Vegeta and Bulma embark on a night of special festivities, celebrating the heiress' greatest accomplishment so far, and encountering quite a few unexpected surprises along the way...

*** Well guys, here's the final chapter of the story!

I'd just like to take a moment to THANK those of you who've been supporting this fic all the way. To be honest, I was genuinely surprised by the positive response to my little story, and the fact that some of you seem to have really been enjoying it has been what's kept me going all this time, inspiring me to keep writing, even at times when real life, and other personal issues, have deeply affected my energy levels and overall motivation.

Anyway, I hope that you will all enjoy the ending, that all of your little doubts and questions will finally be answered, and that I have somehow succeeded in bringing real closure to the story.

I hope you enjoy it! ***

*** As always, my smut is censored here. Please visit AO3 for the full uncensored version, where it's already been published, under the penname of SarahW. Thank you for understanding! ***

Who can control his Fate?

[William Shakespeare; 'Othello']

Bulma peeped discreetly at the large salons from behind the thick, heavy curtains that hid the wooden platform, where she'd delivered the best speech of her life mere hours ago, burgundy velvet held with one hand, while distractedly petting her still-invisible baby bump with the other, thoughtfully trying to figure out if the time had come for her to finally make her furtive exit, eager to join the grumpy Saiyan Prince who was surely awaiting her in her mother's gardens by now.

"Bulma?" A recognizably raspy voice muttered right behind her, a reassuring hand laying itself on her bare shoulder so as not to startle her.

"Hi Daddy!" She greeted him in a bright whisper, promptly turning around and throwing her arms around her father's neck, smiling softly into the smooth fabric of his tuxedo as she took in the old, comforting scent of lavender cologne and black tobacco that she'd missed so much, back during those dark times in which he'd been so brutally taken away from her.

Dr. Briefs happily returned his daughter's innocent embrace, rubbing and patting her back in the most tender manner, still basking in the afterglow of paternal pride swallowing him up after Bulma's flawless performance.

On a night like this one, it was hard to believe that the fully-grown woman, clad in such a sophisticated red dress, was the same little girl who used to wreak havoc in his laboratory once upon a time, with adorably blue pigtails and a chaotic cluster of questions about science, far too advanced for a child her age. And yet, here she was, the extraordinary female who was, not only the most brilliant scientist on Earth, but the one who'd greatly contributed, with the help of her fiercely enigmatic husband, to the miraculous revival of their lovely home planet, and all of its fallen inhabitants.

"Is everything alright?" The older man kindly asked, sensing his daughter's delicate emotions closer to the surface than usual tonight.

Her speech had been as impeccable as ever, both cleverly charming and witty, but his wise eyes hadn't missed the way her voice had subtly shaken more than once, particularly when she'd openly thanked her husband for the 'invaluable support' that he'd always offered her, both in regard to her family life and unstoppable career. It'd been an unexpected gesture indeed, so unexpected that he'd even detected a rare glint sparkling in the impenetrable black eyes of the typically aloof young man.

"Uh-huh…" Bulma mumbled childishly, holding onto him a little longer, just a little, trying to regain her composure before leaving the party.

Tonight was a night for celebration, and she refused to let Vegeta see her like this, loathing to spoil the special surprise she still had in store for her poor, neglected husband, especially when she knew just how useless he still felt whenever she was in an overly emotional mood.

"How did I do?" She questioned with modesty, breaking her father's hug, but still keeping her gentle hands resting on his shoulders.

A knowing smile widened on the older scientist's mouth as he held his daughter's splendid face in his hands, deeply moved by how surprisingly humble, how starved for approval his youngest child still was, even when it'd become painfully evident that Bulma's intelligence had, by far, surpassed his own a long, long time ago. The torch had already been passed to the new generation and, although in recent years most of his company's new discoveries and technological developments had been his daughter's brainchild, something told him that he'd never see a day when he'd ever lose her deepest respect and admiration.

"You were perfect," he admitted in a fond whisper as he kissed her forehead through those feathery bangs, her luminous giggles reminiscent of how adorably proud she'd looked when she won her first Science Medal, at the precocious age of five.

"Thank you, Daddy…" She whispered back, letting go of him after one last bear hug and a loud smooch on the cheek. "So… You think I can leave now?" She asked mischievously, a cheeky thumb wiping her flashy rouge mark off her father's face. "Or is there someone else I should talk to?"

"Ummm… I don't think so…" Dr. Briefs answered with benevolence. "I've already seen you talking to all the big sharks tonight, so I think you can make your escape now," he smiled shrewdly at her, taking her hands in his and leaning to her ear, ready to let her know that he was well aware of why she was already plotting her getaway. "Besides… I believe there's a young man waiting for you outside…"

Bulma's ears flushed crimson at her father's implications, still, she couldn't help a tiny chuckle as she timidly looked at him. "There is?"

"Mm-hmm…" He hummed in confirmation. "He hasn't even changed into his armor yet. He's still wearing his suit."

"That's good!" She playfully snickered, realizing that her amused father was referring to the first time her Prince had ever attended one of Capsule Corp.'s lavish galas.

Her poor alien mate had actually displayed astoundingly good manners throughout the first half of the event but, as soon as the heiress' speech was over, Vegeta secretly fled the place at the speed of light, swapping his expensive tuxedo in favor of one of the training armors that Bulma so loved to design and craft just for him.

Later that evening, Dr. Briefs had been the one to communicate to his daughter that one of the waiters had accidentally located the warrior's posh suit crumpled carelessly on the ground, hidden amongst one of the lush bushes of Panchy Briefs' famous rose garden.

Initially, Bulma had worried that her father would have thought the Saiyan's actions to be rude or disappointing but, much to her surprise, the older scientist found his son-in-law's behavior absolutely hysterical, and not at all shocking, if one took his rough, bellicose background into account.

She may have never fully described, in great detail, every single aspect of her husband's violent past, but the Doctor had known enough, even back then, to make an educated guess, figuring out that it would surely take the new man of the house quite a bit of time to get accustomed to such a radically different way of life, here on Earth.

And it wasn't long before Bulma fathomed that her father had taken an instant liking to the most unique addition of the family, having the astute ability to see beyond Vegeta's apparent impassivity, in exactly the same way she had, and genuinely sympathizing with the reformed mercenary who'd saved his daughter's life, sweeping her off her feet, and making her infinitely happier than he'd ever seen her before along the way.

"He's been so good with Trunks lately, Daddy," Bulma confessed, her radiant face beaming with the awe-inspiring pride that she always took in her husband. "You have no idea…"

"I know, Sweetheart, your Mother already told me," he retorted with just as much pride, giving away the fact that the Prince's amazing metamorphosis hadn't gone unnoticed in the Briefs household. "That's why I think you should go and spend some time with him now."

"Are you sure?" She asked again, hopeful hands lovingly squeezing her father's in search of assurance.

"Sure," he enheartened her, holding her close and kissing her cheek one final time, his fuzzy mustache tickling her sensitive skin as he whispered his encouragement in her ear. "Go with your husband. Your Mother and I will take care of things."

"Okay," she muttered with resolve, fervently cuddling and kissing him back for an affectionate instant. "Goodnight Dad…" Bulma bid goodbye, lovingly stroking his face as she flashed him her most grateful smile, before turning on her feet and disappearing into the busy chaos taking place behind the curtain.

She got lost amongst the crowd of engaged workers, in search of the backdoor exit that would lead her directly outside the house, without having to waste any more of her valuable time dealing with the horde of bothersome guests that would, as always, still be waiting for her, looking forward to being offered the opportunity to get to talk to the star of the night and, more often than not, trying to sell her one of those fantastic 'once in a lifetime' deals, in hopes of reaping some kind of eventual benefit for themselves in return.

An invigorating rush of fresh air enveloped her when she finally succeeded in breaking out from the place, landing on one of her colossal mansion's side balconies, precisely the one with a view to her mother's blossoming gardens, where an unmistakable silhouette was already patiently anticipating her company.

Bulma walked a few measured steps in his direction, leaning carefully on the white, marbled railing as she looked over, admiring the impressive vision that was the man who, even after all these years devotedly sharing his life with her and their child, still remained as cabalistic, as alien as he could be.

There he was, a calm, dignified figure standing collectedly by the small fountain, right at the center of a lively oasis of colorful flowers, hands casually stuck in the pockets of his silk suit, and his stare high, gazing at the night full of stars, just as he often did whenever he was feeling particularly museful or sentimental.

In the early days of their new existence on Earth, there had been times when Bulma worried about the cryptic explanation behind such a contemplative practice, dreading that, perhaps, it would mean that the warrior's Saiyan blood would be calling out for him, temptingly inviting him to abandon his insignificant life as a family man, and go back into Space, that vast, unexplored field of riches and power that he had so easily renounced to when she'd walked into his life.

But, the more her husband opened up to her, fleshing out more of those dark, forbidden tales from a past which had shaped and forged him into the man he was today, the more she understood that such a gesture was built purely out of habit, the unfortunate habit of a young, vagabond boy who'd grown up without a home, looking at the stars, night after night, in search of an answer, and slowly deceiving himself into believing that, if only he could one day emerge as the strongest fighter in the Universe, controlling, taking possession of it all, then maybe one day, he'd find a place in the world, a place to call his own.

It'd certainly been a powerful lie to live by, but a lie nonetheless and, much to her relief, Bulma needn't wait for long to see such a lie inexorably evaporate, vanishing into nothing but thin air as soon as her Prince grasped that, sometimes, a weak woman and a small child were all a man would ever need to make him find peace, to make him feel that he truly had it all.

A soft spring breeze brusquely prickled her neck's delicate skin, fully exposed to the elements now that her turquoise hair had been elegantly tied up into a classy chignon, the crisp air of the night announcing that it was time to bring her naughty plan to fruition.

But tonight was no ordinary night and, before she was even given a chance to leave the grand balcony in pursuit of her lonesome husband, Bulma Briefs would be met face-to-face with the Past, in the startling shape of the one person who'd mattered the most to her for far too many years, that is, until a certain Saiyan Prince made his unexpected entrance into her life, stealing her heart in ways she'd never known.

"Hey B.," a low voice mumbled sheepishly behind her back, a unique, modest voice that she'd have the ability to recognize anywhere, at any given time, even if she hadn't heard the sound of it in more than five years.

"Hi Yamcha…" Bulma whispered back after a few confused seconds, her slight apprehension fading away when she turned to face her uninvited guest, quickly noticing that her ex-lover seemed to have chosen to come back to her holding out an olive branch in his hands.

His anxious face instantly softened in reaction to Bulma's kind demeanor, visibly relieved to see her so relaxed and, with a bit of luck, just as willing to reconcile, and to leave their hostile history behind, as he obviously was.

"It's good to see you," he praised her with shy sincerity, briefly staring at the ground while awkwardly scratching the back of his neck, in exactly the same way he used to back in the day, every single time he'd guiltily try to sneak his way back into her bed, right after disappearing for days, or even weeks at a time, without even a proper goodbye or justification of any sort.

"Thank you, Yamcha," she smiled considerately at him, taking a good look at his guise in hopes of figuring out how he'd been doing these days. "It's good to see you too. You look good…" She commended him, pleased to see him looking much closer to the man he used to be, back when they were both a little younger and way more foolish.

It was a far cry from the ghastly appearance he'd displayed the last time she'd seen him in person, on the day of the horribly unpleasant event which had ended up with him being kicked out of Capsule Corp. grounds by her livid Saiyan mate, and effectively ending their friendship for good this time, or, at least, so she'd come to believe after all these years of absence.

The decline of whatever had remained of their relationship back then had begun right after his resurrection when, soon after their arrival to Planet Namek, Vegeta and Bulma had the privileged opportunity to meet the venerated Grand Elder himself.

As it turned out, the Namekian Dragon Balls, though surprisingly similar to the ones she'd once discovered on Earth, still held some differences when compared to her planet's equivalent, the main one being that they did not possess the power to bring back to life more than one person at a time.

In spite of the couple's disappointment, and bright as she always had been, it was Bulma the one to ideate a solution to solve such a disheartening predicament, realizing that all that would be needed for them to do was to use the first wish to restore her magnificent planet. A second one to resurrect Kami, the Namekian Guardian of Earth, a miracle that would simultaneously reinstate Earth's own Dragon Balls, which did hold the power indeed to bring back all of the population who died during the brutal purge so viciously executed by Frieza's Ginyu Force, including her own group of warrior friends. This would only leave them with a third wish, the one eventually spent in asking Namek's majestic Dragon to transport them both safely to their brand-new home.

Once on Earth, the Saiyan Prince, with the assistance of his fearless partner, the genius invention that was her Dragon Ball radar, and the mysterious company of Piccolo, a shockingly powerful Namekian warrior who'd been resuscitated at exactly the same time as Earth's Divinity, due to having been both merged into one single creature in the past, wasted no time in getting to work, collecting all seven magical items at once, and proudly presenting them to his Bulma, always keeping his promise to give her the right to make use of such mystical forces to her heart's content.

A barren wasteland was the spot meticulously selected to perform the private ritual, the same desert that once witnessed the tragic fall of every one of her best friends, and the very same land where all of them would, one more time, reenter the World of the Living.

Bulma prepared and performed the customary ceremony to perfection, under the watchful eye of the two strong fighters who'd made it possible, and thoroughly intrigued, in particular, by the Prince's imminent reaction to his first time meeting the younger man who'd shared the majority of her wild adventures of youth with her, eventually becoming like the little brother she'd never had.

Back in the early stages of their clandestine relationship, in the dark of one of those ardent, sleepless nights shared in the secrecy of her tiny apartment, Bulma had curiously confessed to having once befriended an odd boy who also had a tail, a physical feature highly unusual in those belonging to the human race.

While, at first, Vegeta had carelessly dismissed the possibility of the strange little brat being a Saiyan child, the earthling's revelation of this so-called 'Son Goku' almost killing her and her friends on more than one occasion, straight after having transformed into a Giant Ape, interested him at once. Bulma had soon learnt that such an astonishing metamorphosis only occurred under the influence of a Full Moon, and it was this precise tidbit of information what finally got the soldier's full attention, finding it too great a similarity with the unique characteristics of his own fallen race, for it to be a mere coincidence.

The only possible explanation he'd been able to formulate to explain why a Saiyan child would have somehow found himself inhabiting Bulma's planet, had been the strong likelihood of the boy being classified as a third-class warrior, a systematic evaluation consistently carried out soon after the birth of every Saiyan infant, with no exception, that always ended with the heartless consequence of sending the baby away on his own, in the only company of a space pod and a ruthless mission, mentally programming the child's young brain with the deeply ingrained belief that his new purpose in life would be the merciless conquest of whatever recondite destination he'd been exiled to.

Seeing how the boy had obviously been given a human name at some point, and based on the earthling's detailed descriptions of the child's remarkably friendly nature, Vegeta accurately concluded that something had gone terribly wrong with the little boy's hostile programming, and that he must have, for reasons unknown to him, forgotten any traces of his true Saiyan identity, or the real purpose of his imposed visit to a foreign planet he'd grown to love and protect as if it were his own.

Bulma would never forget the meaningful smirk springing on her lover's mouth the moment he set his eyes on the younger man materializing before them, right at the feet of Earth's splendid Magical Dragon. The Prince may not have known yet the intriguing identity of his mate's best childhood friend, but the excitingly distinctive gleam sparkling in those pitch-black eyes, together with a power level infinitely higher than that of Nappa and Raditz combined, revealed that the goofy male was a Saiyan indeed, one that would soon become Vegeta's biggest challenge and, by far, the greatest sparring partner he'd ever get to share his grueling training sessions with.

The most surprising finding took place when the kindhearted warrior cordially walked to Vegeta's spot, with the cheeky intention to formally introduce himself, boldly shaking the Prince's hand while seemingly ignoring the joyful chaos arising as the rest of their friends began to gradually pop up, one by one, all around them.

Though he first announced himself by his human name, he immediately let it be known that, during the months spent in Otherworld, he'd been efficiently informed by King Kai, one of the Deities in charge of his special training, of Bulma's shocking whereabouts, with the vastly knowledgeable God enlightening him about his true origins, both his own and those of his forgotten People, including the Saiyan name that his parents had chosen for him, before he'd been sent away on a failed mission to Earth.

In a new twist of Fate, one of those transcendental coincidences which had become such a pivotal part of his and his mate's existence, the name 'Kakarot' quickly rang a bell in Vegeta's sharp mind, making him dwell deep into his still fairly recent past, and bringing up memories of Raditz himself sitting by the bonfire after one of their habitual purging assignments, confessing to having a younger brother going by such a name and, at times, wondering, not without a tinge of sad melancholy, on whether the younger man would still be alive, or if they'd ever get to meet again.

But the happiness of such a festive reunion would soon come to an abrupt end, when the last member of the gang of brave men killed in battle was brought back to life, the final piece in the puzzle of the mad rollercoaster that the journey of Bulma Briefs had always been, none other than the former desert bandit who'd once claimed ownership of her heart.

Yamcha.

The blue-haired beauty had been so engrossed in the emotional ups and downs of those past few weeks, still recovering from the hopeless grief of her false belief in her mate's death, and the subsequent joy of his return, his glorious victory before his diabolical Icejin Master, and the real prospect of a life together on Earth, raising the little boy who'd been conceived out of the purest love, that she'd completely forgotten about her old flame, and the rotten possibility of the human fighter still thinking of her as his own, even if they had already put an end to their romantic relationship before the collapse of their treasured home planet ever happened.

Her worst nightmare became a sour reality when Yamcha run to her, quite literally, the minute his body fully emerged before her stunned eyes, taking her in his arms and lifting her off the ground while spinning her around, just like he used to do in past times, whenever they'd celebrate one of the many victories of his popular baseball team.

Only, this time, Bulma didn't reciprocate with the loving excitement of her old, teenage self, her dizzy body uncomfortably stiffening beneath his touch instead, waiting with apprehension for him to let her go, and absolutely dreading where this was going, trying to come up, in vain, with a way to break the news of her engagement to Vegeta to a man who was so clearly, and absolutely, besotted with her still.

In the end, there was no chance for such an awful conversation to even present itself for, just when her feet were finally allowed to touch the dusty ground, Yamcha's lips sought hers right away, awkwardly touching her cold cheek as she instinctively turned her face from him, finding herself naturally rejecting his unwanted advances now that she belonged to someone else.

"WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?!" Vegeta's enraged voice boomed in the air, a grimy cloud of dry sand enveloping all three of them as he violently pushed the speechless man away from his woman, throwing him on the ground, and standing in front of her in his most furiously protective stance.

"Ve-Vegeta…" Bulma nervously mumbled, suddenly overcome by the rarest conflict, split between loving her mate more than she ever thought possible, while feeling her soul break a little for the incredulous man still sprawled on the dirt, fully understanding now that her heart had let go of him a long, long time ago.

"Dude!" Yamcha shouted in confusion, wiping off a few droplets of blood from his lip with the back of his hand as he struggled to stand back up again, utterly disconcerted, not only by what appeared to be the most irrational reaction but, also, because a quick scan of the incensed man's ki immediately showed that, whoever this mysterious stranger was, he was substantially stronger than he ever would be, perhaps even more powerful than Goku himself. "What…? What the Hell is your problem?

"My problem?!" The Prince roared, angry fists gritted, shaking in pure rage, barely keeping his murderous instincts at bay for the sake of his woman. "My problem is with you trying to touch MY MATE!"

Whatever was left of Yamcha's blood abandoned his body at the sound of the Saiyan's words, words that he'd never, ever, expected to hear spewed from another man's mouth, regardless of how rocky or volatile his relationship with Bulma had undoubtedly been at times, or how miserably often they'd put an end to their romantic union, only to end up getting back together again, mostly at his own sheepish request.

And, seeing how crudely the jubilant celebration was cut short, with every one of their friends so completely shocked that they even failed to bid farewell to the Almighty Dragon who'd made it all possible, as he vanished into the dark skies, the scar-faced human wasn't the only one shaking his head in incredulity at these new revelations.

Only Goku remained amazingly calm, never losing his cool as the scandalous news gradually started to sink into everyone's dazed consciousness, not just because he'd been the only one already briefed, during his one-on-one training sessions in Otherworld, about Bulma's new surprising choice for a life partner; but because, unlike the rest of her eccentric comrades, the younger Saiyan was unusually supportive and accepting, since day one, of her relationship with Vegeta, as if he'd always instinctively known that the secretive Prince was a much better suited soulmate for his best friend than Yamcha ever was.

"M-Mate?" Yamcha breathlessly stuttered, seeking the eyes of the pale woman shyly standing behind the new man of her life, the sad guilt obscuring her beautiful face letting him know that the terrifying man she kept holding onto was telling the truth. "Bulma… What…? W-What…?"

"I'm sorry, Yamcha…" She apologized with timid remorse, her trembling hands firmly clutching one of her mate's biceps in silent warning, reminding him that, even if she held no romantic love anymore towards the defeated human standing shakily before them, his bold actions held no malice of any kind. "I'm so sorry, but it's true. I'm… I'm with Vegeta now. But… But I still care for you, and we… We can still be fr…"

Before she could even finish her honest friendship proposal, Bulma gawked in stupefied horror at the way her ex-lover took a few clumsy steps back, ashen features frozen, holding his nauseous stomach like a man mortally wounded would while klutzily turning on his feet, blasting off and disappearing into a white mass of cottony clouds without so much as a goodbye.

The heartbreaking incident had left the most upsetting taste in her mouth but, as always, a mere glance from her loyal mate, both calm and quietly reassuring, was enough to highlight the miracle that such a day had represented for all of them, making her gratefully conjure up the mental image of her parents, already awaiting them back at Capsule Corp., and that of the unborn little boy who'd happily expand the Briefs clan in just a few more months.

Some days later, whatever hopes of Yamcha coming around without a hitch about the idea of the heiress finally moving on, and building a proper future with another man, were effectively rejected, when he showed up, wholly uninvited, in the privacy of their own home.

He broke into their kitchen in the middle of the night, interrupting a peaceful family dinner by stumbling drunkenly around the massive house, reeking of filth and cheap booze, and growling an incoherent string of derogatory accusations, so filled with hatred and blatant disrespect, that no other man on Earth would have ever gotten away with it.

Still consumed by her own guilt, Bulma initially attempted to handle the situation on her own, trying to keep away her dismayed parents, and the fuming Saiyan Prince who looked on the verge of giving the insolent bastard a one-way ticket to Hell, while Yamcha hysterically yelled and barked at her, trying every manic trick he could possibly think of to trigger her emotions at any cost.

He switched from viciously insulting and reproaching her, accusing her of being an 'unfaithful little bitch', to bursting into drunken sobs and playing the victim, pathetically begging for her to take him back, going as far as offering to raise the other man's child with her 'like his own', and offensively implying, out loud, if perhaps her pregnancy had been the result of her alien mate forcing himself on her against her will.

The disgraceful insults against his woman's moral integrity had already dangerously pushed Vegeta's precarious self-restraint over the edge, but the dishonorable implications of his son being conceived in such a heinous way was what ended the night with the Saiyan's fist crossing the wasted human's face as he kicked him out of his new home, throwing him right through the large glass windows, and into a puddle of hot blood and broken glass on the damp grass of Bulma's gardens.

To this day, those who'd unfortunately witnessed such a hostile incident knew that, the one and only reason why Yamcha made it out of that house alive that night, was because the alien warrior had kept his own deadly instincts in line, out of consideration towards his horrified mate, and the hopeful feelings of friendship, and compassion, that she still seemed to hold for the weaker man who was once lucky enough to call himself her 'boyfriend'.

That gloomy evening was to be the last time Bulma would ever get to see her ex-partner, at least in the flesh, for a very long time, only catching vague glimpses of him here and there, throughout the next few years.

After an enigmatic absence, waning from the face of the Earth for a good handful of months, and following his expulsion from Capsule Corp.'s surroundings, the former martial artist made an unforeseen comeback during a baseball match with his old team, the Taitans, winning both his first game and his once prestigious reputation on the way.

From that moment on, Yamcha's newly regained status as a moderately famous celebrity, allowed the scientist to somehow keep up, with a little help from West City's most infamous local tabloids, with some of the most recent developments in his new life away from her, including two failed marriages, each one briefer than the last, first to some pretty, but particularly dim-witted sports anchorwoman, and later to an even less brainy Reality TV 'star'.

All in all, it'd been fair for Bulma to assume that the baseball player still remained somewhat emotionally troubled, never having made a full recovery from the traumatic wound that their split had cruelly inflicted upon his heart. And, although Bulma's personal and professional life had been steadily on the rise, achieving a harmonious balance of happiness and success which she'd never, in her wildest dreams, ever expected to accomplish, the memory of Yamcha's heartbreak never fully abandoned her, like a minuscule, yet venomous thorn on her side, the one score left for her to settle before she could make that one last shred of peace with her past.

"So… I guess…" Yamcha's shaky voice murmured, timidly withdrawing her from her glum recollections, and bringing her back to the reality of a night bursting with pleasant surprises. "I guess I should congratulate you on baby number two?"

"How…? How do you know?" Bulma gasped back, absolutely dumbstruck by the man's insightful guess, especially taking into account that no one but her husband, Trunks and her parents knew about her second pregnancy, having all chosen to wait until she hit the third month mark, trying to be on the safe side before announcing it to the rest of their close circle. "Am I showing?" She asked with vain concern, suddenly looking down at herself, scanning her still flat tummy through the impossibly tight dress she'd selected to celebrate such a special night, trying to make the most of her slender figure before pregnancy would take charge of her usually small frame.

"Uh? Ah! No, no!" The blushing man rebutted, waving his hands in denial in front of him, while smirking inwardly to himself. The knockout woman in the sensational red dress may now be a respectable wife and mother, but it was oddly comforting to see that certain things in life would never change, and Bulma Briefs being as proud of her beauty as she always had been seemed to be one of them. "It's just that… Um, well, I noticed your ki when you… When you were on stage…" He confessed in embarrassment, suddenly worried about the heiress' reaction to him having listened to the strangely personal speech she'd addressed to her guests tonight. "I figured you were either pregnant or that you'd just, you know… That you'd gotten really strong since I last saw you…"

His harmless joke broke the ice at last, stealing a bright chuckle out of her as she saw him walking a few coy steps towards her, carefully leaning by her side, hands on the marbled rail, and glancing back at her in good humor while she inspected him a little closer.

He looked good, like night and day in comparison to the broken, disheveled man who'd once burst drunkenly into her house in desperate hopes of winning her back. And, while he gave the impression of being slightly nervous still, Bulma smartly presumed that his anxiousness arose from his fear of being unwelcome in her home, not from his spirit. He was healthy, clean, and the evident guilt in those black, puppy eyes told her that, the more than obvious crush that he still had on her, wasn't going to stop him anymore from trying to wipe their slate clean, hopefully bringing some closure to the wrong way in which things had ended between them, and trying to forge a connection, a strong foundation upon which a new friendship could someday flourish.

"Oh, right…" Bulma mumbled in acceptance, softly rubbing her abdomen once again, in that maternal, almost unconscious gesture that had become so common to her during both of her pregnancies.

"Those Saiyan genes are really something, uh?" Yamcha muttered half-jokingly, having accepted, a long time ago by now, that he'd never stand a fair chance against one of those incredibly powerful freaks of Nature.

"Tell me about it!" She agreed with amusement, still finding it hard to believe sometimes, even after having enjoyed a home with her two strong Saiyan boys for more than five years, that a two-month-old baby bean could already be far stronger than her.

They both laughed quietly for an affable minute, still somewhat overcome by the awkwardness of their unplanned reunion, but slowly falling into a friendly spell as Yamcha steadily braced himself, gathering the courage to speak the apology which he'd known, for far too long, that he still owed her.

"Bulma, I… I came here tonight because…" He began, his gaze dodging hers as he watched the silvery, crescent Moon, too ashamed by his past behavior still to look her straight in the eye. "I want to apologize…"

"Yamcha…"

"No, please! J-Just… Just let me finish…" He anxiously exclaimed, teeth grating in frustration, fretful fingers clutching the cold railing, striving to remind himself why he was here, not in search of pity or undeserved sympathy, but of true forgiveness. "I want to apologize, Bulma. For… For everything." He firmly remarked, grimacing to himself with remorse, deeply mortified by his own stupidity. "The last time I saw you, I said things that… That I shouldn't have. It's just that… I guess, I always… I always thought you were mine, you know? Even…" He sighed in weary disappointment. "Even after we broke up. I just…"

"I know, Yamcha," Bulma muttered in understanding, an amicable hand laying itself atop one of his, trying to alleviate his heavy conscience as best as she could. "I felt like that too."

Her unpredictably frank admission gave him the strength to meet her eyes at last, finding nothing but that pure, almost naïve warmth that had always been one of Bulma's most beautiful qualities to him. "You did?" He promptly asked, entirely taken by surprise this time.

"Yeah…" She assented, delicately squeezing his hand, her kind smile widening with barely concealed hilarity as she reminded herself that Saiyan or human, in the end, it didn't matter, for they both seemed to be just as inept when it came to fully unraveling a woman's intricate heart. "I know that we broke up long before Earth was gone but… But for… For a long time, I did, Yamcha. I did think of you as my boyfriend."

Bulma paused for a brief, painful silence, the reminiscence of those cold, lonely nights, hiding cowardly beneath her ragged blankets in a stubborn quest for survival, hitting her in full force, even if most of her emotional damage had healed by now, thanks, for the most part, to her husband's quiet but unrelenting support, the only one who'd ever understand the foul, miserable hardships she'd gone through, if only because he'd survived to his own personal Hell in return.

"And then… You know…" A long, ragged breath filled the air as she contemplated, with misty-eyed fondness, the solemn figure stoically waiting for her in the gardens, with the unshakable certainty that, if Vegeta's resolute path had never crossed hers, she would have buckled under the pressure sooner or later, perhaps even before that monstrous Lizard ever had the chance to set fire to innumerable galaxies, just as he'd always evilly planned to do. "I just…"

"You really fell for him, didn't you?" He answered perceptively, lips looped into a sad smile at the shocking sight of how incredibly emotive the heiress could still get at the mere thought of having met the man of her life.

"I did, Yamcha," Bulma attested with a shy nod. "And I'm sorry about… About the way…"

"You have nothing to be sorry about, Bulma. That's what… That's what I'm trying to say." He professed fervently, taking the shuddering hand that she'd so generously offered between both of his and turning around, fully facing her as he battled to find just the right words to convey his feelings. "I was an idiot. Even… Even when we were together. I never treated you like I should. I never…"

"It's okay, Yamcha, really. You don't have to…"

"I've seen it, Bulma," he confessed, a calm confidence somehow making its way through his own edgy sentiments. "I've seen it tonight."

Her tearful eyes squinted with interest at his cryptic statement, not fully comprehending what it was exactly that he was referring to. "What…? What did you see?"

"I've seen the way you look at him. You never…" He struggled pitifully, expressive eyebrows knotting as he shook his head to himself, still a little mad at his own inability to conquer this unique woman in the way that husband of hers had. "You never looked at me like that."

"Yamcha," she tried to cut him off, fearing that such fruitless thoughts would lead him to a path of irrational jealousy. "You shouldn't think like that. You shouldn't…"

"And I've seen the way he looks at you, Bulma…" The pensive man reluctantly acknowledged, finally admitting to himself that, as infatuated with her as he always had been, he'd never valued his first lover as much as she truly deserved. "I never looked at you like that either…"

It was the truth.

At the opening of the festive tribute, when Bulma had elegantly entered the stage with that aristocratic poise that only she possessed, Yamcha sought refuge in a dim, secluded corner of the auditorium, with the sole intention of keeping a low profile until the time came for him to let his presence be known, mostly out of concern for the woman of the night, utterly terrified of making her nervous if she happened to get a glimpse of him amongst the crowd while she masterfully delivered her speech.

He'd simply stood there, silently leaning against the wall, drinking in Bulma's every word and exquisite gesture as she took full command of the entranced spectators. Every now and then, his eyes would divagate, wandering carelessly throughout the unfamiliar crowd, and paying great attention to the unanimous reaction written on every one of those rivetted faces, smiling to himself at the clear fascination that the gorgeous genius celebrated tonight held the power to elicit.

Bulma Briefs was now a little wiser, a little older, but age, and whatever Inferno she'd survived to during the tragic limbo following their home's annihilation, hadn't marred her, if anything, her extraordinary life experiences, and triumphant survival, had made her even more interesting, far more irresistible than she ever was.

That evening, Yamcha had noticed an exciting diversity of emotions sparkling on those captivated gazes, from authentic admiration towards the scientist's supernatural brains, to more than a few lecherous glances, instigated by that slinky red dress, so damn skintight that, if he didn't know any better, he would have thought it to be painted to perfection on top of every curve of her voluptuous body. But, out of an entire mob of strangers, only one of them held the impressive power to get his full, undivided attention at once, none other than the elusive Saiyan Prince who'd eternally laid claim to Bulma's coveted heart.

Yamcha's intrigued stare had stumbled upon the aloof warrior as he'd calmly looked around, in search of the table of honor located right at the center of all the others. Formally seated around it, he identified with great ease the proud figures of Doctor Briefs and his bubbly wife, together with an adorable little boy, with perfectly combed lavender hair and the distinctively turquoise eyes of his young mother, happily munching on a large tray of fancy snacks while sitting on the knees of his besotted grandfather. To his right sat the boy's father, leaning against the lavish chair without a care in the world, arms crossed nonchalantly in front of his robust chest as he side-glanced at the vivacious little brat from time to time, his attentive, paternal eyes vastly contrasting with the blasé attitude that he seemed so desperate to make-believe.

It became obvious, right from the start, that the Prince's aloof behavior was but a fabricated act, a pretty convincing one, admittedly, but an act nonetheless, a sham that pathetically crumbled the moment the stunning scientist stole the spotlight, taking everyone's breath away, and her husband's above all the others.

The weaker fighter gawked in awe at that unreal flicker burning behind the Saiyan's onyx gaze as he devoured his wife's wit and refined mannerisms, watching her with a rapt intensity which verged on the obsessive, an obsession that grew heavier as the night progressed, when Bulma exited the stage, blending into the mesmerized crowd.

Vegeta had certainly given his woman the freedom to do as she pleased, respectfully watching her from afar as she chattered and entertained her eminent guests. But, through it all, there was never a moment when he ever lost sight of her, not even with the demanding distractions of his lively little boy, those endless trays of delicious food, and a horde of people getting tipsier by the second.

There was something in that man's eye, a fierce protectiveness that let the entire world know, without a doubt, that if anyone ever dared to try to mess with his woman, they'd have to mess with his dead body first.

The most astonishing moment of the night had presented itself when Bulma sat quietly back with her family for a quick minute, sneaking a secretive hand under the table, and carefully petting her husband's thigh with delicate warmth. She'd leaned gently towards him to whisper something in his ear, a faint smile beaming in her lips when the warrior's coarse hand briefly covered her own, listening to her instructions with enraptured attention, and following her orders uncomplainingly as he took the half-asleep child in his arms, leaving the party with the clear intention of putting the boy to bed, never to be seen again for the rest of the evening.

Everything in their public demonstrations of affection was subtle, understated, but tonight had been the night in which Yamcha finally understood that, behind those long fingers tenderly scratching the nape of the Prince's neck, or in the tiny kiss lingering in the blushing man's cheek when Bulma said her goodnights to her husband and son, there was love, true and simple, that rare kind of love that very few creatures in this Universe ever got to fully experience, the one with enough power to transcend time and space, and whatever hellish adversities Destiny would ever throw their way.

"Do you think it was Fate?" Yamcha asked with a brooding smile as he let go of the woman's small hand, her pleasant touch stirring his own nostalgic emotions still, too overwhelmed by how surprisingly understanding she was being tonight, perhaps more than he deserved after everything he'd put her through in all the years they'd known each other.

"Fate?" Bulma inquired back, curious both about her ex-lover's puzzling assumption, and his introspective demeanor, so unlike his usual happy-go-lucky self. "What do you mean?"

He rested on the solid rail, hands splayed on the white marble as he gazed across the starry horizon, thoughtful eyes settling on the imposing silhouette of the compact, yet awfully intimidating alien warrior, patiently awaiting his wife amongst the lush greenery.

The Saiyan's back was still facing them, those powerful hands buried imperturbably in his pockets, and though he may have admirably perfected the complicated art of keeping his cool at all times, Yamcha knew, as sure as there was Sun in Heaven, that the Prince had detected his intrusive presence from the very moment he'd set foot on Capsule Corp. grounds. But he'd simply chosen to steer clear, giving his wife the liberty to handle her business in her own way, respecting her in exactly the same way she devotedly respected his primal need to tone down their demonstrations of love in front of others, and only coming to her aid when strictly necessary, such as on that ill-fated night when far too many lines were unjustly crossed.

"You two…" Yamcha softly clarified, his droopy smile widening slightly now that his piercing suspicion, the one obsessively swarming his mind as of late, had grown into an absolute conviction. "I mean… What were the odds, right? Of you two meeting, and… And everything…"

His mouth twisted in the most peculiar way, nipping at his bottom lip as he wondered if he should confess what he'd recently been up to. "I went to visit Chichi and Goku a few days ago. And they… I asked them, about you and him, and… And about how things happened between you two and, I just…" He sighed harshly, still baffled by his own imbecility. "I didn't know, Bulma," he admitted, with a humbleness she'd never once seen in him before. "I mean… I guess I always kind of figured that you… That things were rough for you, after Earth was gone and everything, but… I never… I never stopped to think about how hard things were for you guys…"

He wasn't lying.

His unanticipated gatecrash into Bulma's party may have caught her by surprise but, what she didn't know was that, in fact, such an entrance was the culmination of more than two weeks of arduous preparation and crippling self-doubt, from the time the baseball player watched the official announcement of the scientist's latest award on television, and its subsequent recaps in practically every glossy publication in town.

It wasn't rare for him to use West City's nosy tabloids as a means to catch up with some of the latest developments in his ex's life, but this had been the first time in which Yamcha genuinely realized just how much he'd missed her dazzling presence in his life, the first time he'd truly committed to attending her special occasion, making a sacred vow to himself to find the nerve to apologize for his past mistakes this time, and to do his best to make peace with the woman who'd been such a significant part of his existence, for so many years.

At first, his main issue had been not quite knowing just how to make such an ambitious reconciliation happen. So, in the end, he meekly resolved that perhaps a little help from some of their mutual friends would be required this time, and no one was closer to Bulma than her best friend from childhood and his ballsy human wife.

After a quick phone call to the lovely married couple, practically inviting himself over to their isolated home in the mountains, Yamcha showed up a few days later, partaking, for old time's sake, in a friendly sparring session with the younger Saiyan, followed by a scrumptious lunch and the most intense table talk he'd ever engaged in, one that no one, not even a former outlaw like himself, would have ever been mentally prepared for.

From Son Goku, he learned of Vegeta's notoriously dark past, discovering that the petrifying warrior had basically purged and, at times, even blown up, entire planets and civilizations for a living. Such a frightening track record had been enough to make Yamcha's skin crawl, absolutely horrified at the idea of a sensitive woman like Bulma sharing her life, by choice, with a coldblooded monster of such caliber. That is, until his friend readily carried on with his surreal account of events, filling in the gaps in the alien's disastrous past, and succeeding in creating a much broader vision of what most of his catastrophic existence had been in reality.

The final picture resembled that of a Shakespearean tragedy, rather than the actual life of a man; the unfortunate tale of a Prince with no throne, home, or people to call his own, handed over by his own Father, with not one hint of remorse, to the most despicable Tyrant to ever rule the Universe, with the sole purpose of doing his dirty business for him.

The warrior may have been occasionally compensated monetarily for his violent efforts, but it soon became crystal clear that Vegeta had been, just like his wife, little more than a glorified slave, bowing down, for a lifetime, at the feet of a Master he despised with all his heart, all of it while resignedly bidding his time, until the time came for him to attain enough power to liberate them both.

Son-Kun, who now regularly indulged in the most brutal training sessions with the older Saiyan, had acknowledged, in all seriousness, that there was a very real possibility of Vegeta being an even stronger fighter than him, but he'd also admitted, with just as much candor, to not being in the least concerned by the Prince's immense potential.

By all accounts, and Bulma's in particular, the former mercenary had been well on his way to Redemption from the moment his tortuous path had entwined itself with hers, and the earthling had proudly confided to those closest to her, that her husband hadn't harmed a single creature ever since he'd officially rebelled against Frieza, leaving his barbarous 'army' behind,never to look back.

If Bulma's passionate faith and trust in her husband had somehow placated many of Yamcha's reservations regarding the Prince's authentic nature, Chichi's turn to narrate some of the scientist's own horror stories flat out resurrected his earlier repulsion, and then some.

Goku's wife had cleverly omitted the most intimate details of such an extraordinary romance, those explicit tidbits only exchanged in the sacred privacy always arising between two women, but she did open up enough for Yamcha to soon sympathize with the couple's predicament, making some final sense of just how terribly gruesome their forbidden affair had been, right from the start.

Through Chichi's words he followed Bulma's terrifying Odyssey, from her coerced capture, occurring before the immediate destruction of their home planet, to a miraculous escape from a degrading future as a pleasure slave, finding instead a more noble position in one of Frieza's countless science departments. Her new job may have held way more dignity than the life of a mere concubine, but her living conditions had been squalid to say the least, with long working hours, paltry wages, and a continuous come and go of unscrupulous, uncivilized warriors, with not a single day going by in which she wouldn't fear, in one way or another, for her life.

By the time Yamcha called it a night, leaving the Son house and wandering aimlessly through the still crowded streets of West City, too distraught to return to his bachelor apartment, it'd become impossible for him to cast out the mental image that Chichi's distressing stories had forged in his stunned imagination.

He couldn't stop picturing Bulma just as she'd been described to him, all alone in some tiny, miserable dump, in the middle of nowhere, working herself to exhaustion while subsisting in a constant state of semi-starvation.

Such a deplorable portrayal alone had been enough to make him sick to his stomach, but her confidential confession to her best female friend, on how incredibly painful and complicated her clandestine affair with the Prince had been, was the final stroke that changed, not only his whole perception on the situation, but his own wishes towards a woman who didn't even belong to him anymore.

In effect, Bulma had shamefully admitted to an instant attraction to her mysterious husband, even from a time when he was but a dangerous stranger to her. Their lonesome lives had converged by absolute chance, quickly engaging in what had begun as a purely sexual affair, but that turned, even faster, into a passionate romance on the brink of a lovesick compulsion, with deeper and deeper feelings growing with each one of the sporadic encounters that had become their only reason to keep themselves alive.

And, even if Yamcha may not have derived much pleasure from the vision of his ex-girlfriend forever tying herself to another man, he couldn't deny any longer that, whatever it was that had brought the two lovers together, it must have been a spiritual force of some sort, a mystical power that perhaps no one would ever fully understand, not even them.

Life had seemed so diabolically determined to keep them apart, that no other reason would do, nothing else that could possibly explain their phenomenal success in just being together, surviving every abominable adversity coming up against them.

He couldn't even begin to imagine what it must have been like for a kindhearted woman like Bulma, to fall in love with a man helplessly chained to an army run by some filthy Tyrant, making the most of whatever meager hours they'd get to enjoy together, before he'd be so savagely taken away from her once again, both of them immersed in such a violent, chaotic Universe, that they'd even wrongly believed the other to be dead at one point or another.

Yamcha's brave decision to go ahead with his plan to visit, and reconcile, with his old flame, had originated at first from his own selfishness, the egotistic hope that, if only Bulma were as willing as he was to forgive and forget, then maybe, just maybe he might find some peace of mind, a serenity that would allow him to move on to a better future, hopefully devoid of some of the stupidly impulsive choices he'd made, in his personal life, during the past few years.

But, his shockingly revealing conversation with Goku and his wife, together with the small, but unmistakable signs of profound love witnessed tonight, as he'd secretly pried on the couple's actions, had made him develop a new sense of respect and honest admiration towards them, awed by their faithful loyalty, and by how obstinately they'd stuck by each other, through thick and thin, throughout their inhumane misfortunes.

"Are you really happy?" Yamcha calmly asked, the tranquil voice breaking the silence clearly showing, not only that he positively knew the answer to his question, but that he'd already come to terms with her future response.

"I am, Yamcha," Bulma replied with quiet confidence, a tight lump narrowing her throat, never having felt prouder of the man who'd been her first love as she was in that lifechanging instant. "I really am…"

"Then I'm happy for you," his promise came at last, a clammy hand reaching out to hers this time, the unshed tears fizzling in his dark eyes mirroring her own. "And I mean it, Bulma. I want you to be happy, even… Even if it's not with me…" He professed, the minute tinge of nostalgia still tainting his words quickly fading away when he saw how easy it was for her to reciprocate this time, her equally nervous hand tenderly holding his. "Do you…? Do you think I'll get killed if I give you a hug?" He asked with touching modesty after a brief pause, pointing half-jokingly with his head to the regal figure of the Saiyan who'd been standing in the gardens, strangely immobile, all this time.

Bulma's arms gladly complied with Yamcha's shy request, unable to suppress a teeny chuckle of amusement as she gave him a big hug, thoroughly entertained by the idea of her ex-lover still looking so utterly terrified of her husband, even if they both knew damn well that Vegeta would never take a single life anymore, unless his adored wife asked him to.

"Don't worry, tough guy. I'll protect you…" She whispered tongue-in-cheek in his ear, smiling gently into the soft fabric of his jacket, instantly teleported to the past by his oddly familiar scent, a scent of youth and sheer purity, of old memories still worth preserving forever in her mind.

Her contented reassurance was such that Yamcha couldn't help but giggle back, daring to deepen his innocent embrace even further, while trying his best not to get lost in the whirlwind of emotions that Bulma's near presence was stirring. The woman in his arms was still as gorgeous as she'd always been, perhaps even more so, now that motherhood, and the profound peace that she'd so clearly found in life, had contributed to enhance her natural beauty.

But, as he basked in her refreshing presence, so painfully reminiscent of the silly teenage girl he'd so foolishly taken for granted so many years ago, and yet so different, he realized that he could do it, that they could do it, and that this was a real chance for him to find the strength to cast aside for good his hopeless romantic sentimentality towards this woman, and find a way to rebuild their relationship from the ground up, a fresh start, a new beginning, a path they could both walk together through sincere friendship, like the best friends they'd always been at heart.

"Do you…?" Yamcha hesitantly went on, his feeble voice breaking already at the significance of the proposal he was about to utter, a role he'd never envisioned himself playing in Bulma's life before, but one which he'd be immensely happy to fulfill if only she'd let him. "Do you think that maybe…? That maybe Uncle Yamcha could visit the kids from time to time?"

The relieving sound of her weepy laughter, together with the distinctive sensation of those hot, salty drops of moisture dampening his neck, were all the answer he needed, the promising sign that the heiress' eternally generous heart had forgiven him, yet again, for his cursed stupidity during all of those wasted years spent apart.

"If Uncle Yamcha doesn't visit often," she warned in a lively whisper, her tiny sniffles betraying her still barely contained emotions. "Mama Bulma will find him, and she'll kick him in the butt until he does…"

"You got it, B.," he gratefully whispered back, happy to comply with her wishes, ready and willing to get to know the sweet little boy he'd finally had the privilege to meet in person tonight, if only in the distance. "You got it…"

Their affectionate cuddle lingered a tad longer as they gradually got reacquainted, both confidants struggling to keep a tight rein on their skin-deep emotions at the unexpected, yet incredibly exciting prospect of a future where they'd both truly get to be a part of each other's lives again.

Until the retired martial artist expertly picked up on the easily recognizable ki of the two dim figures falling, quite literally, from the sky, landing with meticulous precision right in front of the cross-armed Prince still quietly sulking amidst Panchy Briefs' magnificent gardens.

"Hey… Isn't that…?" Yamcha asked in a snooping whisper, tilting his head to the side as he blinked with curiosity, squinting at the inimitable outline of the two people who were, beyond question, the most eccentric duo he'd ever met in his life. "Isn't that Goku's brother?"

"Uh?" Bulma softly gasped, rapidly breaking their friendly hug, and following the man's line of sight without delay. "Kami! They made it!" She exclaimed with childlike enthusiasm, eyebrows raising in pleasant surprise at the discovery of her most unpredictable guests having decided to make a last-minute appearance, after all. "Do you mind?" She asked again, not without a hint of regret in her, feeling just as guilty about spoiling such an emotional moment as she felt elated at the prospect of catching up with two of her closest friends.

"Ah! Sure, B.! You can go with them!" He agreed, a wide smile spreading on his flushed face, fidgety hands sheepishly scratching his head. "It's fine! Really! I should just… I guess I should just be going anyway…"

"Really? Already?" She lamented, thoroughly amused by how ridiculously shy he looked right now, bringing back vivid memories of the inexperienced young man he'd once been, back in the old days when he tried to steal the mystical Dragon Balls for himself, so that he could wish for his pathological terror of women to miraculously vanish forevermore. "You're welcome to stay, you know that," Bulma kindly offered. "I was about to call it a night anyway, but you can stay for a drink if you like. Besides…" She winked irreverently at him, her tone lowering in pure mischief. "There are some really nice girls at the party, you know?"

"Oh? Ah! Right…" He timidly stammered, breaking into a light bout of nervous laughter. "Well, I guess I could… Uh… I guess I could stay for a bit…"

"You really should!" She gladly concurred, shooting him her most dazzling smile as she took his hand one last time, squeezing it in silent goodbye. "I really should get going… I'll see you around then?"

"Sure thing!" Yamcha's optimistic promise sealed the deal with a cheerful chuckle, relaxed hands finding his pockets as he watched her walk away with great interest, fascinated by the way those dainty hands delicately lifted her dress, enough for her to walk down the flight of marbled stairs separating them from the extravagant gardens, without tripping on those deadly stilettos on the way.

"Oh! And Yamcha?" Bulma cheekily called out, one foot already on the stairs as she turned to face him for a split second, happy to share a little piece of wisdom with her impulsive friend.

"Yeah?"

"Please don't marry any of them tonight…"

Her sassy smirk, and a playful tongue sticking out to him, stole a grand guffaw out of him this time. As it turned out, he hadn't been the only one resorting to West City's trashiest tabloids in order to keep up with his ex-lover's whereabouts, and the heiress was well aware of the two failed marriages he'd already left behind.

"Ah, yeah! No worries, B.!" Yamcha assured her, his smile never faltering despite the furious rush of scarlet burning his cheeks, still ashamed of his own hotheaded idiocy, but at least humble enough to laugh at his own reckless choices. "I promise I'll wait at least a whole week this time. Third time's a charm, you know?" He winked back at her with just as much hilarity.

"Good boy… Goodnight then!" She jovially applauded him, waving goodbye as she disappeared into the night.

Her feet cautiously descended the luxurious stairs, her impatient steps accelerating once she reached one of the few stone pathways leading to her garden's lovely fountain, where three of her favorite people stood patiently, already anticipating her presence, and watching her carefully as she almost run to join them.

"Launch!" Bulma cheered, greeting her closest girl-pal with zeal by literally throwing herself at her, happily wrapping her arms around her neck.

"Hey Blue!" The blonde replied in unison, huffing a loud puff of air at the sheer force of her friend's effusive hug. "How's everything going?" She questioned back, pressing a saucy cheek against Bulma's as she instantly returned her fierce embrace.

"Good! Everything's good!" The scientist candidly replied, holding onto her friend for a few more seconds before gently disentangling herself from her, taking a small step back so as to give her a good glance over, pleased to see her looking every bit like her usual feisty self. "Hi Raditz!" She greeted, eagerly turning to the gigantic man coolly witnessing such a girlish exchange, arms folded on his chest as he stood a mere few steps away from the Prince himself.

"Bulma," Raditz sharply nodded, the odd solemnity in his initial tone quickly betrayed by the fun-loving gleam sparkling in his eye when he audaciously reached for her hand, kissing it just like a true human gentleman would, and promptly setting her free when Vegeta's sharp clear of a throat issued him his first warning for the night.

In spite of her husband's grumpy threat, Bulma knew that the taller man's actions were completely harmless, and devoid of any malice. And, of course, so did Launch, who was now side-eyeing her mate with the naughtiest of smirks, the roguish expression of a woman who shamelessly enjoyed being the only female on Earth, second only to the heiress herself, with the power to tease the Mighty Prince of All Saiyans to death without getting brutally murdered in return.

Bulma quietly stared at the couple's impish interactions for a while, one arm still firmly draped around her friend's shoulders as she leaned on her, taking great pride in being the master matchmaker who'd made the most volatile romance ever known to Mankind happen.

Indeed, the deep desire to restore Launch back to life had weighed heavily upon her ever since she'd commenced her brand-new life on Earth with her family, a longing openly shared with her husband right from those early days, and one that Vegeta had naturally agreed to, both due to his distinct memories of the pain that her friend's death had inflicted on his Bulma, and to an odd sense of gratitude, one that made it impossible for him to forget that, after all, the madwoman had been the one crazy enough to come up with the mischievous scheme that set in motion the most significant encounter of his life.

What the Prince hadn't anticipated, however, was for Bulma to also propose the idea of reviving both Nappa and Raditz, on the basis of them being the only two full-blooded Saiyans who could still be resurrected, and her hopes for their existence to bring some comfort and camaraderie to her lonely alien mate.

It'd been an intriguing suggestion, that was for sure, especially if one considered how visibly repulsed the earthling had been when she'd opened up to him in the past, depicting, in great detail, just how sickeningly disrespectful Nappa's treatment of her had been, back when he'd been sent to deliver Vegeta's scouter to her old laboratory.

His wife's humiliating experience had been enough to make his blood boil in violent rage, making him wish to bring the bald bastard back to life, only to have the precious opportunity to be the one sending him back to Hell this time. But, forgiving as always, Bulma had been willing to leave the past behind, disregarding the brute's rudeness if it meant that her husband would get to enjoy the company of his oldest friends again.

In truth, the little genius' main interest hadn't even been Nappa to begin with, but Raditz, the youngest of the three, for not only had she recently stumbled upon the shocking truth of his blood ties to her dear Son-Kun, but he was also the enigmatic warrior who seemed to have shared more than just a handful of torrid nights with her intrepid friend. And, perhaps, if her womanly intuition was proven right, the perfect candidate to conquer Launch's spunky heart, if their paths were ever given another opportunity to meet again.

Consequently, the couple made all the necessary arrangements to perform a new ceremony, pleasantly surprised to learn that the People of Namek were so infinitely grateful to Vegeta for saving their home planet, rescuing the Universe from Frieza's forceful reign of terror, that they offered them one more chance to make use of their esoteric Dragon Balls, thus reducing the waiting time from a whole year to a mere three months.

When the appointed hour came at last, both the Briefs and the Son family gathered together in one of Capsule Corp.'s most secluded gardens, relying on King Kai's telepathic abilities to communicate with the clan of Namekians who'd already collected all seven magical items, ready to fulfill whatever three wishes their saviors desired.

By cause of the physical destruction of the original scenarios where their friends had perished, it was prudently decided to transport their souls to Earth's realm with the first wish, leaving the possibility of only two resurrections to be completed by the Mighty Dragon.

This new conflict, although disappointing, was fairly short-lived, an obstacle resolved in a flash when Nappa himself categorically refused for his life to be restored, not if the end goal was a harmonious existence on a peaceful planet like Earth. The older Saiyan belonged to a different era, too set in his old ways, accustomed to endless years of brutal carnage and war, and to that ever-present promise of infinite riches and universal domination, to settle for anything less, and he found not one attractive quality at all at the prospect of ending his days enduring an apparently mundane life in some unknown, backwater planet.

Raditz, on the other hand, was a different story altogether, keenly willing to broaden his mind, and to make the most of such a prodigious opportunity, not only to get an exceptional new shot at life, but to get to know the younger brother he was never given a true chance to bond with.

On that account, it didn't take long for the two chosen ones to wondrously materialize before their marveled eyes, two figures standing on wobbly legs in the middle of the night, amongst an opulent garden beautifully illuminated by colorful candles and paper lanterns, looking around them, and at their own corporeal bodies, in complete and utter awe, initially struggling to come to terms with their new reality and surprisingly good fortune.

And, even someone as hopelessly clueless in the matters of the heart as Vegeta, could plainly discern the more than palpable chemistry radiating between the bewildered couple, gaping in incredulity at the extraordinary metamorphosis in their faces when their glances finally met, two pairs of stunned eyes widening in shock as they instantaneously recognized each other, wondering what all of it meant.

"See?" Bulma whispered knowingly in the Prince's ear. "I told you we had nothing to worry about…" She declared with proud confidence, the smirk popping up on her lips mirroring the smug one that Raditz was shamelessly shooting at Launch, clearly savoring the attractive blush now shading the blonde's cheeks.

Vegeta had privately confessed to Bulma his own reservations at the idea of resurrecting his Saiyan comrades, fervently promising to keep both warriors on a leash if they ever chose to rebel against a pacific existence that would be so foreign to them. But, as always, Bulma's amazingly carefree attitude proved to be right, and every one of her husband's worries went out the window as soon as he saw those devil-may-care idiots disappear into the night skies, shortly after the copious welcome dinner thrown in their honor was over.

As far as everyone knew, and unlike the other two full-blooded Saiyans, Launch and Raditz had never really formalized their union through the human rite of marriage, but their relationship seemed just as strong either way, their unbreakable bond always surviving intact to whatever kooky trouble they'd get into on a dangerously regular basis.

The long-haired warrior had gladly fulfilled his role as Son-Kun's older brother, regularly frequenting the younger man's home in the mountains, and spending some quality time with his new family, either sparring with Goku, and with Vegeta if he happened to be visiting as well, or sharing a whole slew of colorful stories from his youth as he sat at the table, enjoying one of Chichi's delicious meals, and always taking great care to omit the most violent details while in the presence of the couple's two young children.

But Raditz's naturally undisciplined nature, which matched his go-getting mate's to perfection, often meant that the two of them would disappear from the face of the Earth for days on end, apparently enjoying an explosive existence walking the line on the edge of the Law.

So far, Vegeta wasn't too impressed with the couple's dishonorable life, but he'd managed to find some consolation in the fact that they had, at least, obediently abided to his 'no-murder' rule, and in his Bulma finding the whole thing totally hilarious for some reason, always downplaying the couple's nutty antics, and giving them a helping hand, every now and then, whenever things would get a little more out of control than usual.

Their last crazy adventure had ended up swinging things in the Prince's favor, after he'd grudgingly agreed to join Bulma on a trip to bail Launch and Raditz out of some grungy jail in a foreign country. As expected, Vegeta spent the majority of the time grumbling sullenly, hating the younger Saiyan for actually following his instructions this time around, obeying his orders to always pretend to be human under such circumstances, so as not to stand out too much while he waited for either Bulma or himself to handle the situation as diplomatically as possible.

With the heiress' vast fortune and connections, getting the bonkers couple out of that blasted place had been a real piece of cake, and his wife had been so pleased with his docile support, that she'd decided to reward her Prince for being 'such a good boy', turning a quick excursion to Mexico City into a four-day weekend on the crystalline beaches of Tulum, locked up for hours on end inside the most luxurious hotel suite, and only leaving the coziness of their lavish room to indulge in some extra-naughty nocturnal activities, such as those secretive nights skinny dipping in the hotel's natural pool.

When the time came for the enamored couple to go back home, reluctantly resuming their daily routines, Vegeta's annoyance at Launch and Raditz's crazed shenanigans had completely died out. What's more, by his clever calculations, he was now pretty damn sure that their second child had been conceived during one of those hedonistic nights of Latin passion and tequila.

"I thought you guys wouldn't come…" Bulma admitted, her warmth a sign of her having grown quite used by now to the unpredictability forever surrounding these two lovable nutjobs.

"Ah! Yeah…" Launch replied, a shocking pinch of guilt in her tone. "Weeeell… We run into a bit of a pickle on our way to West City. And then it was too late for someone to find a tuxedo that fit…" She explained, flashing her towering mate a lewd smirk which implied that, despite her protests, she liked her man's enormous physical size just fine.

"Meh!" Raditz huffed, shrugging with nonchalance at the blonde's absurd complaints. "It ain't my fault that's so damn hard to find clothes around here…"

"I know, guys, and it's okay…" The scientist tranquilized them, readily putting their worries at rest. "I'm just glad to see you. Come! Come sit with me!" She urged her girlfriend, already dragging her by the hand as she guided her towards a wooden bench nearby, dying to know just what kind of insane exploits those two had been up to ever since she'd last seen them. "Oh! Raditz! You see that guy over there?" Bulma briskly turned around, pointing in the direction of one of her home's backdoors, the one where the industrial kitchens were located. "Ask for the main butler, he'll give you a couple of capsules with a few cases of Champagne, and some other stuff I prepared for you guys…"

Raditz didn't need to be asked twice, nodding his assent and following Bulma's directions to a T, leaving that pair of chatty women behind to catch up and share those pointless, gossipy anecdotes that human females were so strangely addicted to, while the Prince kept himself at a respectful distance, his solemn stare taking in the immense mass of glitzy stars beaming in the firmament, as his remarkably sensitive hearing covertly followed his wife's frivolous chatter.

Their conversation lasted but a handful of minutes, silly talk replete of girly anecdotes, and of more than a few infamous acts committed by the blonde lunatic herself, but it was hard for Vegeta not to crack a minuscule smile at the rare sense of peace that listening to the joy permeating Bulma's voice infused inside of him, for he knew the deep meaning lying behind those giddy words.

Both females couldn't have been any more different from each other, with his Bulma being fully devoted to her cherished family and hugely successful career, and with Launch dedicated to only the Gods knew what.

And yet, the supreme bond binding them together was as evident as ever, an indestructible tie of literal blood and tears, forged between those who'd been lucky enough to beat the odds, enduring together the most humiliating pain and misery, and living to tell their story through it all. Each and every one of their sporadic encounters, however brief or superficial, was a victory, and the warrior knew that his woman's uniquely personal history with her fearless friend meant that Launch would forever remain close to her heart.

When the perky duo was done tending to gossip, they decided to reunite with the taciturn Saiyans awaiting them long-sufferingly, their quiet resignation giving away how familiarized they were, after all these years, to the innate loquacity of their human mates, so substantially different from their own reserved nature, but so oddly charming nonetheless.

"Woah, Bulma!" Raditz exclaimed, in honest shock, as soon as the heiress reached their place, standing proudly by her husband's side. "You guys are having another kid?!"

"Uh? Oh, right…" Bulma conceded, slowly resigning herself to the fact that it would be damn near impossible to keep this pregnancy a secret anymore, not with her being constantly surrounded by a horde of fighters with superhuman abilities. "You noticed, uh?"

"I sure did…" The warrior concurred, a grin of sheer excitement enlivening his features, thrilled at the imminent vision of a new Saiyan little cub joining his revered Royal Bloodline.

"Damn, Blue!" Launch shot back. "You're knocked up again?"

"Yup!" She boasted, leaning comfortably into her man's robust shoulder as she got even closer, locking her arm with his when he loosened it for her in subtle invitation. "This one was Vegeta's idea, actually…"

"Reeeeeeeally?" The blonde mockingly asked, every hair in Vegeta's body standing at once at the frightening realization that she'd never stop tormenting him about Bulma's pesky admission.

And the scientist's innocent giggles surely agreed with him. "Yeup! Vegeta thought it was time to try for baby number two, so here we are…" Bulma teased even further, pressing her soft cheek against her hubby's burning one, and rubbing it playfully back and forth.

"Eager to keep spreading that Royal seed, aren't we?" Launch kept taunting as she winked one cheeky eye at the flustered Prince, utterly unafraid of the homicidal look he was now firing in her direction.

"Um… Well… Congratulations!" Raditz interjected, desperately trying to change the mood before Vegeta ended up making him pay for his mate's usual recklessness during their next sparring session. "So… What do you think, babe?" He half-questioned, friskily spanking Launch's booty as he peeked at her. "You think maybe we could have one of those?"

"Uh? One of what?" She retorted, her Vegeta-themed jokes rapidly forgotten, eyeing her man with suspicion.

"A kid!"

Launch's face froze on a dime, long enough for the Briefs couple to be the ones getting the last laugh this time. "Tch!" She grumbled, arms folded in embarrassment, and a face as red as a beet. "I don't think so…"

"Aw!" Bulma cooed in approval, pouting her lips in the cutesiest manner. "That would be so adorable!"

"Hmph!" Launch protested, her comical embarrassment implying that she may or may not have already given her mate's proposition some thought of her own. "The only way we'll be having one of those is if you are the one changing those diapers, buddy…"

"Uh?" Raditz's lashes fluttered in confusion, his sudden naïveté making him look surprisingly like his younger brother. "What the fuck is a diaper?"

"Ugh! See?" The blonde asked to everyone and no one in particular, shaking her head to herself as she rolled those spirited green eyes. "What did I tell you?"

"Wait," Bulma interrupted, now more puzzled than Raditz himself. "How can you not know what a diaper is? You're always spending time with the kids!" She purposely reminded him, referring, not only to both of Son-Kun's children, but to her own little boy as well.

In fact, Trunks had grown so incredibly attached to Son Goten, Goku's youngest son, that the adorable brats had become practically inseparable these days, to the point of behaving pretty much like brothers, and that included the lavender-haired child getting to call Son-Kun's brother 'Uncle Raditz' as well.

During his frequent visits to Capsule Corp., Goten, who'd been conceived shortly after Earth's prodigious restoration, making him barely a year younger than her son, would incessantly share with her all sorts of stories involving his cool Uncle, who'd turned out to have a pretty good hand with children after all, and who seemingly enjoyed playing and training with all three kids, whenever he was around.

Whilst Trunks and Goten had more than obviously inherited that full-blooded Saiyan love for battle, Son Gohan, the oldest child in the Son family, had been born with a much softer disposition. And, while the eleven-year-old boy often took pleasure in joining the younger kids during their animated sparring sessions, he'd also developed quite a taste for science, an intellectual pursuit that Bulma happily catered to on a regular basis, habitually inviting the awfully intelligent boy to make good use of her home's extensive library and science installations, actively trying to make up for her shameful neglect in past years.

Her stroke of luck at a new existence in her home planet had, beyond a doubt, made her appreciate her beloved family and closest friends more than she ever did but, ironically, it was Gohan's presence, the presence of a brilliant child whose existence had remained a complete mystery to her, right until his resurrection, the constant reminder of the things that truly mattered in life.

Back in her past lifetime, the young scientist had been so caught up in her own little bubble, and in the ambitious insanity of being Bulma Briefs, that, at times, she'd ended up nearly losing touch with reality, keeping an inattentive distance from those she loved the most, even from her precious Son-Kun.

Her last harrowing memory of her dearest friend had been that of seeing him die powerlessly in battle, after a complete absence of almost five years. And, whereas Bulma had, indeed, gotten to briefly meet his young fiancée the last time they'd seen each other, during one of the most brutal combats ever disputed at the World Martial Arts Tournament, the busy heiress hadn't even made a real effort back then to make the time to attend their impending wedding, or even one courtesy visit to the happy newlyweds in the following years.

If only her priorities had been half as straight as they were these days, Bulma would have been introduced, early on, to Son-Kun's darling first born, thus learning that the possibility of her and her Saiyan mate conceiving a child as a result of their sexual encounters was a very real one, after all.

"Well… Yeah! I play with the kids!" Raditz professed, acting as if it were the most natural thing in the world to spend time with his nephews, and yet to not know just what in Heaven's name a diaper was. "But I always stay away from Chichi when she's doing all that baby stuff! Man…" He sighed to himself, visibly shivering at the simple thought of his sister-in-law's dominant temper. "You've seen her, right? She scares the crap out of me! The last time I visited, she…"

"Shouldn't you two clowns be somewhere else already?" Vegeta sharply cut him off, his tone chillingly calm as he looked the taller Saiyan straight in the eye, a menacing eyebrow raised in warning, announcing that he was getting closer and closer to reaching his quota for nonsensical stupidity for the night.

It was one thing to sit still, and to actually enjoy, his wife's special celebration, and he'd even tolerated her long-drawn-out conversation with that weakling idiot who used to be her 'boyfriend', or her gossipy babbling with that disrespectful headcase of a woman, but he'd be damned if he was now going to let these two dimwits entirely ruin his mood by making him think of Kakarot's screeching harpy, of all people.

"Uh? Oh, yeah… Sure, Vegeta!" Raditz meekly complied, awkwardly rubbing his neck in the most un-Saiyan-like way.

His relationship with the younger warrior had greatly evolved through the years, and he'd even go as far as daring to call it a 'friendship' in recent times, but he also knew that Vegeta would never lose that majestic ability to draw an invisible line when it suited him, and to never allow him to forget that he ultimately was, and always would be, his Prince.

"Come on, big guy…" Launch acquiesced, taking pity on her friend's noticeably irritated husband. There were fewer things she loved more than pestering the snooty asshole, but she wasn't about to spoil Bulma's exultant night by pushing the buttons of the Mighty Prince of All Grumps far too much. "I'm sure these two sweethearts are dying to have a private celebration… Am I right?" She winked evilly at Vegeta, reaching for Bulma in search of one last hug. "Take care, Blue…" She whispered in her ear, with the wicked certainty that Vegeta could hear her every word. "And if that husband of yours ever acts up, just let me know, and I'll kick his ass…"

The scientist couldn't repress her vivacious giggles at such a priceless mental image, knowing that her husband would never go astray, just as much as she knew that her courageous friend would keep her promise if he ever did.

"Don't worry, girlie," Bulma murmured back, her arms closing around her pal as she eagerly returned her fond embrace. "If he ever acts up, I'll kick his ass myself…"

"That's my girl…" The blonde applauded her, lightly pinching her friend's cheek in approval before releasing her, walking to her gargantuan mate and jumping straight into his big arms, comfortably clinging to him as he slowly proceeded to levitate. "See you around!" They both bid farewell, taking off into the skies in search of a new roguish adventure.

"You are absolutely insane…" Vegeta muttered in a low voice, piercing eyes never losing sight of the two flamboyant figures vanishing into that dark mass of clouds, making sure that their two irksome visitors were gone for good this time.

"Uh?" Bulma frowned, taking her eyes off the stars and staring at her husband with plain curiosity, tiny fingers clutching the sleeve of his suit as she kept holding onto his crossed arm. "What do you mean?"

"Are you seriously trying to encourage those two idiots to breed?" He watched her with the faintest scowl, truly wondering if his genius woman hadn't inherited some of her mother's terrifying dizziness, after all.

"Aw, Vegeta…" She whined in amusement, mockingly puckering her bottom lip out. "You don't think they should have any kids?"

"Hmph!" He huffed, grimacing to himself while struggling to avoid the imagery of what kind of parents that pair of moronic misfits would make. "She's out of her goddamned mind… And he's a disgrace to his race…" He protested grouchily.

His adorable moodiness was enough to make her want to smother him with kisses, and she just broke into a string of soft laugher, throwing her arms around him as she got ready to call him on his bluff.

Her arrogant Prince may talk a big game, constantly finding fault, and even reprimanding, on the couple's unconventional lifestyle, but Bulma unquestionably knew that Vegeta had grown to care deeply for every single member of their idiosyncratic group of friends, even if he'd never be caught dead admitting such a ludicrous truth.

"I don't know…" She shrugged carelessly, resting her brow on his, those wide, radiant eyes of hers irreversibly erasing his frustrations. "I think they're cute…"

"Hn…" He rumbled inaudibly, calloused hands acting beyond his control as they settled on her hips, the satiny fabric of that bright red dress feeling like his first taste of real Paradise tonight. "Everything's 'cute' to you…" Vegeta mumbled huskily against those invitingly smiling lips. "Isn't it, woman?"

"Mhmm…" Bulma moaned melodiously, nuzzling his nose with maddening irreverence. "Not everything," she confessed. "Just Raditz, and Launch…" Her nose slowly brushed his again. "And you…" Playful lips laying a kiss as light as air on the corner of his mouth. "And your cute little butt…" She whispered teasingly, one hand descending on him, and squeezing that juicy Saiyan peach to let him know just how much she enjoyed that particular part of his anatomy.

She'd presumed that her insolence would be rewarded with some legendary quip, perhaps a flustered 'vulgar woman' gruffly mumbled under his breath, but his body's response turned out to be quite different than she'd first anticipated, affectionate proof that her husband was feeling a tad more sentimental than usual tonight.

His touch left the haven that were her hips, indolently folding his arms around her as he brought her even closer, a mild grunt ghosting the fragrant skin of her shoulder as he buried his nose in the crook of her neck, the hot mouth grazing her bare flesh drawing in a new smile on her lips.

Bulma instinctively returned his tight embrace, knowing the profound meaning behind his long, deep breaths, and those rugged fingers delving gently into the porcelain skin exposed through her backless dress, the gentle but possessive gestures of a man who was using her as a beautiful instrument to sooth his taut nerves.

The man sharing her bed was night and day in comparison to the cold, broody warrior who'd first won her heart, and not a day went by when Bulma didn't appreciate and give heartfelt thanks for how far he'd come these days. Still and all, she'd never fail to remember that her Prince still remained a lonesome man at heart, a man who'd fortuitously grown to find comfort in a life as a family man, but one who still abhorred multitudes and formal celebrations of any kind, merely putting up with such draining events for the sake of a wife he adored more than life itself.

On nights such as this one, Vegeta's patience seemed to be hanging by a fine thread at all times, and his emotional exhaustion would always be quite noticeable to her by the end of the day. But the heiress had also learnt by now just how little it took for her to fully heal him, casting out his heartbreaking anxiety with the mere help of a naughty joke, or a few well-placed kisses on his jaw as she let him hold tight onto her, taking in her balmy scent, and getting lost in the soothing sensation of his wife's long fingers delicately petting the nape of his neck.

"Are you done for tonight?" He asked in a hushed undertone, after a long, comfortable silence, needy hands returning to her tempting hips as he gingerly broke their comforting hug, locking those dark, wistful eyes with her own expectant ones.

"Mmm-hmm…" Bulma hummed in soft affirmation, smiling proudly at how visibly relaxed her husband's dapper features looked now. "Dad said I was dismissed," she announced. "He said he and Mom would take care of things for the rest of the night." Tender fingers fondled his striking cheekbones, cupping that handsome face and effortlessly bringing it nearer, her sweet breath merging with his. "That means I'm officially off duty…"

Her promising words, and the unmistakable coquettishness enveloping her mellow voice was all he needed for his mouth to seek hers, melting into a long, passionate kiss, a kiss full of all the need and desire building up through the night, agonizing hours following her every move, envisioning what he'd get to do to her when he'd finally have her all to himself.

"Uh-Uh!" Bulma cheekily chastised him, using everything in her power to pull away from those smoldering lips when his hands started to get a little too frisky, roaming down from her hips to her luscious bottom, and gripping it with a hunger that laid bare his impatience to get their own private party started. "Not yet," she forbade in the most flirtatious of whispers, a manicured finger bopping the tip of his nose, giggling at the lopsided sneer curling his lips as he groaned in frustration. "I have a surprise for you tonight…" She revealed.

"Follow me…"

Perverse hips swung sinfully as she turned around, breezing into one of the sinuous paths crossing her Mother's ornate gardens while smiling inwardly to herself, savoring the exciting sounds of her husband's steps on the gravel, following right behind her like a submissive little pup.

Power.

There was an incredible sense of power in having this man, a man who'd once belonged to nothing and no one, obeying her every command, so head over heels in love with his woman, that his loyal trust in her had become a greatly intrinsic part of his very soul.

And so, he pursued her, predacious eyes feasting on the way the shimmery fabric of her skimpy dress moved as her body flowed beneath it, the long garment covering up those interminable legs, except when one of them would try to escape through the indecent slit on the side, with each provocative step. Her back was completely bare for everyone to see, her gown barely clinging to that shapely figure with the help of two thin spaghetti straps seductively crossed on the back, exposed alabaster flesh glowing under the moonlight, holding him captive under its hypnotizing spell.

He should have grown accustomed to seeing her like this on such special occasions, irresistibly dolled-up, and leaving every man within a mile of her bewitching magnetism out of breath, just like he should be used to swallowing down the poisonous jealousy consuming him every time he discovered any of those lecherous bastards inappropriately ogling at his Bulma. But Vegeta had long ago embraced his Fate, those butterflies fluttering nervously in his stomach whenever she enamored him like this, roping him into her dangerous little mousetrap, with the frightening certainty that he'd never tire of this, of her, and her lustful diversions.

The mesmerized Prince wasn't even surprised by her suggestive choice to stop her stride in a very particular spot, a tiny clearance surrounded by the garden's most beautiful corner, the one which would forever hold the greatest meaning to both of them.

His wife's lithe hands gracefully reached for her hair, her enticing back still turned to him as she lazily untied the loose French twist tying back her elegant bob, nostalgic recollections flashing through his mind as she set those tousled blue locks free, her wind-swept hair bringing back memories of a distant night, it felt like a Lifetime ago, in which she'd tried to distract him from his own physical pain by stripping sensually for him under the incandescent moonshine.

Once upon a time, he met the saddest creature he'd ever known, a brokenhearted girl dressed in an old white dress and sparkly shoes, seeking comfort in the company of the ruthless killer she'd inexplicably fallen in love with. She'd looked so utterly lost back then, so heartbreakingly out of place, that the Prince had truly believed her to be the embodiment of the sadistic injustice of Life.

But, in the end, just like in so many other occasions, the Universe had proven him wrong, and Destiny had found a way to subvert every wrong ever befallen upon his wife, ultimately finding a spectacular way to place Bulma Briefs on top of a golden pedestal, right where she belonged.

And he was the Chosen One, the lucky idiot methodically selected by Providence to restore the equilibrium, forever exterminating the Tyrant responsible for the enslavement of such a marvelous woman, and winning a piece of the trophy on the way, generously compensated in return with the honor of getting to be the one to share the rest of her life, and father her children.

Seeing her celebrated like this, walking amongst that crowd of prominent figures like an authentic Queen, righteously laureated for her many accomplishments, had made Vegeta grown to hold the belief that the sole reason for his existence had been that of doing justice to her, assisting in reinstating his Bulma into her well-deserved place in the World.

At first thought, it might not have seemed a very noble Destiny, certainly not the heroic one he'd envisioned for a Royal warrior such as himself, throughout all of those bloody years of degrading captivity. And yet, seeing his woman's ethereal eyes closing idly as she tipped her head back, lifting her elegant chin and humming in absolute pleasure as she deeply inhaled the sweet-smelling scent of her favorite flowers, made it all worthy, making him comprehend that no other possible outcome in his chaotic life would have ever brought him the profound peace that life as a family man had.

"Mhmm…" Bulma moaned in delight, both at the intoxicating effect of that crisp night breeze, saturated with the heady scent of fresh flowers, and at the pair of strong arms enveloping her protectively as her husband hugged her from behind. "Mom's roses are in bloom…" She murmured, resting her hands atop his, and smiling at that unworldly spark of blue light beaming beneath Vegeta's fingers as he caressed her tummy, embarking on that nightly routine in search of their baby's elusive gender, sighing in defeat when the stubborn child refused to make its secrets known yet.

His lips found her naked shoulders, never breaking his tender embrace while kissing the alluring warmth of her creamy skin, taking in a lungful of the aromatic perfume inundating the air as he allowed himself to evoke the very first time he'd set his eyes on those coveted yellow flowers.

With Bulma's splendid planet having been restored during her country's cold season, Vegeta had to wait a few months before he was given a chance to uncover her home's greatest treasure.

Spring had finally made its anticipated advent when he found his mate standing by Panchy's side in the flourished gardens, in exactly the same spot where they stood tonight, nimble arms draped around her mother while her head rested on her shoulder, and a serene smile embellishing her then fuller face as she exchanged intimate confidences with the older woman. If their flowery oasis was now in full bloom, then so was his Bulma, for she must have been perhaps around the seventh month of her pregnancy when she noticed the sneaky intruder ambling through their home's lavish surroundings, after having just finished one of his daily training sessions.

Vegeta had first worried for his accidental interruption to displease them, but the huge grin bursting on his wife's glowing face revealed that she was indeed happy to see him, incapable of waiting any longer to show him the small, yellow gems so lovingly cultivated by the Briefs matriarch.

After a few mysterious words carefully whispered in her mother's ear, both women exchanged an expressive glance, and Panchy proved, once again, to be much more perceptive than her giddy exterior looked to be, when she discreetly made herself scarce, leaving the besotted couple alone to freely enjoy a moment which she knew would be an emotional one.

And he could still see her, he could still see her in her pink summer dress, the flimsy fabric swirling around as she clumsily trotted towards him, carefully holding the alien flower in her hand, her translucent skin shining like the brightest diamond, bathed by the radiantly warm colors of sunset.

"Vegeta! Look!" She called breathlessly, her childlike excitement making her almost shove the darned thing right in his face as she exultantly invited him to explore such an exotic treat.

The Prince needn't even ask to know the precious trinket to be one of the 'yellow roses' his little earthling had spoken so sadly about back in the old days, those long, restless nights spent nostalgically reminiscing on all things lost, hopelessly praying for one more chance, just one, and cursing herself for her careless ingratitude back when the whole world was held at the palm of her hand.

Bruised fingers enfolded her slim wrist as she held the gorgeous flower for him, and he instinctively dipped his nose into those velvety petals, eager to satisfy his profound curiosity, wondering just why, out of all of that vast opulence inundating his woman's life, she'd chosen such a trivial ornament as a symbol of her own happiness.

And it was then that he understood.

It was then, as a long breath overwhelmed his senses with the most divine of perfumes, that he understood what he had always, in one way or another, known to be an absolute truth: that out of the two of them, she was the strongest one.

A woman born surrounded by love and magnificent luxury, never having lived a day where beauty wasn't an essential part of her coddled existence, a woman viciously thrown into the darkest abyss, and stripped, all at once, from every drop of affection or humane dignity.

And yet, through it all, there was never a moment when she ever forgot about who she truly was, never a time when she wouldn't stand still, resorting to quiet poise and impeccable work ethics as a means not to lose herself, never surrendering to a murky decadence that could have easily tempted those with weaker wills and corruptible hearts.

Any other woman in possession of his wife's celestial looks and exceptional intellect would have made good use of such diabolical gifts, charming her way right to the top, next to Frieza himself if she'd genuinely been willing to compromise whatever shred of moral values she had left within her soul.

But not her, not his Bulma, not the one with enough strength to remain temperate in the midst of a raging hurricane, keeping her chin up and those virtuous eyes down, enduring, with the serene fortitude of those who know themselves to be free at heart, and waiting for the miraculous run of luck that would pull her out of the flames of Hell.

To the outside world, the powerful fighter may have undoubtedly given the impression of being hers and the Universe's golden savior, the superhuman warrior responsible for the dethronement of the evil Ruler wrecking chaos across their whole wide Cosmos.

But, in the depths of his healed heart, Vegeta lived with the infinite conviction that it was she who had rescued him, she who'd held his hand, taking him out of the infernal tomb where he'd been buried alive ever since he'd fallen prey to his cruel captor, and freeing him from the miserable life of isolation and betrayal that he would have lived had he ever chosen to fulfil his self-imposed prophecy to take Frieza's place as Supreme Overlord.

There were still days replete with crippling insecurity, days in which he'd still find himself incredulous of his own good fortune, questioning whether he was actually deserving of all the spiritual riches that Life had blessed him with, or if he was nothing but an unworthy fluke.

And it would be then, in his darkest hour, when Bulma would do for him what he'd so desperately strived to do for her during their bleak past, reminding him to take Life for what it was, and relishing every valuable minute as if it were to be the last.

In times of Darkness, Vegeta had made it his duty to get his little lover to let go, pleading her to get lost in those scarce nights of mindless pleasure, those rare, fleeting instants that truly made life worth living.

In times of Light, it was now Bulma's turn to encourage him to take a breather, to stop foolishly questioning his Divine Providence, and to happily embrace his new lease on life, reveling in the most gratifying role of them all, that of a devoted husband and father, a noble task that the Prince of All Saiyans had accepted with gusto, leaving behind his empty ambitions for a frivolous life of meaningless dominance above those weaker than him.

"Was this your surprise?" He murmured in her ear with playful nosiness, the titillating sensation of his hot breath lingering on her delicate skin making her tingle all over, testing her wicked resolve to delay his gratification just a little longer, in hopes of getting her way before she'd ever give him what he desired the most.

"Nope…" She impishly denied him, setting her mischievous plan into motion by turning fumblingly in his embrace, finding it harder and harder to move, to breathe, with that pair of muscular arms keeping her trapped in the fiercest hold. "I won't show you your surprise yet…" She spurned, soothing the disappointing effect of her cold words with the help of her plump lips, brushing her husband's longing ones until she had him fully captured under her spell. "Not until I get what I want first…"

"Oh?" Vegeta softly challenged, cocking a jokey eyebrow as he pondered on whether or not he should play her game tonight.

More often than not, he wasn't fully opposed to his feisty little woman taking the lead in their salacious adventures, but that risqué red dress calling out his name all night, and sensing the goddamned scent of her old human lover still clinging to her, long after their harmless make up hug, were wildly awakening his most primitive instincts, making him ache to fly her out of there and rip off that blasted garment to pieces, rubbing out any traces of that bastard off her body, and imprinting his own mark all over her instead, just to show her who she truly belonged to.

"You see, my Darling," Bulma pointed out, her face brashly lighting up, as it always did whenever she was feeling mighty proud of herself. "You haven't even told me what you thought of my speech tonight…"

She looked at him longingly, those enormous blue eyes reminding him that he hadn't even taken the time to properly praise her for her outstanding, yet shockingly personal, performance tonight.

And, although there was a more than evident pride beaming brightly in that aquatic gaze, it was still laced with that tinge of defiance ever present during their exciting interactions, wondering if her Prince would bow down to her this time, as he rightfully should, or if he'd choose to tease her mercilessly instead, trying to keep her on her toes, and resorting to some of his usual lighthearted bickering.

"You were magnificent," Vegeta professed, his tone husky, solemn, gentle fingers lifting her chin, if only to make her look even more majestic, almost as proud of herself as he was.

His wife's weepy smile was a definite sign that he'd chosen just the right words, and so was the long, dreamy kiss she rewarded him with. "Of course," she agreed in a smug whisper, throwing her arms around his neck, and holding onto him as tight as she could. "I'm Bulma fucking Briefs…" She murmured.

"Hn…" He lightly grumbled, having understood, long ago, the impressive significance hiding behind his woman's full name.

"You know? I took a little nap with Trunks today," Bulma gave away, welcoming her husband's warm hands, skillfully stroking her nude back again, as she subtly kept smoothing the way for her very special request. "And he said you're going to start his Saiyango lessons really soon…"

"That is correct," Vegeta assented, suddenly overcome by self-doubt at the realization that he hadn't yet discussed the matter with his mate.

He knew how much importance Bulma gave to their son's education, always sharing every minute detail with him, but his boy had been so ingenuously excited when he'd recently asked his dear Papa to teach him his 'old language', that the Prince hadn't had the heart to say no to the enthusiastic little brat, agreeing to the boy's request without even consulting with his wife first.

"Is that an issue?" He asked tentatively, newly setting his eyes on her. "I know we hadn't talked about it yet. But I thought that maybe…"

"No, Sweetie, it's fine," Bulma quietly comforted him, her heart shrinking at the sight of her mate's painful uncertainty.

As proud as he obviously was of his fallen race, she could still notice, quite often, Vegeta's honest surprise each time she encouraged him to share part of his Saiyan culture with their son, as if he couldn't even comprehend why she was so supportive of him enlightening Trunks about matters that served no actual, practical purpose of any kind anymore.

"I want you to teach him everything about your race, you already know that," she reassured him. "It's just that… You know…" She whispered coquettishly, peeking at him through those long, flirty lashes. "It reminded me that you never… You never told me the meaning of those four words you wrote in my book, remember? And I thought that maybe…" She shrugged coyly, her cute nose nuzzling his as she braced herself for her unique demand. "Maybe tonight would be the perfect night… Don't you think?"

"Is that so?" Vegeta answered in irony, running an idle thumb across his lover's expectant lips while tipping his head to the side, the Mother of all cocky smirks sprucing up his face when he grasped that his determined wife hadn't yet given up on unveiling his most shamefully personal secret.

During their first weeks of life on Earth, his Bulma had been relentless in her tenacious quest to decipher the enigmatic message he'd penned for her, after those ten eye-opening days and nights spent in the intimate seclusion of a sumptuous hotel suite, and right before he'd had to leave her side to fulfill his duty as one of Frieza's captive soldiers.

The cunning little genius had resorted to all sorts of ingenious techniques to get the truth out of him, from shameless seduction to adorable pouting and provoking ultimatums, and the Prince had to admit to having been dangerously close to yielding to her innocent request on more than one occasion. But there was something oddly alluring about holding such tiny power over her, saving this one particular secret to himself, and denying his woman once, if only once, teasing her mercilessly about the one enigma her brilliant mind hadn't been able to fully interpret for once.

It wasn't long until her pride, that high-and-mighty pride that was but a dead ringer of his own, got the best of her, crabbily refusing to beg anymore, and stomping out of his Gravity Room like a petulant child, while mumbling under her breath something about 'damned stubborn Saiyans', the last time she'd asked her evil teaser of a husband to reveal his most guarded secret to her.

If memory served him right, her last failed attempt had occurred more than a year earlier, and Vegeta was almost convinced these days that the sly creature had finally given up on her devious scheme. But, as always, he'd severely underestimated his wife's admirable resolve and, not only had she brought her sneaky plan back to life, but she'd done so carrying an ace up her sleeve, and finding an unanticipated ally in a certain lavender-haired little brat who'd surely end up sharing with his beloved Mama that which his presumptuous Papa had been, deep down, too cowardly to confess.

"So… You're still not going to budge, uh?" Bulma rightly guessed, insolent fists finding her hips as she looked him in the eye in pure defiance. "Fine, suit yourself…" She shrugged with indifference, already savoring an unexpected victory over a battle she'd thought lost a long time ago. "We both know I'll find out sooner or later anyway…" She prophesied with an irresistible flick of her hair, turning around and walking away from him with slow, indolent steps, the luring movements of a woman who knew that her man wouldn't let her escape his greedy clutches without a fight.

She hadn't walked two steps when an implacable hand quickly took hold of her wrist, his grip firm, yet unbearably gentle, pulling her petite body towards him with just enough force to make her crash against his solid frame without harming her.

But, if Bulma had expected her astute husband to give into her right off the bat, the pair of raven eyes looking at her as if he wanted to eat her alive proved her deadly wrong, for the Prince of all Saiyans may concede to losing a battle or two, but he sure as Hell wouldn't lose a war without one last fight.

"You're right, Bulma," he shockingly sided with her, his gruff, masculine murmur turning his wife's knees to rubber. "The brat could someday tell you what those words mean, but…" Brazen fingers tucked her tousled waves behind her ear as he brought himself closer, indulging in her gasping moan when he playfully nipped her small earlobe. "I believe those are words that should only be pronounced between a man and his mate..."

Vegeta's hands were no longer holding her to keep her from leaving his side, but languidly petting her skin, practiced fingers running up and down her nude arms, disarming, seducing her with the same prowess he'd employed the very first time he'd stormed into her life. It felt just like one of those moments, one of those sultry nights wholly devoted to reminding his woman that, although he'd gratefully succumbed to her charms, he still held as much power over her as she did over him.

"Is that true?" Bulma purred back, that blazing spark of curiosity rekindled at her man's cryptic statement. His raw magnetism was impossible to resist, but something told her that, all this time, he hadn't denied her purely driven by a wicked desire to play games with her, but because, whatever it was that he'd written in that ancient poetry book, it must have held a deep meaning to him. "Then tell me…" She pleaded once more, her honied breath warming the curve of his neck as she tenderly draped her arms around his torso, resting her head on his wide shoulder in one last effort to get him to open up to her.

"It will be up to you this time, Bulma," he mysteriously promised, his body impulsively responding to her gripping embrace by hugging her back, his touch growing bolder, rougher, as he kept exploring that maddening taste of naked skin exposed through her wanton dress.

"What…? What do you m…?" She struggled to ask, her last word lost in the depths of Vegeta's famished mouth when he captured her lips, kissing her madly, desperately, as he reached for the curve of her bottom with both hands, effortlessly lifting her off the ground, his chest rumbling in a frenzy when her long legs bound around his waist, urgently clinging to him.

"What I mean is…" He explained hoarsely, ragged breath betraying his mask of self-control, feeling her already shivering in anticipation. "My telling you what those words mean will depend on your performance tonight…"

She should have been offended by his presumptuousness, or at least, she should have pretended to be, but the naughty minx had already been planning to rock her husband's world tonight anyway, just a little recompense for having been such a good boy these days. So, she concluded that getting to find out, at last, the elusive secret driving her absolutely insane for years, would be an unexpectedly pleasant bonus indeed.

Besides, it was getting increasingly harder to cook up a way to prolong her man's suffering, not with those ten insistent fingers sneaking beneath the fabric of her dress, fiendishly caressing her firm little bum through her transparent French cut lingerie.

"Then what are you waiting for?" Bulma defied him with an erotic whisper, using every weapon in her femme-fatale repertoire to keep her dignity intact, refraining from giving herself to him just yet. "Take us to the guest house…"

His feet left the grass as soon as she disclosed their hideaway for the night, the shrewd corners of his mouth curling in a complacent smirk when the first glimpses of her raunchy surprise for him quickly began to unravel.

In older times, Capsule Corp.'s enormous guest house had been purely that, just some spare room designed to accommodate the occasional invitees visiting Bulma's home. But the functional place, although quite useful in its origin, had gradually stopped being of service, mostly due to the Briefs family becoming progressively more protective of their privacy as their wealth and celebrity exponentially grew.

It was only after Vegeta's arrival that the semi-abandoned spot found a new purpose, turning into the perfect shelter for their steamy escapades, a secure refuge that became practically a bare necessity as their rambunctious little boy grew older and more independent.

Inventive as always, the heiress had found ways to cleverly remodel and renovate the initially austere place, turning it into a cozy love nest that, through the years, had become the safest Haven for the two of them, a private sanctuary where the married couple could evade the pressuring demands of their hectic daily lives.

He flew her cautiously through the dark, carrying her with great care as they left behind the noisy buzz of the loud guests still hanging about at her grand party, dancing drunkenly to the sounds of the superb orchestra hired for such a special evening.

The further they moved away from the crowd, the deeper their all-consuming intimacy intensified, his senses heightened, feeling every one of those tiny gulps of air on his neck as she heaved in excitement, every small finger tensing into his back as she fiercely clutched the expensive material of his jacket, or those exquisite pumps poking the back of his well-built thighs as her legs constricted around him, holding onto him as she always did whenever she wanted to incite him, knowing damn well the effect that her enticing figure fully pressed against him awakened in him.

By the time they arrived at their hidden destination, his hands itching in need when she disappointingly untangled herself from him, the noisy horde of visitors was but a distant murmur, and he simply stood in the dark, spellbound by the come-hither way in which his siren's hips swayed as she walked to the small white house, opening the door and waiting patiently for him to join her inside.

A slick hand smoothly pulled from the tip of his loose bow tie, the useless accessory lying forgotten in the grass as he proceeded to follow his wife's steps, his pace slow, deliberate, a ravishing contradiction to the penetrating eyes making Bulma's poor heart go to pieces while she kept leaning seductively against the open door.

The Prince briefly punished her by breaking eye contact as he entered the impressive lover's lane, a sudden rush of chill air making him shudder when the door closed behind him.

His silken jacket soon met the marble tiled floors, stubborn hands finding his pants' pockets, trying to resist the primal call of Bulma's sharp heels clacking provocatively while she walked across the luxurious room, strategically launching her impish plan of attack by choosing a calculated spot at the feet of their king-sized bed, and taking a seat with unnerving coolness, waiting for her man to carry through his thorough examination.

Like a true master tactician, Vegeta took his time scanning his surroundings, admiring the way his woman seemed to have outdone herself tonight, and taking in every minute detail, every immaculate candle illuminating the place to perfection, together with the handful of large vases filled with freshly cut flowers, or the heaps of rose petals flawlessly scattered across the spotless white linen where the beautiful heiress sat.

"Come here…" Bulma's captivating whisper demanded, a sly smile commanding her man's full attention at once, the tip of his tongue grazing his upper lip as he approached her, staring at her with a look of pure adoration in his bottomless eyes.

She was a Goddess turned to mortal flesh, a sexy little vamp carelessly perched on her elbows, long legs wide open, with only a shimmery curtain of red fabric hanging loosely between them, hiding the one thing he needed the most. There was only one thing to do with such a holy creature, and that was to worship her, senselessly and without reserve.

And so, he did, falling on his knees as he prostrated himself before her, open palms lightly enfolding her small feet, his weathered thumbs stroking her bare skin while his mouth sought that weakest spot on her thigh. Moist lips laid a kiss inside her knee, raw desire coursing through his veins as his fingers kept fondling her warm skin, roaming from her ankles, up and down, and all the way over her slender calves, as his mouth relentlessly lavished her legs' sensitive flesh.

This was it, what he'd been waiting for all night, a chance to inflame and arouse her to unbearable heights, only to sate and fulfill her every need as only he could. Gone was the guilt of his old, self-loathing days, that appalling bitterness jabbing him at the sight of the woman's unreserved love for him, feeling unworthy of every candid kiss and caress, shamefully believing that the compassionate little female deserved far better than some sad infatuation with a heartless monster like himself.

But on nights such as this one, these unforgettable nights that tested his limits beyond belief, enduring the dire torture of watching that worthless bunch of pathetic men swarming about his woman, he knew, as sure as he knew his own name, that he was the one for her, for no other man would ever take his place, or possess the talent to put out that sea of flames ravaging them alive when they were both alone together.

His movements grew bolder, his touch coarser, until he couldn't take it anymore, frantically filling his anxious fists with handfuls of red satin as he struggled to lift her dress, burying his face between those milky thighs, only for the she-devil he was so eagerly trying to please to throw water as cold as ice on him instead.

"Nuh-uh… Not yet, Prince Vegeta…" She cruelly purred, the tip of a vicious stiletto suddenly a mere inch away from his dry lips, her foot pressed right against his forehead as she pushed him away. "And, by the way," she threatened with the menacing mellowness of a tigress. "This is an Armani dress. You rip it off. You die."

She emphasized her ominous warning with just one more tiny push, with the awareness that there was no chance of her husband ever getting hurt by her harmless trickeries, but hard enough to let him know that he could not mess around with this particular garment as he often did with the others, all of those hundreds of designer gowns and fancy pieces of lingerie virtually turning to dust the second her needy husband got his deadly hands on them.

"Take off your clothes," Bulma instructed, a few locks of messy blue hair seductively hiding part of her pretty face as she playfully tilted her head to the side. "Now…" She insisted with yet another dominant push.

He shifted uncomfortably on the floor, tense fists letting go of the goddamned dress as he growled like a scolded puppy, hating both the woman and himself for letting her play him like this, depriving him of feasting more on that heavenly body of hers, even when she knew how ridiculously worked up he always got after he'd gotten his first taste.

"Come on, Daddy…" She crooned, smirking like the cat who got the cream as she crossed those sculptural legs, swinging one of them repeatedly, back and forth, waiting for her husband to give up on the stupid façade of him being anything other than a lovesick fool. "Take off your clothes for me," a gentler whisper asked once more, the pointy heel of her swaying leg finding his crisp dress shirt, gliding up and down that row of white buttons with dangerous persuasion. "And I'll do some really nice things for you…"

If there ever was a convincing reason to submit to his wife, that was the one, so he chose to take her X-rated promise as a final sign to fall into line, giving her, at least momentarily, the devious satisfaction of her first victory for the night, not without promising himself to even the score as soon as he got a sneaky opportunity.

And so, he did as he was told, huffing in defeat through his nose as he gracefully stood on his feet, his sharp silhouette towering above the petite figure indecently spread out on the bed, those cursed legs of hers languidly rubbing against one another as she luxuriated in the epitome of masculinity that was her husband.

The Prince had never been quite the experienced teaser that his woman was when it came to removing his clothing, too pragmatic to make a spectacle out of the simple act of stripping, but he wasn't blinded either to the obvious enjoyment that his Bulma seemed to get out of it, so he spoiled her, dragging out the show just a tad longer, enough to try to stimulate her almost as much as she'd aroused him with her dirty pocket of tricks.

His hands worked, calmly but diligently, on the silver cufflinks of his shirt, suave fingers unfastening the expensive charms while shooting her the most consuming look, a delicious blend of nervousness and self-satisfaction darting through him at the expression of sheer, unadulterated lust gracing his wife's stunning face.

Nudity had always been something he'd been fairly comfortable with, having been raised used to showering and changing his battle gear in front of countless strangers through the years. But it was his mate the one to instill a new meaning into such irrelevant customs, the only one in possession of the delightful gift, not only to transform the most trivial of habits into an erotic ritual, but to imprint such memorable instants forever into his vivid memoirs.

Vegeta stayed immobile, completely in the buff, long after the last piece of his classic outfit touched the floor, his face impassible, stiff arms hanging edgily on both sides, making the almost impossible effort to not react to his lover's inviting proximity, or to the way her pearly teeth chewed on her lip as those eyes of topaz openly wolfed down every thick muscle of his perfect physique.

He wanted to touch her, the Gods be damned, he wanted to tear down that useless piece of red fabric, get her down on all fours and fuck her little brains out until she couldn't even think straight anymore. But if there was one lesson he'd mastered after all of these years spent with his fetching temptress, it was that patience truly was the greatest of virtues and, the longer the wait, the sweeter would be his inevitable reward.

"Good boy," Bulma murmured in approval as she idly got up from the impeccable bed, visibly impressed by her husband's expert self-control. "I guess now it's my turn…" She tantalized him further, his mouth watering at the sweet-scented heat radiating from her as she stood mere millimeters away from him, every salacious curve in her body screaming to be freed from the confines of her fancy dress. "Stay…" She beckoned, airy fingertips lightly caressing his restless hands, before reaching for the thin straps of her frock on her own.

A tiny flick of her wrists was all she needed for the scanty dress to effortlessly drift off her, sliding smoothly across her shapely figure, and falling right at her feet. Only her lacy panties remained, the lush perfume of her arousal letting slip that she was quite a bit more stirred up than she looked. She knew of the devastating power of her husband's senses, but she never once lost her spunk, chin raised in pure insubordination as her hands found her hips, the rosy crowns of her firm breasts grazing his twitchy nipples.

"Now lie on the bed…" The beautiful despot demanded, the tips of her perfect teeth flashing in the dark as she sneered in disdain, clearly having a little too much fun ordering her oversexed husband around. "Face down."

Rigid fists clenched and unclenched several times, hard-rock abs twinging almost painfully as Vegeta wrestled with himself, contemplating if whatever prize she had in store for him tonight was really worth the excruciating torture of holding back even longer on a desperate need building up for what felt like the longest evening.

Ultimately, he succumbed yet again, his throat bobbing tensely as he gulped down his pride, together with a wild rush of his basest instincts, and he walked around her, sinking his sturdy knees on the bed and crawling over it compliantly, regretting his decision to give rein to her naughty fantasies almost as soon as he did so, the moment his crafty eyes discovered the small basket, placed in one of the bed's nightstands, full of a wide assortment of minuscule bottles.

The Prince knew what those bottles meant, and he knew it well, absolutely loathing those tiny recipients, filled to the brim with scented oils and exotic potions, and the serpentine things that his woman's devilish hands could do with them in her grasp.

Out of all the colorful practices his Bulma had introduced him to, throughout his time of life on her planet, there were fewer things that Vegeta both dreaded and craved more than those infernal rituals which she referred to as 'massages', for never had he heard of a method that ended up producing the exact opposite effect it was meant to, as quickly and effectively as those oddly sensual rubbings did.

The first time the earthling had offered to pamper him in such a peculiar manner, had been during one of their nights sleeping together, when the warrior joined her in their marital bed, after having spent almost an entire day testing the magnificent gravity room she'd just designed and constructed for his unique training needs.

Generous as ever, his little Bulma had suggested a 'massage' as the perfect way to relax and soothe his drained muscles and, as usual, Vegeta hadn't had the power to decline her offer, secretly curious as to whether this alien remedy would turn out to be of any use on his Saiyan anatomy.

It didn't take long for the couple to determine its success, and this 'massage' concept certainly showed to be effective, that was for sure, just not exactly in the way his poor, naïve wife had expected. And, soon, what started as an innocent method to relieve her husband's stress, and to help him get a better night's sleep, ended up with him shredding her satin negligée to pieces, and pounding her non-stop into the mattress like a sex-starved maniac.

The precise experiment was performed on several occasions, and in an extensive variety of locations, including a pretty remarkable day in which both lovers locked themselves up in Capsule Corp.'s cramped infirmary for a whole afternoon. But the results would invariably be the same, concluding that, although its therapeutic effects in regards to 'relaxation' were practically null, a thorough massage was now one of the best scientifically proven ways for Bulma Briefs to get her man's powerful engines running lickety-split.

And now here he was, lying long-sufferingly on the bed like a defenseless little lamb, his pulse racing uncontrollably at the impending sounds of his wife's fatal high heels falling on the cold ground as she got rid of them, the plush bed creaking beneath him as she kicked off her wicked masterplan, that supple body crawling lazily above him, and settling snugly at the base of his muscular back.

Her warm womanhood lightly rubbed itself against his flesh as she shifted atop him, his large fists furiously holding onto the sheets at the sensation of such soft sleekness, a dead giveaway that his Bulma had also taken off her sheer lingerie before joining him on the bed.

It was unbearable, absolutely agonizing feeling her so brazen, so utterly comfortable sitting and moving on top of her husband, as if his body belonged to her as much as her own, and it was even harder to know that she was just about to deepen his misery, in exactly the same way those ten magical fingers dug into his skin, delicately spreading the honeyed potion she'd just poured all over him, with the meticulous skills of a sensual enchanter.

The exotic oils gradually released their fragrant power as they heated up, melting into his marred flesh while his woman kept working him like a puppet. She drew languid circles over his golden skin, long and slow, travelling a hedonic journey from his lower back, and all the way up to his shoulders, only to start all over again, never relenting, never breaking off her electrifying contact, alternating from a rougher, more intense touch, as she vigorously kneaded his dense muscles, to softer, almost breezy caresses, knowing that those were the ones that incensed him the most.

Luminous fingers traced every one of the noble scars crossing Vegeta's back, faded marks that once signified his most disgraceful memories, but which had now become tokens of survival and genuine liberation, an intricate roadmap of old wounds whose painful secrets had been revealed to her, inch by arduous inch, throughout all of their years of marriage together.

Day by day, night by night, each story would be brought to light, sickening tales of abusive horror that Vegeta would relate with humble reluctance, still surprisingly daunted by the possibility of his mate judging or scorning him for his past weaknesses, and visibly alleviated every single time his Bulma would take her time reassuring him, kissing him with deep gratitude for daring to bare his soul to her.

With each confession, his heart would become a little brighter, the oppressive weight ever carried above his shoulders less and less heavy, until his true self, the man always buried underneath a noxious gravestone of distorted lies, forever resorting to fabricated masks and falsehood as means to survive in the most hostile of worlds, re-emerged at last, slowly but surely gathering enough confidence to just be himself, baring it all in front of a woman who'd never judge or condemn him for his past faults.

"You're being such a good boy tonight, Vegeta…" The little flirt whispered coquettishly, mellow hands carefully stroking her husband's feverish skin as well as his ego, running from his perfect tush and up to his nape, his neck hardening when she didn't stop this time, smoothly pressing her body against him as she leaned into him, covering his trembling arms with her own, using him like her own personal mattress. "Such a good boy…" Bulma murmured again, the fingers of a hand gently interlacing with one of his, smiling proudly into his shoulder when he instantly reciprocated.

Frisky teeth playfully nipped and kissed his flushed neck, switching back and forth, from her girlish nibbling to the lightest pecks, her greedy hand never letting go of his while the other one premeditated an even more dangerous sneak attack, treacherously reaching down to the sensitive remnant of his once glorious tail.

Vegeta's body jolted at once, a shock of pure electricity shaking him to the bone, his jaw clenching, anxious teeth gritting, panting wildly through his nose at the sensation of those evil fingers following the outline of his tail stub, her movements slow, calculated, tracing those long, drowsy circles all around it, knowing just how quickly his self-control could crumble when she touched him like this.

"W-Woman…" He protested in a gruff whisper, hips twisting under her, moaning in impotence when her thighs fastened firmly around his waist, trapping him in the most vicious grip as she kept toying with him. "S-S-Stop that…"

"Oh? What do you mean?" Bulma softly hummed, the voice of a wide-eyed kitten lusciously combined with the hands of a seasoned courtesan. "You mean this?" She insisted, cherry-colored nails subtly grazing the delicate pink skin, her tiny body deliciously reverberating against him as she giggled in triumphant delight.

"B-Bulma…" He grumbled, his ragged sounds getting perilously closer to a warning, unhinged fingers releasing hers, utterly terrified of hurting her as he felt himself losing all reason, both hands frantically clutching the now crumpled bedsheets.

Because it was too much, it was too damned much, her warm softness vibrating against him, glistening skin sliding sensually into his, and that cloud of heady, foreign aromas saturating the air, alien flowers, salt and spice, and her hands, Gods, those hands, fondling and caressing, flowing all over him like a torrid whirlwind.

"Stop!" Vegeta growled hoarsely, turning around faster than Bulma's startled eyes could see, his throat dry, needy hands reaching straight for her hips, both to stop her from losing her balance and to keep her where she was, as close to him as he needed her to be.

His wife's bewilderment didn't last long, already accustomed to his raw appetite, and it wasn't long before she broke into cheeky laughter, shooting him a glance of utter mischief as she relished her own power, and how devastatingly sexy her man looked whenever she easily subjugated his impressive self-restraint.

"Aw, Vegeta… Already?" Bulma pouted in pretend disappointment, secretly impressed with how incredibly patient he was being with her tonight. "But I wasn't even done yet…" She whined babyishly, her voluptuous pelvis grinding against the very erect Saiyan pulsating in need below her.

*** Censored bits! Please visit AO3 for full version! ***

She cradled him reverently against her chest, her embrace as protective as if she were holding a defenseless child, and all the Prince could think, as his head fell heavily onto her, was that the soft warmth of her skin against his shuddering lips was like Summertime, like one of those somnolent Sunday mornings lazily spent wasting time sprawled out in their massive bed, or lounging around in the gardens, lying on freshly cut grass while grabbing some rays, lolling at the distinctive noises of their son's bare feet playfully trotting all over the place.

Vegeta's state of relaxation was such, that it merely took a matter of minutes to find himself dropping off in his mate's arms, lulled by the rhythmic flow of her fragile body's breathing as it gradually slowed down, and by the comforting hand delving into his damp hair, fingers running idly through his scalp as she kept cuddling him to her, never letting go.

But, before he could succumb to his fatigue through and through, a singular perfume promptly reawakened his senses, a faint saltiness that revealed that, even if his lover's physical wants had been assuaged, her obstinate mind remained as restive as ever, her frail emotions still on the edge, incapable of forgetting the promise he'd failed to live up to, so far.

"Bulma?" He asked timidly as he rose to meet her, calm fingers wiping off, with utmost care, the sparkly drops swelling in the corner of her eyes, his initial apprehension quickly going away at the vision of the shy smile springing up through those expectant tears.

"Vegeta…" A tearful whisper came at last, small hands gathering at the back of his neck, bringing him to her so that she could place a long, enamored kiss on his lips, a loud sob burning in her chest at how natural it was for him to give her what she needed the most, renewing her hopes of finding a real answer to her greatest question tonight. "Tell me…" She shyly pleaded, fondly stroking her husband's face, her demure smile never waning, not even as the first imprudent tears started to run down her cheeks. "Please tell me…"

There was no need for his Bulma to spell out the implications behind her plea, just like there was no point in him trying to suppress the smitten smirk breezing into his features, secretly proud, as he always was, of having chosen as a life-mate a tenacious little creature whose stubbornness could only match his own.

One of his elbows found the luxurious mattress, a strong arm leaning above her head as he rested most of his weight on it, tenderly pushing aside the few strands of hair poorly hiding those sappy eyes from him, eyes bright enough to communicate, with not one word, that an extraordinary night such as this one may just be the perfect time to lay bare one more piece of his soul to his gorgeous wife.

The knuckles of his free hand futilely tried to dry yet another surge of hot droplets, a rugged thumb delicately spreading the salty moisture all over her parted mouth, his brow subtly frowning for a thoughtful instant, before unknotting again when he made his final decision, pressing his lips to her pale forehead and laying the most heartbreaking kiss on her silken skin.

"Teh est mah Moirehk…" His intimate murmur drifted heavily in the air, remote words fluidly unravelling in his alien tongue, like the exotic waves of a faraway ocean placidly immersing her entire self, forever sweeping her away with him.

"What…? What does it mean?" Bulma's guileless whisper asked back, her weepy smile morphing into the most loveable 'O' now that she was getting so marvelously close to finding her precious answer, her expression painfully reminiscent of Trunks' adorable face the very first time his father had presented him with a tiny ball of fluorescent energy, during their early training sessions together.

Four words.

Four words which encapsulated the true essence of his venerated bond with his mate, the Universal Lifeblood responsible for the jubilant existence that their lives would one day become.

"You are my Destiny…"

A furious blush colored his cheeks as he disclosed his most intimate enigma to his wife, but his gaze never eluded hers, penetrating eyes gently piercing her to the spot, trying with all his might to ignore that old, distant side of him, his former self still evoking deep shame at times, whenever he poorly aspired to put into words the supremely powerful emotions that his woman had set alight within his heart.

But, feeling her breath sharply halting underneath him, her small body instinctively responding to his shocking Epiphany, and those resplendent blue eyes staring at him in sheer awe, made it all worth it, destroying every single one of his asinine fears, and carefully reminding him of how much his Bulma always respected him, admired him even, when he found the courage to vocally share his sentiments with her.

"I-Is that…? Is that really what it means?" Bulma stuttered under her breath, her voice full of glee, adorably choking up as she dissolved into bright tears of happiness. "So… You always knew?"

An earnest nod was Vegeta's response, a quiet, confident hand lovingly encircling her trembling chin as his lips fell on hers, engaging their mouths into an endless, wistful kiss, pouring everything he had, everything he was into it, the electrifying contact never breaking, not even when he slowly rolled them on the bed, lying on his back while effortlessly settling his little lover right in his arms.

They kissed for countless minutes, their bodies rousing as one, hands and legs holding and caressing each other's exhausted flesh, utterly spent from their impassioned lovemaking, but still finding the miraculous strength to demonstrate their ardor for each other.

Because it was the Truth, it had to be, because Destiny was the only phenomenon that could possibly explain the mystical reason behind their unlikely union.

Two outcasts coldly thrown into the abandoned ruins of a barren Universe, two desolate stars whose originally dazzling glow had turned into a dimmed shadow of their younger selves, after being subjected to the most barbaric suffering, for longer, infinitely longer than most living creatures could have ever endured.

Their first fortuitous meeting might have seemed purely accidental but, with each clandestine rendezvous, with every one of those secret encounters, their bond grew stronger, and their own unique light, the one once believed to have been virtually extinguished, shone a little brighter, until the time came for Vegeta to surrender to the overwhelming evidence.

On the fateful day that saw Vegeta having to say his reluctant goodbyes to his brand-new mate, after having spent those ten paradisiacal days and nights locked up in Heaven with her, the warrior's strong intuition had already been secretly troubled by the haunting suspicion that, if his Master had one of his usual, sickening plans in store for him and his comrade, he may not ever be reunited with his Bulma again.

But, his dismal terror of never getting to hold his woman in his arms anymore, or laying his eyes on that striking face of hers, was only comparable to the unshakable realization that it was Destiny the one responsible for introducing such a stunning force of Nature into his life, and that, whatever events happened to unfold between the two of them in the following days, weeks, or even years to come, would be the result of the Orphic Spirits which had worked so forcefully to merge their paths into one sole direction.

Only now, as they'd walked enough steps together along the way, were they able to look back with some measure of clarity, connecting all of those dots, so incredibly arbitrary in appearance, but so deeply meaningful in essence, like a handful of sprinkled stars rashly scattered across an immense nocturnal sky, developing, bit by bit, into a flawless constellation.

"Foolish woman," Vegeta chastised her in a tender murmur, a satisfied smirk finding its way into Bulma's disheveled hair when she indolently broke their kiss, happily burying her sniffling nose into the protective curve of his neck. "You cry way too much…" He reprimanded her, hearty hands running slowly up and down her shoulders and alluringly nude back, his heart practically leaping from his chest in sight of the blissful relief that his confession seemed to have inspired in his sentimental mate.

"It must be the hormones," she timidly reasoned, her coy justification making her husband chuckle for good this time. After all these years on Earth, Vegeta still hadn't quite managed to figure out just what exactly these evil 'hormones' were but, whatever they were, they surely appeared to be responsible for a whole lot of crying around here. "I love you, you know…" She half-asked drowsily against his skin, feeling herself already languishing in his tight hold, drifting off into the most peaceful sleep she'd had in longer than she could recall, her entire being liberated, as if her husband's intimate revelation was all she'd ever needed to breathe easy at last.

The Prince didn't pronounce another word, detesting to keep disturbing his woman now that she'd officially entered upon her hard-earned vacation, already anticipating the leisured times ahead of them as they'd officially embark in the countdown to their second child's arrival.

Possessive arms reached down for the comfy bedspread, dotingly covering up his little mate while doing his best not to interrupt her restful slumber. Tucking in the messy sleeper that was Bulma Briefs was quite an art in itself, a meticulous art perfected after a whole slew of insomniac nights wholly dedicated to trying to keep those flapping arms and legs from knocking him cold, and eventually determining that, the best way to make it out alive, was by keeping her close, immobilizing her with the fiercest grip in his vast collection of combat techniques.

So, he joined her under the covers, a suave arm smoothly pulling her to him, imprisoning her in a shielding hug as she naturally curled up against him, a warm little ball of blue zealously trapped in her husband's adoring embrace.

Those past few weeks had been so extremely hectic, and the night's events filled with such a myriad of intense emotions, that it didn't take much of an effort for Vegeta to emulate his wife, stifling a loud yawn as he gladly got ready to accompany her in her dreams, determined to get some vital rest so as to be in top-shape for the second round of lustful lovemaking that he knew was coming.

But, just as the weight of his heavy eyelids was proving too hard to bear, a tiny fountain of pristine energy breathed new life into his drained senses, a luminous ki, both brand-new, yet unbelievably familiar, emanating from the harmonious depths of Bulma's dormant body.

'Could it…? Could it possibly be…?'

A timorous hand settled on his mate's abdomen, a faint spark of silvery light forming on Vegeta's large palm as he methodically explored the source of such a magical spirit. Until his mouth, so tightly pursed in concentration as he'd searched for reassurance, the absolute reassurance of his innermost instincts being completely accurate, gasped in sheer wonder at his lifechanging discovery.

There it was.

'Should he tell her…?'

"Bulma…" He called in a hesitant whisper, struggling with a silent conflict between his guilt at disrupting his wife's sleep, and the sudden rush of desire to share the news with her as soon as possible.

"Mhmm?" Bulma moaned questioningly, tired eyes closed, and a lazy cheek sluggishly rubbing itself, back and forth, against his naked chest, evidence that, perhaps, this wasn't such a perfect time for exciting announcements.

"Nothing, woman," Vegeta sighed in slight disappointment, placing a long kiss on her temple as he pulled her even closer to him, trying to remind himself that what is good is worth waiting for. "Get some rest…"

"M'kay…" She mumbled in lethargic agreement, following his order straight away.

The Prince lay perfectly still on his back, wide eyes fixated on the high ceilings, and an elated heart booming hysterically in his chest, his earlier exhaustion vanishing as if by magic, instantly replaced by the imaginary vision of his wife's innocent face beautifully lighting up when he'd give away, in just a few hours, the real gender of their second child.

In the distance, he heard the far-flung sounds of Capsule Corporation's renowned guests as they celebrated his mate's achievements, the impressive feats of the woman who'd changed it all, the one chosen by Occasio himself to help him rise from the ashes, loving and accepting him just as he was, and graciously walking with him, shoulder to shoulder, on his unstoppable road to Redemption.

He felt his Bulma stir sweetly in her sleep, arms longingly clinging to him as a light spring breeze blew in through the window, the heavenly perfume of that cheerful garden of yellow roses blending to perfection with his woman's balmy scent, with the quietude of her musical breathing, and with the immaculate essence of their Little One, shining brightly between their entangled bodies as she reclaimed a place in their world.

The prospect of a second child, a new life fully dependent on him for love and caring guidance, was as daunting as ever, but he also knew that, with this woman by his side, there was nothing to fear anymore, nothing that couldn't be accomplished. And that, somehow or another, they would always find their way, making their flourishing family thrive and prosper, just as they'd determinedly found miraculous means to restore the millions of lives they had once thought lost forever.

Destiny had been benevolent to him, showing him infinitely more kindness than a man like him had at times felt worthy of, and although he knew that he had no right to ever ask for more, tonight, as he quietly dwelled in the Past and the Future, he allowed himself the forbidden luxury of one last prayer, the secret hope that the daughter he'd just discovered dreaming soundly in his Bulma's marvelous body, would grow up to be just like her mother.

THE END

Well... There it is! It looks like little Bra is on the way!

I don't know if I managed to make it all work in the end, but I'm at least a bit proud that I found the strength to finish this monster of a story, since I honestly never expected it to grow emotionally as much as it did in the end.

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the conclusion, and that those four mysterious words will finally make some sense now? (And YES! I had to make Launditz happen, because I just LOVE the idea of Raditz and Launch together, and I know that some of you were a bit sad about seeing them go so early in the story).

Thanks so much for reading, as always, and a special thank you to those of you who've taken the time to leave feedback on my writing, it's always a pleasure to hear your thoughts.

I'll see you in my next story!

*big hugs for everyone*