Vegeta paused at the foot of the staircase. Looking ahead into the dining room, he spied Dr. Briefs sitting at the table. Yamcha and Puar routinely exited and entered the room, bearing dishes with each turn. Apparently, Vegeta would have to wait at least a little while longer for his first solid meal in days. He had absolutely no desire to waste time among the humans, so he sneaked into an adjacent room. Resting his back against a wall, he found a corner from which he could watch the nearby hallways, the staircase, and the dining room entrance.

Mrs. Briefs appeared not thirty feet from where Vegeta stood. Reflexively, Vegeta suppressed his energy further as if he might give his position away. He realized in the next instant that it would not matter. Not only could Mrs. Briefs not sense energy, but he stood within her line of sight no matter how he might have hidden himself as well. Vegeta took care to remain completely motionless in an effort not to draw attention to himself. From what he knew of the woman, she was absentminded enough that he stood a good chance of escaping her detection.

"Vegeta dear!"

He had miscalculated.

She rushed straight up to him. "Goodness! You look so much better! All the color's back in that handsome face of yours. But what are you doing all the way over here? Everyone else is already sitting down. You must be famished! Why don't you come with me? I might need a taste-tester!" She giggled. "Oh, I'm just so glad you're feeling better! I could give you a hug!"

"Mom!" Bulma interjected.

"Hi, sweetie! How was your nap?"

Vegeta bolted from his corner once Mrs. Briefs had turned to greet her daughter. Never before had he been so relieved to see Bulma.

"It was fine," Bulma answered. "Don't go hugging Vegeta just yet, mom. He broke some ribs, remember?" She winked at the Saiyan.

"How silly of me! He's just so cute, and I was so happy to see him."

"That's wonderful, mom. Let me help you and Yamcha bring everything to the table." She took her mother by the arm. The two of them passed Vegeta on their way to the kitchen. Aside to him, Bulma whispered, "That's right. I just saved your ass. Go sit down—you'll get to stuff your face in a few minutes. I promise."

If not for his hunger, Vegeta would have retreated to his room. Crossing paths with Mrs. Briefs had only magnified his reluctance to interact with the others willingly. Without a sound, he made his way to the dining room, and he took a seat as far away from Yamcha and Dr. Briefs as he could. The older man seemed not to have noticed the Saiyan's arrival, still tinkering with the same device Vegeta had seen him toying with the other day. Yamcha, however, recognized Vegeta's presence immediately, and their eyes met.

"Vegeta," Yamcha said, nodding his head.

At least the greeting was somewhat dignified. Vegeta nodded in return, hoping that Yamcha would decide against chatting. It seemed unlikely, and that brought the Saiyan a small amount of relief.

At the mention of Vegeta's name, Dr. Briefs glanced toward Yamcha, then quickly spotted the Saiyan sitting opposite him. "Hello! I didn't see you come in. I have some good news for you. I should have that ship fully repaired in a week or less, then you can use it again."

Vegeta nodded. He didn't know what he would do with a week without gravity simulations, but at least the humans had the sense to rebuild the capsule.

"I'm strengthening the system," Dr. Briefs continued. "It will be capable of going up to five hundred times Earth's gravity no problem—possibly even more. And the fuel cells are more compact this time around. That will nearly double the fuel capacity. You could be in space for up to a full year, I think."

"Good," remarked Vegeta.

"Planning on going somewhere?" Yamcha asked. He had left, then returned with a truly immense quantity of assorted grilled meats.

Vegeta had not even thought about it—not recently, anyway. Perhaps he would think about it later. In any case, such information was no one's business, and certainly not Yamcha's. "That is no concern of yours."

"So you are planning on leaving?"

Bulma, after heaping mashed potatoes onto Vegeta's plate, had taken her seat next to her father, and she watched the Saiyan intently.

"It is illogical for you to assume that, Earth man. I said nothing in the affirmative or the negative. I merely said that it was no concern of yours, which it remains."

Yamcha, visibly frustrated, had balled his fist around his fork.

"And not only do you operate under the delusion that it concerns you," Vegeta continued with dark amusement, "but you seem to care about it. Why is that, I wonder?" He proceeded to shovel mashed potatoes into his mouth. While he did wonder what made Yamcha so anxious to know whether he would leave or stay, curiosity by no means consumed him. He figured that Yamcha wanted him to leave.

"You know, I pretty much saved your li—"

"Hey, Yamcha," Bulma interrupted. "Do you want steak or salmon to start off with?"

"Um, salmon. Thanks."

She shifted her attention to the Saiyan. "Vegeta, all of that undercooked stuff to the right is for you. Help yourself."

He skewered two large steaks with his knife.

"Oh my, young man!" Mrs. Briefs exclaimed. "If you eat like that, you won't have any room for the chocolate cake I made for dessert! Bulma told me you like chocolate. It's Yamcha's favorite too. It would be such a shame if you didn't get to taste it."

Now that he had sated his hunger somewhat, Vegeta began to regret ever subjecting himself to the humans' company. The moment he had eaten his fill, he would find someplace else to go. He did not care to remain for such trivialities as the rumored chocolate cake.

"Why don't you tell everyone what you and I have been working on together, daddy?"

"Why not?" Dr. Briefs answered, smiling. "Well, thanks to Goku and Vegeta here, I've spent a lot of time working with artificial gravity. We're developing simplified artificial gravity consoles for use in commercial space travel. Astronauts won't have to worry about bone deterioration and the like on extended missions anymore. If children are born in space, they won't suffer developmental deformities. It's going to be absolutely groundbreaking. Capsule Corp. won some hefty funding for the initial proposal. Right now, we're working on a gravity simulator that will be compatible with the technology that runs on the International Space Station. All they will have to do to install it, essentially, is plug it in. It's causing more trouble than you'd think. We're having to adapt alien technology to make it compatible with Earth's. That part's kept secret, of course, and keeping it secret is half the trouble."

"Saiyan technology literally pushed us hundreds of years into the future," Bulma added.

"Your engineers must have been brilliant," Dr. Briefs remarked, looking at Vegeta.

"Our race did not have many engineers," Vegeta corrected in between mouthfuls, "and much of our technology was pirated. At birth, Saiyans are measured for traits such as strength and intelligence. Some of the most intelligent Saiyans were set aside and trained up in the scientific fields for which they showed the most talent."

"How could you test capabilities like that at such a young age with any accuracy?" Dr. Briefs asked.

"We identified genes that tended to give advantages in certain areas of life. We then ensured that each child was properly raised in an environment that ensured the expression of the positive genetic traits identified."

"Fascinating," Dr. Briefs mused after a moment of thought. "I don't know if I'd want anything like that here on Earth, though. It seems a bit murky, ethically speaking, when I really think about it. Interesting nonetheless."

"Just look at how well those two get along!" Mrs. Briefs cheered. "I didn't know you were so smart, Vegeta! And all this time I thought you were just a pretty face. You're a real catch, you know?"

"Minus the murderous tendencies," Yamcha muttered under his breath, rolling his eyes.

The humans, with the exception of Yamcha, were fawning over him, Vegeta realized. It disgusted him, and he felt a slight warmth rise to his cheeks out of embarrassment. Perhaps they did it because they felt sorry for him after his injuries—pathetic. And Bulma's mother—he didn't even want to speculate what could have possibly gone wrong in her head. Hastily, Vegeta downed his fifth cut of salmon, then he stood from his chair without warning and made way for the door to the courtyard.

"Where are you going, Vegeta dear? Don't you want dessert?" Mrs. Briefs called after him.

The Saiyan ground his teeth together. "I want no more of you and your chocolate confections!" he thundered as he slammed the door behind him.

He saw the capsule ship, and he would have entered it if not for his knowledge that it was currently non-operational. Instead, he crouched in its shadow, resting his back against one leg of its landing gear. Behind Capsule Corp.'s dome, a red sun hung low in the sky. It occurred to Vegeta that he had done nothing at all productive that day, nor had he for a week or so. He longed for the day when he could resume his training, reestablish his routine.

He stripped himself of his shirt and examined his chest and abdomen, patting and massaging his flesh with his hand. Since he had looked at it in the mirror, his bruising had faded noticeably, and although some tenderness remained, he felt no more outright pain. It brought no more discomfort than the chilly, late-evening evening wind now grazing his bare shoulders did. The hair at the base of his neck tingled in response to the sudden cold, and Vegeta pulled his shirt back on.

As the horizon darkened into its nighttime navy, it only grew chillier. The occasional gust rustled the carefully trimmed lawn, and a few fallen leaves flitted through the air. Vegeta got up and began to pace up and down the grounds, partially because he wanted to keep himself warm, partially because he wanted something to do, and partially because he had become so accustomed to constant movement rather than constant stasis. On account of his having slept so much recently, he figured he would have trouble falling asleep until late into the night.

He heard a door open, then close. In a flash, he had disappeared back into his spot beneath the capsule ship. He should have known the woman would come and look for him eventually. It did not take her long to find him, and it never seemed to.

"I figured you wanted to have some alone time after hanging out with everybody, and I was going to let you be, but you seemed restless," she stated in one breath. "I could see you pacing from the living room." Exhaling, she plopped down on the grass beside him. "I brought you three things. I'll give them to you to do with as you will, then I'll leave you alone."

Vegeta glared at her. "As long as you leave, it makes no difference to me."

"Great," she muttered sarcastically. "Okay, then. First, here's a jacket. My mom got it for you while you were still healing up. It's kind of chilly out here."

As much as he hated to admit it, Vegeta took the jacket gratefully. He snatched it from Bulma and threw it on, staring sternly at the ground as he did so.

"Nice. It suits you." She held out a small, lidded container. "This is leftover cake."

The Saiyan crossed his arms over his chest and chuffed condescendingly. He did not want to touch anything that reminded him of Mrs. Briefs.

"Whatever. Okay—last thing." She offered him a wide-brimmed ceramic cup with a handle on one side. Steam rose from the surface of the rich brown liquid it contained. "This is hot chocolate. It's a hot drink made with milk and cocoa. Don't worry—it's non-alcoholic. I like it a lot. You should at least try it."

Vegeta reached out to take the mug.

"Be careful. It's very hot. Take it by the handle."

Each of their fingers fumbled awkwardly with the other's as the mug exchanged hands. Suspiciously, Vegeta raised it to his nose, testing its aroma as one would test for traces of poison. It seemed harmless enough; it smelled of cocoa and milk, just as the woman had said. Taking a sip, he learned that it tasted of them too. He felt the beverage's warmth trail all the way down into core. The sensation pleased him, and he decided that he liked hot chocolate.

Bulma gathered her feet beneath her in preparation to stand up. "I'm going now, just like I said."

"No," Vegeta insisted. "Stay right where you are, and tell me why you brought me here."

Bulma froze. "Brought you where? Do you mean here, to Capsule Corp.? To live with my family?"

"Yes."

She raised one hand to her chin and looked the Saiyan directly in his eyes. "Lots of reasons, actually, and mixed ones at that. I guess I'll start with the more negative ones. For starters, I figured that it would be safer for the world if you were here with us with everything you might need rather than out running amok. As long as you were with us, you'd have people around that would try to stop you if you did anything funny."

Vegeta snickered to himself. "As if they could."

Bulma rolled her eyes. "Right. Well, fortunately, you haven't tried to hurt anybody but yourself since you've been here."

The Saiyan sunk his gaze into his half-empty mug.

"There are other reasons, though," she went on, softer now. "You helped us on Namek. That, and Gohan told me about... what happened to you. I knew you had no more of a place to go than the Namekians. If I gave them a place to stay, then I guessed I could invite one more person. There was something more to you. I see that better now, especially since I've gotten to know you a bit. Is that a good enough answer?"

He nodded.

"Good." She smiled. "Have a good night, Vegeta."

Before she could get up to leave, he caught hold of the sleeve of her sweater, just above her elbow. He tugged on the material with just enough force to make her weight shift toward him. Reflexively, she balanced herself by resting one hand right below his collar bone. Her blue eyes widened and sparked with shock.

"Uh, did that hurt?" she asked.

"No," he purred quietly. What was he doing? He didn't care. She was beautiful. She was there, and she always had been. He could think about it later. His hand slid from her arm to her neck; sweeping lightly across her skin, he could feel that it was warm and smooth like melted chocolate. Her pulse raced beneath his touch.

"You're out of your mind, Vegeta," Bulma whispered as she wrapped both arms behind his neck. She kissed him gently.

"Yes." He returned her kiss. One of her hands rose to his cheek.

"Goodnight." She sprang to her feet.

Too stupefied to react, he stared blankly after her as she fled.