Friday.
-

"Goten, Trunks! Stop playing around! Gather your things and get down here this instant!"

Chichi took her cupped hands down from her mouth and walked away from the foot of the stairway, quirking her eyebrow in annoyance at their tardiness. "Those two!" She stomped back to the living room and the cheery presence of Bulma, who was sitting on the sofa while sipping her tea. "Oh, Chichi." She placed her teacup the table before her and said, "It's okay, you know. They can take their time."

After taking a seat next to Bulma, Chichi closed both of her eyes in a visage of self-important prudence. She held up a lone pointer finger and said, "To always be early is to always be wise."

Bulma blinked.

"And besides," she continued, "I don't trust them when they don't respond for more than 5 minutes - and it's been 4 minutes and 27 seconds since I called them the first time. They've got 33 seconds!"

Bulma almost fell out of her chair.

"You have this down to a science, don't you?"

Chichi plucked at the sleeves of her cardigan and chuckled. "With a pair like them, you have to!"

Bulma nodded her appreciation while laughing in reply. "I'm beginning to think introducing them to each other was a bad idea!"

However, the second hand on the clock on the wall valiantly fought to distract them from their laughter - and it won. Their snickers ebbed as they both watched its fractional movements, being nothing but transfixed.

5... 4... 3... 2... 1.

Flashing blurs flew off of the sofa.

Goten and Trunks, with their impeccable hearing, dropped their crayons as soon as they heard the women bounding up the stairs. Goten let out a small peep of terror. "Oh, no!"

"Not good," Trunks simpered. "Hide!"

Chichi barged through the door to Goten's room, screaming, "Time's up!" She scanned the room with expertise as she looked for the boys, who by now were well out of sight.

Bulma peered around Chichi's side and squinted her eyes. "What are you two up to?"

Their sweeping gaze finally settled on the wall to their right - which just happened to be covered in massive doodles in every color imaginable. Their mouths slackened at the sight.

And then the only color Bulma and Chichi could see was red.

Goten and Trunks' sixth sense for furious mothers caused them to pop their heads out from underneath the bed. They weren't fools; they were fully aware that they had a pair of fuming mothers to heed. Trunks nudged Goten in the side to get his attention. "You talk, it's your house!" he said in a hiss.

"You're so mean, Trunks!" Goten cried. "Fine…."

He scuttled forward a bit and looked at the ground, pouting while circling his index fingers around each other. "Mama… well, you see… w-we ran out of paper..."

The women gaped, looking at the two heads in disbelief.

"Trunks…" Chichi said through gritted teeth.

"Goten…" Bulma added, just as irritated.

They put their hands on their waists and shouted at the same time, "In the hovercraft! NOW!"

"Yes ma'am!" the pair squeaked while sprinting out the room.

"I don't know what I'm going to do with those two!" Chichi exclaimed as she ran her hand over the scribbles. She pulled it away and eyed the wall with a hint of exasperation. 'Yet another thing to clean today.'

Bulma sighed and shook her head. "You and me both. At least you'll get a break for the weekend!" She walked over to her friend and placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "Want me to give you a hand with this before we go?"

"Oh, I'll be alright. Thank you, though." Bulma nodded and busied herself with getting the kids' backpacks from off the bed.

Chichi slipped off her warm cardigan and tied it around her shoulders, knotting the arms in the way she always wore it. She was feeling a bit chilly earlier this morning, and she had decided to throw it on - but now, it was time to work. Having the cardigan on would only overheat her.

Bulma looked over at her friend to say her goodbyes, but something out of the ordinary on Chichi's pristine skin caught her immediate attention. "Chichi." She stalked over and boldly pointed at the woman's arms. "I know for a fact that you haven't been sparring. What are those marks around your wrists? They look like... hand imprints."

Chichi glanced down at her wrists; this was the first time she even noticed the faint, purple-blue swells of color. She was so used to seeing bruises on her boys that she didn't know hers existed. Apparently Gohan and Goten didn't pay attention to the bruises either, because they never mentioned it.

"Tch, these?" she said, shrugging it off. "It's nothing. When Vegeta dropped Trunks over… well, Vegeta just got carried away. That's all."

"What?" Bulma's eyes went wide in complete shock. "Why didn't you tell me anything?"

Chichi sniffed in pride. "I promise, it really is nothing! It was incredibly rude of him, but I'm a former martial artist. I've received much worse in my lifetime."

"That's not the point!" The blue-haired woman stomped her foot into the ground, falling back several years in maturity. "He shouldn't have laid a hand on you in the first place!" She hesitated for a moment, and a foggy nostalgia clouded her face. Unable to look Chichi in the face, she averted her eyes. "You know," she muttered, "if Son-kun was here, this wouldn't have hap—"

"Don't say it. Please, Bulma, don't say it." Chichi had her arms folded, and she was now gazing out the window. Her stance was stoic, and her glassy stare was fixated on the smooth, rolling hills her husband had loved so much.

Bulma knew that when Chichi's eyes glazed over like that, it was a fruitless mission to try and reach out to her. It was near impossible to break through the barrier of her emotions and pull her true feelings out. Bulma also knew that she couldn't leave Vegeta to do what he wanted without reprimand. "Alright," she said. "But tonight I'm going to talk to Vegeta and tell him he can't do these things. Just because Son-kun is—"

"Bulma."

"Ah, right. Sorry. Well, I'll talk to him, ok?"

"Thank you." Chichi inclined her head towards her friend and gave her a small smile, which packed all the gratitude she could muster.

Bulma grinned back in her usual confident manner. "Good, it's settled then! I'll knock him back into place. And as far as the kids are concerned, I'll call Gohan on Sunday so he can come get Goten." She shifted the backpacks from one hand to the other. "God, these are heavy," she mumbled. "Take care of yourself, you hear?" After shooting Chichi a final, brilliant smile, she made her way out, two backpacks in tow.

Chichi calmly watched Bulma go, then walked over to the window that had held her view captive. She swung the panes open and closed her eyes, resting her hands on the windowsill. The rays of the sun were welcome companions to Chichi; they danced comfortable silhouettes over her body, blanketing her with a layer of soothing, penetrating warmth. It was almost as if Goku was there, beaming down at her and enveloping her with the humble solace of his simple touch. However, as radiant as the light was, it still couldn't pierce the dark of her thoughts. "Take care of myself, hm?" she whispered, letting her words take flight into the sun.

"You'll love this new toy, Goten!"

Trunks leaped out of the hovercraft and started running toward the giant domes of his Capsule Corp. household. Goten, of course, wasn't far behind. He clapped his hands with delight and shouted back, "Can I have it?"

"Ugh, no way!"

Bulma chuckled at the two boys running into her home - they never failed to amuse her. She jumped out of the hovercraft herself and followed after them, stepping into the sweet opulence of the warm dusk air. This was contentment; she was convinced.

But her laughter faded. A gust of wind rolled through the area, stealing her jovial mood.

She was left with a foreboding feeling in its wake.

Asking Vegeta about Monday's events was absolutely mandatory. She loved him in her own unconventional way, yes, but she could never stand for him hurting the other people she loved. Sparring partners were a different story, but Chichi or any other non-threatening female? No. The answer would be no, and anything other than a no would be like thrusting a knife made of betrayal into her heart.

She walked into the house and was greeted by the lush living room past the foyer. A flick of her wrist left her capsule case landing on the coffee table; she let out a sigh. Time to get this over with.

"Vegeta!" she shouted, looking around the room as if she could see where he was. "Where are you? I need to talk to you!"

"Woman," yelled a voice from behind a wall, "Stop your yelling! I'm in the kitchen!" Vegeta hawked a bite out of his sukiyaki preemptively glared at the doorway that he knew Bulma was going to barge through.

Sure enough, Bulma busted through the doorway, looking annoyed as ever. She returned the scowl Vegeta was giving her and slammed her palm on the kitchen counter, rattling the various knick-knacks there. "First of all," she screeched, "I can't believe you're telling me to stop yelling, by yelling!"

Vegeta responded by chewing on a particularly tender part of his beef.

Bulma rolled her eyes in aggravation and pulled the bowl of sukiyaki away from him, placing it under her watch. "Pay attention!"

"You idiot!" the man said through a mouthful of food. "Give that back!" He reached over to grab the bowl back, but was interrupted by her iron fist over his hand.

"And second, what the hell did you do to Chichi on Monday? Did you hurt her?"

Vegeta's visage darkened as he recollected the memory. "No!" he barked. "And shouldn't you have learned by now that only fools stand between me and my food?" He snatched back his hand and pushed her aside with ease, going once more for his plate.

Bulma yelped in surprise as she was knocked sideways. She took a few jagged steps to regain her balance, but her surprise turned to anger when she saw Vegeta hunch over the sukiyaki again. 'Alright,' she growled to herself, 'so you want to play rough, eh?'

"But, Vegeta..." she purred out in a creamy voice. It was lined with silk and velvet, and adorned with diamonds and pearls. It was The Voice, and it was ruthless when it came out to attack.

Vegeta's head snapped up. She wouldn't.

"Will you please tell me the truth about what happened Monday?" Bulma snuggled up against Vegeta's muscular back, curling her arms like sinew around his waist. She pressed a small kiss in the crook of his neck, keening and pressing her body against him.

Vegeta peeked down at the dainty hands now tracing intimate patterns across the span of his chest. 'This blasted woman….'

He knew that if Bulma could see the reddening of his cheeks, she would take his fluster and run with it. Fast. He also knew that his happily-ever-after days with the gravity room were over if she found out how severe his temper was with Chichi.

The force he used on Chichi's wrists were enough to shatter the bones of a regular human, like Bulma for instance – but fortunately, Chichi wasn't a regular human. No, no, wait. That was all wrong. He had to stop thinking of her in a positive light. She was his deceased rival's wife; therefore all negative feelings towards Kakarotto now had to be redirected to her and her spawn. His thoughts, however, were interrupted when Bulma noticed his downfall.

"My my," Bulma teased with speckles of malice in her voice. "Is that a blush I see, Vegeta?"

Her comment only made his cheeks flush even more. "Saiyajin do not blush!" he bellowed, snapping out of his calculative reverie. "You've had your fun, now get your hands off of me!"

As soon as he uttered the words, his mind couldn't help but fly back to the situation on Monday. Chichi had said something along those same lines. 'No! Stop thinking about that!'

"Release me already, woman!" He pushed downwards on Bulma's hands, trying to break free without harming her, but it was too late for him to notice that this move was a bad idea.

"Oh? So you want me to touch down there, do you?"

'No! Nonono!' Vegeta's face paled and he promptly pulled her hands up, settling them back on his waist. He detested how vulgar she was at times. It was no way to talk to a Prince, but Earthlings – especially the one he mated with – didn't hold this regard in esteem.

"That's what I thought. Now will you answer my question?"

After a long and arduous battle, Vegeta gave up on the impossible venture of unlatching Bulma's hold. He took up folding his arms and grinding his teeth in annoyance instead. "You seem incapable of understanding that nothing happened," he said in a flat tone, losing his patience. "Even if something did indeed happen, why would I want to indulge you with that information?"

In sheer melodrama, Bulma yanked herself away. "Stop lying! I won't stand for you harming any of my friends who you don't spar with. Those bruises on Chichi's wrists were no ordinary bruises!"

Vegeta smiled to himself – did she think he was born yesterday? He would be damned before he fell into the obvious trap she laid out: she was trying to get him to admit to putting those bruises there. Hypothetically, if he didn't do it, then he wouldn't know that she was bruised. Simple. She must have really thought he was born yesterday.

Turning to face her, he tilted his head and didn't bother hiding the fact that he was feigning a deep concern. "Oh, she has bruises on her wrists, does she?" he lightly remarked. "And it's from someone hurting her, you say? How curious."

Bulma clenched her fists and jumped from one foot to the other in pure frustration. "Vegeta!" she screamed. "You are so damn impossible!" She flung her hands onto his sculpted shoulders and shook them as hard as she could - which, incidentally, wasn't hard at all.

Vegeta laughed at her pathetic efforts and reached for his glass of water nearby. He took a large swig, placed it back down, and then gave her cheek a few patronizing pats. "There, there," he cooed, sarcasm thick in his voice. "I'm sure you'll be able to outsmart me one day."

With a bitter snarl, Bulma let go of his shoulders and nudged his hand away. "Why should I have to do that when I have a gravity room to play with?"

Vegeta's face fell. "What?"

"You heard me. I think I'm going to have to make a few adjustments, if you know what I mean."

He narrowed his eyes at her, certain that she was raising a bluff. "You wouldn't dare touch—"

"You're damn right I would!" Bulma cut in. "After all, you're holding back important information from me. Oh, well. I suppose you'll learn your lesson when I make the maximum output in the gravity room 20 G." She shot him a wicked smile, looking far too proud of herself.

"What?" he shrieked. "20?"

She returned the patronizing pat on the cheek. "There, there," she said in the same sarcastic tone. "I'm sure you'll be able to outsmart me one day." With that, she sauntered out of the kitchen and in the direction of the gravity room, completely and utterly satisfied with herself.

"No! Y-you come back here! Put it right! Put it right, damn you!" Vegeta pounded his fist on the counter and then threaded his hands through his hair, clutching the wiry strands with remarkable force. This was a lose-lose situation. He would either have to deal with 20 G, which might as well have been 0 G, until Bulma forgot this ever happened - or risk losing the room for quite some time if he told Bulma the truth. He was in between a rock and a hard place, and Chichi was the cause.

'She probably yapped her filthy trap as soon as Bulma got over there,' he thought with pure venom. His eyebrows knitted themselves into a fury. 'Of course she would run her mouth about what happened. I was a fool to let her remind me of a Saiyajin woman! How could I have even drawn a parallel between a mere Earthling and a Saiyajin in the first place? Now I don't have a proper training facility because of her! Damn her to hell!'

Vegeta stomped off to the room he slept in whenever he and Bulma fought – meaning that he was in there quite often. It was a blank and austere bedroom; a simple window with a simple bed were the only inhabitants. He preferred it this way - there were no silly human trinkets around, no scents or noises to overload his sensitive Saiyajin senses. It was the perfect room for introspection.

He swooped down and threw himself down on the bed, nearly breaking it in his scathing wrath. Never had his thoughts been on Son Chichi so much. She wasn't a subject he was fond of, and he still didn't forget how his instincts leapt in joy from holding a solid, muscular woman beneath his hand.

Vegeta shut his eyes and shook his head, as if the action would chuck the memory out of him. He was disgusted with himself for possessing even a diminutive lust for this horrid, ever-harping woman.

He was even more disgusted with himself for having a tiny, nagging voice in his mind worry about how Bulma would feel if she knew.

Chichi was invading his thoughts, embedding herself and leaving deep imprints on his psyche.

And that, to be frank, was unacceptable.

For this, she would pay a severe price. Her presence was simply… irrelevant.