The successor of Capsule Corporation could feel herself going cross-eyed from scanning through all the tiny lines of code that sped down her computer monitor. As much as she loved taking apart and fixing ridiculously complex pieces of machinery, searching for the glitches was her least favorite part of the process. She spared the prototype she was working on an impatient glance as the program completed its run; after just a few more frustrating minutes, Bulma had also finished her review of the lines. Her racing eyes at last came to a halt on a section of code which she immediately zoomed in on.
"Gotcha," she smirked triumphantly.
Within no time, the error was rectified and the beautiful genius could turn her full attention to the object at hand. Eagerly taking the headset, she tried it on and observed the outdoor view from a corresponding camera as a set of virtual gages appeared before her eyes. She was preparing to start the engine of the hover bike sitting outside on the lawn when, out of nowhere, lurking in the background of her control panel, she saw an ominous wall of black hair approaching through the glass of the workshop door. Bulma suppressed a heavy sigh.
The Prick of all Saiyans strolled into her work space moments later and halted a few paces within the room, looking expectantly at the inventor. Wordlessly he waited as she pulled the headset off, the camera view and bike's controls instantly vanishing, and turned to him.
"Vegeta, whatever you did to the gravity chamber, I will fix it in a few minutes – but I am trying to get the kinks worked out of this thing and I have a deadline to meet."
The compact warrior looked like he was about to retort back to her, but instead he abruptly crossed his arms and leaned against a large toolbox on the opposite wall, "I'll wait, then."
She blinked at this unexpectedly casual reaction. "You could go train in the atrium for now," she suggested cautiously, "just so long as you don't kill anything…"
"You said you would only be a few minutes, so I'll stay here," he insisted stubbornly.
Bulma looked self-consciously down at the gadget in her hand, then over at the unhelpful computer screen; when she glanced back up Vegeta was still in the same position with his onyx eyes fixed absently on her as if he were waiting for the start of a very dull magic show. "So are you just going to stand there and watch me," she demanded at last.
He gave an indifferent shrug, "So what if I do?"
"Well it's creepy; I can't concentrate with you in here – go somewhere else!"
The saiyan raised his heavy brows disbelievingly at her as he straightened up, "Don't be stupid – just finish what you're doing and I won't watch you!" He then turned and began to pace the room instead, his hands clasped behind his back as he paused to inspect parts from a half-assembled air craft lying discarded in one corner.
For a moment, Bulma gazed confusedly after him. She took note of the dark grey t-shirt stretched over his muscular back like a second skin and slacks that, while they complimented his toned ass nicely, were not part of his usual training attire. Upon further examination she saw no signs of perspiration on him – had he even used the gravity room recently?
"So what exactly is the problem you're having," asked the scientist, still fiddling idly with the headset.
The not-so-tall glass of water looked up and frowned at her question, "Do you mean with the gravity room?"
"Of course with the gravity room," she exclaimed in aggravation, "isn't that why you came in here in the first place?" His vacant behavior had Bulma suspecting something seriously wrong with the normally combative would-be monarch; maybe he'd hit his head too hard during training. "Vegeta are you feeling alright?"
Vegeta's confusion finally gave way to irritation, "What the hell do you mean by that; does it look as if I'm not alright?" He took a few steps toward her, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides.
She gazed back at him, "You don't actually want me to answer that do you?"
Vegeta shifted his weight and glared back, a sneer twisting his lips. "Someone is feeling her oats this morning."
"Listen," she sighed, "I don't have time for this: since you're obviously not going to let me get any work done until you get what you want, I guess I'll just have to drop everything – as usual – and go fix your problem right away!" She began to place the device that controlled the hover bike on the work table when suddenly the Prince was there and snatched the headset from her grasp. He held the complex piece of machinery up tauntingly.
"Hey, what are you–"
"You know, you're right; you've obviously got too much important work to be worrying about the quality of my training facility or the consequences for yourself and everyone else that you know, were I to somehow be defeated by those so-called androids in a little over two years from now." He nonchalantly crushed the technology as he spoke, crumbling it on the floor at his feet like cookie crumbs. "After all, that's going to keep you busy for a while."
He stalked out of the workshop amidst the scientist's shrieks of outrage.
000
Bulma did not see Vegeta for the rest of the day. She spent the duration of the afternoon repairing the destroyed prototype – it was only due to her sheer brilliance that she even made her deadline at all. The bastard didn't use the gravity room for the rest of the day, she noticed, nor did she see him anywhere else on the grounds or in the building. Where he might have gone off to she neither knew nor cared.
It would serve him right to be killed by androids; she fumed, stifling a yawn as she gazed moodily out the window at the faint outline of the gravity chamber across the now darkened lawn. However, the thought of the saiyan being murdered by cyborgs brought her a faintly ill feeling, and not merely (she admitted) for the reason that Vegeta had pointed out. I suppose it would be a waste of potential, conceded the woman grudgingly as she ambled to her room; somewhere there's a decent man buried under all that muscle mass and misanthropy – I mean there has to be, right?
Bulma yawned again and stretched, looking forward to a hot, much-earned bath before hitting the sack early. She reopened her eyes only to jump, uttering a squeal at suddenly coming face to face with the peevish tenant himself. Vegeta was propped listlessly against the railing at the base of the stairs as if he'd been waiting for her, he watched the woman with a cold smile.
"Alert as usual," he remarked dryly.
Her face flushed in anger. "No thanks to you," she snapped back.
"Your obliviousness is my fault?"
"Shut up! I've been working all day to rebuild the controls you destroyed – though I'm sure you love that," she waved him away dramatically, "Now would you please move aside and let me go upstairs?"
To her befuddlement, the prince stepped away without confrontation, allowing her access. Bulma cast him a suspicious glance, but the man only gazed coolly back under his heavy brows, waiting for her to proceed.
"Th-thank you," she huffed, "goodnight!" Cautiously as if he were a coiled snake, she brushed past him and headed up the stairs.
After she was a safe distance away, she sneaked a look over her shoulder to see Vegeta turn and begin walking in the other direction. Presently he paused halfway across the floor, his hands stuffed in his pockets, and addressed her without turning around, "Bulma."
She started at the sound of her name, "Huh?"
"About earlier – I'm sorry."
Bulma had to grab onto the railing to keep from falling down the stairs. She was grateful he could not see her stunned and most likely ridiculous expression. Certain she'd heard wrong because he'd been facing away, she decided to make sure, "What about earlier?"
He turned halfway to give her an irritable look, "About breaking the machine you were working on!"
"Oh." She was at a total loss for anything else to say.
While Bulma stood, still trying to wrap her brilliant head around the saiyan's words, Vegeta exhaled loudly and turned once again to walk away.
"Wait, where are you going," she called after him, breaking free of her trance.
"Kitchen," he rumbled without stopping, "I've already missed two meals."
"Where have you been all day long," she persisted. When the man didn't answer, but turned the corner, she headed back down the steps and followed after him, "Hey Vegeta!"
Vegeta paused in the entrance to the kitchen and graced her with another impatient glance.
"Um, you know, it's not that late yet – if you still wanted me to take a look at the GR for you I could."
The Prince gave his spiky head a brisk shake, "The GR isn't broken."
Bulma was taken aback, "Since when?"
"It was never broken to begin with – you just assumed that on your own." Without any further explanation, Vegeta entered the kitchen to leave her puzzling out in the hallway.
"Then what did you come into the workshop for in the first place," she cried out.
Vegeta's voice came back loudly, "Meddling woman – shut up and go to bed!"
000
Much to her chagrin, Bulma found herself thinking about the Merc of all Saiyans randomly throughout the next day. Something was certainly wrong with him, but she had no idea what it was. First his vacant behavior in the workshop yesterday, then his long absence from the compound, and finally his inexplicable apology to her – it was downright frightening! She even checked the gravity room at one point to see if he was using it; to her mild relief he was. Hopefully, things were back to normal.
One question that she couldn't shake no matter how she tried, however, was what Vegeta had wanted when he'd visited her in the shop yesterday if it wasn't to fix the GR. More than anything else, this was what she fixated on. Why, she wondered, had he revealed this information to her and then refused to elaborate on it? Possibly he just wanted to get under her skin by not telling her, but there still had to be a reason for his bizarre actions.
Just ignore him, she told herself, resisting the urge to make up an excuse to approach the standoffish saiyan and press him on the matter. It's not as if he'd tell me anyway if he wouldn't last night. Somehow she managed to follow her own advice for the entire day and by the time dinner at the Briefs' house rolled around she'd managed to dismiss him almost entirely from her mind.
Despite the family's chaotic schedule, Bulma's mother insisted on all of them coming together for evening meals whenever it was possible. Had she been able to (and she had tried valiantly) she'd have dragged Vegeta right into the mix as well, but as it was, she was obliged to make due with just her husband and daughter. Although it was technically winter, the family had decided to take their dinner out to the balcony that evening in order to enjoy the particularly nice weather they were having.
While her father disentangled the cat from his shoulder and placed it beside a saucer of milk and her mother poured drinks, Bulma gazed absently out at the manicured lawn as she worked out an equation for the next invention she had cooking up in her ever-busy mind. Past her mother's pink ruffled shoulder she suddenly spotted a dark-headed figure stalking toward the house. The scientist jumped to her feet without thinking and automatically called down to him.
"Hey Vegeta, we've got plenty of food over here – come on up!"
Occasionally, the reluctant warrior would join the family at dinner time, even if only briefly, and consume several large servings before heading briskly away again. He rarely lingered or engaged in much conversation and even then only when it concerned some requirement or complaint he had. Nevertheless, Bulma now decided to extend the invitation. After having spent the majority of the day distracted by thoughts of him, somehow, it occurred to her that the reclusive prince might benefit from some company between his long stretches of training and whatever else he did with the remainder of his time.
The stout figure turned his severe (even from the distance she observed him from) expression toward the balcony.
Beside her daughter, Mrs. Briefs likewise waved enthusiastically. "We have appletinis," she sang out enticingly.
Though far off, she thought she noticed his brows rise almost imperceptibly. For a moment it seemed to Bulma that Vegeta was considering the offer, but after a short pause he turned and continued on his way without a word.
"Looks like you may have scared him away, Honey-Bunch," commented Dr. Briefs wryly to his wife.
"Oh dear," cried the blonde woman, putting her hands to her cheeks, "maybe he doesn't like appletinis!"
000
Two appletinis and nine hours later, the inventor lay in bed with her blue eyes shut determinedly against the incessant chatter reverberating though her head. At last ignoring her better judgment, Bulma snuck a look at the digital clock on her nightstand through one cracked eyelid and immediately groaned as 3:28 blazed itself into her retina. Her brain had been whirling with thoughts and ideas since dinner time and, like an open floodgate, she could do nothing to hold it back. Amidst her more mathematical and scientific musings, random thoughts of Vegeta also persistently and infuriatingly cropped up as well. Sleep would not come and the scientist's fingers itched to tinker with something, so with a sigh of resignation she yanked back the covers and reached for her robe. She would slip down to the workshop for an hour or so, get it all out of her system, then maybe she could finally relax enough get some rest.
"I'm going to have dark circles under my eyes tomorrow," she grumbled to herself, "I just know it!"
Treading lightly, Bulma made her way down to the first floor. She started toward the shop when suddenly her stomach gave an unhappy gurgle. The disheveled woman glanced thoughtfully in the direction of the kitchen, deciding to swing by and pick up a muffin first.
To her surprise, she found the lights on as she reached her destination. Bulma peered in to find a shock of vertical ebony hair seated across the room. Vegeta sat on a stool with his back to her at the island. Winter time aside, West City enjoyed a temperate climate and the extraterrestrial elite was naked from the waist up. A pair of drawstring pajama pants hung loosely off his narrow hips, and if she squinted, she could make out a pale pink scar rising just above the waistband at the base of his spine where a tail had once sprouted. For a moment she gazed mesmerized at the place before her eyes gradually traveled up his broad back with its crosshatch of faded scars. When Vegeta finally spoke, she nearly had a heart attack.
"Are you coming in or were you just planning to stand there mouth-breathing," he asked without turning around.
Bulma quickly recovered from her shock and huffed into the kitchen. She made her way around to the other side of the island and scowled at him, "I wasn't mouth-breathing."
Vegeta had sliced open a baguette and filled it to capacity with cold cuts and various toppings; he held half a sub in one hand while the second part of the foot sat, as of yet, untouched on his plate. A can of beer rested next to his free hand. Littered over the counter was an array of mostly empty jars and packages that had all contributed to the monstrosity that the voracious prince now bit into.
He cocked a dark eyebrow up at her and continued chewing. "I didn't expect to see you up at this time of night," his gaze roved over her form inquisitively.
Bulma presently realized that she was dressed simply in a Capsule Corp. t-shirt and a terry cloth robe, meanwhile her curly perm was without a doubt sticking up in every direction from her head. Hastily wrapping the bathrobe closed and smoothing down her cerulean tresses, she replied evenly, "I could say the same about you – can you not sleep or were you just so hungry you couldn't even wait for breakfast?"
Vegeta didn't answer, but took another large bite of sandwich.
The heiress suddenly noticed the man's haggard face for the first time. Judging by the deep circles surrounding his eyes, he looked as if he hadn't slept in days. Bulma pulled back in surprise.
"Have you been training really hard," she asked suddenly with a hint of concern.
The saiyan scowled haughtily at her. "What kind of stupid question is that?"
"Don't get defensive – I just mean you look tired."
He once again said nothing, but continued to glare waspishly.
"Anyway," she went on, changing the subject, "I just came in to get a muffin, then I was going to go work for a little bit to see if it might help me get back to sleep…" She eyed him before cautiously adding, "Hopefully you can get some sleep too."
Turning and reaching for the handle, the woman did a double take as she opened the refrigerator. "Are you kidding? You practically emptied out the entire door! How did you manage to fit all that stuff on one sandwich?"
Vegeta washed down his bite with a swig of beer before taking another, "You're certainly full of profound questions tonight; I can tell it's going to be a productive evening for you."
Bulma's lip curled at the snarky comment. "Well, we can't all be mindless eating machines like you saiyans – what is that like? Do you just see a pile of food and have to defeat it?"
Vegeta's full mouth worked furiously; his eyes narrowed. "The problem isn't eating the food," he finally began after he'd chewed enough to form words, "It's keeping it down while looking at your face without any makeup."
"Oh is that right," demanded a reddening Bulma, she slapped her hands down on the island in front of him and leaned close to his face, "well look here, muscle head –"
His heated stare held hers.
She took a deep breath to continue her tirade, but deflated instead with a weary exhale. "Look, before we go any further," she conceded, "I think I'm going to make coffee; do you want some decaf or something?"
000
Several minutes later the woman sat across from the Prince, sipping her drink. Vegeta, in the meantime, had finished his 'snack' and also nursed a mug of the dark steamy liquid.
"I don't understand the purpose of this," he finally stated after several minutes of affable silence had passed.
She looked at him in confusion, "the purpose of what?"
"Isn't this beverage meant to wake you up – then why take out the stimulant that achieves that effect?"
"That's easy," shrugged Bulma, taking another sip, "so that you can drink it when you don't want to be awake all night."
"Then the simplest solution would just be to not drink it at night," responded Vegeta blandly.
"But sometimes you want to drink coffee even if it isn't morning," Bulma countered.
"Why," he pressed.
She gave him an incredulous look, "Because it tastes good!"
Vegeta returned her confounded expression with an added hint of disgust, "What a ridiculous reason to consume something."
"Why is that ridiculous," balked the woman, "it's the main reason that people decide to eat or drink what they do – what about you? Why are you drinking it?"
Vegeta frowned at his cup before turning back to her, "Because it's something hot to drink."
"That's it; so you don't have a preference between coffee and say tea – or beer," Bulma gestured to the can still sitting on the counter, "What about food preferences?"
The saiyan seemed momentarily at a loss, as if he'd never been asked this simple question before. He crossed his arms and stared down into his mug, "I like foods that give me the most energy to train, so I'd say probably meat."
Bulma rolled her eyes as she took a longer sip, "Typical: it always comes back to training with you – I suppose it's the same way with Son-kun too, though. Don't you believe in savoring anything?" She then cast a sly look in his direction as a new thought dawned on her, "But as I recall, Son-kun didn't like coffee, so I guess you're not exactly the same as him after all."
As expected, the elite immediately bristled, "Do not in any way compare me to that soft-headed Kakkarot!"
The inventor suppressed a giggle and ducked her head. "Okay, okay, sorry!" She chanced a glance at his stormy features and winced – she still couldn't tell what was going to piss him off slightly and what was going to send him into a furious sulk that would last for days. She sighed: just when they were actually getting along, "Come on, don't get so angry…"
The man's head swiveled away from her on its thick neck and he glared out the darkened windows without saying a word. She watched him for a moment, her mind grasping for something that might reverse his mood. Another mischievous smile suddenly stretched over her face.
Calmly taking a bite of muffin and chasing it with a gulp from her mug, she leaned conspiratorially toward him, "You know, Son may not have liked coffee, but he once ate an entire basket of guest soaps because Oolong told him they were 'sweet tarts' – I swear that afterward he had bubbles coming out of both ends for hours!" At the memory Bulma burst into peals of laughter.
000
Out in the country far from West City, Son Goku rolled over in a dead sleep, suddenly letting out such a vehement sneeze that, beside him, Chichi was knocked out of bed into a tangle of sheets and pillows on the floor.
"Ouch! Goku, what's the matter with you!"
The earth's groggy savior sniffed loudly and leaned over to peer at his disheveled wife. "Oops, sorry Chichi, I don't know where that came from!" He reached out and helped her back onto the mattress.
"You'd better not be catching a cold," she warned, as if this were enough to intimidate him into being healthy again.
"I don't think I am," he rubbed his nose with the back of his hand, "I just get the strangest feeling that someone is talking bad about me somewhere…"
Chichi, meanwhile, had already lay back down and turned away from him, "Well, go back to bed and let me get some rest, or else you can go out and sleep in the woods tonight!"
Goku looked at her hopefully, "Really, I can?"
"That wasn't meant as a reward!"
000
Back in Capsule Corporation, Bulma gradually recovered from her laughing fit and glanced over at Vegeta to see if her anecdote had influenced the Prince's mood at all.
Vegeta was looking at her with something less than his usual scowl – it may not have been a grin exactly, but it was a start. She smiled back. A pause followed in which the heiress waxed mildly uncomfortable under the man's suddenly intent stare. She played with her food, tearing the muffin into pieces, still feeling the eyes of the saiyan on her.
"You know," she said at last, "I think I'm starting to feel a little tired after all; I think I'll go and try to get some sleep." She pushed the remainder of her muffin toward him and took her cup to the sink. She threw one last look over her shoulder as she headed from the kitchen, "Have a good night, Vegeta."
"I've hit my limit," he said from the table as she reached the entryway.
Bulma paused at the threshold, turning to observe the dark man's marred back to her. She frowned, "Come again?"
"That day I came to see you in your workshop," he went on without facing her, "I had an incident in the gravity room while the computer was set to 300 times gravity; in the middle of my training I suddenly became paralyzed. The force nearly crushed me to the floor. I just barely managed to reach the controls in time to switch it off." His shoulders hefted with a heavy breath and he muttered in a low voice, "I thought I was going to die."
Bulma was floored by the sight of the once infamous world conqueror slumping in defeat at her kitchen island. She could match him blow for blow when he tried to bully her, but she didn't know how to handle Vegeta when he was like this. "I don't understand," she began hesitantly; "I thought you'd mastered 300g a while back."
"That's just it," he angled himself toward her, one elbow propped on the counter, the other hand clenched into a fist on his lap – he gazed blankly along the opposite wall, "I have already mastered it – in fact until only a couple of weeks ago I was making fast progress; but I can't concentrate on training anymore!" His lips pulled back from his teeth in a raw grimace that could have stripped the finish from the cabinet doors he was facing. "I'm getting weaker, not stronger!"
Bulma took a step closer; her hand scratching her chin thoughtfully. "But what exactly caused you to become paralyzed in the first place," she wondered with a researcher's curiosity, hoping at the same time that she wasn't treading too much on his already sore ego.
For a split second his eyes met hers and in the shadowy light she thought she caught a glimpse of the answer there before he looked promptly back to the counter.
Bulma felt a jolt of pity tighten her chest – not the kind of reaction that he would ever want directed at him she knew, but she couldn't help it. Seeing the arrogant warrior at his lowest was almost too painful for her to watch.
"Vegeta," she ventured, with growing realization, "was it a panic attack?"
For a moment he sat in the same position at the counter amidst its chaotic array of jars, containers and utensils. She watched as his angular jaw ticked silently, then slowly he faced her, the mask of disdain firmly back in its usual place. "That's right; you were on your way back to bed, weren't you?"
"Does it have anything to do with facing the Cyborgs?"
With a renewed burst of passion, he leapt to his feet; his eyes obsidian daggers. "The only thing tethering me to this dung-heap of a planet is the chance to fight those damned rust-buckets! Did you think I was doing all this training just to save a bunch of sniveling earthlings – don't make me laugh!" Not that the alien looked even remotely amused as he stood glowering at her.
Bulma did her best to repress her aggravation in return, "Alright, so if it isn't the Cyborgs what is it? Help me to help you, Vegeta."
"Who says I want your help," he scoffed in outrage.
"If you didn't, then why did you just tell me the things you did," she reasoned in a scarcely calmer tone. "Besides, I saw how you looked yesterday – you were a complete mess, so stop acting so proud and tell me what's got you this shaken!"
He was centimeters from her face within two seconds and holding her in his coal-black glare. Bulma could feel the heat radiating from his dark, unyielding form and readily appreciated the inconceivable danger he presented if he so chose. She stood immobilized as he hissed into her face, "Nothing. Do you understand? I fear nothing!" His hot breath sent a quick chill down her spine.
Not to be daunted for long, the blue-haired babe took a steadying breath before she replied in a low voice to the wall of raw antagonistic power before her, "Then what is wrong with you?"
For a long moment he neither moved nor spoke as his menacing eyes bored into hers, but as she watched, she thought she could see a slow crack beginning to form in the saiyan wall. Almost imperceptibly, his intense scowl relaxed, his shoulders drooped and his face betrayed his deep weariness. An unintentional sigh escaped his lips as he answered honestly, "I don't know."
Brilliant though she may have been when it came to all things mechanical, Bulma was no psychologist and had no immediate response to this distressed confession by the saiyan. She gazed back almost apologetically, however, it didn't seem – based on his reaction – that the prince really expected her to have an answer. Vegeta blinked resignedly back, his expression appearing strangely more at ease all of a sudden.
Nevertheless, the distracted woman did not take long in realizing that she was still standing so close to him that she could count Vegeta's sparse eyelashes. A wave of self-consciousness washed over her and Bulma fought the urge to take a step back; her eyes dipped reflexively downward toward his chest instead. While appreciatively taking in the view of his well-developed musculature, she noticed one of his arms reach toward her. Bulma stiffened as the thick appendage slid to the small of her back and gently but firmly drew her against the hard torso. Almost urgently, her stare darted back to his face.
Vegeta's mouth was against hers before she could draw a breath. Of their own volition, her arms threw themselves around his neck and she allowed herself to be guided toward the wall beside the kitchen entrance way.
000
Several minutes passed before Bulma's feet once again touched cold marble tiles. Almost immediately, her knees gave out and she slid to the kitchen floor in a quivery mass, still panting vigorously – her damp, curly hair fanning out around her head against the wall behind her. Vegeta stood, feet now firmly planted on the floor in front of her, gazing evenly down at the blue-haired heap. Conversely, he displayed little evidence of the exertion that had just taken place other than the fine sheen of perspiration glazing his naked torso. Bulma's eyes slid absently to the small pile of hastily cast off articles to her right, consisting simply of Vegeta's pajama bottoms and her white cotton panties.
"Wow," breathed the woman presently with a small laugh, "I've never done that before – I mean so far away from the ground…"
The dark prince cast one of his smarmiest smirks down upon her, "You're welcome."
The woman rolled her eyes, but couldn't find it in herself to be too annoyed. Rather than remain on the floor within awkward vicinity of Vegeta's undercarriage, she pulled herself to her feet, snatching up her underwear and straightening her rumpled shirt and robe. "We'd better get out of here before anyone comes down and finds us like this – take these," she tossed the pair of pants at him.
Vegeta caught them wordlessly and slipped them back on as Bulma quickly surveyed the clutter on the kitchen island. Dismissing the mess with a wave of her hand (one of the staff would take care of it later that morning) the heiress exited the room and headed up the stairs with Vegeta following closely behind. The moment they reached the landing, she turned back to the now rather languid elite who lounged against the wall beside the stairway.
"Well, I hope you have a nice…night," she mumbled lamely after an uncertain pause.
The man only stared back blankly. Having no idea what to do next, Bulma finally turned and headed for her room.
"Bulma," came a gravelly address from behind.
"Eh," the woman whipped around with a start.
Vegeta was still in the same position by the stairs that she'd left him in; his face remained expressionless – at least as far as she could tell in the dim moonlit hallway. After she'd waited several moments for him to continue, the Prince abruptly straightened up and headed the opposite direction for his own bedroom suite. "Goodnight," he threw over his shoulder before completely melting into the shadows.
She was left gaping stupidly after him.
000
The following day, Bulma awoke to the sound of nothing in particular except the usual noises of mid-morning. After glancing at her alarm clock, which was set for 10:30 and now read 10:29, she yawned and resignedly shut off the switch. The scientist sat up and stretched until her spine emitted several loud pops: it was Saturday; she thought randomly, which meant the offices were closed and she was free to do whatever she wanted.
Perhaps, she mused, it would be a good day to start on some of her side projects – then afterward, as a reward, she could head to the salon and get her hair done. She ran a hand through her disheveled curls thoughtfully; her perm was beginning to grow out, and she was in the mood for a new look – maybe something short and straight. Deciding to make an appointment with her personal stylist for later that day, she slid out of bed and walked toward the shower, doffing her shirt along the way. She stared curiously down at her naked body for a moment, feeling that she was somehow missing something. Her eyes scanned the bedroom floor, suddenly coming to rest on her rumpled terry-cloth robe – emerging from one of its pockets was a pair of white cotton panties.
Bulma immediately gave a small shriek; her hands flew to her mouth as reality settled into her numbed brain: "Oh my God; I fucked Vegeta!"