Starved of oxygen, Vegeta's already aching body cried out in pain and need. Slowly, his peripheral vision darkened, and the Saiyan knew that if he did not ascend to the surface, he would lose consciousness and drown. He fought his instinct to open his mouth and fill his lungs despite the intensifying stabbing sensation in his chest. Closing his eyes and biting his tongue, he used every ounce of energy he had left to propel himself into the open air.

Vegeta gave in and inhaled at the last moment, just before he broke the surface. A mixture of water and air rushed into his throat, and he wheezed fitfully. Simultaneously, he tried to bring in air and expectorate fluid. It reminded him of rising from the earth on Namek, desperately seeking breath while spewing blood, earth, and gall. Several minutes passed before Vegeta felt he could swim towards the shore. He did not have the energy to fly.

Coincidentally, Bulma lay sunning herself on the very shore toward which Vegeta swam. From what he could tell, she had not noticed him. He contemplated wading a couple hundred yards before stepping out of the water, but ultimately, he decided against it.

The woman had followed him halfway across the planet, bearing bribes. She had done him favors, but she had made clear that she did not do them because she felt obligated to serve him. Vegeta did not believe in altruism, and he expected anything but pure-hearted altruism from the conniving female. A favor, he had learned from many years of life-experience, always disguised a selfish motive. In Frieza's army, he had learned the dangers of trusting others. He would find the woman out. Mysteries annoyed him.

Vegeta purposefully emerged from the water noisily, hoping he would draw attention to himself. He shook his head, flinging moisture from his hair. Looking down at Bulma, he saw that she lay on her stomach, exposing her naked back and shoulders to the sun's rays. She must have sensed his presence, for she lifted her head and peered over her shoulder.

"Vegeta?"

"There are wild animals about. You are a fool to leave yourself so unguarded."

"Thanks for your concern, but I already thought of that. I set up an invisible electric perimeter." She held up a small device that resembled the dragon radar. "What is it, Vegeta? I'm actually surprised you're here."

"I want to know why you are here."

"I told you already. I needed to get away. I have to get back to work once the weekend is over, so I'll be gone soon."

"You don't have to leave," Vegeta said.

Bulma looked directly into the Saiyan's eyes. "What?"

"I forbid you to leave until I find out what it is you want from me. Do not think me so naive as to believe without hesitation your overly-simplistic excuses for being here. You hide much."

"And that's coming from the Prince of All Secrets," Bulma spat sarcastically. "You even keep secrets from yourself. It's kind of weird, actually. Talking to you is like playing chess. There are only a couple things you'll talk about, and there are tons of things that will end the conversation immediately if someone brings them up. It takes a feat of intelligence to keep you calm for more than five minutes. And yet I've managed to keep you around multiple times. You're not the only one who can play tactician." She smiled and batted her eyelashes. "You're getting played, Vegeta."

"Do you challenge me, woman?" The Saiyan raised an eyebrow.

"See? I ran a risk of pissing you off again by saying that just now, but because I've got you figured out, I knew you'd just think it was cute that I, as you would say it, 'had the audacity to do so.' I could tell you weren't in a bad mood. And you're after something. No need to challenge you. I've already won." Bulma bent her knees, crossed her ankles, and swung her feet back and forth behind her back.

Vegeta crossed his arms over his chest. "You think you're clever, do you? I admit I hadn't expected this from you. I assumed you would still be weeping like a lost child as you were last night. But don't think for one moment that I have forgotten to pry answers from you. You are trying to distract me."

"At least you're realizing that I'm not brainless. People think I am because I can get worked up over things, but it works out for me in the end—it gives me the element of surprise. And, yes. I've stopped crying. I just needed to get it out, and I did."

"If you are so confident, why don't you look at me when I speak to you?"

"Because I'm topless, Vegeta. Do you think I want tan lines? There's no way I'm sitting up and flashing you."

"If distraction is your strategy, then perhaps you will reconsider that course of action."

Bulma grinned. "Did the Prince of All Saiyans just ask to see my boobs? I can't blame him. But I thought you weren't interested in human women. Interesting!"

Vegeta glared at her angrily. "I in no way wished to imply that! I was thinking strategically from your perspective in abstract, objective terms. Again, you are presuming too much."

"Okay, I believe you. But let's see how 'abstract' and 'objective' you really are, then!" Bulma sat up, and with a clearly intentional sluggishness, she fetched her the top of her bathing suit. She faced him as she tied the straps behind her neck.

Vegeta could do nothing to avoid the spectacle. He found himself staring at the expanse of pale skin. Somehow, it did not seem so strange for him to stare. That surprised him. In spite of this, though, he had kept up his guard, and he maintained his cold, serene demeanor. He was no undisciplined fool.

"Damn, Vegeta. That was impressive." Bulma winked. "You're still speechless, though."

Vegeta's mind raced to produce a response. "I had nothing to say. It is you who are the one to speak. I have asked for answers, and I await them."

"Right." Bulma scooted to one end of her large beach towel. "Why don't you stop standing around all awkwardly and come sit down, then?" She patted the place beside her. "If you want your 'answers,' that is."

Vegeta grumbled, but he sat down in spite of himself. "You manipulate me."

Bulma put a finger to his chest. "Learned from the best."

"Do not touch me!" the Saiyan growled harshly.

"Fine." She paused. "What do you want to know?"

"Why did you follow me? Why do you always find me out?"

"I know you think I've got some complicated plot, but I really don't." She inhaled deeply, then sighed. "There were several reasons, and I told you them. I wanted to get away from Yamcha. That was the first reason. I was worried about you. That's the second reason. You're my friend, and I missed having you around. That's another reason. I think that sums it up. I could try and list out every single feeling, but we'd be here forever. Gotta stop at some point—only practical."

Vegeta sat in silence for a moment. "Why do you consider me a friend? You are no friend of mine—just an annoying Earthling. You lie, in any case. You said yourself that everyone despises me. They are justified in doing so."

"You're strong, you're smart, you're good-looking, you're interesting, you're funny in your own weird way. You've got a lot to offer. You're like the only one around here other than my dad who can understand my scientific work. You're not the same guy who came to blow up the world years ago. Goku's my best friend, and he taught me to give people the benefit of the doubt. He always manages to find something good in everyone. He figured that out from the very beginning. I envy that. I'm only slowly learning how right he was. He did a good thing by letting you go. I bet nobody's really given you the benefit of the doubt before."

"Oh, so this is all based in Kakarot's foolishness? I should have known." He put a palm to his forehead. "It's all bullshit. Despicable. He's a joke—a joke. You're taunting me again."

"I'm being serious. I meant what I said. Those compliments too—that wasn't flattery. You can trust me."

The Saiyan's face darkened, and his left eye twitched involuntarily. He hissed, "I trust no one."

Bulma looked at him. "I know." She reached her hand out, searching for the hand he had set on the ground between them to support himself.

Vegeta anticipated her movement, and he shrank back, his speed accelerated by energy.

Bulma frowned sadly. "Okay. You found me out. I'll give you another answer. Maybe this will be the kind you were looking for. Okay." She smiled, then shifted her gaze to her feet. "I like you a little bit. I don't know if you'll see why, but that makes things extra complicated for me. I tell myself Yamcha was acting crazy—being jealous and all. He definitely took things a bit too far no matter what he thought I did, but maybe I'm just as crazy as he is. At least he had a reason for what he did; he could tell I wasn't in it with my whole heart. He said some things I really wish he didn't. It wasn't pretty. I think it still needed to happen, though. But because half of the things he said were true—even if I don't want to admit it—I second-guess myself. I sometimes wonder if us ending it was really the right thing. I feel righteous and guilty at the same time. It sucks. I don't really understand myself. Nobody really does. Realizing that is part of accepting who you are, I think. Hey."

Vegeta looked up.

"You want to know anything else?"

"I've had enough of this nonsense." He stood up and brushed his palms against his shorts as if he needed to rub away some dirt.

"You wouldn't leave unless you were satisfied with the information you got."

"I might leave if I was annoyed, which I am. For Frieza's sake, woman!"

"Okay. I can't make you stay. But would you mind if I take a shower in your ship later?"

"You're surrounded by water, idiot!"

"But it's dirty! And nothing really is the same as a clean, hot shower. Indulge a spoiled lady, will you?"

Although he threw his hands in the air and spat, he mentally agreed. Even he rinsed himself in the shower after taking a swim. "As you wish. But you will do it quickly."

"Thanks. Have a good rest of the day, Vegeta. You've been a good listener. I would only talk to a friend about those things."

"You talk endlessly!" the Saiyan muttered over his shoulder as he gathered energy to leap into the air and return to his ship. As he hovered above her, he noted the soft, bittersweet expression of her face. She wore next to nothing. She had made herself vulnerable, and she had done it purposefully. She had done everything purposefully. In truth, she possessed the mind of an engineer, a tactician. What she hoped to gain by laying herself bare, though, he could only guess. That was the mark of a good strategy, after all: unpredictability. He couldn't see the merit in it; exposing one's weakness to an enemy always brought defeat on the battlefield.