Chapter 1: The Deal

"And a walk-off homer for number 00, Yamcha of the Taitans! What a win! That is Yamcha's 16th homer of the season and 60th career. His second ever walk-off. Game Taitans!" The announcer's voice boomed over the stadium. Bulma, heiress to Capsule Corp, budding genius, and February cover of Science Illustrated, cheered as her boyfriend Yamcha was swarmed by his teammates, who lifted him onto their shoulders. Bulma had gotten out of work a little early, and decided to surprise the reformed bandit at his game. Yamcha waved to the crowd on the first base line, not seeing his girlfriend, as he headed through the dugout and into the locker room. Bulma shrugged and decided to surprise him at his jet car.

Yamcha and Bulma had been an item since their very first adventure with the Dragon Balls when they were only sixteen. Over ten years later, they were still together, despite some struggles. In fact their anniversary was just a few days away. Off in the distance, Bulma saw the team emerge from the home locker room in staggered groups. Yamcha wasn't among any of them. Almost fifteen minutes later, two more people exited the locker room and began heading for Yamcha's jet car. As they drew closer, she saw it was Yamcha and a young woman who she recognized as the public relations representative for his team. The bluenette jumped up and down, waving to Yamcha. He gave a little jump of surprise. The PR gave a quick wave and headed back toward the locker room. Yamcha waved back, smile fading, and walked the rest of the distance to the jet car by himself.

"Bulma, honey! I wasn't expecting to see you tonight," he said nervously as the two shared a quick embrace.

"I wasn't expecting to be here, but my dad said he could finish the design on his own," she explained in an even tone. "I decided to surprise you. Great game, darling!"

The ride home was silent, despite the pleasant greetings. Bulma suspected that Yamcha wasn't just slow at changing out of his uniform. The pretty PR and her boyfriend had been alone in that locker room for a while, and had emerged together, acting strangely when they saw her. Bulma had an IQ of 143. She could put two and two together. Yamcha knew it too. He knew he was busted. The question was how would Bulma react?

The heiress to Capsule Corp took a deep breath as the Namekkians set off to their new home. They had been residing on the company's premises, in the Briefs' expansive backyard specifically, for four months now, and had become a huge part of the Earthling's lives. After many tearful goodbyes, the yard fell silent. Everyone had gone home. Everyone, that is, except one.

The prince of Vegeta-sei had no home to return to. Frieza had seen to that. He was pondering where to go, simply sitting at the base of a tree and staring into space. Bulma took a deep breath and approached, a little nervously. It was just her and an intergalactic mass murder who'd committed genocide countless times. She took another cleansing breath and began to speak. "Ummm...hi." Not one of her more eloquent moments, but she shrugged it off.

"What to you want, woman?" he demanded, impatient as always.

She was already beginning to regret this, but felt compelled to ask anyway. "Vegeta, I think you should stay here."

He raised an eyebrow. "I'm sitting. Usually a sign that someone's not moving for a while."

"I meant stay as in live. I think you should live at Capsule Corp."

That earned her an incredulous look. "I'd much rather blow up this mud ball you call a planet." He returned to staring into the distance, pointedly away from her.

"You've been living in my backyard for since you came to Earth. You might as well come inside."

He stood up to his full height, looking her dead in the eyes, ever-so-slightly shorter than her. His tone became dangerous, and his annoyance, apparent. "Now why would I do that?"

Bulma took two steps back and tried to maintain her composure. "Several reasons, actually. Firstly, you have no where else to go." Sighing at the obviousness of her point, Vegeta sat back down, crossing his arms. He had thought on the issue all year long, and had come up with no logical solutions. Here he was, homeless in a universe full of people whose lives he had irreparably damaged. Where the hell was someone like him supposed to go? He had no answer.

Vegeta supposed he'd just find some abandoned planet and train, alone with his thoughts. Then he'd find that buffoon Kakarot and show him the unstoppable power of the Prince of all Saiyans.

Bulma wasn't finished yet. "Secondly, you want to beat Goku - I mean uh... Kakarot, right? And he trained at 100 times Earth's gravity, right? Well you see, I built the gravity device for his ship." She could sense Vegeta's annoyance decreasing. He hadn't known that, and it interested him immensely. It bolstered her confidence, and she continued. "I could build one for you. Here. A better one."

"Well get started then," he interjected with a dismissive wave of the hand.

She shook her head. "I have a few conditions first."

Vegeta vaulted to his feet once more, eyes glistening with rage. "How dare you, a mere human, try to impose conditions on me. I am the Prince of all Saiyans! I could rip you to shreds before you could so much as flinch."

She did not doubt the truth in that, but she also knew it was an idle threat. He wouldn't kill her now that he knew she made Goku's gravity generator. She was valuable to him. It made her bold, and she laughed in the seething killer's face. "You wouldn't hurt me. You'd never get your gravity machine, and I just refuse to believe you'd let yourself be second to Goku of all people."

Vegeta had no response to that. He backed off, ever so slightly and crossed his arms again. "I'm listening," he hissed through closed teeth.

"Condition number one: you stay at Capsule Corp, at all times. The CC employees have seen enough aliens in the past few months. They won't mind you. On the other hand, you and Nappa already devastated one city on this planet and managed to get yourselves on television. Letting you wander around, especially in your Saiyan armor, would only cause mass panic, and we certainly don't want that."

"Well maybe you don't..." he muttered under his breath.

Sensing victory, Bulma chose to ignore it. "Condition number two: you fight off any threats the Earth might encounter while you're here."

Vegeta would jump at the chance to face any strong enemy, and if doing so let him utilize the woman's technology, well that was just an added bonus. "I look forward to the challenge."

"Good. Last condition. No touching."

"Pardon?"

"You heard me. Don't touch me."

Vegeta sneered as he comprehended the deeper meaning. "As if I, the Prince of All Saiyans, would degrade myself by fooling around with some weak human."

"Well that settles that then." She extended her hand. Not quite comprehending the Earth gesture, Vegeta hesitantly grabbed it. She shook vigorously, sealing the deal. Bulma wasn't sure whether to be proud or miserable. She got what she needed; her revenge on Yamcha. Of course that did mean subjecting herself to the bossy, arrogant, selfish prick who, as he had reminded her twice so far today, happened to be the Prince of all Saiyans. This was not going to be pleasant.

After Bulma led her new houseguest to his room, she headed to hers for what she was sure would be an even more interesting conversation than the one she just had with Vegeta. Yamcha lay back on their shared bed, half undressed, beckoning seductively for her to join him. She sat down on edge of the bed, not quite sure how to bring up the fact that she had just invited a dangerous alien to live with them. Yamcha wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her into a fierce kiss. Bulma pushed herself away as quickly as she could. "Yamcha, not now. I have some news."

A myriad of ideas surged through the ex-bandit's head. Bulma certainly wasn't happy, and that didn't spell good news. Was she breaking up with him? Was she quitting her job? Oh god... was she pregnant?

She took a deep breath and broke the news. "Yamcha, Vegeta is going to be staying in our guest room for a while."

That certainly wasn't what he had expected. What was Bulma thinking?! She invited the man ultimately responsible for his death to live in their home. "No," was the only response he could muster.

"Consider us even," she explained "You have a fling with your team's PR. I invite a homeless alien to live and train here."

Yamcha swore angrily. "It wouldn't be a problem if that alien wasn't Vegeta. His set his pet Saibamen on me! Then had them self-destruct!"

Bulma smiled coldly. "Oh I remember. I also remember that it's not just your little PR play thing. So he's staying here. If you don't like it, you're more than welcome to leave."

Bulma awoke peacefully the next morning, and descended the stairs of her modest home. She shared a lot with her parents at the corner of the Capsule Corp. property. The blue-haired genius proceeded into the kitchen to begin her daily routine with a large cup of coffee. She was greeted by a surly Saiyan eating at her kitchen table, at least half a dozen used plates surrounding him. He paused from early morning feeding to grumble at his host. "About time, woman. Were you planning on lounging about all day?"

She yawned, and looked at the clock. "Vegeta," she sighed, "it's 7:00 AM. It's a perfectly normal time to wake up."

As her eyes began to fully open, she soaked in the mess of astronomic proportions. Vegeta had attempted to cook, and the results were not pretty. In addition to the dishes on the table, the sink was overflowing with used plates and silverware. Not even rinsed, she noted. Blackened eggs were plastered to the electric stove top, as if he'd tried to cook them without a pan. Vegeta had tried just that, as a matter of fact, burning the eggs with a small ki blast when he was too impatient for the stove to heat up. A big glop fell on Bulma's nose, causing her to look at the ceiling. It was covered in some mysterious brown goo. Pancake batter, or oatmeal maybe. She really had no clue. Worst of all, a small animal carcass lay on one of the plates. It appeared that Vegeta had caught it when his other attempts at food had so clearly failed. She wondered how - or if - he had cooked the poor butchered mammal. Bulma was baffled not only by the state of her kitchen, but by the sheer amount of food. Goku was always a big eater as a child, but this put him to shame.

The prince sat comfortably, munching a frozen waffle, clearly unconcerned by the destruction he had caused. "Woman, I was under the impression that you were building me a gravity device today. I was ready to train an hour and a half ago."

"Well I was ready to sleep an hour and half ago," she snapped.a

"I noticed."

"And I noticed the kitchen."

"What about it?"

Bulma stared incredulously, wondering if he was really that dense. For the second time that morning, she internally compared him to Goku. "Seriously...what the hell?"

Vegeta shrugged his shoulders. "I was hungry."

Her jaw hung open until her seething rage boiled over. "There's a half eaten, unidentifiable animal on my table, which you cracked by the way. Would you like to tell me what's on the ceiling, and even better, how it got there? Because I'm stumped, and I'm a friggin' genius. And did you seriously cook eggs directly on the stove?"

"Was I not supposed to?" Vegeta was genuinely confused, though he tried to hide it under his mask of sarcasm. Bulma saw through his ruse. The poor arrogant fool had no idea what to do in a kitchen. After all, he probably grew up in a fancy palace flocking with servants. She sighed, and calming herself, and decided to be reasonable. "Could you at least pick up after yourself?"

"The Prince of all Saiyans does not clean!" he snapped.

"Well fine. I'll clean up this whole mess by myself. I guess I'll just work on your gravity machine later..." she hinted slyly. Vegeta didn't budge, but Bulma had another trick up her sleeve. "How about another deal? Help me clean up and I'll make breakfast for you every day. At 7:00 though, I need my beauty sleep."

"6:00, and you work on my gravity machine right after."

"Fine," said Bulma, caving in again. "At least I won't have to clean this mess everyday," she muttered. The heiress ordered her houseguest around, and the kitchen was clean in no time. Vegeta muttered angrily, his usual pattern. Prince of all Saiyans, kill you and your families, and so on and so forth. Bulma didn't need sharp Saiyan hearing to get the point. Despite his bad attitude, Vegeta was a swift worker. As soon as the last plate was in the cabinet, he picked up the scientist, threw her over his shoulder (protesting heartily and screeching profanities), flew her to her basement lab, and tossed her in. Bulma landed in an undignified heap, the source of her headache immediately leaving to go train.