AN: This one's a very long one. I probably should have divided it in two for your convenience, but I couldn't bear to. Enjoy!
"Alright, kids, where am I driving you?" Raditz sucked on his cigarette and blew smoke out the open window.
Bulma's head bounced on Vegeta's shoulder as they floated down the highway. Her lids managed to lift halfway, sleepily tracking the light poles as they passed rhythmically out her window. She shifted under the weight of Vegeta's cheek resting against the top of her head.
"Just take us to Vegeta's place," she recommended through stiff lips. Vegeta's hand on her shoulder twitched at the sound of his name, but otherwise he hadn't moved since crawling into the backseat.
"Am I going to have to carry you up the stairs once we get there?" Raditz flicked his cigarette out the window, spraying orange embers. "You're gonna owe me one. Vegeta's short, but he's one dense motherfucker."
"We can do it ourselves, right, Vegeta?" She squeezed his thigh. He didn't budge. "We don't need anyone's help." She thought she heard Vegeta grunt in agreement.
Raditz shot her a disbelieving look in the rearview. "I can't say I envy you two right now. You're both gonna wake up with one mean hangover tomorrow."
"You calling me old?" Bulma tried to be intimidating and fell flat.
"No, no, not old," defended Raditz. "Just…crazy, maybe. And severely hardheaded."
The air was crisp, a brine of ozone wafting off the concrete, upturned earth underfoot and dead leaves beginning to release their curled clutches from the trees. Bulma breathed deeply. It was a time for change and settling in before winter. She angled her head carefully to peer up at Vegeta, sleeping above her.
The choppy rumble of a motorcycle engine grew outside her window, and she turned to it, causing her world to spin a little.
The front of a motorcycle pulled into view, and Bulma's eyes narrowed as she tried to piece together the feeling emerging from the haze.
"Hey," she finally asserted. "That's my motorcycle."
The engine revved, the front end lifted off the ground a little, and suddenly a familiar hulking form was waving at them enthusiastically, her too-small helmet perched on top of his head. The motorcycle struts were weighed down with three hundred and fifty pounds of college-linebacker-turned-attorney.
Bulma's eyes bulged. "Hey, that's my motorcycle!"
Nappa's maw stretched into a depraved and ebullient grin as he sped off, engine roaring.
"Yeah, and you better thank him for driving your bike home, too. How the hell did you think you were going to get home as drunk as you were?"
"When did you turn into someone's mom?" Bulma pouted, sinking into the seat grumpily.
He sighed. "I don't know. I don't think I like where it's going."
"Raditz, you're a good guy. I love you." Bulma's eyes fluttered closed.
Raditz peered back in the rearview mirror. "That's what they all say, until they wake up next to me in the morning."
"I'm not going to cuddle you," Vegeta warned drowsily.
Raditz sniffed, looking back out over the dash of the car. "You're missing out, buddy."
In the backseat, Bulma and Vegeta were silent, leaning against the other. Raditz watched the highway meet the horizon dolefully, the car becoming quiet again.
Bulma flung open the door and beamed at him. "Hello there, stranger."
Vegeta walked in to the Briefs' home cautiously, uncertainly clutching a bottle of merlot.
"Nursing a hangover?" Bulma shot him a sympathetic look, shutting the door behind him. She'd left his place a few hours ago to help her mother with dinner. To her surprise, Vegeta had still been buried face down in bed when she'd locked up behind her. His overwhelming work schedule had finally caught up with him.
"A few drinks aren't going to knock me under the table," he asserted, skimming Bulma's clean and chirpy form with a look resembling reproach that belied his statement.
She was dressed in an oversized sweater and leggings, her hair pulled back loosely, a stretchy headband framing her smiling, clean face. He stifled a grumble. It seemed that he had overdressed again. He had never had so many frequent encounters with embarrassment and the unknown before he met Bulma.
Bulma took the bottle gracefully from his hands while leading him from the doorway.
"Uh huh. Well. The prodigal boyfriend returns," she smiled warmly. "My mother is very excited for you to try her pie. And if you see her first," her voice dipped into its most conspiratorial registers, " I'm more likely to be able to find something more important that divides your attention, you know, if you'd like to beat it out of there quick." She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively, guiding him from the foyer and through the expansive sitting room to the kitchen, whose aroma had gripped his stomach the moment she'd opened the front door.
"Mom?" She strode into a doorway, and Vegeta hovered in the doorway, staring at the enormous buffet steaming on the counters.
Bulma's mother turned toward him with an elated smile.
He steadied himself for whatever may come. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had to deal with someone's mother. He exhaled through his nose and straightened. This was just like dealing with any line-towing defense attorney. He had gone up against a craggy footing as treacherous as this one a million times. He would overcome this.
Vegeta's mouth ticked in what Bulma assumed was supposed to be a smile, poised and professional as he held out his hand. "Mrs. Briefs."
Bulma's mother shook his hand only for an instant before swiftly throwing her arms around him and squeezing, laughing coyly. "Oh, you. Call me Bunny! You've got a way with words, I can tell!"
Bulma snorted, and he cut her a menacing look.
"What a big, strong man you are." Both hands remained on his biceps, squeezing approvingly. "Do you work out?" Bunny's big blue eyes looked up at him innocently.
Bulma's own blue eyes widened considerably from behind her mother as she clapped her hand over her mouth to avoid laughing.
"Yes," he finally answered.
"I can tell," she winked, patting his broad shoulders appreciatively.
Bulma slapped her remaining hand over her mouth, eyes twinkling.
"Dinner smells delicious," he interjected, ignoring Bulma.
"Ohhh, thank you! It will be done in just a few moments, I promise! I couldn't decide what to make, so I made it all! And I made you a pie to take home!" She gestured behind her, where several pies were spread, cooling.
Vegeta's eyes widened. "Thank you."
"Mom, I'm sorry to take him away from you like this, but I was going to give Vegeta the tour of the grounds?…" Bulma was already placing her hand on his shoulder demonstratively.
"Oh." Bunny said with some disappointment, eyes flicking between the couple. "Oh, yes of course! Of course. That's expected. Well, dinner will be done in about thirty minutes. Don't make me have to come after you two!"
"I wouldn't dream of it," Bulma said under her breath, pulling Vegeta by the arm quickly from the room.
Once they'd breached the front room, Bulma grinned up at him. "I like your enthusiasm, mister," she teased, gazing at him with pride. "Have you gone to your happy place in order to do this?"
Vegeta smiled at her wickedly, some of his self-possession returning. "As soon as you opened the door."
"Well," she began. "I guess I'll show you around." She guided him gently into a long, jutting hallway that spanned the diameter of the house, a feature unlike any dwelling he'd had the misfortune to have dinner with someone's parents at.
"Did your father build this house himself?" He hesitated to ask.
"How can you tell?" She smiled back at him. "Yes. Geodesic homes are a smart design. They hold the greatest volume for the smallest amount of surface area, and they're energy efficient. They're also extremely sturdy, by the triangular and polyhedral elements of the frame's seams placed on top of one another. My father had hoped they'd take off in the post-war culture, but unfortunately, they remain a kind of a novelty, except in the aerospace industry." She shrugged.
He listened silently, hiding an internal war as he tried to tamper his nervousness with the aggressive confidence that he usually brought to board meetings and seemed to be failing him now.
"So!" She continued, leading him down another hall. "My parent's home once was the seat of Capsule Corporation, back when my father was starting up the company, begging for investors, and while my mother was pregnant with me. As you probably know, they've moved operations downtown, and all that remains is a dozen bedrooms and some lab space downstairs. I'll be showing you my bedroom first," she finished, with some embarrassment.
She pulled up to a door, turning the knob and flinging the door open.
It was as if the door opened onto a crime scene.
A black cat sprinted up to her, meowing.
"Hey, buddy," she mewled, bending to scratch him beneath his whiskered cheeks, and stood. "So," she said, somewhat flushed and self-conscious. "This is my room. It's temporary," she hurriedly said. "I will likely find my own place to live, as that seems overdue, but my Mom really likes me around, I think she gets a little lonely, so I stay…." She sat on her bed with a plop. The cat leapt up to sit beside her.
He stared in alarm at the wall-to-ceiling engines and machines, the desk swept with paperwork and old food. A tv and a stereo were crammed into one corner, spilling over with DVD cases and record albums, a makeup vanity and a dresser in the other. There was barely room to walk—and the room was spacious. Posters were pinned askant all over the walls, bands he hadn't heard in at least a decade. "Don't you ever leave work at work?"
"You're one to talk," she snapped, eyeing him with irritation. "What can I say. I work hard, I play hard. Truly, though, most of this junk was left here before I went off to college. The second time." She looked up at him, biting her lip with worry.
"You are worried I will think less of you for this." He was still gazing around at it all. It wasn't so much a mess as, he conceded, it was the result of a very busy mind.
"I'm worried," she corrected," that you will abruptly lose interest in my staying with you if you see the kind of destruction and chaos I'm capable of. I'm like Godzilla. I level cities." Her fingers playfully folded into claws.
"Well, I'd have good reason," he said flatly, missing her face falling into a frown.
"Real gentlemanly," she snapped. "Look, there are, just, some real things that you need to consider before we take that leap," she shrugged self-consciously, falling back onto the pillows on her bed. "You mentioned it first, and I'd like to breach the topic for a moment. I'm a pretty good catch," she winked, "but even I have my flaws."
Vegeta gazed at her with dry humor.
"My disorganized way of working is one of them." She looked at him directly before gesturing to the cat curling up at her feet. "And Scratch is one of them."
He sidled forward slowly, hands in his pockets. "Is this the bed you had in high school?"
"Yes. Why?" She frowned.
He bumped his knee against the frame and smiled deviously when it made a knocking, squeaking racket.
He crawled across the bed to her, throwing each of her legs to the side and kissing her, lightly, teasingly, on her lower lip.
"I know you said you wanted me to move in, but there are just some things you have to realize before we go through with living with each other," she said from underneath him, hands on his chest, his open suit jacket draping and obscuring her. "Like, how cool are you with having a bag of chocolate in the bed at all times?" She had to angle her head further up so he could kiss her neck. "How cool are you with Scratch sleeping with us? Because he sleeps on my head. Can you deal with greasy light switches and car parts and computer hard drives just lying around for no apparent reason on occasion? Because that happens." He carefully tucked his hands into her curls and kissed her deeply, effectively quieting her. At her earliest opportunity, though he dragged his teeth down her neck and over her chest, she continued. "Can you tolerate me sometimes accidentally washing your chapstick in the washer? Will you be mad if I get up in the middle of the night to have a bowl of Fruity Pebbles and then when I stub my toe and wake you up yelling on the way back? Are you going to be okay if I lay on the couch on my free weekends and watch cartoons and never get dressed? Do you mind if I sing in the shower? Do you mind if your shower is covered in grease stains? These are the important things you need to consider before oooph—"
Vegeta had stood, leaving her to bounce lightly to a stand still with the disappearance of his bodyweight. She watched him pace uncertainly, before he turned with a startlingly evil grin. "How long do you think we have until your parents check up on us?"
"I don't know, maybe twenty minutes? Mom said she wanted to—heeeey." Bulma raised an eyebrow. "Are you thinking what I think you're thinking?"
"There's something I've always wanted to do to you."
"What's that?" Bulma asked, voice growing weaker as Vegeta slowly, deliberately pulled off his suit jacket, laying it neatly on her dresser, and slowly, surely unbuttoned his shirt with a terrifying smirk.
As the shirt draped open, revealing a hard set of abs, Bulma looked between them—Vegeta, his abs, then Vegeta again—and swallowed.
His eyebrow cocked intimidatingly. "Shut you up."
Bunny smiled at her two guests, unsure why Bulma kept combing her fingers through her hair frantically and Vegeta kept checking to make sure his shirt was buttoned.
"So! I made chocolate cake! I hope you like it!"
"Who doesn't like chocolate, dear," Dr. Briefs mumbled from his newspaper.
"Oh, good question! Nobody, that's who!" Bunny scooped up an extra large slice of cake with the spatula and placed it on the china in front of Vegeta. "You know, I had a suitor in college once who didn't like chocolate," she whispered. "Let's just say our courtship didn't last very long!"
Bulma snorted into her coffee.
"So, Vegeta sweetie, Bulma said you're a lawyer. A, what do you call it." She put her finger to her lips and frowned deeply, thinking. "Environmental lawyer?"
Bulma chuckled, confronted with the image of Vegeta chaining himself to a tree to end deforestation. "No, Mom. His expertise lies in corporate law."
Her mother slid a healthy slice of chocolate cake onto Bulma's own plate and pursed her lips in thought. "Oh, how wonderful! Helping the poor and taxing corporations, right?" Bunny made a few exuberant punching motions. "Oh, you should go to one of my West City Democrats meetings with me sometime, Vegeta!"
Vegeta choked on his cake.
Bulma patted his hand supportively. "Yeah, I think he'd really like that! But he's been very busy preparing to open his own law practice."
"Oh, how fun! Isn't that fun, honey?" She turned to her husband.
"Yep," agreed Dr. Briefs from behind his newspaper, a puff of pipe tobacco smoke rising above his head.
"Dad," Bulma said, placing her fork onto her plate and giving the newspaper a look, "you might be interested to know what Vegeta drives."
Vegeta shifted uncomfortably and wondered why it mattered. So far the old man had spent the entire dinner behind his newspaper. Vegeta didn't really appreciate her trying to draw him out now. He sat straight in his chair, fork raised to cut into the moist cake that was so close to being a gastronomic memory.
Dr. Briefs remained behind his newspaper. "A Geo Metro? A Trans Am?" Bulma's father couldn't have been any more indifferent.
"What, you think this is Yamcha we're dealing with?" Bulma exclaimed with disdain. "He drives a Ghia and a second generation 911."
The newspaper slowly lowered, and Vegeta, finally, came face to face with the inimitable Dr. Briefs. His mustache hung over the corners of his lips and twitched with a life of their own. "Is that so?" The old man was giving him a suspicious look. Bulma nodded once, winking at Vegeta like they were sharing a joke.
Dr. Briefs eyes cut to Bulma. "Can he be trusted?"
Bulma shrugged. "That's your call."
"Tell me," Dr. Briefs said, leaning forward, making Vegeta stiffen, "when faced with an intake issue where your tachometer is reading below a normal rpm and you're not blowing any smoke, your compression low but your gas lines flowing, would you first check the oil pressure or check your valves?"
Vegeta blinked, before looking back and forth between Bulma and her father. Bulma was smiling, nodding encouragingly.
Vegeta stiffened, ears reddening, severely, profoundly disliking how nigh he was to humiliation. "I'd…check my valves?"
Dr. Briefs slapped the newspaper on the kitchen table. "I see, a man who works on his own cars. Color me surprised, as you seem quite stiff. Well, let's go, shall we?" He and Bulma stood as Vegeta stared at them in bewilderment.
Bunny pouted. "Oh, okay! Well, I'll make some more coffee and you can finish your cake when you come back!"
Bulma squeezed Vegeta's shoulder. He stood uncertainly.
"Welcome to the club," she smiled, squeezing his arm. "Ladies first." She gestured in front of her. Vegeta frowned at her nervously.
As Dr. Briefs led them down the stairs and through a series of underground tunnels, Bulma trailing behind the two men, Vegeta wondered more and more frequently whether he was about to become one of their experiments. It wasn't until the old man pressed his hand to a screen and a series of doors whooshed open that Vegeta realized just what kind of privilege they'd granted him.
He now stood inside the most top secret lab of a technology and engineering giant.
"The reason we asked you such a personal question about what kind of car you drove," Dr. Briefs drawled, leading them into the stark white interior, where a few dozen rocket engines were strewn along the lab floors, "is because Capsule Corporation is concerned with the most performative motors and the most fully realized ingenuity in our engineers. Bulma used to lead the research team, but has since prematurely retired," he explained, gesturing at Bulma, who walked slowly beside Vegeta, giving him a look he couldn't interpret. "She finds satisfaction, for the most part, in mastering small engines. Because we own our fair share of the stocks of some select automotive giants," he winked at her, "we don't hold it against her. The imports she's specialized in are, after all, pushing the industry in ways that other car manufacturers are not. Capsule Corporation invests a fair share of money into the industry, because we are primarily engine-people. But sometimes," Dr. Briefs pulled up next to a door and pushed a button, "we get to have a little fun with design, too."
The door opened upon a parking garage of the most expensive, most exclusive, most awe-inspiring cars that Vegeta had only ever seen attempted in a magazine or movie.
Bulma squeezed his hand and led him forward. "Because we are leading both the performance engine and the computer technology industry, we get gifts from manufacturers sometimes." She gestured at an insanely sleek silver race car, its body so low to the ground that it seemed to hover, its headlights fiercely angled. Vegeta could see his reflection in it from a dozen feet away.
Dr. Briefs bit his pipe, looking at it all nonchalantly. "Often we get conceptual works, or cars that we had a hand in in someway that will never see the light of day. And here they reside, an inspiration to continue pushing the limits of physics and industry."
"You should feel special," she said, winking. "No one else has ever been invited down here."
Vegeta stared at her, doe-eyed. "Special" didn't cover it.
"Yes," drawled Mr. Briefs. "The limit is a most exhilarating place to explore these days. Well, I better get back soon or your mother will drag me to her monthly West City Democrats meeting."
"I'm going to show Vegeta around a bit more before heading back up, if that's alright, Dad."
"Yes, dear. But don't be long, or your mother will have him knitting at her Book Club." Dr. Briefs eyes were a bright, clear blue, paler than Bulma's but twinkling with a similar humor.
"I'd like to avoid that," Vegeta asserted earnestly before he could stop himself.
"Oh, I'm pretty sure she just goes to show off her sugar cookie recipe," her father said dismissively. "Have no fear, my boy. Well, I should get back to the house. It's about feeding time for the animals. I'll let Bulma show you the rest." Her father piddled out the door, serenely puffing on his pipe.
Vegeta had never felt so absurdly out of his element, eyes roaming the vehicles in the vast white room, each its own dream made flesh in a blank space that knew no bounds but space and time.
Bulma grinned at him. "So, do you want to see my lab?"
"Your lab?" He managed. "I thought we were in it."
She shook her head, and without preamble, strode across the floor, pressing her own hand to a screen and leading him into a much smaller facility. The room was clinical—there was a space reserved for a cot and medical supplies, another grouped with a desk and computers, while the bulk of the room was fit with lab tables, bare and tidy.
A new and strange curiosity tugged at him. "Was this your work area when you worked here?"
"This has been my work area since as long as I can remember, actually." Bulma smiled over it all, hands on her hips authoritatively. "My father gave me a space of my own, partly to keep me safe while he worked and partly to keep me from taking apart or modifying his projects as he worked on them." She chuckled, looking up at him. "I come down here and hammer on things with him occasionally, when he needs help. Sometimes the board of engineers will meet down here and we'll eat chicken wings, watch movies and brainstorm." She shrugged. "I don't get down here as much I used to."
"Bulma." Vegeta watched her with intent assessment. "Why are you fixing beaters in the West Bottoms?"
"Huh?" Her eyes widened quizzically.
"Why didn't you stay at Capsule Corporation?" He looked around, aghast. "Why leave this?"
"Well, I got bored of it, honestly. Not necessarily bored with it," she clarified, chewing her lip, "but I grew up here. I wanted to explore new things. That's why I went back to school."
Vegeta was still regarding her with disbelief.
"To become an attorney," he answered deadpan.
"To do something different." She said uncertainly. "To do something challenging."
"And fixing imported beaters is challenging."
They stared at one another carefully under the fluorescent lights.
"It's fun." She finally gave him.
"But is it challenging."
She narrowed her eyes, folding her arms over her chest. "What are you trying to say, Vegeta no'Ouji?"
In a rare moment of openness, alone in the white silence of a secret basement laboratory, Vegeta shrugged, moving back to the sprawling room of automotives. "Why not work directly for the manufacturer?" He looked over his shoulder as she strode behind him, frowning.
"I wouldn't want to, honestly. I'd rather fix them and appreciate their idiosyncrasies for what they're worth."
He didn't say anything else. He was beginning to understand something about her.
"Let's go eat chocolate cake," he asserted.
"Mmm, good call." Bulma hooked her arm in his. He stiffened uncomfortably, but down here, just the two of them, he let her have her affections. Her PDA was always unnerving, but having to small talk with the parents of the woman he was intimate with and eat dinner with a loving family was much more new and challenging. It was a weekend for personal challenges, apparently.
"Why did your mother make both chocolate cake and all those pies?" He blurted out.
The door whooshed shut behind them, and she led them slowly back through the room, grinning. "I suppose she saw how muscley you are and assumed you ate as much as Goku." She chortled at his confusion. "We've hosted Goku many times. He eats like he'll never get to eat again."
Vegeta bristled. For an insane second, he thought of asking her if they could do this again next weekend, just so he could top the number of Goku's visits.
It wasn't until too late that he realized she had come to a stop, fixing him with a flirtatious look that spelled trouble."So, I know that you have intimate knowledge of the carpet threads in my bus," she purred, grabbing at his hand and putting her fingers through it. "But how would you like to know what it feels like to be naked up against a concept Mercedes?" She was already sinking to her knees, winking up at him as she tugged the belt from his pant loops.
"Are you insane?" He hissed, grabbing for his belt. "This is a very expensive vehicle, and surely someone is watching on the one of several cameras I see around here!" He pointed frantically at the ceiling.
She rolled her eyes and rested her forehead on his crotch wearily, before standing and dragging him back into her office. She walked him into her desk until his back knocked against it.
"They're closed loop circuits. Cut loose every once in awhile, Vegeta," she said against his neck, running her palms down his front as she sank to her knees on the office pile. "If it makes you feel better, there are none in here." Her fingers adeptly unbuttoned him. A breath escaped from her lips as she drew him out from under his clothes. "Let a girl put you in her mouth without complaining about it."
Vegeta grit his teeth.
She was a madwoman.
She was a woman that, damnably, had to see, touch, and hear everything for herself to be satisfied with life. She was confident and adventurous and unashamedly pleasure seeking.
For the briefest moment—for the first time in a long time—Vegeta no'Ouji felt an overwhelming, gripping pleasure, not just at the hot, wet mouth that began its slow journey sliding up his hardening member, but a sweet thrill, a wantoness that stemmed from another person's company other than himself.
"Don't stop," he whispered, burying his hands in her hair as her lips met the base of his heavy cock, her tongue winding over the tip of him over and over, gripping his hard hips as she let him set the pace, tangling him in desire before it spilled into her with absolute relief.
Vegeta's passenger seat was brimming with pies.
Bulma finished rearranging them so they wouldn't spill and delicately shut the passenger side door, glancing once more through the window to make sure none of them had toppled.
Her mother stood at the front of his car, hands clasped, beaming, though mouth pulling south with a touch of melancholy. "Oh, Vegeta, honey, I wish this day would never end!"
Bulma sauntered up to them, arms folded as she regarded them both with a warm smile.
"Thank you for having me," Vegeta said automatically. He held out his hand but was reminded when Bunny pulled him into a fierce hug of this family's infernal desire for affection.
"I hope you got enough to eat!" She stomped her heels on the pavement dramatically after letting him go. "At least you'll have leftovers if you get hungry tonight!"
He glanced at his car, where several days worth of desserts awaited him.
"Well, goodbye now! Congratulations on the opening of your law office! Go fight some bad guys!" She punched the air with small fists a few times and then waved goodbye as she walked up the steps shakily on her heels.
Vegeta stood blinking.
Bulma edged close to him, smiling up at him as she brushed against his chest with her folded arms, brushing her lips against his own.
"Well done, sir." She pressed her lips against his slowly, relishing him. "I'm going to stop by the shop real quick. I left some documents there that I need done by Monday. It shouldn't be too long. What are you going to do?"
Against his will, his arm snaked across her waist, pulling her closer. "As bizarre as it sounds with all this food in my car, I need to go pick up some things at the store."
"I'll meet you back at your place then?"
He made an agreeing sound. She smelled like him, and sex, and good food, and a jolt of possessiveness ached in him.
"Don't be late," he warned.
She pulled back. "Yes, dad." She chuckled, turning away. "See you soon, homeboy."
Vegeta slid into the leather seat and took a moment to breathe before turning the key over.
He had gotten in way over his head.
He'd picked it up at the grocery store on a whim.
Vegeta had tossed it onto the self-checkout conveyor belt, snatched it up, and thrust it into his grocery bag before anyone could notice. He'd then marched out of the grocery store with flushed cheeks, pinning anyone who looked at him with a furious mien. Just as quickly, he plucked it from the bag once safe in his car and gazed at the cover. Then he threw it back down onto the car's carpeted floor. He felt dirty having paid for it, sick for even looking at it.
When he'd gotten home, he'd put his groceries away, fighting the urge to sit down with it. Once it was all that was left, he sat down heavily at his kitchen table and stared at the back of it.
He was a fool. He flicked it across the table with annoyance and pulled the rotisserie chicken toward him, digging into the meat with his fork.
He ate his pre-workout meal in silence. Bulma had messaged him to let him know she'd be home late, so he was alone tonight—a strange reversal of positions. Now, with time to think about something other than work, he found himself somewhat lonely, and uneasy with it.
He scraped his plate and rinsed it, then snatched it off the table and stared at the front page.
He couldn't believe himself.
The West City tabloids.
He shook his head and scoffed out loud.
When had he ever picked one of these up? Never. He thought he had his pride, but it seemed he had sank to a new low this evening. His recreational reading was usually limited to the stock reports and the business section of the newspaper. He couldn't care less about a bunch of mediocre actors and celebrities whose principles were limited to how white their teeth gleamed. He wasn't a stranger to picking up GQ and Sports Car Exclusives occasionally, but that was different. He needed reading material for the firm's clients, that he just happened to get to read first.
The West City Barker wasn't necessarily all tabloid—it had a home decorating section, and a West City news section—but it definitely drew its market on gossip.
Inside, he warred with himself. He'd already bought it, why lower himself further by reading it?
Because there, on the cover, was a picture of he and Bulma at the car show.
She made him catch his breath, as reluctant as he was to admit that she had that much an impact on him—her generous smile, the dazzling degree of her curves, her hard-won self-assurance. But she was exceptionally beautiful in the photo because she was really smiling as she clung to his arm. She simply looked happy to be beside him in front of her work. She was channeling, appropriately, Rosie the Riveter on the arm, curiously, of a sophisticated professional. Himself.
He was so used to catching her in her work coveralls that her clean outfit made him acutely aware he'd never seen her legitimately dressed up—the leather dress and Chi Chi's too-tight work shirt notwithstanding. She was…alluring…but not in the manner that he'd always thought women should be. He was no stranger to beautiful women, women in sling back heels with long, expensively treated hair and expertly displayed cleavage and small, sinewy frames. He'd always thought of them like an accessory, like cuff links or a sleek tie, one whose job was specific, usable, and uncomplicated.
And then there was the problem of himself. He was standing tall beside her, arm behind her back, a well-tailored escort smirking down at her pale, heart-shaped face. He'd been caught joking with her, and it made him uncomfortable to behold, a dark, sleek figure cut against the Bus and the Beetle gleaming behind them, smiling down at a creative mind that could obliterate the engineering and technology field as they knew it. And yet, there she was, at a mildly publicized car show, shaking hands with people Vegeta would never care to associate with in his life, talking about an engine that last had life decades ago.
The cover read "Capsule Corp Heiress And Mystery Man—The Scoop On Bulma Briefs' Past Ten Years and the Hottie On The Princess of West City's Arm."
He thrust it away from himself and gulped down his bottle of water.
Then scooted it back in front of him with the edge of his palm.
Even as a cacophony of emotions pulled at him— one which was no less than a preening smugness—he reassured himself that this was not pleasure. This was the cool, hard stare of a professional gleaning information. He was a master at the objective eye, smoothly surveying his body as he built it one thorough workout at a time, ordistantly reviewing the case and clients in front of him.
Vegeta flipped to the article with little restraint.
A few paragraphs in and it was apparent the publication had no information about him, only indicating that he was in a high profile position. That, he could probably contribute to Bulma's dissembling with the media, and her probably assuming (correctly) that he'd rather have his privacy protected. When asked, it was clear she hadn't ruptured his privacy. He was simply "a friend who's plenty busy with his own achievements." Something about the way she worded it made him both proud and annoyed.
But it sure had enough on Bulma—it announced that the heiress, who'd been mysteriously out of the limelight for years since winning the Peabody award, had been operating a car repair shop in the West Bottoms the last few years. It spoke of her fight against the Freeman case, other charitable works he hadn't known she had her hand in, and her courtesy post on both the city council and as a professor emeritus at West City Uni. It spoke briefly about her continued work off the table for Capsule Corp, citing her at the end as a recent nominee for West City's Most Successful Woman and Philanthropic Resident.
The last picture in the article was her laughing with another man, some show goer nobody, with the caption: "Off the table for good? There's no ring on it! West City's most eligible bachelorette may still be single!"
He snorted, smirking waspishly. "You wish, you bastards."
She had become a symbol of power, and as he stared down at her lovely face beside his own, it ignited an idea in Vegeta.
Vegeta grabbed another water and went to his gym. He loaded several plates on the bar and didn't stop until his legs were shaking.
She'd came in about midnight, covered in grease with a backpack slung over her arm. She'd smiled at him tiredly, kissed his sweaty cheek as he blended a protein shake, and swatted his rear before walking away. He cut her an annoyed look as he gulped down the shake but she was already making her way down the hallway.
He mopped his face with the hand towel once more and trailed behind her into his room just as the shower turned on. She was closing the shower door just as he prowled behind her and snapped it back open.
She jumped, glaring angrily at him through the water. He was already closing the door behind him, his bulky musculature taking up its fair share of the tub.
"You're in my spot," he complained, grabbing for the bar of soap. "It's leg day and I have need of a shower."
She narrowed her eyes at him and grabbed for the shampoo she'd bravely left in his shower.
She should have known that as soon as she closed her eyes to avoid soap in them that he'd palm her breasts.
"What took you so long," he griped.
"I wanted to get a car out of the shop that had been there too long, and I had some paperwork to finish." She sighed with exasperation. "I'm so happy tomorrow is Sunday." She began rinsing her hair, and Vegeta got the pleasure of watching her breasts arch towards him as she leaned back into the water. "And don't try me, mister. I've spent more than my fair share waiting for you to get home. I'm a working woman, you know. I'm no trophy wife."
She felt his mouth close slowly over her nipple and hissed, wiping water from her eyes.
She made herself as flat as she could to slide past him and give him the water. He was already soaping up his thick hair.
"They don't tell you how hard it is to shower with someone," she mumbled, picking up the bar of soap and scrubbing at the grease in her fingernails. "So tomorrow is the last day before the big one, huh?" She watched him scrub at the soap in his hair under the water, all chest and biceps, and smirked, trailing her finger down the line in the center of him. God he was hot.
One eye squinted open and watched her. "Yes."
He felt her grab his member and his eye shot open again as he rinsed his hair of soap. She was smiling at him, curls stubbornly clinging damply against her face. She squeezed him and he glared at her, pretending to be unaffected as he slowly hardened in her grip.
"Are you excited?"
"I don't know," he replied dryly. "You tell me." His eyes flicked down at his groin.
"I mean about your first day at your own firm," she said with exasperation. "How's it feel to be the eponymous Vegeta of Ouji and Associates?" Her hands splayed in the air dramatically.
He yanked her to him, his hard member pressing against her lower stomach. "It's going to feel wonderful," he responded with dripping intention, soaping her up and letting the water run over her as slick as his hands sliding across her wet skin.
She made a noise quietly in the back of her throat, laying her head on his shoulder as he washed her...and then just as quickly the water shut off, leaving her alone in the tub.
Her brows clashed together.
She went to step out of the shower and a towel smacked her in the face.
"Have you eaten?" He asked, already striding out of the steamy bathroom.
"No," she groused, wringing out her hair in the towel.
"There's chicken in the fridge. Go eat and get back here before I fall asleep."
"Yes, master," she agreed begrudgingly, throwing on an oversized Snoopy shirt and shuffling down the hall.
She pulled the rotisserie chicken out with both hands and grabbed for the mayo, spreading it on some white bread tiredly. As she chomped, her back against the counters, the apartment at midnight quiet and empty, her eyes grazed across a key on the kitchen island. She stared at it sleepily, chewing.
"It's yours."
She startled. Vegeta stood at the edge of the kitchen and the hallway, his sweatpants deliciously hugging the tops of his hip bones, making her acutely aware that he was wearing nothing underneath. Her eyes kept drawing to them.
"Huh? What?"
His eyes flicked down at the key. "The key. I had it made this evening at the store."
Her chewing slowed to a halt. "You're giving me a key to your apartment?" She needed clarification.
Vegeta rolled his eyes. "Do I need to spell it out for you?"
She chewed the remaining bite of her sandwich and wiped her fingers. "Okay," she said uncertainly.
"I won't have to leave my door unlocked for you anymore." His head bowed as he stared at the ground before her, avoiding meeting her eyes, making the divots in his collar bones shadowed. "Although that doesn't seem to stop the stupidest among us from breaking and entering."
"Okay," she replied again agreeably, walking past him.
"Is that it?" He snapped behind her with agitation. She smiled as she entered his room, throwing herself onto his bed with a groan.
"Yep," she muttered into the pillow.
"Bulma," she heard disapprovingly from above her. "There's something else."
She rolled just enough to peek up at him through her damp hair in the lamp light. "Yes?"
"I've secured the remainder of the staff, two highly competent legal secretaries and two receptionists. Raditz took care of the clerks and assistants last week."
"They don't include Fasha, do they?"
"No."
"Oh, good."
"With the opening on Monday and the growth of the staff, I'll be hosting a small get together this upcoming Saturday night. I'd like you to be there."
Her sleepy eyes opened. "What kind of get together?" Her wary voice was muffled through the pillow.
There was a suspicious pause. "A nice one."
Bulma cringed. "I have to look nice, is what you're saying to me."
"Yes."
She sighed. "Your lack of faith in my choice of fashion is amusing."
"It will a press event." Though he was taut with anticipation, he masked it with well-practiced control.
Her eyes widened. "Oh." She glanced up at him. "So I really have to look good."
"Bulma, I won't lie to you. This is much more marketing than it is celebratory." He paused, waiting for a reaction. "Please assure me you clean up all right."
She punched him sleepily. "Look, kid, I'll take care of it. I won't embarrass you."
"I'll be there early, so you will have to arrive on your own. Please be punctual."
"I'm always punctual."
She heard a snort and realized her eyes had closed again.
"Vegeta-kun, I'm tired," she mumbled into the pillow.
He sighed and she distantly heard the lamp shut off.
He slid in and pressed himself against her back.
Just as he thought she was unresponsive and asleep, she wiggled, getting closer to him. "Thank you for trusting me with a key to your home. I'll try to make as little mess as possible."
He watched her round shoulder rise and fall with deep, even breaths.
For the first time in their relationship, Vegeta deliberately pulled her close, resting his chin on top of her head, unsure if he was doing 'this' right, if it was supposed to be like this.
"Don't screw it up," he rumbled affectionately.
He thought he heard her blow a strawberry.
Nope—
It was just a snore.
"I thought we had agreed that you would make as little mess as possible?" Vegeta seethed in the doorway.
Bulma finished tightening the bolt leisurely before shoving her safety glasses onto her head.
"Your espresso machine was broken." She said it matter-of-factly before the wide array of nuts, bolts, and metal parts scattered in front of her on the kitchen table. "Hey there—didn't you just work out last night?" She frowned, looking over him as he sweat—and tried counting to ten—in the hallway. He didn't answer—just kept staring at her with bewilderment. "Haven't you ever heard of a rest day?" She snapped her safety goggles back on and, to his absolute horror, ignited the flame to a welding torch with the hollow snapping of the striker. Flames burst from the nozzle until the flame defined blue.
While sitting at his kitchen table.
"What are you doing?" He hollered.
"Fixing your damned espresso machine," she grumbled, even knowing he couldn't hear her over the spray of the acetylene. "Espresso isn't even that great. Now I regret even trying to make some for breakfast. I mean, all you get is a tiny cup of sour coffee. What's up with that."
Vegeta didn't hear a word she was saying over his panicked frustration.
"You're lucky I even carry one of these portable welders on me." She reached over and slowly turned off the oxygen. She sat everything down beside her and shoved her glasses back up. "There ya go—your hoity-toity espresso maker wasn't flush on the back side seam. I fixed that for you." She swept some of the nuts and bolts up with the butt of her hand and began piecing it back together. "Have you checked your phone this morning?"
He was still watching her in the doorway. "No," he finally said reluctantly, making his way slowly into the kitchen as if something might blow up.
"Goku sent me a text about a half hour ago." She set a screw between her lips as she swiftly drilled them into the frame of the espresso machine. "He wants us to go to his game tonight."
Vegeta opened the fridge and grabbed for the gallon of milk. He scoffed. "I don't think so." He tipped the gallon and began gulping.
"He made it sound pretty important. It's the last game of the season—the playoffs. And he practically begged me to be there. Listen to this text." Bulma jerked her finger over the screen of her phone. "'Are you doing anything tonight' exclamation mark exclamation mark exclamation mark exclamation mark exclamation mark…"
He smirked. "Go on."
"There are about that many question marks, too. I reply: What's up? Goku replies—all caps—please please please please please please please please please—these are all spelled P-L-Z—please come to the game tonight. It's for Chi Chi." Bulma looked up at him thoughtfully.
Vegeta placed the milk back into the fridge and grabbed for the tub of strawberries. He pulled out the seat beside her and threw himself back into it.
"It's my day off," he reminded her, biting it down to the leaf and chewing.
A pale hand snuck past him and plucked up one of the strawberries from his lap. He cut her a look. She was chewing a small bite thoughtfully. "I think this is important." She leaned back and threw the stem into the trash can and continued working. The damned thing was already more than halfway put back together. "I think we need to be there."
"You, maybe."
Her eyes flicked to him with heat. "You'd leave me alone on your one day off?" Her tone was accusing. "Some boyfriend."
He narrowed his eyes at her. "I'm not a 'boyfriend.' I thought we agreed to that." He was biting into two strawberries at a time.
"Ah, that's right. We settled on slampiece."
Vegeta sent her a look that dared her to call him her slampiece in front of someone.
Bulma smirked victoriously as she snuck another strawberry out from under him. "You're my boyfriend until they come up with a more dignified term to describe you." Her emphasis on dignified made it clear she thought him anything but.
He really wasn't winning any battles this weekend.
She pushed the chair back with her feet and held out the espresso maker. "There. See? No harm done."
"Was it not working or something?"
"No, it worked fine. I just couldn't stand to make espresso from a machine with uneven sides." She placed it carefully back onto the counter. "Now." She brushed her hands off on each other.
Vegeta surveyed her from the corner of his eyes. She was only wearing panties, a cropped shirt, and her safety glasses poised precariously on her head.
"The game's at 4. What do you say we make an early lunch, go catch a movie, and then head to the game for brats and beer?" She shrugged, palms outward with a plea.
"I don't do movies," he groused, but his eyes flicked again to her hips, where her ratty white panties clung for their life.
"Off 39th is Classic Cinema. I used to go every Tuesday night until all the summer work hit." She was bending down into his fridge now, and he was standing, as if pulled by a magnet. "They show off-beat films. Do you have any plans for this leftover roast? I'll make french dip sandwiches, if not—hey!"
Vegeta's hands were clutching her hips.
"Do you want food or not?" She tried bartering.
"Not with this wiggling around in my face."
"This is the only day we have together for awhile. We have to make the most of it!" She wailed.
She couldn't see the smile crooking up his dastardly face, but she felt his mood descend over them through the firm grip on her hips and knew it meant no good.
"Why not spend it in bed? I'll count it as my 'active rest day.'"
She squirmed in his arms until she was facing him. She waved the mustard bottle in his face. "You and I, sir, have very different definitions of rest days."
His smile grew in size.
She sighed. "Look. I'll cut you a deal. Goku wants us to be there—"
"I don't care what he wants."
"Well, I want us to be there—"
Vegeta sighed noisily.
"And so we're going. But!" She raised her hand. "I will allow you one free…'active rest day'…today. Lots of sex. But! Wait wait wait!" Vegeta was already dragging her away from the refrigerator. She held onto his shoulders desperately. "You have to let me call you Yoko."
Vegeta's face fell and he threw her over his shoulder.
Bulma's laugh was punctuated each time he took a step and his shoulder dug into her stomach. "For the record, John and Paul already had their differences. Just 'baby,' then? Or does that come with the diapers and drool?" She burst into giggles against his back. "Or how 'bout my 'boo?' Like a sexy ghost."
"It's no wonder you get along so well with my idiot friends!" He roared, throwing her onto the bed. "You're lucky I like you." He ripped the underwear from her hips down her legs and tossed it over his shoulder.
"OooOooh." Her eyes lit up mischievously. "What a declaration of affection."
He fell, catching himself on his hands on each side of her. His sly smile was a little alarming. "Do you like it when I talk dirty to you?"
Her eyes widened. "Well, sure—"
Vegeta's face lit with gleeful, sinister intent.
"Then you're going to like what I'm about to do to you. A lot."
Bulma felt her stomach sink. "Oh boy," she squeaked.
She and Vegeta sat behind the dugout as the end of the season's crowd cheered around them. She'd grabbed both her hoodie and her leather jacket before they'd left and was glad she did; as the sun sunk into the violet cloud cover of early Fall, it left the air crisp and earthy. It was the final inning, and Nappa had already passed out in the bleachers behind them, several bottles strewn around him. Sometimes he was so embarrassing to be around.
Raditz sat beside him, nursing a beer sullenly. Since resigning from Vejita Bardock and Sons, he hadn't seemed himself, and she was beginning to worry about him. When was the last time he'd called her to have her pick him up off the curb? She almost missed it.
Vegeta was acting strange as well. Though he was in a good enough mood—and better be, damnet, given how great the sex had been this afternoon—his sharp edged humor was beginning to dwindle and a cloud was forming over him. She worried he was becoming nervous about the firm's first day tomorrow. She knew it was taking every ounce of strength to remain here with her and not shoot off for any last minute preparations for tomorrow. She had always admired his ability to tolerate the stresses of his work life, but even Vegeta had his limits, even if he wasn't aware of them.
Vegeta looked at his watch again for the umpteenth time. He was not a public affection kind of guy, but he stood beside her as she sat on the bleachers anyway.
It was only the third inning.
He needed something to take his mind off of tomorrow, and a ballgame just wasn't doing it for him.
"Wanna go grab something to eat?" She turned toward him nonchalantly. He nodded, and so she hopped off the bleachers, swinging by Chi Chi, who had sprawled as elegantly as a pregnant woman could on the lowest bleacher.
"We're going to go grab a bite to eat. We'll be right back!"
"Yeah, yeah." Chi Chi waved her dismissively. "Just don't take too long. Vegeta can't possibly last that long, can he?" Her eyes slid to Vegeta as she sniffed.
He straightened. "What?"
"We're just grabbing brats. I don't think I could handle any more humping today. We'll be back!" She called over her shoulder, waving as she dragged Vegeta away.
"I last longer than a few minutes," he scoffed, clearly agitated as they fell in step together.
She looked at him with puzzled comedy. "Wow, that comment really did a number on you, huh? You're fine. You do fine." She pat his back supportively, much to his chagrin. "You last way too long, in my opinion, for someone with as great a skill in bed as you have." Her hands went mournfully to her chest, evoking melancholy. "I mean, I'm not going to last very long under you, that's for sure."
"Hmph." Vegeta smiled proudly beside her.
"Gosh, I'm hungry." They filed in behind a small line of people waiting for their hotdogs and sodas. "I bet I burned something like nine thousand calories this afternoon." She glared at him accusingly.
"Likely over nine thousand," he smirked devilishly.
She kissed his cheek and focused on the menu above the grill. No sooner than she'd decided that she wanted all of a brat, a beer, a soda, an ice cream, cheese fries, and a pretzel, but wasn't sure how she was going to carry it all back to her seat, she felt Vegeta's hand clench around her upper arm.
She glanced at him in alarm and saw he was watching the last people in the world she wanted to see.
Fasha and Yamcha stood a few feet from them, watching them with hot dogs and drinks in hand. They both stood as if they knew they had to say hello but weren't comfortable doing so. Well, Fasha looked like she was getting a bit more pleasure out of it then necessary.
"Hello," Fasha purred, and Bulma wanted to rabidly claw her face off.
"How's it going," Yamcha muttered.
She glanced immediately at his casual attire.
"They benched me tonight," Yamcha explained, understanding her look.
"Oh." She emitted. She thought she replied, anyway. Her heart was beating fast but no oxygen was getting to her brain.
"So, uh. You're a thing, now?" Yamcha pointed awkwardly between her and Vegeta, his grip on her arm and the lack of space between them, unsure how to address it.
Bulma's eyes widened. Oh yeah. He must have remembered Vegeta as the guy that socked him at the pizza restaurant.
She felt Vegeta pull her close protectively. Evidently he was taking "my main squeeze" literally, because she was having trouble drawing air.
"Indeed." Vegeta's voice was cold, turning back to the menu dismissively. "Though I fail to see how it's any of your business."
"Sure, I guess. Was just wondering." Yamcha appeared more and more baffled by the second. "Well, we better get back to the game. It's an important one, you know."
Bulma tried to be adult and smile and say goodbye but was having a hard time of it. "Go break a leg," she said dumbly.
The pair stared at her for only a brief second before walking back to the stands.
Bulma's eyes widened and she looked at Vegeta with a slanted smile. "Whoops. I think that was the wrong expression."
Vegeta's face had grown dark.
"What?"
He didn't stop scowling at the menu.
"Nothing."
"What? Tell me."
"Can I help you?"
The sound of the cashier's voice briefly pulled her from her worry about the stormy man beside her. "Yes, I'll take a pretzel, a brat, and a beer, please."
Vegeta's hand closed around hers as she slid a ten from her wallet. "Triple that," he commanded the boy, and slid a card across the formica with his fingers.
"You don't have to pay for me," she muttered into his ear, frowning.
"Get used to it," he stated.
"Not happening," she argued before taking the bags of food from the cashier.
They walked back to the stands in silence. As she made her way carefully down the stairs, she glanced back at him. "Is something wrong?" She frowned with concern.
"I'll be right back." He didn't even look at her as he set their beers down on the bleachers and strode off.
Her face crumpled even further, and she scowled at the beers, settling instead to sit beside Chi Chi.
She let out a breath under the weight of their food. "Want some?"
Chi Chi's face lit up. "What do you have?"
The women shuffled through the paper bags and tore into the pretzels first, chewing quietly.
"Where's Vegeta?"
Bulma frowned again. "I don't know. I think he might be nervous about the firm's grand opening tomorrow." She sighed. "Geez. You have sex all afternoon with a guy and he repays you like this."
Chi Chi sent her a look in commiseration. "That's how I feel," she chirped, gesturing at her stomach.
Bulma watched through the fence as Goku wound up and then sent a curve ball straight through the center of home plate. Chi Chi yelled in support. Now past the sick phase, Chi Chi was finally glowing. Her face had gotten a bit rounder, her cheeks were flushed, and her long black hair had become even more lustrous. She'd already regaled Bulma with excitement that her normally flat chest had filled out exponentially, something she and Goku were really enjoying together. Under her pea coat was a blouse that drew over her belly just enough that, from the right angle, Chi Chi was finally visibly pregnant.
Bulma should be happy, and she was, really. But something was niggling at her now. There was a tense undertow to the night, and it all originated with the brooding man who was supposed to be sitting next to her.
Bulma glanced around her, biting into her bratwurst smothered in onions and mustard. And glanced around again, and again. Nappa was snoozing with his hands behind his head, and neither Vegeta nor Raditz were anywhere to be seen.
She glanced at her phone. She surveyed the stands around her. As the innings dragged on, her concern simmered into anger.
She sat with her hood pulled up, watching the game with a great amount of boredom and restrained ire, glancing at Chi Chi occasionally, who had stood to press herself against the fence beside the dug out.
Just then, there was the sharp crack of a bat, and the crowd gasped. Bulma's eyes widened. The batter had smacked the ball into left field—Yamcha's territory, though someone else played there tonight—where another Titan scooped it off the ground and threw it back to short stop. They all watched with baited breath as the batter ran through third base a swift second before the third baseman caught it. The runner was sprinting down the line now, the catcher readying himself for both the ball flying toward him and the batter running full force at him, when the catcher dropped the ball…
and Goku scooped it up, charging into home just as the batter came sliding through, and the umpire screamed "You're out!" and everyone stood and cheered.
Bulma ran for Chi Chi, throwing her arms around her and jumping up and down with her as the Titans picked Goku up on their shoulders.
After a few moments of raucous excitement, the radio station DJ's came out with their microphones to talk to Goku, and Bulma and Chi Chi shared an excited look. The conversation was broadcasted over the speakers, and they giggled when a humble and maybe slightly confused Goku acted like he hadn't done anything spectacular.
The announcer turned away. "Well, that's it, folks—"
"Wait, sir." Goku grabbed the man's sleeve. "Please. Can you just wait a second?" He held a finger up.
The announcer blinked behind his sunglasses, nodding.
Bulma and Chi Chi watched with confusion as Goku ran towards them and into the dugout beside them, grabbing something from his duffle bag, before reaching for Chi Chi and pulling her by her hand to the pitcher's mound.
Bulma watched, puzzled.
"Well, folks, it looks like the Titan's star pitcher has brought a friend back out here with him, a very pretty friend, and, Son Goku, is there something else you wanted to say?"
"Yes," he said into the mic, before turning to Chi Chi, and Bulma gasped loudly.
Goku dropped to one knee, and the DJ, startled, followed him with the mic.
"Ohmygod," Bulma breathed, and she watched as Chi Chi muttered it in tandem.
"Chi Chi," Goku began into the mic, gazing up at her, "you're always there for me through thick and thin, and I, like many men, sometimes forget all that you do for me." There was a chuckle in the crowd. "I'm not always sure what choices to make, what shoes look good with what pants or what even to eat for dinner tonight"—another chuckle—"but I've always known that there wasn't any other woman for me but you since the day we met."
Bulma pressed her face up against the fence with an adoring smile.
"Chi Chi, you're the strongest, most caring woman I've ever met. You also cook the best dumplings." The crowd laughed, and Bulma did, too. "And that's why—" Goku pulled something from his pocket, and people whistled and whooped encouragingly—"I was wondering if you'd be my wife."
Bulma watched through watery eyes as Chi Chi's hands flew to her mouth, and she nodded, eyes watering over, and the crowd heard her faintly through the mic, "Yes," before the bleachers erupted into cheers and clapping.
Goku stood and pulled her into a tight embrace, rocking her, and the rest of the Titans patted him on the back and congratulated them. Unable to do anything less, Bulma jogged onto the field in the pandemonium.
Krillin was shaking hands with Goku, and Bulma put her hand on Chi Chi's shoulder. Chi Chi turned, tears streaming down her face, and clasped Bulma into a big hug. They bounced around like that for a moment, and then Bulma grappled Goku and gave him one, too.
Though Vegeta had just sat down, he immediately recoiled. He knew that perfume from a mile away.
Fasha slid into the bleachers beside Vegeta as he watched it all.
Vegeta's eyes slid to the woman beside him. "Get lost, Fasha."
"Look, I know you're all grown up now." She smiled as if they were sharing a joke. "Playing house, of all things." She rolled her eyes without it diminishing her smugness. "But we both know that's not going to last." She smiled at him, an galling action in its familiarity. "You're not that kind of man."
"I see through you, Fasha." He scowled, refusing to look at her. "Why are you even here?"
"My date plays for the losing team." She smiled. "Whatever. I won't be losing tonight, at least."
She kissed his cheek and stood, earning a thunderous growl that she ignored. She knew Vegeta wouldn't hit a woman or damage his image in public. She had nothing to fear from him, now or later. "Well. I'm not saying I'm the better woman. It's not like that. It's just, I've known you a long time, and I hate to see you go out like this."
Vegeta was deeply offended she'd act like she understood him better than himself. He knew her angle. She thought that he was still attracted to her, though he had never been less attracted to anyone in his life. He'd been more infatuated with Bulma when he'd first bumped into her in a crowd than he could ever be with Fasha.
"If you don't get far away from me, I will end you." He finally looked at her with deep seriousness. "You'll never practice law in this town again."
She shrugged. "Your dirty talk never scared me, Vegeta."
He crossed his arms, black gaze locked on Fasha's own with crackling energy.
Yamcha stood, a few bleachers away, watching it all.
He and Vegeta met eyes.
Bulma's arms were folded as she looked out the window.
He sighed.
It was clear she was furious. She'd spent the last fifteen minutes silently staring out the window, slouching with her arms folded over her chest.
Vegeta glanced once more at her from the driver's side of the Ghia. "I had my reasons," he finally said.
"Care to explain?" She hadn't looked at him yet.
"No."
"I thought so."
He didn't like feeling like he was in the wrong. He angrily chewed over his thoughts. "Look. Use that head of yours for a second. Why would Fasha still be in West City?"
Bulma looked at him incredulously. "Because she's an idiot."
"No," Vegeta reluctantly disagreed. "I invited her here for an interview. She lives in East City. Why would she have remained here past that day?"
He could tell at first Bulma was reluctant to participate, but soon the gears in her head were clearly turning. "It's been weeks."
"Yes."
Her voice became uncertain. "How do we not know she's just visiting? On her date with Yamcha." She made puking sounds.
"Because this isn't the first time we've encountered her since that day."
"It's not?" She asked surprised.
"Raditz had a run in with her shortly after, and Nappa has seen her twice at Czar Bar."
Finally, Bulma turned to him. They shared a wide eyed look.
"She's living here."
"Yes," agreed Vegeta.
"That means…." Bulma's mouth opened. She grabbed for her phone and then cursed. "I shouldn't bother Chi Chi."
"There's no need. I've already checked." Vegeta looked out over his steering wheel before turning to her. "She's working at my father's firm."
A hundred emotions flew over Bulma's face, but the one that settled was anger. "What the hell!" She yelled into the dark car. She turned back to him. "Is that why you took Raditz?"
"I didn't take Raditz anywhere," he said with confusion.
"You mean Raditz wasn't with you tonight?"
"No," Vegeta stated with some belligerence.
"Then where was he?"
Vegeta shrugged. He could have been anywhere. Who cared. "The real question is, when was she employed?" Vegeta's voice took on an edge of conniving. "All of the phone calls I was able to place led me to Bardock Vejita and Sons, but I couldn't turn up any more than that."
"I bet I could find something." She frowned with determination. "I wasn't a teenage hacker for nothing, you know."
"You were a hacker," he asked flatly.
Bulma smiled. "Capsule Corp is an engineering and technology giant. Just because I like to tinker with small machines doesn't mean I'm not equipped to take down a website or two."
He was giving her a strange look.
"See? Having me around isn't so bad," she posed, looking out the window again. "Next time, just let me in on what's going on. I thought you bailed on me." She looked at him, eyes bright in the dark. "On our one day together."
He shifted uncomfortably.
He was watching over her shoulder as she did unknown things to his laptop.
"It's going to work again after this, right?" He asked for the third time.
"Yes, geez," she said exasperated. "People who don't understand how computers work. They're like talking to an old person about contemporary music. 'What?' 'Huh?' 'Say that again?' 'But back in my day…'"
"I'm not old!" He seethed.
"You're just going to have to trust me that I'm not peeking through your folders." She winked at him. "Probably lots of sexy pictures of ladies dressed like mechanics, am I right?"
Vegeta colored, setting his jaw.
She turned back to the screen. "I'm not good at everything," she argued, although it sounded half-convinced. "I may be incredibly smart and intoxicatingly beautiful," she smiled at him once more, "and I may be able to hack into your father's website, but there still are some things even I can't do."
"Yeah, like pick up after yourself," he griped, bending down and throwing her jeans into the hamper. The woman couldn't last five minutes at his house without taking her pants off.
She glared at him before turning back to the screen. "Look!" Bulma placed her finger on a line of information. "There. She was entered into the system on August 28th."
He stared at the floor, jaw clenched. "That's before I left." He reeled.
Her face fell, watching him sympathetically.
"My father hired her on before I left." He looked up at her. "She had no intention of working for me."
Bulma nodded. "It would seem that way." She chewed over the information. "She responded to your call for a different reason than a job offer."
"Is she just trying to get back with me?" Vegeta looked bewildered.
Bulma rolled her eyes. "You may be handsome with an impossibly cute butt, but sometimes your ego clouds your reasoning. I think she was likely sent to dissuade you from setting up shop." Bulma's eyes widened. "Or to feel me out. Does your father know about me?"
"No," Vegeta stated with certainty. Then looked askant. "Well, it's possible." He didn't look like he liked the thought of admitting he was wrong. "We were on the cover of the West City Barker. It's not exactly a secret anymore that we are at least acquainted, beyond the complexities of the Freeman case."
Bulma's eyebrows shot up. "I was on the cover of West City Barker and you didn't tell me?"
Vegeta's face crumpled into anger at her abrupt and unnecessary change of subject. "That's not what's important!"
"Now I have to go out and get one!"
"No you don't, woman, you have to finish what we started!"
"You're being insensitive to my dreams!"
"There's one on the kitchen table if it means so much to you!" He hollered.
"You mean you bought one?" She watched him with wide surprised eyes. "Vegeta no'Ouji bought a West City Barker?" She stifled a giggle as he flushed deep red. "I'm going to go see!"
She hurried down the hall to the kitchen, where, strategically placed under a few well-regarded newspapers, was the cheesy and outrageous tabloid with, sure enough, her and Vegeta's smiling faces all over it.
She flipped rapidly to the story. "Awww," she cooed, grazing over the text quickly. With no warning, she ripped out a page and rifled through one of his cabinet drawers.
"What are you doing?" He asked incredulously, stomping in.
She ripped off a piece of tape with her teeth before placing the page on the fridge and smacking the piece of tape over it.
"There," she said, beaming with success.
It was a candid picture of them smiling at one another at the car show.
"Now you won't forget your someone's boyfriend," she growled before strutting back to his bedroom.
Vegeta felt like he was going to tear his hair out.
"You're a crazy person!" He yelled down the hall. As he reentered his room, she was stuffing her dirty clothes into her backpack and zipping it up. "What are you doing?"
"It's past midnight. I'm going to get headed home." She shrugged the backpack on. "It's too late for any more investigating."
He brushed the backpack straps off her shoulders immediately. "I disagree. ….Stay here tonight." He didn't meet her eyes.
She watched him. "But you have a big day tomorrow. I know you'd rather not be bothered—"
"Just, be quiet, and stay with me tonight." He looked out the edges of his eyes.
He turned away when her smile blossomed.
"Okay," she answered, feeling it out. "Are you sure I won't be intruding?"
"You will be if you keep asking that."
She dropped the backpack uncertainly to the floor.
As they laid down beside each other in bed without touching the other, she placed her hand affectionately on his cheek, smiling.
With a grumpy sigh, he drew her into his chest and held her there.
"I won't see you for awhile, huh," she said with some sadness.
"It's temporary."
"You're the owner and partner of a firm that is threatening to take down a notorious lawyer in a landmark case with the Department of Police," she expressed with sad irony. "I doubt I'll see you for awhile."
"There's the event Saturday."
"That's work."
"You'll see me, won't you?"
She sighed. "Sure." After a brief moment, she pulled back to look at him. He didn't like the look in her eyes.
"Since I won't see much of you in the near future, and you just left me to watch baseball by myself, and I hacked into your father's system—"
He grit his teeth. "State your price."
"—I think you owe it to me to give me something I want."
He looked down at her cautiously. "And what's that," he bit out, suspicious.
"Vegeta, do you ever say please?" Her smile was growing wider by the second.
He frowned. "What kind of question is that."
"I don't think you're a man who says please and thank you." She sat up on her elbow in bed. "I think you're a man who deliberately refrains from saying please and thank you."
"Your point?" He asked uncomfortably.
"My point is," she said, sitting up in bed and straddling him, making his eyebrows jut up, "that I think I'd like you to say please and thank you every once in awhile." Her hands slid down his broad, hard pecs and up the soft skin of his inner arm before holding his wrists above his head.
"I thought you told Chi Chi you were done 'humping' for the day," he asked with some disdain, but she felt his free fingertips making their way up her back to her bra hooks.
She slapped his arm away and shrugged. "What can I say? I like you." She smiled deviously. "Listen. You always get to lead. I want to lead."
"Okay," he immediately agreed, snaking his hand up her shirt again.
She laughed. "No. I mean, you can't touch me."
"That doesn't sound fun." He frowned.
"But I can touch you."
"Then that's not so bad."
"But you have to ask me nicely."
He growled.
"You have to say please."
"You're trying me."
"And when I'm all done with you…you have to say thank you."
They stared at one another for a brief moment. He was hard against her even through his jeans, and the friction was already causing her mouth to part in anticipation.
"Well, then," he smiled broadly, the wicked thing she loved so much. "Why not tie me up while you're at it? There's some silk straps in my drawer." He glanced over at his nightstand.
"I'm not using toys you used with other women!" She shrieked.
"I bought them for us!" He hollered.
"Oh. Well then." She leaned over and drew the drawer out, peering in. Her eyes got wide. "You're gonna have to walk me through this."
Knowing he got the best of her, knowing he successfully tricked her in order to lead her in some way, Vegeta sat up with her in his lap, kissed her recklessly, and smiled.