They were dropping the nuclear missile. Bulma and her family had five seconds to dive into the bomb shelter before—

BOOM!

With a start, Bulma snapped awake, her body going rigid as her eyes flew open. Her chest was heaving, her limbs sprawled every which way, as the coverlets bunched and tangled around her knees. She worked to slow her breathing, her eyes blinking furiously to rid themselves of the terrible nightmare.

A sudden dim, yellow glow behind her curtains caught her eye.

In her sleep addled brain, Bulma wondered groggily if it really was the end of the world. And, of course, realization that she was in her room, safe in her house, far from the apocalypse made her sniff in derision at her own foolishness.

Another, brighter hue warmed the window panes, and Bulma turned her head atop the pillow to watch it illuminate her room and fade away. Her mouth tugged downward in a frown as she made the effort to lift herself up out of bed, grunting and groaning in discomfort as her body screamed at her for leaving the warmth it had provided her.

The tremors of the earth were just beginning to settle when her toes touched the cold tile of the kitchen floor. Outside, there was a lightshow of sorts, as furious golden and blue tones waged a miniature battle on her lawn. Bulma pursed her lips and approached the sliding doors that led to the backyard, her palms pressing flat against the panes. Briefly, she rested her forehead against the doors as well, the chill soothing her weary mind.

Easy to find was the source of her wake-up call and their personal fireworks display.

With a sneer, Bulma's fingers curled about the doors' handles and slid them apart, her legs carrying her into the night. The air was still and sticky, and Bulma instantly regretted her decision to come rally against the Saiyajin no Ouji, particularly for doing so in her bedclothes. Quickly, her hands worked to bundle up her frazzled bob, and she noted with some satisfaction that Vegeta had apparently recognized her approach.

He was unmoving, stuck in the middle of a battle stance, his left arm outstretched and the right pulled in close to his body. Both fists clenched and unclenched.

She let her eyes wander over him lazily, despite knowing he was very much aware of her presence by now. His lycra training shorts and glistening chest were a reward in their own right; Bulma's earlier regret was beginning to subside and give way to familiar appreciation.

"What do you want, onna?"

However, the snarl in his voice immediately quelled any flicker she may have felt, replacing it instantly with acid. Bulma bared her teeth in agitation, spitting venomously, "Are you fucking insane, Vegeta? What the hell are you doing out here at this hour, blowing up my mother's gardens?"

Vegeta finally dropped his pose and turned to face her, disgust evident on his face as he eyeballed the woman. Her hair unkempt, the woman was clad in that silly, silky overcoat she called a "robe" and little else underneath. It never ceased to amaze him how vulgar and careless the little harpy could be. Vegeta's upper lip curled and he turned his face away from the sight of her. "I am training. Now, leave me alone."

Much to Bulma's displeasure, he began to twist away from her, and a new fury rumbled inside her. "What could you possibly be training for?" She questioned him in mixed exasperation and irritation. "It's over, Vegeta, remember?"

He did not seem to take kindly to such a reminder. Vegeta stopped abruptly in his march across the lawn, his head inching around to glare at Bulma from over his shoulder. "You're an even bigger idiot than I thought, if you think it's ever over, onna," he growled. "Just because Cell has been defeated doesn't mean there won't be other threats."

Perhaps a mere seven paces away from her, Vegeta moved to face her once again, his features as stony as they had ever been. Bulma's stomach flip-flopped over the notion that the end had not been completely averted. But in truth, the destruction of humankind at someone else's hand had not been what she initially meant.

Though what had she meant, then?

The Saiyan seemed to catch on that she had been reconsidering her query and his response, and his brows tightened inward. "Did you have something to say?"

"I just—" Bulma looked up at him and hesitated. He looked genuinely confused and put-off by her reassessing the route of their conversation. All that time, during those fateful three years, she had understood well enough that all his efforts weren't specifically for the androids; Vegeta's ridiculous and somewhat masochistic training had truly been intended for something else.

For someone else.

As his face swam before her, Bulma felt the tears from earlier that day rising at the back of her eyes and throat, and she wrenched her face away. When she tilted her face back to him, Vegeta was startled to find a more somber look upon her visage – how quickly this woman could change her demeanor.

"I just mean, it's, like … three in the morning, Vegeta," Bulma offered thickly as her hands ducked into the pockets of her bathrobe. Her fingers began to curl and uncurl anxiously. "A little consideration for others is really too much to ask? Trunks is a light sleeper—"

"That insufferable urchin's leaving tomorrow—"

Bulma exhaled sharply and reached up to pinch the bridge of her nose. "I meant the baby, Vegeta!"

"So did I."

Bright blue eyes widened in surprise as her rage resurfaced, albeit the latter quickly faded upon witnessing the smirk threatening to ease up on Vegeta's typical scowl. Dropping her hand away from her face, Bulma allowed him a twisted smile. To his credit, he was making a joke – a rarity, at best. "You're very funny," she deadpanned, the half-grin still writ upon her features. Her head canted to the side and Bulma allowed herself another opportunity to, for the lack of a better word, ogle him. "Really, Vegeta. You should just come inside. It's late."

He doubted that she had intended him to, but Vegeta recognized quickly her inspection of him, and his suggestive lift of his eyebrows had Bulma's aquamarine eyes darting to the sky as her cheeks flushed magenta under the swath of night. His mind warred with itself over her unintentional offer; was it worth it? Did he even want that?

A snort pulled itself through his nostrils and what little good nature Bulma had drawn out of him receded at once.

Déjà vu. Bulma sighed to herself. Like a thousand times before.

Arms folding up across his massive chest, Vegeta pivoted on his bare heel, his feet crunching the grass he began again towards the massive gravity machine stationed across the lawn. "Do not presume to tell me what to do," he reprimanded over his shoulder, barely offering the woman a second glance. "Get lost, onna."

She watched after him silently, a new ache suddenly pulling at her chest as she turned back into the home.

Author's Note: Set the night before Mirai Trunks heads back to the future.

It always struck me as interesting, what Bulma said when everyone found out she and Vegeta had a baby together, just before the androids arrived. Everyone was asking where he was and she pretty much was like, "Uh, no idea. I don't live with that guy." We all know it doesn't mean that he physically resides elsewhere -- it just means that he and Bulma just didn't have that kind of relationship.

So I figured that the first time they see each other after the Cell Games, neither would want to make it a big baloo - they'd probably just slip right back into banter and get back to annoying one another. ;)