or tail. Instead, he'd found more than he had bargained for. Indeed, the little cat was perched on the top of the couch, tail swinging languidly over the back, but more alarming was the sight of the Saiyan man standing over his daughter's sleeping form. The doctor hesitated now, and then with a trembling finger pushed play again. Twilight fell in the lab as the massive screen illustrated that late afternoon, orange sunset barely filtering the room as night had swept in over Bulma's prone body. She was in their sunroom, bikini-clad and dozing on their small couch that faced the french doors. A few moments passed by and Vegeta entered, presumably on his way outside. The moment he saw her asleep though, he slowed and stopped, ignoring the bright eyes of the cat, and then carefully moved towards her, stalking the shadows. His feet came to rest at hers, toes barely pointed. Her arm had been thrown back on top of her mass of curls, the other laying limp across her stomach.

The hairs on Trunks' neck stood up. He knew Vegeta would stand there, still as stone, for the next five minutes, never twitching, never seeming to breathe. His face was a mask, devoid of both his usual scowl or any other emotion. His eyes would remain trained on Bulma's form, slowly burning their way over every curve and color.

Grimacing, the doctor hit fast-forward until Vegeta moved again. This time the Saiyan slid to her side and crouched by her face, appearing to gaze intently at every crevice of it. Gradually he inched sideways as he peered at her breasts, but seemed just as interested in these as her fingers, which he nearly touched with his nose. Then - and Dr. Brief's stomach dropped - he moved his face over her pelvis and - there was no other way to describe it - inhaled like he was scenting a bouquet, eyes closing in concentration. Vegeta reared back, opening his eyes in a prominent scowl, and then leaned further in, inhaling again, nostrils flaring. The third time he stilled above her, one hand grasping the back of the couch, his head tilted towards her. This went on for a minute, before the little cat perched atop the cushions yawned, startling the attention of the Saiyan. Lazily, the little animal stood and without further ado butted its head against Vegeta's hand. Dr. Briefs watched in fascination as the warrior hesitated, seeming unsure, and then barely lifted his hand to let the cat into his palm. The feline delightedly pressed itself up against the tan fingers offered, and the ghost of a smile flitted across Vegeta's face. Abruptly, the Saiyan looked over at Bulma's face - Trunks could see a sort of indecision rifle across the man's features - and then shifted to stand above her head. One more second of indecision and then his left hand drifted towards her curls. Her father felt his stomach clench.

But he never completed the movement. Vegeta's hand lowered and then he flashed out of sight, with the speed of battle, the doctor assumed. Bulma lay undisturbed and lightly breathing, the purring cat the only indication that someone had been there.

Trunks paused the feed and leaned back in his chair. Since that day he had watched their interactions like a hawk, but nothing seemed out of place. Vegeta perhaps gave her more attention than others, but their interactions were never particularly unwarranted, and they were usually vicious tongue-lashings anyway. Twice Dr. Briefs had seen the Saiyan study his daughter when she wasn't looking, but the boy seemed to be considering more than leering.

Nonetheless, he didn't know what to make of the video. Clearly Vegeta hadn't meant any harm, but also... he shivered. There was something so predatory, so anti-human, so dark about his looming stance over Bulma's sleeping form. Yet that gentleness with the cat... Trunks wondered if perhaps Vegeta was curious about the human body in general. Certainly he would be curious about the female body? Obviously Saiyans could breed with humans. And that question today... The doctor dropped his head in his hands as he considered that Vegeta might be the type of neanderthal that would club a woman over the head and drag her back to his lair. Yes. That seemed plausible. Perhaps he needed to be taught about the human body and... things that go on with it? He shivered again at the prospect of bringing that line of questioning up. It sounded like a death sentence. But if Dr. Briefs was anything, he was a loyal father, and he would do anything to protect his little girl. If Vegeta was simply trying to learn about the ways (and women) of Earth, he would help him get there.

WITHOUT using Bulma as an example.

A/N: R&R!