I'm going to go ahead and take a time out to THANK YOU SO MUCH for being such wonderful readers. When I posted the first chapter a million years ago, I did not expect it to get much attention or support. I wasn't known for writing comedies, and there weren't many of them in this fandom to begin with. Now we can all take a deep breath and thank goodness that there is a legitimate fan fiction out there where Bulma and Raditz sing karaoke together and Nappa passes out drunkenly in a ditch.

I'm so grateful to have such awesome reviewers and those who follow and fave alike. You are wonderful. I get such smart and kind reviews, and I want to take each and every one of you out for a drink. And karaoke.

Obviously.

She fiddled with her phone, worrying her lip.

The brief text message in the palm of her hand was the most she'd heard from Vegeta all week.

Tonight. 7 o'clock. Crown Plaza Ballroom.

Tonight was Vegeta's big event.

Bulma absently swiped through her phone contacts before smashing the call button on one in particular.

Chi Chi picked up on the first ring. "Yo."

"Cheech," Bulma began hesitantly. "I have a question."

"What's up?" Crunching followed. Chi Chi was eating. Welp, she had her appetite back.

"If I was—theoretically—going to a black tie event, dining among a bunch of lawyers, and representing the host as his date—would I be correct in feeling absolutely terrified?"

"Oh, are you talking about that svelte shindig Vegeta's throwing tonight?"

Bulma bit her nails. "How did you know?" Her stylist gently slapped Bulma's manicured hand away from her mouth.

"We all know. Vegeta's throwing his success in his old man's face. Real mature." Bulma could practically hear Chi Chi roll her eyes. "And, by association, my Goku's pretty face, too! Goku just keeps going on and on about how many caterers there will be, and why weren't we invited…"

"Poor Goku. I'll try to sneak him back some hors d'oeuvres." Bulma paused, hands toying with the dress hem at her knees. "I'm not sure I can do this, Cheech."

"Why not?" More crunching. "You've been to plenty of Capsule Corp events. You'll do just fine."

Bulma stared at herself in the mirror. "I don't know. They'll be able to tell I'm not one of them from a mile away." Bulma's voice lowered. "Like blood in the water."

"You talk about us like we're sharks."

Bulma's pointer finger lifted imperiously. "Are you suggesting that Vegeta and his professional retinue aren't man-eating predators?"

"Touché. Well, what are you wearing? Let's start with that."

Bulma shifted uncomfortably. "My mom called in the stylist we have on retainer."

Chi Chi perked up. "Oh? So you must be getting ready then?"

"Oh yes." Bulma closed her eyes under a rain of hairspray. "I'm pretty much done now."

"Are you beautiful yet?" Chi Chi couldn't help her excitement. "What's the dress look like?!"

Bulma stood, eyeing herself in the mirror. "I've sat here all afternoon getting ready, so I better be dazzling, damnet. Listen, I have to go. I'll let you know how it goes. Wish me luck."

"Alright, girlie. Knock 'em dead."

Bulma placed the phone on the vanity, stood up, and steeled herself.

Bulma finally, really looked at herself in the mirror.

"What do you think?" Her stylist's eyes flicked to her smugly, thinking they both already knew the answer.

Bulma stared.

Who was this woman staring back at her?

"I look red carpet ready, holy shit." She regarded the sultry sapphire eyes that stared back at her under big, black lashes. Bulma watched herself talk in the mirror: her sculpted cheeks, the round cupid's bow of her lips darkened with lipstick, the smooth, dewy skin. "Makeup is magic."

"What's your man going to think?"

What would Vegeta think of her? Would he even recognize her? Would he approve? "Hopefully I even get a chance to say hello. He's liable to be too busy." She sighed before smiling at the woman that had made the hoodoo happen. "Thank you."

Her stylist shrugged, beginning to pick up her things. "No big deal. I had a great medium to work with." She winked in Bulma's direction before placing her hair dryer in a travel box.

Bunny strut in and stopped in her tracks. Her hands slapped together, and she beamed. "Oh, honey, you look beautiful!"

Bulma cringed. "I don't look too 'it's-my-senior-prom,' do I?"

Bunny shook her head forcefully. "Oh, no. You're stunning."

"I'm so scared, Mom." She wrapped her arms around herself.

"Why?" Bunny's voice was sincere in its confusion. "You're going to be the most beautiful belle at the ball, and you've got a handsome man on your arm like a big, hunky corsage!" Her nose wrinkled up with glee. "Just have a couple of drinks and unwind!"

"I think the last thing I need to do is unwind and be myself." Bulma patted at the ringlets coiled at the nape of her neck, low on her head in some sophisticated hairstyle type thing. "I don't know that I should drink in this situation," she explained anxiously. "I need to be collected." She sighed, eyeing the flush swept up her cheeks with wonder, the tops of her breasts beneath her collar bone expanding with each breath. She looked like she'd strut straight out of a magazine. "This isn't as much a date, I think, as it is my putting on a pretty face for his new practice." She carefully sat down. Not being able to sprawl out with both legs wide would take some control. "These lawyer types and I just don't get along. I'm out of my element at an event like this." She thought back on the slew of lawyers Chi Chi had tried setting her up with the last few years and had to contain an unladylike snort. If that wasn't damning, what was?

Her mother sat beside her and squeezed her hand. "That's not true, dear. You've been to plenty of functions and have gone toe-to-toe with professionals and politicians alike. What about that time we had to pull you away from an argument with that young senator who'd suggested our caterers were unlawful immigrants?" She winked, rubbing shoulders with her daughter affectionately. "What's those lawyers have that you don't, hm?"

"They're all snide and privileged and judgmental, you know? As soon as they ask what I do for a living their eyes cross. I dunno, mom. It'd be easier if I could saunter in there in my work clothes and my tool belt. Then I'd dare them to say something." Her lips thinned, and she looked at her mom earnestly. "It's really not so much that I'm playing dress up and interacting with stodgy businessmen, as it is—" Bulma blew air from pursed lips—"as it is knowing I'm going to be representing Vegeta tonight, and he has such high expectations, and I don't want to screw it up." She sighed, resting her chin on her fist.

"I'm sure Vegeta wants you to enjoy yourself, honey, and you know what? I bet he needs you for support as much as you need him."

The women shared a smile on the divan in the lingering sunlight.

Goku frowned down at the takeout resentfully.

And to think, he could have been eating crab cakes and those rolled-up, cream cheese appetizer things to his heart's content.

Sadly, it was not to be. And it just wasn't going to be the same with Bulma stuffing some into her purse for him like she'd just assured him she'd do in a recent text, either.

Goku was coming up against a real problem lately that he was starting to believe he was the only one in the whole darned world who could see. Here he was, another night alone, doing the last thing he wanted to do:

staying after hours at the office.

His father had left him a few hours ago, snarling under his breath about having something better to do tonight, leaving Goku alone in the quiet of the big office, the last warm rays of the sun falling across his beleaguered face.

He wasn't usually a grudge holder, but he was finding himself feeling things he didn't appreciate feeling and doing all sorts of things he wouldn't normally. It was hard enough to go to work each morning, and to go to sleep at night knowing he was just going to have to come back in the morning. As each day passed, his grip on his sanity and patience came undone a little bit more. And as if his father could sense it, he was handed more and more work, like that was the answer to all of his problems.

But who cared? Who cared how he felt? Who was around to share these feelings with? Bardock didn't pay him any attention other than to pull a chain and make it rain faxes and emails over his head—did he mention how much he hated replying to emails?—and Chi Chi had been sucked into wedding and baby planning. He was starting to become concerned that he'd become invisible.

To make matters worse, baseball season had just wound down for the winter, so losing himself in a friendly competition was out of the question. And his only other friends had abandoned him over something he'd no control over. As they celebrated their success together tonight, Goku was bent over the only thing he had left in the world. Paperwork.

It was leaving Goku feeling more and more restless, and more and more buried alive. It was throwing him into doing some unanticipated soul searching, and he was finding that the more he scrutinized his reality, the more he found himself thinking dangerous thoughts.

He wanted to make Chi Chi proud, and he wanted to take care of her. But those two goals were on the complete opposite spectrum of what he wanted for himself.

Goku sighed again, flipping through paperwork with dull despair. He'd sighed many times since the clock had hit 4:30. Since the guys had left, the firm had suffered a decrease in staff and an increase in work that he was expected to fill. He felt like banging his head against a wall. Never had he wanted so violently to leave a job, and contrarily, never had he wanted to make Chi Chi so proud.

He had no options available.

Goku banged his head against his desk for real this time.

The front door chimed. Goku glanced up in surprise. He wasn't expecting anyone; as far as he knew, everyone who'd been forced to come in today had come and gone.

He heard voices from behind his desk cubicle. One was a woman's, another softer, a young man's.

"—and that's why, when he asks, you tell him—"

The pair rounded the corner and came face to face with Goku, who watched them curiously.

"Can I help you?" He asked, trying his best to keep the fatigue out of his voice, though every second of trying to remain professional drained him.

Both the woman and the boy stiffened, but the woman was first to recover. She smiled wide. "Let me guess. You're Bardock's son. Spitting image."

"One of them, yes." Goku stood. "Is there something you need? The office is closed until Monday morning."

"Um. You know, I don't think we've been introduced. I'm Fasha, and this is my nephew." She extended her hand out to him. "He's just tagging along with me. I'm a friend of your fathers, as well as Vejeta's—Senior, that is." Their hands closed around each other, bobbing up and down, and Goku couldn't help but think that he was getting a bizarre little undercurrent off of her.

"If you're looking for my father, he's already left for the night."

"No, no," the woman laughed a little too cheerfully. "Actually, I'm here on business. You see, your father and Vejeta Senior have hired me to do some work for them. I'm just here to find a few files that he left on his desk."

Her smile was wide, her eyes gleaming. Goku frowned. "I'm sorry, but I'm not aware of this arrangement. I'm afraid I can't just let you into his office in good conscience until I've received some sort of notice…"

"Oh! Oh, of course. I don't want to trouble you. You know what, I'll just come back later. I don't want to trouble you."

"Would you like me to call my father?" Goku tried to appear competent. "It would simply be a matter of getting hold of him and confirming—"

"No! No. Don't worry about it. I'll just come back at another time. It's really not a big deal. I'm sure both Vejita Senior and Bardock are enjoying their Saturday night already." The woman was already turning, leading her teenaged nephew out the door by the small of his back. "Thank you, Goku Son."

He didn't have time to answer before the door was shutting behind them, the woman's sharp bob caught in the breeze it made as she ushered her nephew to the elevator.

He watched them go and wasn't able to wipe the frown from his face. Something didn't feel right.

Perhaps it was just his distaste for the whole profession anymore. He curled his lip and sighed, resting his head in his palm, watching the horizon from his office window.

Barely a minute had passed when he broke. He was done for the weekend. He snatched up his coat and briefcase and hurriedly shut down his computer. There was a sour feeling in his mouth and he wanted nothing more than to clean up at the gym.

Goku made sure to lock the door behind him before taking the stairs.

The man at the door spent a bit longer than Bulma could comfortably endure making sure she was on the list, and Bulma was about to mutter a few choice words a mechanic picks up for errant bolts and engine blocks that fall on toes before the guy opened the door for her, jazz and the tinkling of glass spilling out.

She walked in slowly, gazing around.

The suite stretched far back into the ambient light, contemporary tables and couches fitted together into many little personal spaces. There was a bar at the back and a row of tables with food and wine that stretched the whole length of the room, caterers behind them with arms behind their backs. To her surprise, there was a DJ behind a small dance floor, people chatting away on the dance floor in suits and tasteful black gowns.

The first thing she truly noticed was how this was not a small affair like Vegeta had said it'd be. There were a lot of people here. People laughing, champagne flutes in the air, people taking selfies, people in small groups talking about brokers and 401Ks. It was like some high-profile New Years Eve party which she'd mistakenly been invited to. No wonder it had taken the guy at the door so long to find her name; it must have been in small print on the very back page, with an asterisk denoting, "This woman has no retirement plan. Approach with caution." She began to walk through them carefully, uncertainly.

Well, the bar was always a safe place to be. As she and Chi Chi always said, if you strayed off the path, sit down at the bar and slam a couple while you wait for help.

"Excuse me. Pardon me," she murmured, holding her blue suede clutch against her chest. Thankfully her stylist had outfitted her in some manageable heels, or else she'd be stumbling between people like a pool ball. As much as she'd rather stomp around in combat boots, she had her pride.

She was happy to see, in that vein, that other women were dressed as fancy as she was. Though she wore an ordinary enough satin dress, its hem appropriately above the knee and demurely royal blue, the sleeveless, plunging sweetheart neckline was more risqué than her usual fare, fitted to her body and ruched at her hips. Bulma couldn't remember the last time she'd been this sumptuous.

She needed to be dazzling tonight, but she did not want to be mistaken for a sex-crazed lawyer-groupie, either; and despite that her stylist looked like she had no idea what a "sex-crazed lawyer-groupie" looked like, she'd delivered. The little blue number was as sophisticated as it was feminine, the modest bottom balancing the flirty chest. She wasn't quite used to the strapless push up bra, though, constricting as it was around her ribs—she was fortunate that she could wear some awfully comfortable, raggedy bras at work—but damn, it made her boobs look great. She had to restrain herself from shuffling to the bathroom to send Chi Chi a pic of her breasts with about a dozen thumbs up emoticons.

So far, she didn't feel as misplaced as she'd expected. Though nothing could beat a pair of greasy coveralls in making her feel like she could confidently clobber a lawyer with the heavy butt of her wrench, she didn't necessarily feel…uncomfortable…in the dress, and in the midst of all these hotshots. The goal was to be as elegant as possible tonight, since that's what Vegeta seemed most concerned about, and to be as cordial as humanely possible to a bunch of pig-headed pundits.

As she drew near the bar, scanning the crowd unsuccessfully for a certain flame-haired lawyer, she saw a familiar form on a bar stool checking his phone.

She hurried over, gripped his shoulder and grinned. "Hey!"

Raditz glanced at her and then did a hard double take, phone forgotten, eyes wide. "Holy balls, woman! I didn't recognize you at first!" He slid his phone into his suit jacket, eyeing her up and down. "You were almost Raditz Prey for a second."

"Raditz Prey?"

"Yeah. That's what I call a foxy looking woman I'm about to mack on."

"Oh. Nice."

Raditz continued to look at her, assessing. "I'm gonna be honest. If you weren't with Vegeta, I'd be alllllll over that right now."

Bulma's face fell. "Alright, you already wore out your welcome."

"Just saying. You clean up really well, holy shit. I wouldn't have even recognized you. Are you looking for Vegeta, I'm guessing?"

The bartender waded over to them. Bulma leaned over the bar, giving Raditz an eye full. "I'll take a cosmopolitan, please." She slid her card from her clutch and turned back to Raditz. "Yes. I wasn't expecting this many people here." She looked out over the crowd hesitantly.

"Didn't Vegeta tell you? He invited everyone. Except our jerk dads, of course, but that's the point. The police chief is here, several journalists, many of West City's most promising and elite." Raditz sipped his merlot with a bit of disquiet. "Most of the city council, who'd love to get a piece of his hot ass right now."

At a confused look from Bulma, he clarified. "I mean, they're toying with the idea of putting us on the fiscal register as future prosecutors for the city. They're not trying to literally get a piece of our ass. Which is fine by me," he muttered, glancing around with agitation. "There are no fine women on the city council."

Bulma frowned. "He told me this was going to be a small event. Like a meet and greet."

It was Raditz' turn to frown. "Hell no. This is an attention getting effort. Why else would Vegeta submit himself to socializing?"

"You have a point." She knocked back her martini. "I'm having a hard time reconciling Vegeta with selfies and a dance floor," she commented dryly.

"The creme de la creme, and all attention and adoration on us. Our fathers may be bulldog lawyers, but they are not well liked." He said it under his lashes, gazing into his wine as he sipped it.

She watched him with concern. "Then why are you over here sulking, Raditz? This should be a grand affair for you and your career. And you're a party animal."

"I already made my rounds. I took a smoke break, I'm going to put some alcohol in me, and then I'll get back to rubbing elbows."

She rubbed his back companionably. "Raditz. You don't seem like yourself lately. You usually preen under attention."

Raditz glanced up at her as if caught in the cross hairs.

Poor guy. She smiled encouragingly, an almost maternal gesture. "You look real handsome tonight, kiddo. Your hair looks good pulled back. Well, I've got to put my game face on and find his royal highness."

Raditz watched her carefully. "He was over there talking to a few judges. Be warned, Bulma."

"I got this." She winked at him. "I'll know I'm near by the scent of sulfur and all the fire and brimstone in the air."

She downed the rest of her cosmo and steeled herself.

The time had come.

An energetic song appropriately began its take-no-prisoners beat from the speakers as she peeled herself off the chair. She exhaled in a rush, rolling her shoulders. She was Bulma Briefs, engineer extraordinaire. She was like Rocky, sprinting up the stairs, Vegeta her "Adrien!" No, she was Eleanor Roosevelt sprinting up the stairs yelling "Adrien!" She was Elizabeth the First, she was Elizabeth Cady Stanton, she was Margaret Thatcher! Okay, maybe not Margaret Thatcher. She was Ada Lovelace! She was Marie Curie! She was Hedy Lamarr! She was a strong woman with many strong women behind her, rooting for her. "I've got this," she whispered, brows creasing with determination, fists curling at her side.

She turned and made her way slowly around the edge of the crowd, trying to scan the room without looking obviously lost. She may be a pariah here, but she was a pariah invited by a prince. She exhaled. She was just a hot woman in a dress looking for her hot date, she told herself, a date that needed her support now more than ever.

Now if she could just find him.

Vegeta nodded, pretending to listen to the judges complain about budget cuts and the city council with a glass of champagne in his hand.

"If they cut the line down Parkway and Rinauld Avenue, then who represents the district, huh?"

Vegeta already knew what was coming, and sipped his champagne.

"Councilman Leary, that's who."

The other men nodded their head in agreement.

"I'm sick and tired of this gerrymandering juggle that Leary and his retinue are always playing," Howser complained. "All we get is gridlock for miles, and for what? A few hundred thousand siphoned off by the Jones Corporation."

The other men murmured agreeably.

Judge Howser peered over Vegeta's shoulder. "Why, that young lady looks like she's looking for someone. Has anyone here lost their daughter?"

Vegeta's eyes slid to the side, and a shock of blue pulled his gaze over his shoulder.

His mouth immediately dried.

There she was, in a fitted blue dress, scanning the crowd—for him?—as she grew near. Her teal curls were pulled back in a french roll, leaving her slender neck and round shoulders bare. The rare sight of her creamy skin made his stomach clench. A clutch dangled from her grip as each step brought her closer to them, and as if she felt someone looking at her, her head turned.

Their eyes met.

He didn't breathe as he watched her take the last few steps toward him, a smile blooming on her face.

She put her hand on his arm, and it was electric, her small, pale hand against his black suit. His eyes fixated on her, and for just a fleeting moment, there was no one in the world but her.

She smiled at him, a shy, contented thing that pushed the apples of her cheeks into her sparkling eyes and caused his heart to flatline, then turned her body to smile at the men forgotten around them. "Excuse me for interrupting, gentlemen," she said politely. "I was just looking for my date."

"Oh, it's no problem at all. Pleasure to meet you." The first chair judge held out his hand and she extended her own, their hands shaking. "Aldebert Snyder, first district judge."

"Nice to meet you Judge Snyder. Bulma Briefs."

"Bulma Briefs, of Capsule Corporation?"

"Yes, sir," she replied, winking. "The one and only."

"Well, I'll be. Gentlemen, shake the woman's hand. You're in the presence of royalty here."

Vegeta watched her shake hands and charm the judges with wide eyes. This was a far cry from the strained seams and uncomfortable shifting in the just-left-the-office-outfit she'd been wearing when they first met. He could see her impact in the eyes of the men around him, who were waiting eagerly to be noticed by her.

Vegeta cleared his throat, stepping in to introduce her to each West City councilman as they waded over.

"My, my." The men turned to Vegeta, beaming. "Your date comes with quite the credentials."

"Leave it to Vegeta Junior to snag the most alluring date for the event."

The men laughed, and Bulma's face fell before she covered it with a smile.

"She's something else," he asserted.

"We're all quite jealous!" They laughed good-naturedly, and though Bulma's stomach tightened at the icky thought, she tried reminding herself that they were simply harmless, lecherous old men. She'd always suspected it of the incumbent councilmen. It'd be a real pleasure to see their faces fall when they figured out who was sponsoring their opponent this election cycle.

"Ah, Ms. Briefs, are you an investor in Ouji and Associates?"

Vegeta's eyes flicked to Bulma.

Without missing a beat, she smiled prettily. "I'd call it ground support. I help keep Vegeta cool and collected when things get rough." With clever grace, she added, "Though my father might not approve of my methods."

The men laughed.

He couldn't take his eyes off of her if he wanted to. He'd never imagined she could look so polished or banter with the stuffy old council members with such ease. And she was doing it for him. He wanted to run his hands down her bare arms, place his mouth against her naked collar bone, bend down on one knee and sneak the panties from under the hem of her dress.

Vegeta couldn't help interrupting the conversation. "Excuse us, gentlemen. I'd like to introduce Ms. Briefs to somebody."

"Oh, yes, of course."

"We'll speak to you later, no'Ouji."

"It was a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Briefs."

Bulma waved over her shoulder as Vegeta put his arm gently through her own and led her slowly away.

She made a face. "Blech. I think I'm gonna hurl."

His hold tightened on her. "You're stunning tonight."

She looked up at him with surprise.

He watched her sidelong. "Were you not expecting me to say that?"

She looked uneasy. "Well, honestly…I guess…no. I'm sorry. I wasn't sure what to expect from you."

He gave her a hard look at her lull in confidence in him. "No. You're good. You look good. I...I couldn't have asked for a more perfect date by my side." He didn't mean to say it, and so it came out rough, and he worried his enthusiasm made it sound forced.

She blushed, shying away from him. "Well, you bid me to be here, and here I am…"

He snatched two glasses of wine from a server and handed her one.

There was something absolutely enticing about seeing her in a dress among his peers, and he felt the overwhelming urge to pull her aside in a dark hallway, bend down on one knee to throw her legs over his shoulders, and ravish the juncture between her legs until she cried out for all to hear. She was so beautiful, so humble—well, only when it counted—and spirited that he felt like touching her was tainting her, but all he wanted to do was touch her. And yet he was feeling as shy as a little boy around her, could not even make himself look directly at her, as if he might be scorched if he were to do anything but touch her with complete propriety. He'd never felt this towards a woman, not even when he was a teenager and every girl invoked a lurid fantasy.

"We'll make our rounds and say our hellos. I'll introduce you to some of the investors and supporters of the practice, and if you can get through it all with a big smile and that finesse of yours, I'll reward you at the end of the night."

Her lips pursed. "Ooh, a reward, eh?"

Rather than his usual small, wicked smile that spelled heated things to come, he masked his emotions cleanly. "Keep it up and you'll see."

"Hmm." She surveyed him curiously as she sipped her wine, but he gave up nothing.

She felt his hand at her lower back, where her dress split and revealed a triangle of skin. His nails brushed against her there.

Vegeta did not like it lingering uncleanly between them, so he spoke quickly. "I apologize if the judges offended you. They meant nothing of it. They are crass and inappropriate even in the best of situations, but to court them is to court the city."

"It's fine. They're a boys club. And I played on that. There were other dates before me. You're allowed that, no'Ouji."

He drew her close, and though something in him was warning him to back away, to remain professional and stolid among so many of his peers, he couldn't help it. Setting his jaw, he refrained from pulling her flat up against him. "Yes, they are a boys club, but they were genuinely impressed by you tonight. And while I have brought dates to other events…" He cleared his throat, looking away. "I have never brought anyone special before."

She smiled happily, hiding it in his shoulder, feeling the heat rise in her face as she watched the crowd. "Well, I'm very proud of you. You got a law practice off the ground and up and running in record time and it looks like you have the support of a city. You work hard and it shows." Her cheeks pinkened even more. "You have a lot to be proud of."

Not the least of which is you, he thought. "Keep showering me with compliments. A man like me could get used to it." He smirked, plucking another glass of wine from a table and handing it to her. "Let's rock and roll, shall we?"

Chi Chi knew an excuse when she heard one.

"So you're not coming home for dinner?" She tried to keep the tart tone out of her voice. It wasn't Goku's fault that he wanted to spend the evening at the gym. She growled. No, not his fault AT ALL.

She was breathing through her teeth. "Well, fine! That's fine."

Goku had an image of a streetlight displaying both a red and a green light. "Cheech, I'll be home soon. Nine at the latest."

"It's fine. Just fine. Talk to you soon!" She squeaked, slamming her thumb on the off button and wishing she had a hammer to make better work of it. "Oh my god," she snarled into the Rice Krispies. "Sometimes I want to strangle him."

"Trouble in paradise?"

Chi Chi startled, the grocery basket forgotten on her arm. "Juu?" She stared in surprise at the woman plucking a box of fiber cereal from the aisle a few feet away. "What the heck are you doing on this side of town?"

The two women leaned in for a reserved hug.

"I had a meeting with a client at Harper's down the street," Eighteen replied cooly, placing the cereal box into her own basket. "I'm picking up a few things on my way home."

"Oh. Ha," Chi Chi couldn't help but stammer uneasily. "How coincidental."

Eighteen watched her from cornflower blue eyes perceptively. She tucked her hair behind her ear and faced her. "There's something I'd like to say to you."

Chi Chi stiffened, coloring. Oh no. This was about them blowing her off at the club for sure—

"I'm sorry."

"Huh?" Chi Chi's eyebrows shot up.

"For being so pretentious at the club. I didn't intend on rubbing my engagement in you and Bulma's face." She paused. "Actually, I did."

Chi Chi, bewildered, watched the woman's eyes drift to the ground.

"Krillin and I haven't seen a lot of each other lately, and with my workload, I don't get to socialize often. Krillin and I had gotten into an argument that night about seeing more of each other more often…that I instigated…and I guess I was just looking to feel better about myself. I shouldn't have taken it out on you two."

If Chi Chi didn't know any better, she'd have been incensed at Eighteen's detached tone. But Chi Chi had spent her young adulthood writing papers and bar crawling and gossiping about professors with this woman. She was stunned to even receive an apology. And touched.

"Juu," Chi Chi drawled wistfully. "Come here." Chi Chi pressed the woman against her for a hug, and though the other woman squeezed her back, it didn't take long for her to disengage stiffly.

"Oh my god," Eighteen cried. "Chi Chi are you pregnant?"

Both the women glanced down to her belly.

"Yep," Chi Chi replied through a warbly smile. "And engaged." She held the back of her hand up, light glinting on the solitaire.

Eighteen's icy blue eyes were wide. "Can I touch it?" She glanced to Chi Chi's swollen belly. Chi Chi nodded.

Eighteen placed a slender white hand against Chi Chi's belly, tenderly, as if she might pop it. To Chi Chi's utter surprise, Eighteen looked up at her with misty eyes. "Congratulations," she whispered.

Chi Chi smiled.

Eighteen straightened, dashing at her eyes. "Okay. Let's pay for this stuff and go have coffee. Of course, you will be buying decaf. You know, I go to this little cafe on the corner of 83rd and Broadway and they make the best red bean smoothies. Very nutritious for expecting mothers."

"You sure do know a lot about pregnancy," Chi Chi muttered wryly.

"Yes, well." Eighteen had the decency to blush, the pink pretty on her pale cheeks. "Krillin and I have been talking about getting pregnant."

Chi Chi gaped.

"That's why I'm going to take you to Safflowers." Eighteen tucked a stray, pin-straight lock of white-blonde hair behind a small ear, frowning with determination. "It's this adorable little cafe where everything is organic and vegan. No ingredients that can harm the baby, just one hundred percent healthy, sustainable, raw food. They serve this beet juice that's—"

Chi Chi blew air out pursed lips. "Eighteen, shut up and take me out for coffee."

The taller woman stared at Chi Chi before breaking into a sly smile, crooking her finger and walking off. "Let's go, bitch."

Chi Chi smiled, waddling behind her.

Vegeta watched under his eyelashes as Bulma laughed with a few female members of the city council. He sipped his champagne.

As a businessman, as a professional, as a cool-headed elite moving up through the ranks of West City, he approved of his date interacting with all of the important players in West City, charming them, intriguing them with her clever, colloquial banter, and casting the light of approval on to him and his work. She was so easy going, so effortlessly sincere, that anyone who'd met her tonight couldn't help but befriend her. She had done what he'd hoped and more.

As a man, though…as a man, he was growing tired of sharing.

He steeled himself, placing the champagne flute onto a server's tray and striding toward her.

Bulma looked up in surprise as his shadow fell over them. Having her undivided attention caused his heart to jump.

"Pardon me, Councilman Anoggy, Councilwoman Cilla. Would you mind if I stole Ms. Briefs from you?"

"Oh, no." They waved their hands at him, giving her back. "Your date is lovely, no'Ouji!"

Vegeta thanked them, moving himself in front of Bulma to demand her full attention.

Vegeta outstretched his hand. She watched as he stared downward under long black lashes. "Would you share a dance with me?" He did not look directly at her, and she was stunned by his shyness.

She placed her own palm in his own, unable to emit an answer, hoping it was answer enough, and he led her to the small dance floor. It was crowded enough that they didn't feel like the center of attention, but as Bulma placed her hand delicately on Vegeta's shoulder, they both looked down demurely.

She felt Vegeta's hand come to rest on the small of her waist, light but burning through the satin. The other clutched her hand tighter, pinning it at their side.

She breathed him in, the scent of clean laundry, of a man's musk, and of something sharp and spicy that was his and his alone.

Their feet didn't move much from the floor as they rocked slightly to the music without speaking, at first awkwardly, and then absorbed, others around them forgotten.

Finally, Bulma rested her head on Vegeta's shoulder, and even when the music picked back up, they continued their sway in the other's arms.

They were shaking hands with the last in attendance at the door, most of them too inebriated to realize the party had ended. Bulma had shooed them out as best as she could, and now they stumbled out the threshold, laughing at their two left feet. The music had finally shut off, and the caterers were packing up. She stood between Vegeta and Raditz in a line at the door, saying adieu, playing bouncer whenever necessary.

"My face hurts from smiling," she muttered.

"You and me both, kitten," replied Raditz, patting someone on the back and urging them to call him Monday.

"You're really something else when you're at work." Her eyes drifted up toward the tall man at her side, who peered down at her with a shade of amusement.

"You have no faith in me."

"I didn't say that." She shook hands with the remaining stragglers and stepped aside. "Okay, yes I did. What did you expect me to think of you, though?"

Raditz glared at her, and she smiled churlishly back.

"Well, kids, I'm off to bed, now. We mere mortals have to get our sleepy sleep."

She and Vegeta regarded him with some surprise. Even Nappa turned in question.

"You're going home?"

"I'm tuckered out." He was pulling his wool coat from the long coat rack.

He blinked when he felt a hand against his cheek. Bulma was standing on her tip toes, frowning at him, her thinned lips inches from his. "You don't feel hot. Do you feel sick?"

Raditz glanced at Vegeta, who was watching her tight-lipped. Bulma didn't seem aware of it, but Vegeta really didn't like when she was close to other men. He knew his friend was trying his best to let a wild, impulse-chasing woman like Bulma have her space, but Raditz imagined the feeling of protectiveness and attraction was all rather new to him, especially with a lady as pal-sy wal-sy as Bulma. It was especially ironic given that Vegeta himself didn't like being near anyone.

Raditz grabbed Bulma's hand and put it firmly at her side. "I'm fine. I'm just tired. I ate a lot of cheese and gourmet crackers tonight," he pat his belly, "and it's been a lonnnng week, what can I say."

"We're going home?"

They turned to Nappa. Bulma felt a sad pang. He was like a melancholy puppy dog, waiting for his owner to come back home.

"I am. You can go out. Have fun without me." He shoved his sleeves into his coat and buttoned it at the waist. "Well, you all have fun now. Congrats on our first successful week at the firm." Raditz strode out of the door.

"I'll be at Bazookas if anyone needs me." Nappa moped after him.

"Well, I suppose I should be getting home, too," Bulma murmured. "I am rather impressed with you three. It was a lovely event."

Vegeta's hand stopped her as she took a step forward.

He shook his head. "You're not going home."

"Hm?"

"We're going up to the top." Vegeta pointed upward.

Bulma was baffled. "To the top?"

"To Suite 907."

"What's up there?"

Vegeta held open the door, waiting for her to walk through it.

"Our room."