At long last, he had surpassed his threshold and broken through to a whole new level of power. Vegeta basked in the euphoric feeling washing over him. Never slowing down for an instant, he plowed through the slew of training bots, laughing wildly. He was so close to Super Saiyan he could taste it – surely only a few more weeks and he would be there. Everything he'd ever dreamed of was almost within his grasp.

When he had finished off the last round of bots at 300 times earth's gravity and was busy working his way through the next onslaught, over the sounds of destruction, he suddenly heard the faint blip of the large overhead monitor coming to life. Vegeta swore loudly, blasting the heads off several more machines at once before screaming for the computer to halt the program. He whipped around, ready to kill the person on the other side of the screen for interrupting him at such a crucial moment. However, it wasn't the Doctor, or even his daughter staring back at the irate prince. The saiyan's acrid words died abruptly on his tongue as he found himself looking into the vapid face of none other than the idiotic blonde woman.

"Is this working; can you hear me? Hellooo…"

So shocked was he that he momentarily forgot his rage. Never had he been contacted in the gravity room by the Doctor's hair-brained wife before – he hadn't even realized she knew how to use the comm. system. Yet, here she was; Vegeta was completely at a loss on how to respond.

"Oh Vegeta dear, I'm so sorry to interrupt you, but I really need your help!" The fluffy-haired woman clasped her hands together entreatingly, "could you come up to the kitchen right away – it's an emergen-" Without warning, the screen blipped and went black and the man was left staring at where she'd been.

The prince turned a puzzled look around the GR, as if to check for hidden cameras or any other evidence of a prank. Once satisfied that no one was having a joke at his expense, he pondered what in the world the woman could have meant about an emergency in the kitchen. He had already decided to ignore her jabbering completely and attempt to pick up where he'd left off when his stomach emitted a loud growl. Vegeta presently realized he'd trained past his usual lunch time. Perhaps he ought to head to the kitchen and find out what Briefs's wife was prattling about after all.

With an aggravated sigh, the royal saiyan grabbed a towel, wiped the sweat from his face and chest, and pulled a shirt over his head. Exiting the training facilities, he took off for the dome-shaped dwelling – bracing himself for whatever he might find upon his arrival.

Vegeta stepped into the kitchen three minutes later, unsure of what he'd expected: perhaps a fire or maybe even a herd of the Briefs' gigantic exotic pets rampaging through the house, but not what he now looked upon.

Mrs. Briefs stood completely unscathed in the center of the large room – before her on the counter, sat an array of delectable-looking dishes. As soon as she saw the slight man in the entrance she clapped her hands together in delight. "Oh good, you're here Vegeta!"

"I thought you said there was an emergency."

"Yes, there is," she crossed the room to him, "I'm planning a very important dinner party for the executives of Capsule Corporation and I need help deciding what the main course should be!"

The prince gave her a look that could burn a hole through titanium, "This is what you called me for – do you have any idea what I'm working on, you idiotic fool!" For emphasis, he reached out and snatched a passing sentry bot from the air, crushing it in his palm like tinfoil and tossing it against the wall where it shattered into a hundred pieces over the tile floor. Immediately afterward, a second robot appeared to sweep up the debris.

The happy-go-lucky homemaker knit her brows together, placing her hands to either side of her face in dismay, "I'm sorry dear – normally I wouldn't dream of bothering you, but Bulma is shopping and my Sweetie-Pie is in meetings all day long…I just thought you might like to take a break and try some of these dishes prepared by the chefs; it would really help me out!"

Her reaction to his wrathful display had been somewhat less satisfying than the former henchman of Furiza had hoped; nevertheless, he cast a second glance at the assortment of food on the counter. Once again, his gut reminded him that lunch was overdue. Glaring one last time at the beaming Mrs. Briefs, Vegeta stomped over to the counter and grabbed a plate.

"Very well, if that is what you wish," he quickly emptied the contents of the plate in several large bites.

"That's the beef bourguignon," supplied Mrs. Briefs helpfully.

Without pausing, Vegeta took the next plate and devoured it.

"…And that was the lamb and potatoes, I think that is probably –"

But the prince was already moving on to the next dish, going through them one by one until every last one of the courses was completely consumed. Dropping the final plate onto the counter with a clang, he turned and strode past the woman.

"Oh, you're finished; what did you think of the duck," she asked the back of the retreating warrior. Vegeta made no reply, but headed back toward his gravity room.

"Alright dear, let me know when you've made a decision," she called after him.

000

Late that evening, rather than collapsing from exhaustion in the GR yet again, Vegeta managed to muster enough energy to drag himself upstairs to his room – looking forward to spending the night in a bed for a change. He had trained hard virtually the entire day, but had been unable to reach the same endorphin high he'd achieved before being summoned by the hair-brained Mrs. Briefs. The undersized elite did a slow burn remembering the entire incident: at this rate, he would have to leave Capsule Corporation in order to complete his training – otherwise someone might end up getting blown up.

After a quick shower, the prince slid between the luxurious sheets and shut his eyes, methodically emptying his mind of all the racing thoughts of the day. Tomorrow he would need to get the Doctor or Bulma to change the settings in the control room in order to keep that meddling house-wife from interrupting him anymore. The best time to do so, he decided, would be after a late breakfast once Mrs. Briefs had left the kitchen and he could eat in peace.

Though he was lothe to admit it, he'd gone so far as to alter his schedule in order to avoid this one silly woman – even getting up an hour later than he'd like so as not to see her in the morning. He'd never done such a thing because of anyone in his life! Something about the way she bustled around, her perpetual, almost manic cheerfulness caused a knot to form in the pit of his stomach – it was almost as if he were…what...absolutely terrified of her?

Vegeta rolled to his other side, gritting his teeth at the unbearable thought. He was the Prince of all Saiyans – this his pride would not tolerate! He was not afraid of anyone, most especially not the stupidest, puniest most ridiculous woman on this entire planet of weaklings! He would prove it to himself tomorrow and go to the kitchen whenever the hell he felt like it! On the other hand, decided the warrior, he was very tired from training all day and would probably end up sleeping later anyway…but, he was definitely not afraid of her, damn it.

An hour passed, then another; Vegeta tossed and turned, but found it impossible to turn off his brain. His thoughts kept returning to training, planning out his regiment for the next day and reviewing his progress. Despite how tired he felt, he couldn't relax. He'd had bouts of insomnia off and on ever since coming to stay at the Briefs' house hold, but especially in the past couple months. Sometimes he would also have troubling dreams – a problem that had only ever vexed him since his revival from Namek. He didn't know what to make of these aggravating developments other than to blame the peaceful surroundings of earth for putting him on edge.

With a weary curse, the man sat up and slid out of bed, deciding to try and find something that might help him get to sleep. He didn't keep any medicine in his bathroom cabinet – relying on pharmaceuticals to cure things such as aches and sleeplessness was very un-saiyan. However, he sometimes had luck with chamomile tea or warm milk (for reasons unknown to the rest of the household, these remedies posed no threat to his sense of warrior-hood) or when those didn't work, a strong drought of beer usually did. He was already halfway down the stairs when he heard a clatter as of pots and pans coming from the direction of the kitchen. Immediately Vegeta wondered if the house had been broken into; a slight thrill raced through him at the thought that he might get to kill someone.

Without a sound, he glided down the rest of the stairs and headed in the direction of the kitchen. Whoever it was certainly didn't seem to be concerned about how much noise they were making; it would have to be a very stupid robber. Even as he reached the entryway, Vegeta recognized the signature ki of the person within. He walked in to find none other than Mrs. Briefs puttering around the stove at (he glanced at the clock) 2:00 in the morning.

"You," he started, "what are you…"

The woman made no indication to have heard him, instead bustling right past to the refrigerator.

Curious, Vegeta walked after her, standing a few paces behind as the woman rummaged through the fridge. Moments later she emerged holding a carton of eggs and headed straight back toward the large stove, not once glancing at the man who'd just joined her. After a close study of her face, the saiyan quickly realized that she was not awake. Mrs. Briefs was apparently sleep-cooking.

He watched as she deftly cracked an egg on the edge of a bowl and opened it in one smooth movement as if solely from muscle memory. She then picked up a whisk and began scrambling together the contents of the bowl.

Vegeta had never been warned against waking a sleepwalker, but even if he had been he wouldn't have cared. He had his own reasons for not wanting to wake Mrs. Briefs and none of them had anything to do with the woman's possible shock or disorientation at suddenly finding herself making breakfast in the middle of the night. Instead, he calmly sat down on the other side of the island and watched as she proceeded to cook an omelet in her sleep.

From where he sat, he couldn't quite make out all the ingredients she was adding to the dish; however some of them seemed a bit off. One of the boxes beside her read 'jelly beans' on the side – Vegeta had never seen beans that came from a box before (or ones so colorful for that matter). He assumed they must be some strange type of legume that only grew on earth. Not long afterward, the Prince noticed a strong smell and watched as smoke began to rise from the pan Mrs. Briefs flipped. The omelet flew upward about a foot in the air and landed with a heavy slap onto its other side.

Minutes later, the blonde woman with her hair rolled up into curlers and tied with a scarf, slid a rather charred looking omelet onto the counter and walked to the back door that lead out into the garden.

Vegeta studied the substance on the granite dubiously – he did not take long deciding that it wasn't something he wanted to eat. Instead, the stout warrior reached over and flipped off the burner before heading outside to see what the sleeping crazy lady was currently getting herself into.

He found her with a pair of clippers in her hands, trimming back her "prize-winning" rose bush. The man watched in mild amazement as one after another, flower heads began dropping to the ground where the sleeping Mrs. Briefs methodically lopped the tops off her beloved roses.

Casually, he bent down and picked up one of the fragrant decapitated heads; he could already picture the tow-headed gardener's expression the next day as she walked out to find her beloved flowers hacked to pieces as if victims of some deranged, plant serial killer. Without warning, a grin cracked his face and Vegeta let out a wicked chortle. No matter what, he needed to be around when that happened.

After she'd finished "pruning" the roses (as well as the garden hose) the industrious Mrs. Briefs abruptly dropped her hedge clippers and wandered off once again.

Vegeta sighed; as amusing as it had been at first, he was growing weary of following the batty old woman around. He was about to turn around and head back inside when noticed that she was walking in the direction of the street. There was no telling how far she would continue to wander before she turned around or woke up (provided she wasn't run over first). The former mercenary paused in mid-stride, deliberating on what he should do: it wasn't his problem if she got herself killed, he told himself. On the other hand, it would certainly cause an uproar were anything to happen to the wife of the president of Capsule Corporation – and this would be very deleterious to his training schedule.

Leisurely, the scowling elite turned back around and started after the wayward sleepwalker. He caught up to her just as Mrs. Briefs stepped out onto the side street, but instead of crossing to the other side, the woman abruptly stopped and stood motionless on the blacktop. As luck would have it, at the same moment a large tractor-trailer came barreling down toward her.

Almost lazily, Vegeta held up his hand and released a low level energy blast directly in front of the vehicle, shattering its windshield. The truck swerved wildly before crashing into a large palm tree on the side of the road. Meanwhile, the blonde woman never moved as Vegeta reached the spot and glowered up at the disoriented driver sitting in the cab.

"Why don't you look where the hell you're going," he snapped at the driver. He then turned to snatch Mrs. Briefs from the road.

Amazingly enough, the woman was still sleeping. Neither did she show any signs of waking as Vegeta grabbed the back of her frilly gown and flew back to the great dome-shaped domicile carrying her like a burlap sack. He hauled her up the stairs to her room, depositing her at the door and giving it a sound rap to alert the Doctor.

"Come get your wife and keep her in bed, you idiot!" With a final huff, the Prince stuffed his hands into the pockets of his sweats and stalked back to his suite for the night.

000

Vegeta lounged on a bench in a secluded part of the corporation grounds the following afternoon. His morning workout had been a complete bust with him barely able to withstand even 200 times earth's gravity before finally collapsing in a useless pile on the floor. He hardly felt he'd earned a break, but until he'd rested a bit and then had some lunch, any training he attempted would only be a waste of time.

His chin dipped lower until it gradually reached his chest; the royal saiyan let out a long snore.

"Ah Vegeta, are you sleeping?"

The man's spiked head instantly shot up, "No!" His eyes presently focused on a head of bright cerulean hair as he glared at the woman now staring at him over the top of the hedge, "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Well, I know you usually take a break before lunch and I just happened to see you out here," Bulma Briefs stepped around the bush and came to a stop beside the bench. She was wearing her usual boiler suit with the Capsule Corp. logo emblazoned on the breast and a pair of grease-stained gloves. She looked at the saiyan, awaiting his permission to sit.

Sullenly, the Prince removed his foot from the bench and scooted over a bare inch to allow her room. Bulma took the seat and turned to face him while Vegeta frowned back impatiently.

"So I guess you didn't get much sleep last night," she began sympathetically.

He crossed his arms, "What do you know about it?"

"Dad told me about Mom's sleepwalking incident; she hasn't done that in a while."

Vegeta merely grunted and looked away.

"Thanks for taking care of her," the woman continued, "she might have gotten hurt if you hadn't been around – it was very nice of you."

He raised his eyebrows and turned back to her, "Nice; is that what you think?" He gave a dry laugh, "Listen, the only reason your moronic mother isn't a stain on the street right now is simply because I'd rather have you available to maintain my training equipment than busy planning funeral arrangements."

Bulma stared drolly at him, "Is that really the reason," she asked with a wry smirk.

He recoiled from her skeptical amusement; immediately he could feel his blood pressure rising. "Are you mocking me – be careful woman…"

The inventor jumped up from the bench with a guttural cry, throwing her gloved hands into the air, "Would you just stop already? Why can't you even admit when you've did something nice for someone else; is your ego that fragile?"

"Shut up! Your mother's stupidity is only rivaled by your own!" Vegeta had also leapt to his feet and now roared in her face.

"And your pigheadedness had no rival at all," she screamed back.

The mercenary's onyx eyes smoldered like fiery coals; he sneered at the irate human derisively, "What a common, low-class woman you are – no wonder you couldn't even keep that third-rate, desert rat-fighter, Yamcha satisfied."

Vegeta watched his blow take effect as the color instantly drained from her face. Bulma stood motionless for a moment, absorbing the impact of the saiyan's words as if they were a punch to the stomach. Her large blue eyes suddenly grew overly bright and she glared at him with as much acrimony as he'd ever seen in her face before.

"You asshole!" Quickly, she spun round and marched away from him, furiously swiping her sleeve across her eyes as she went.

Vegeta observed her until she was halfway across the yard; she then pulled out a capsule and hurled it to the ground. A hover bike appeared and she leapt onto it, zipping off the grounds of Capsule Corp into the cityscape beyond.

With a sigh of finality, the Prince took a seat back on the bench and stared blankly out toward the cluster of buildings that made up the corporation. He'd successfully gotten rid of her and could now be alone with his thoughts once again – yet somehow he felt even emptier and more miserable than ever.