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Sparring

The thought struck him one night, just passing through his consciousness the way random musings tend to. Then it was there, stuck in his admittedly obsessive brain like a stake in the ground. He tried to dismiss it, then disregard it, and ultimately convince himself that it did not matter, whatever the truth may be. He was above such petty emotion. But, after days of contemplating, which quickly became sleepless nights, he realized he had no choice. He needed to know.

The matter would require delicacy; she could never become cognizant of his reasoning, or that he was even curious. This would suggest to her that he cared. He did not. Not the way she would define it, anyway. But how to broach the subject? How to achieve the desired outcome? And what would he do with such information? Did he actually want to know? Of course he did. He had to.

Bulma sat at the kitchen table, her hair brushed and makeup freshly applied, a steaming cup of coffee between her hands. She was wearing a lavender dress and modest heels; Vegeta couldn't help but notice how good she looked. "Good morning, Mr. Brief," she greeted the Saiyan as he entered the kitchen, her coy smile hidden by a sip of coffee.

"Do not call me that, woman," Vegeta retorted, crossing his arms indignantly. Ever since she had forced him to go through with the silly Earth ceremony of 'marriage' last month, Bulma had been using this name to tease the Saiyan Prince. She was truly intolerable sometimes. He looked around, immediately noting the lack of toddler noise. "Where's the brat?"

"With Mom and Dad," Bulma replied, still savoring her coffee. "I have a meeting today, so they took him to the park." She smiled, noting that Vegeta had bothered to ask. It seemed, in the years that had followed the Cell games, the Saiyan always wanted to be acutely aware of his son's location. Bulma was quite sure the whole watch-your-son-from-the-future-die-without-ever-knowing-you-cared thing had done a number on her new husband, but she figured it was best not to get into it.

"Hn." Vegeta sat down and slid the plate of breakfast Bulma had probably prepared for herself to his side of the table, then began swallowing it like it was the first meal he had eaten in weeks (he had done the same at dinner the night before, of course, and lunch before that, so on…)

Bulma rolled her eyes, no longer surprised by his selfishness and complete lack of manners. "Big appetite for a big day?" she asked absently, purposefully projecting that she was not bothered by his breakfast stealing ways, like she knew he wanted her to be.

Vegeta paused, running his tongue over his left canine, then placed his fork on the table. "If you must know," he began, his plan formulating, "I am going to seek a new sparring partner."

"Oh?" Bulma raised an eyebrow, her curiosity peeked. Goku was, for all intents and purposes, the only being in the universe who her husband would consider a worthy sparring partner. And he, of course, was in Other World. "Who?"

Vegeta grimaced. "Who indeed," he replied, pretending like he had given the answer no thought. "Of course Kakarot would be my first choice, but clearly that isn't going to work," he began. "I suppose his oldest child would do, but he has been lax in his training."

"Kami forbid someone choose furthering their intellect over their physical strength," Bulma countered, rolling her eyes. Vegeta ignored her entirely.

"Perhaps one of the human warriors would be more suited. They would obviously be no match for my speed or strength, but," Vegeta paused, unable to think of a real reason why he would benefit from sparring with any of those idiot human weaklings, "it may be useful for…strategy purposes," he decided on finally. "Which one would you suggest?"

The blue-haired scientist blinked, dumbstruck by the question. What would she know about it? He never asked for her opinion, even on subjects she knew very much about. "Erm, I don't know? Krillin, I guess? He's pretty strong…"

Vegeta snorted, unable to hide how amusing he found the remark. "Strong? Him?"

At this, Bulma grew red in the face. "Well I don't know, Vegeta, none of them are as strong as you are, is that what you want me to say?" she shot, beyond annoyed with the Saiyan.

"Idiot woman, of course none of them are!" Vegeta countered, annoyed by her annoyance, "but who do you think would be the best as a sparring partner?"

"I really don't know Vegeta! Yamcha?" Bulma started, but stopped instantly, mouth gaping with realization at her husband's subtle yet unmistakable eye twitch. "Oh. My. Kami. Vegeta, I know this whole exchange is not about you being jealous of Yamcha!"

The color drained from the Saiyan Prince's tan face, and he leaned forward, feverishly shaking his head. He was found out. "Jealous!? Me, of him!? Preposterous! NO! I—it , I'm just—need a sparring partner," he began, but it was no use. He internally cursed the woman and her ability to always leave him, otherwise very articulate, stuttering.

"IT IS! Are you kidding me!?" Bulma picked up her half empty coffee mug and chucked it at the Saiyan. "What, Vegeta? What do you want to know? Did Yamcha and I ever spar? Is that it? And was he good at it? You want to know!?"

Vegeta easily swatted the coffee mug away, which shattered on the floor, but he did not escape the gentle sprinkle of lukewarm coffee onto his arm. "I COULD CARE LESS," he shot, standing up and clenching his fists, glaring at his wife.

"Well, if you could care less, I'll go ahead and tell you!" Bulma challenged, standing up and mimicking his offensive posture. "We sparred ALL the time and it was GOOD. It was SO GOOD!"

Vegeta growled and put his hands over his ears, turning to exit the room.

"Oh, no you don't! We are not done he-," Bulma stood to go after him, but her heels slipped in the spilled coffee, and she toppled towards the floor and sharp coffee mug remnants.

Like a shot, Vegeta caught her, his strong arm supporting her waist as he gruffly set her back on her feet. Bulma accepted the assistance, only until she regained her balance, then slapped his arm away.

"Serves you right for throwing things like a moron," Vegeta snapped, crossing his arms.

"Well I wouldn't throw things if you weren't a moron," Bulma countered, crossing her own arms, once again mirroring his posture. She then sighed, her expression softening. "Look, Vegeta, I'm not going to pretend like nothing ever happened between Yamcha and me," she stated.

"I don't care-," the Saiyan began, tempted to cover his ears again, but his wife cut him off.

"Fine, you don't care, whatever," she dismissed his lie, shaking her head, "the point is: I know I wasn't your first sparring partner, either. We're both too good at it for that," she said with a smirk. "But the past doesn't matter, ok? We're married now. I don't know how that would translate on Planet Vegeta, but on Earth, it means it's just you and me for the long haul. No one else, because we don't want anybody else. I don't want anybody else. And, probably more so in your case than mine, no one else wants us either. So cool it, hubby."

Vegeta's eyes narrowed at the nickname, but he seemed to accept this explanation. "Fine," he said reluctantly.

Bulma smiled. "Good. Now, no thanks to you, Mr. Brief, I've got a coffee stain on my dress and need to change before my meeting. Unzip me?" She winked.

"Stop it," Vegeta warned, unzipping her dress (breaking the zipper in the process,) and yanking it off of her shoulders, then devouring her mouth with his own. They rarely had the entire house to themselves, after all.

The beautiful scientist grinned. "I think we have time for a quick spar," she agreed, pulling the Saiyan's tank off and hopping into his arms.