“Monkeys, dear?”

Bulma flinched, nearly spilling her coffee down her shirt. “Research, Dad.” she answered, smiling and shifting page out of sight on the computer screen.

“Your mother won't be happy to see that.”

“What, monkeys? She loves monkeys. Didn't she have one a few years ago?” Bulma asked, setting the cup down.

Her father smiled, the tiny black cat clinging to his back peered over his shoulder at the same time. When he pointed to her mouth, Bulma lifted her fingers to grasp the cigarette in her mouth, looking only slightly guilty.

“It's not lit. Just a habit when I'm working,” she admitted, laying the cigarette down by the coffee cup.

“Ah! Well, then. How can I help you?” her father asked, peering a bit too curiously at her computer screen.

“No help needed, dad! I'm just fooling around with a project,” Bulma said, sliding her body between he and the screen. “I might need your help later though... with the generator.”

Her father took the bait, nodding vigorously. “Indeed! Well, just give me a call.”

She sighed and waited for the door to beep, signaling his exit. Turning, she pulled her work up once more, this time bringing the second screen into play. Her old research on Goku was going to play a big part in her experiments. In fact, she did have one call to make before she could go any further.

Bulma was still typing as she spoke over the speaker-phone, the un-lit cigarette was back in her mouth in no time.

“Chi chi? No, I'm fine. I just have a few questions, if you don't mind...”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

There were few days where the gravity chamber's air-cooler was helpful to him. His home planet was an acrid, hot place, and he enjoyed those temperatures as any native would. However, he was quite unused to the heaviness of Earth's air. During the hot season, it sometimes became so thick with moisture that he began sweating during the mere walk to his chamber. That was unacceptable. To lose more of his body's water in one walk than in half of a workout would do him no good.

Today was one of few days where he actively made use of the air cooler. Not only did it make for a longer workout, but it gave him no sense of time or the sun's setting. That way, he would continue until his body was wrung as thing as it could go. The more pain, the better.

Vegeta punched and kicked at his invisible opponent with a ferocity he had not used in some time. He had to push himself harder. More and more, his mind had been wandering. He had been reacting to things in the strangest ways. Like the previous week, when the weakling had shown up. His first reaction was to bristle as if something was trying to steal his food.

Stupid. His time on this planet was softening him. Making him stupid. Vegeta decided that it he was going to be an idiot, he might as well be the strongest idiot on the planet. To achieve that, he would have to overthrow Kakarott's claim.

Thoughts of Kakarott's stupidity kept him amused for some time. Until he caught a scent that he couldn't ignore. It was tempting, and his stomach awoke from its slumber to growl at him.

He growled back, cursing his own hunger as he shut down the gravity chamber and walked out into the heady air.

The scent was thick, and he followed it all the way to the kitchen. Of course, upon entering, he found Bulma's witless mother, squinting at him around a smile.

“Oh dear! Bulma, here he is.”

Vegeta's brows dropped over his eyes as he sent an accusatory look in Bulma's direction. The blue-haired female looked up at him over her glasses, nodded, and went back to poking at her computer device.

“You're hungry, aren't you? Bulma said you would be. She suggested a roast or two. Actually, five very large ones. We're lucky our oven holds so much, you know...”

The woman kept on babbling, and Vegeta side-stepped around her to open the oven. Sure enough, five large hunks of meat were roasting, and he grabbed one, ignoring the pinging burn on his hand. The pain was nothing compared to the taste of the meat. Rarely did these humans prepare such delicacies. In fact, he often found himself at Kakarott's door around mealtime, since his mate seemed to have adapted to his Saiyan needs.

Only when he grabbed for a second did the squinty blonde scream.

“Oh no! You'll burn yourself! Be careful, young man! Just let it cool off, and you can eat the rest of them. Well, except the one. We do need one, I think, for our dinner.”

Vegeta backed away, more set aback by her shrill tone than her waving arms. He was about to protest when Bulma's voice lifted from the adjoining room.

“Hello? I know its you, Yamcha. This has to stop.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The first time it had been annoying. The next, even more annoying. The rest of the times had been an utter nuisance, but now it was beginning to be creepy.

At first, he had tried to speak with her. Once she began hanging up on him, he didn't bother. He just sat on the other line, silent. The worst had happened two days before. Bulma had been at the mall with Chi Chi (purchasing another set of bedroom clothes, much to her own enjoyment), when she swore she saw Yamcha. His baseball hat covered his unruly hair, but she recognized the edge of one of his scars before he disappeared into the crowd.

The night before last, she had seen a shadow in the garden by the edge of their sprawling home. At first, she had written it off. Nothing could get past their security. Then, she remembered with whom she was dealing. A weakling, as Vegeta so often called him, compared to Saiyans, but humans? Yamcha was no ordinary human. He had been a desert bandit, living on his own and fighting along side Goku in his younger years. Those muscles had not diminished since then.

Bulma swallowed and hung up the phone, running her fingers through her hair. What was he, stalking her now? Hadn't she said no enough? Then again, maybe she had said no too much. Maybe her parting words had been what sent him back over the edge. Maybe this was Yamcha's way of proving himself worthy of her again.

Were all men such animals?

No, not all of them. There were certain ones that had a reason to act that way. Yamcha was not one of them.

“Who was that, dear?” her mother peered at her, and Bulma saw Vegeta leaning casually against the wall in the background, tearing into one of the roasts.

“No one, mama.” she replied, wondering how her mother had missed her saying 'Yamcha'. For once, she was glad her mother was clueless.

She looked back down to the computer, smirking as her mind once more focused on her project. Sense of smell, check. Next, she would try something slightly harder.

- - - - - - - - - -

Little did she know, another of her tests would be done for her. Yamcha pulled another of his spying gigs. Only this time, Vegeta caught him. Not knowing what was going on (Bulma had yet to mention this to anyone), the Saiyan had been his usual self. Insults, challenges, and some growling. Still, beneath all of that, Bulma had smiled when adding the word 'protective' to her files that afternoon.

Her first order of business was to stop the calls. Vegeta had told her about the incident (which had happened the night before), during his afternoon break.

"And no, I want my name off the list. This new number isn't to be published," Bulma said sternly, her hand running roughly through her hair.

She stopped in thought as the woman on the other line talked. Her lips pursed, and she wondered if she would need to use her family name for this one. Luckily, the woman acquiesced. "

“Alright. Thank you." she said, and with a quick goodbye she hung up, leaving her hand on the phone a moment and sighing.

"I could just kill him. Saves time." A low voice grumbled from behind her.

"For the last time Vegeta. He's heart-sick. That is no reason to kill him." she said, turning and sitting down at the table again, flipping through a few papers.

“Reason enough for me,” Vegeta smirked into the glass of water he chugged and set it down on the table. "More."

Bulma looked up a bit, her eyes scathingly set on his over the ridge of her glasses. "You're not royalty around here, bub. Get it yourself." she mumbled before looking back down to the table, flipping through the paperwork in front of her.

Vegeta did not move. In fact, she only heard his slurping, crunching, and soft grunts as he ate. Usually, she would have made a comment about how disgusting his habits were. In fact, she should have been surprised at his lack of a retort, but she was too busy with her current work to notice.

Bulma stood, biting a pencil and reading through her book, looking for a company that didn't charge so much! Sure, they were filthy rich, but not stupid enough to pay so much for a few guards. Then again, what could guards do if Yamcha really had slipped back into his bandit mentality? This time with less fear of her...

She poured herself a cup of water and shifted the pencil long enough to sip at it. Her eyes found the mess that Vegeta was making of his lunch, and she sneered. However, an idea popped into her mind.

“I know what you could do!” she said happily, sitting at the table and subconsciously sliding the glass of water in his direction.

Vegeta gave her a glare, but took up the water and drained the glass without speaking.

"Security.” she said. “ You're the only one living here who can hear past five blocks and see in the dark," she tapped her pencil on the table and mused for a moment, her blue eyes lifted to see him leaning back in the chair, arms folded, and a laughing look on his face. "What, Vegeta?"

“Work for you? The Saiyan Prince works for no one.”

Her temper flared, but she reined it in before replying. Animal. Think like an animal.

“We need protection, Vegeta. Are you saying you're too weak to keep Yamcha off of our property?” she asked, her voice lifting with temper despite her own thoughts.

Vegeta made a hissing sound and stood, giving her his best smug look. “He is a bug, woman. Worthless, and insignificant.”

“Well, can ya swat him for me? He's buzzing around my ear,” she mumbled, once again searching the paper.

Vegeta's laughter caught her attention, and she looked up at him with wide-eyes. He was making his way back out of the kitchen.

“The weakling will not enter the premesis,” he said.

“Don't kill him, Vegeta.”

The Saiyan did not respond, slipping out the doorway.

Bulma stood and stomped out after him, yelling. “Don't kill him, Vegeta!”

She vaguely heard a reply, namely the words 'too easy', and found herself leaning back against the doorway. A few breakthroughs had been made in those past few moments, and Bulma found herself rushing back to her computer.

Firstly, he had accepted. Her attempt at raising his protective instincts had worked, or so she hoped. Secondly, he had actually laughed. Sure, it was that same, evil-sounding laughter he always had, but it was in response to a joke she had unconsciously told.

That was definitely a breakthrough.

“Oh, no. Now what will we do for dinner?”

Bulma looked up from her computer to see her mother's form in the kitchen. As she looked it over, she realized that in her haste to get some sort of super-human security, she had ignored Vegeta's most recent mess. The table was cluttered with bones and crumbs, the floor nearby was covered as well, and the oven was wide open. Apparently, the Saiyan had taken it upon himself to eat all of the meat this time.

Bulma swallowed her temper, remembering the barking sound of his laughter, and shutting the computer with a quick snap.

“The same thing we used to do, mama. Order out.”