Agree to Disagree

Tress tapped her pencil against the clipboard in a mindless tattoo as her stare settled on the gravity chamber before her. Ms. Briefs - Bulma, she amended, remembering the woman's comment about 'seeming too old' - had ordered her to take over the stake-out when she'd been called off to one of the labs to approve a project. Mr. Vegeta had been inside for the last three hours, and by now Bulma had most likely forgotten her purpose for the day and was probably knee-deep in fixing something that no one else could puzzle out. Tress, however, was a woman of keen senses, and while she may not have the dreamer's intellect that belonged to the blue-haired heiress, she most definitely had a much better grasp on reality.

Like the one before her.

Tress' back straightened to attention as the machine powered down, and she glanced over at the basket of snacks she'd prepared for this very moment. It was now or never, and Tress had no intention of wasting her time following this bizarre man around when she could be in the lab looking over Dr. Brief's shoulder.

As he stepped over the threshold of the machine, Tress calmly raised a hand in greeting.

Vegeta's eyes never betrayed his surprise at seeing one of the peasants from the laboratories here on the house grounds. It was like seeing Piccolo with red skin or that third-class Saiyan without a damnable grin on his face. Nonetheless, his gait didn't slow as he approached the woman, her short, spiky blonde hair catching the light of the afternoon.

"Mr. Vegeta," she greeted politely, holding up her haul for inspection.

"Prince Vegeta, to you," he snarled, though one brow winged upwards at the strange collection of cheeses, meats, and breads gathered in the massive basket.

"Of course," she replied without a change of face. "My name is Tress. I have brought what you might consider a light snack with the appropriate caloric exchange for the workout you've completed, with specific attention to protein intake." She raised the basket a bit higher, as though he hadn't seen its contents. "Mrs. Briefs informed me you prefer to have a small meal after your gravity room sessions. I would appreciate it very much if you would allow me to have a few moments of your time as you eat, your Highness."

Vegeta's other brow nearly flew up as well in surprise at the woman's respect. Most of the peons cowered in corners, skittered by him, or didn't address him properly at all. "Why?" he grunted, eyes narrowing as he tried to feel out her ki. It didn't seem particularly ruffled, so she didn't seem to be lying or in great distress, but women were tricky here on this particular mudball…

Her face made no change from its blank state. "I have an offer I think you would like to hear. And by our few interactions, I know you prefer to be sated with food. Inside or outside?"

Vegeta's head barely tilted to the side as he considered her - before a growl ripped through his stomach. He bared his teeth in mild embarrassment, but the lab rat seemed to either not have heard it or ignored it. Either way, it settled it. "Fine. Over by the tree," he growled, snatching the basket from her hands as he stalked that way.

Tress nearly sighed with relief, sweat pooling at the base of her spine despite the cool breeze. It wasn't every day that she got to talk to a truculent alien.

He had already settled against the tree trunk by the time she caught up and sat down cross-legged a few feet from him. Ignoring the woman, Vegeta tore into the basket with a fury, briefly reading the labels of packages before ripping into them. Tress noted with interest that he was neither delicate nor animalistic in his eating, rather faster and more vociferous than the average human. She scribbled a note down quickly, but within seconds she felt a hot glare on her.

Tress's eyes met the Saiyan's whose attention had been immediately drawn to the clipboard. His silence said volumes. Gingerly she turned the board around to face him and cleared her throat. "This, sir, is what I came to discuss."

Vegeta, who's hand had stilled halfway to his mouth when he'd seen her writing, shoved the cheese between his teeth and grabbed the clipboard. He could make out the gist of what it said - vague notes about him and his schedule and training. "The fuck," he swore after swallowing, and Tress didn't waste any time.

"I am not an idiot," she said, catching the board as he tossed it at her face. "At this point I am disobeying my boss - perhaps not directly - but nonetheless putting my job in danger for your benefit and mine. I think you and I have mutual interests in working together on this."

"On what, exactly?" he asked, voice low and venomous.

"I can't be 100 percent sure, sir, but in general, I have been assigned to follow you and document your general schedule and habits."

"WHAT?" he bellowed, and Tress held up a hand in both supplication and warning.

"Rest assured, any useful information will go straight to your training research files and assimilated appropriately so that we can document the healthiness of both your regimen, your rest periods, your nutrition, and your mental well-being, all of which - you know of course - directly affect your training efficacy."

The prince snorted, both miffed and pleased that she understood that concept.

"That being said," she continued, gesturing to the basket to remind him to eat, "I would rather not skulk after you like a weasel in the dark, wasting both your time and mine, when I could meet with you for a few moments each day and get the material straight from you."

Vegeta, however, was not taking the bait. "How the fuck do I know you're not just working me over for some other reason? Why the hell should I give you my private information?"

Tress tilted her head in confusion. "What other reason would there be?"

Vegeta's face darkened. "I have many enemies. That should be enough of a reason."

"Ah. But I'm a human, and as far as I know, you don't have enemies of that kind."

His teeth flashed in the sun. "My enemies live throughout the universe, fool woman. You expect me to believe some haven't come here?"

Shrugging a shoulder, she replied, "Perhaps not, but you are the only alien I have ever come across, sir, and to be frank with you, I would never waste the opportunity to learn about you in favor of someone else's interests." Vegeta's spine stiffened. They were in uncomfortable territory. "Plus," she continued, "Bulma is my only employer. I do as she requests because this is the most advanced technological company on Earth and I love my job."

"Except this?" he rebutted, finally grabbing a hunk of meat to toss down his throat.

"Capsule Corp employees understand that much has to be done in the name of science, but I refuse to compromise my morals for something that could so easily be done with your permission, Prince Vegeta."

The Saiyan harrumphed as he perused the pile, using the moment to analyze the situation. Finally, he muttered, "So you have no intentions of stalking me for sexual purposes?" with beet-red ears.

"Certainly not mine," she immediately replied, before realizing the mistake as his head shot up and his eyes met hers. "That is -" she stammered uncharacteristically, "I am only interested in women."

At this Vegeta stared blankly at her, face blanching. "…What?"

Now it was Tress' turn to blush slightly. His clear confusion was totally unexpected. "I'm queer. A lesbian."

There was silence between them momentarily before his eyes darted to the side and then back to her heart-shaped face. "You… do not procreate with men."

Her lips twitched. "I do not have sex with men, if that's what you're asking."

This time his silence was longer before he asked in a soft, rasping voice, "What is the point of that?"

Tress cocked her head to the side. "The point? In being interested in women? I mean I assume you know some of those answers - "

"Yes yes yes, I know why males find females attractive, but what good does it do for you?" The Saiyan was no stranger to the vast array of sexual orientations of the universe, but this particular mud ball had the most Saiyan-like creatures he'd ever seen. Hell, they could interbreed. But conversely, these were the single-most worst females he had ever encountered. He couldn't imagine putting up with them for any reason other than reproduction.

"I am not sure what your race would call it, but here on Earth we value love over physical relationships. Although," she added with a thoughtful look, "Our sex lives are every bit as fulfilling."

Vegetal rolled his eyes. Of course. Love would trump breeding on this back-assed planet any day. Nonetheless, something bothered him. "But… how does one find 'fulfillment' without the opposite sex?"

She definitely felt out of her league now. As she opened her mouth to answer, suddenly one of his hands swatted at the air as though there were flies. "Nevermind, nevermind, I don't fucking care - my GOD how does your weak species even stay alive with half of its members running off with each other…"

"Half is a little too generous of an amount."

"Whatever, fuck it, I don't care," he grumbled, rubbing his temples. Tress had to strain her ear to hear his further muttering about the uselessness of earthlings.

"So, now that we're clear on motives," she stressed, "I should say that under no circumstances should you let on to Bulma that we have an agreement." She thought for a moment as he inhaled the next item, seemingly ignorant to her commentary. "I will be informing Dr. Briefs, as he - I believe - will be on my side about this."

Vegeta's eyes slid to hers again. "Why does the woman care?"

Tress was ready this time. "She thinks we will gain a much more accurate assessment of your daily life by observing than by questioning. And technically, might I add, she would be right. I will continue to make my own observations and notes aside from that which you give me, sir, but aside from our conversations I would much prefer to be in the lab."

"Hn," he mused as he picked at something sweet. The idea of getting away with something under that harpy's nose was pleasing, and this woman - he thought with an askew glance at Tress, who seemed to be taking the moment to furiously scratch at her pad again - was not altogether unpleasing. The idea of an ally who could masquerade as a 'normal' female but without their nefarious and malicious intents was tempting. Plus, she had all the necessary respect for him that he was owed. And most importantly, she didn't seem inclined to talk too much.

Tress had just finished up a thought about the alien's ignorance of Earth's various relationship dynamics when he looked up at her, narrowing one eye in thought. She briefly wondered if he thought of her like an alien when he said, "Alright. We have an agreement."

Her soft smile brightened what had been a rather heretofore expressionless face. "Wonderful. How about I meet you around this time each afternoon and you give me a rundown of your previous day? It would probably help if you gave me the vaguest estimate of how you'll spend the rest of your day as well."

Vegeta frowned. "I am not always here each day, and I do not generally train for the same time period either."

"Well then, how about this?" Tress replied as she dug through a long pocket of her lab coat to retrieve a tiny silver rectangle with a clip on it. She tossed it to him and he deftly snatched it out of the air. "It's what we call a pager, and usually these connect boss to employee here but I think it can be used for your advantage too. Just click that upper button and it will send a message to mine to meet with you." Vegetal raised a brow again, and she shrugged. "I pre-programmed this one to mine ahead of time. I came prepared."

He nearly smirked. This woman would be a decent ally, he supposed, for a weakling human.

Finally she'd finished correcting that dumb-ass mistake her assistant had made, and Bulma found herself shrugging off her lab coat as she trudged through the back door of her home. She wondered vaguely if it was odd to be so vastly rich and yet living with her parents, but the thought passed as she saw her father's coat hanging up by the door as though waiting to meet hers. There were about ten people on the entire planet who could make her feel normal, and only a handful who had experienced the insane things she had. That thought was catapulted further as she saw a pair of Vegeta's muddy training shoes in the corner by the door. Her eyes widened. Was that how he felt too? No one to commiserate with or share those bizarre feelings that arise from confrontation with the other-worldly?

Bulma blinked for a second. "Nahhhh," she giggled aloud, tossing her coat up on the hook. Vegeta didn't care enough for emotions like that. Which reminded her.

"Momma!" she hollered, trailing through the halls when she heard a distant answer. Must be in the greenhouse, she thought.

And there she was indeed, bent over and carefully pruning some bright tropical plants. Bulma smiled against her better judgement. It was sometimes just so nice to be around someone who got pleasure from the simple things in life. She supposed that's why her father had married Bunny. …Aside from her still-rockin good looks.

"How's the plant life?" she asked, plopping herself down on the brick ledge next to Bunny.

"Oh just wonderful. My ladies and I are in full-bloom!"

"I'll say."

There was a moment of wordlessness as her mother continued blissfully pruning. Burma cleared her throat. "So. You and Vegeta."

Bunny's mouth curled. "Yes?"

"Why did you not tell me?" Bulma burst out with a giggle.

"You never asked!" her mother chirped, resiliently plowing on in her work.

"Why would I think to ask you? Especially after that conversation we had!"

"And why do you think we had that conversation in the first place?"

Bulma's smile faltered. "What… you planned to have that conversation with me?"

Bunny sighed happily as she replied "Sure, honey. I've been worried about that poor boy and I think a lot of him. It's been nice to see him and catch up with him on my own, but I'm aware that he mostly tolerates me." Her gaze caught Bulma's as her smile widened. "And that's fine. There are other people that he can enjoy, I'm sure, but for now he at least deserves a little company now and then... But you and your minions will NOT interrupt our meal time again!"

Bulma blinked in surprise. "I wasn't - we didn't bother him," she replied sheepishly, shrinking her shoulders inwards as she twiddled her fingers.

"You could have," Bunny snorted, clipping a plant with extra force. "So don't do that again. If you want to get to know him then try talking to him some time."

"Oh don't worry," her daughter said with a slow, creeping smile. "I'm getting to know him just fine."

Bunny glanced over with a furrowed brow and frowned. "Oh, darling," she sighed, cupping her daughter's cheek with a hand covered in potting soil, "I'm just not seeing how you're going to get married if you keep being strange like that."

"Hey!" Bulma yelped as she brushed her hand away along with the dirt. "Don't be rude!"

With a rather unconcerned shrug, her mother continued to the next plant as Bulma finally muttered "So how long have you two been meeting up?"

Shooting her daughter a sly look, Bunny replied, "A handful of weeks. And no, I will not tell you what we talk about. That is our business and our business alone."

Bulma glowered. "Well you seemed just fine bringing ME up in conversation today."

At this Bunny smiled brightly again. "You are the light of my life, sweetie. Why would I not talk to my friends about you?"

"Because Vegeta is your friend the same way that frogs are my friends."

"Now who's the one being rude?"

Bulma's tongue stuck out. "Well stop talking about me. It's weird."

"Only because you're afraid of the boy."

This time Bulma gaped at her mother. "Afraid? I am not afraid of him!"

"Not like that," Bunny chuckled, "But the way that girls and boys are afraid of one another? Sure."

"That's completely - that's totally untrue!" the blue-haired woman gasped as she jumped to her feet.

"Whatever lets you sleep at night."

"Well you know what?" Bulma said with a sneer, "Knowing that an intergalactic killer sleeps down the hall doesn't help much in that department!"

Bunny rolled her eyes and flipped her hand. "Oh phooey. I know you're just fine with that. You invited him here anyway. Stop making such a fuss."

"I don't have to listen to this," Bulma pouted, knowing defeat when she saw it.

"No, you sure don't," Bunny replied blandly, returning to her plant. "Dinner is in an hour and I'll see you then-" she cut her eyes over to her daughter - "After you've cleaned up a bit. You have dirt on your face, you know."

Bulma couldn't even come up with a reply that didn't contain something unsuitable for a daughter to say to her mother, and with that, the heiress jumped to her feet and spewed curses under her breath as she stalked away.

With a snap of the clippers, the head of a flower tumbled to the ground, and Bunny smiled cheerily.

A/N: R&R!