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In Some Form or Another	By : chroniclyflaming Category: Dragon Ball Z > Het - Male/Female Views: 2515 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Do not own DBZ and am making no profit from this

Chapter List
- 1-In Some Form or Another
- 1
The prompt: ChiChi/Vegeta,

Seduction in some form or other, based on this:

youtube video: watch?v=pwFK1jWOrHQ

Skip to 3:40, hear the way ChiChi comments on Super Vegeta's incredible muscles, and tell me she didn't want a grope. ;)

The fill:

'She both doted on and was harshly punitive with her eldest son, and her temperament had her both dependent on and uncontrollably angry at her husband.

Some of his habits got on her nerves: his lack of formal manners, his disregard for personal appearance…his long working hours, his absences from home."

She fell into the role of the shrew. He became the practitioner of patience, forbearance, and withdrawal.'

-Lincoln: The Biography of a Writer, Fred Kaplan

There was an old Earth saying: 'In order to beat your enemy, you have to become him.' The phrase bounced in his mind, ricocheting off the walls like a combat drone in his training chamber. It stayed with him for a long time, haunting the back of his head until finally another capsule from the old man was destroyed and the woman was besides him in the grassy field besides Capsule Corp, screaming at him, and he'd had enough.

"ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME, YOU MISERABLE BASTARD? I SWEAR-"

Without a word, he blasted off.

Somehow, he knew where he would land before he reached it.

The saying, perhaps overheard from the idiot box that humans watched, or from the moronic conversations, came back and followed him closer than the white blaze of ki. He immediately balked at the idea, dismissing it until he felt his back give a twinge. Right in the spot where the brat had turned into an Ozaru to land on him, above that fat coward had slashed his tail off, and to the right of where the midget had wanted to plant a sword into his spine. Impossible that it still hurt.

Other things hurt, such as his pride. How could such a third-class warrior hurt him so much? He was a weak man, Kakarotte, hindered and held back by human morals. Sparing everyone at the slightest hint of pleading rather than finishing the enemy off. Instead of even taking a proper mate of his own breed, he had married and procreate with a whiney human female that never fought, and raised a son just as soft as he was. Kakarotte had even taken the name this planet had given him: Goku.

And yet, for all his innumerable points of weakness, it had been not Vegeta, the prince of a dead race and powerful enough to destroy planets with one hand, to win the fight.

And the reason he stood there now, breathing in the warm air that almost tickled his nose with its pollen, was because of this 'Goku.' He had sparred him instead of murdering him as he should have, had killed Frieza when no one else had and allowed his friends to use the dragonballs to wish those dead brought back.

As much as it made him want to spit blood, perhaps there was something to mercy and forgiveness, to this peace, that allowed Kakarotte to get an edge over Vegeta. He had been raised here, surrounded by weaklings not proper fighters like Vegeta, and had managed to find strength that the prince lacked.

'In order to beat your enemy, you have to become him.'

The scene was retchingly quiet and peaceful. How Kakarotte had withstood such a thing Vegeta had no clue. Clothes hung drying on a line of white rope, smoke rose to trickle the cloudless blue sky from the chimney of the yellow domed building and the bricks of the adjoined house next to it looked spotless. A stream nearby trickled past, carrying fresh clear water and small delicious fish.

He saw Kakarotte's brat walking towards the house, a dry fishing pole drooping from his arm to nearly touch the ground, his other hand clutched around a wooden basket. With his head dead to let hair fall into his eyes, he didn't see Vegeta. Before the man could lecture him with a swift blow to prove how integral vigilance was for warriors, the dark mop glance upward. Seeing the once-enemy made him pause, but only to blink in surprise rather than adjust to a fighter's stance.

Gohan wasn't even allowed a second to speak before Vegeta was upon him. His small basket was completely devoid of any fish, and was as dry as his fishing pole. Stupidly gaping up at the man much smaller than his father, the muscular nine-year-old looked as foolish as the bald-headed human.

Vegeta touched Gohan's shoulder. "I'm proud of you."

The man walked off, heading toward the house. Wafted out of the opened window was the dim smell of lunch that called to the Saiyan. He followed the siren.

"Well, that was bizarre." Gohan informed the fishing pole.

At the sight of him, the human female did a double-take, and nearly dropped a casserole dish of something that smelled of cheese and fish. Vegeta caught it before it could hit the wooden floorboards and shatter.

She actually gasped at him, and fell back into the sink. "Vegeta? Vegeta?"

Her accent was much more refined than Kakarotte's, and it made him smile to realize that the weak female was better educated, and was for her species, better bred than her husband. Wasn't she some sort of princess…?

"Yes, woman," Vegeta grated out, sidestepping her shocked form to place the dish on the counter. Bowls and plates covered the kitchen, and he gently nudged them with the backs of his hands to make more room for the casserole dish.

Her voice was rising. "Vegeta?"

"Yes, woman?"

Like the blue-haired woman when the Saiyan had grown sick of her complaining about her hair, and simply used an energy blast to make it more manageable, she was hysterical. "Vegeta?

"What are you going here?

"You're not here to take my son away, are you?" She grabbed a butcher knife, but unlike the other human female, didn't look too unsure to use it.

Steam rose from the dishes peacefully. The lights from overhead gleamed off the silver wear, especially the one held in her strong grip. Vegeta could only wonder what the proper response was to this situation. Daring and taunting her to 'just do it' like he did the other wench probably wouldn't work; this woman would actually try to drive the steak knife into his neck or chest. Grappling with her in the cramped kitchen would not only be a waste of time, but some of the food might be harmed.

What would Kakarotte do right now if he was here? Sooth the snarling woman with a kind word and an empty headed guffaw.

Vegeta threw back his head and laughed merrily. The woman flinched and waved the knife, the narrowed ferocious eyes would have made Kakarotte proud, had he been a proper warrior. She had more bravery than him, and looked ready for murder.

"Mom?"

"Oh, hi, sweetie." The woman hurriedly brushed aside a lock of hair that had fallen into her eyes, shoving the knife back onto the counter.

"Why's Vegeta here?" He pointed the fishing pole in the full blooded Saiyan's direction.

"Dinner," he grunted. "I was just helping your mother put everything together."

The woman looked more suspicious than ever. "Yes. That's what he was doing. Yes."

She didn't take her eyes from the man's, even when she accidentally passed Gohan peas instead of mashed potatoes, and spilled the broccoli on her son's head.

"Go inside your room and clean up."

The boy could sense something was very wrong, at the least his mother should not have been clutching the bowl with a white-knuckled grip.

She leaned across the table while Vegeta refilled his plate. Everything was quite good. "What. Do you. Want?"

"Another roll."

"No," she slammed a pair of small white hands onto the table, upsetting an empty salad bowl. "What do you want. Here. In my home!"

Vegeta thought on that. "Dessert."

Smoke nearly poured from her nostrils as she stood up and went robotically to the fridge. "Fine. Here's some ice cream." She nearly threw it onto his head.

"Now get out. You weird little man."

Rather than blow her up, or simply murder her using her own eating utensils, Vegeta took the bowl of ice cream and left with his head held high. It was what Kakarotte would have done.

"Well, that was bizarre." Chi-Chi informed the scrubbed pot.

He came back for breakfast. This time, the wench didn't even attempt to hide her fear and rage in front of her child. She just started screaming.

"Get out! Get out!"

Vegeta held out his hands, trying for a placating smile. Everything was fine. There was no mirror to allow him to see his refection, but from the way the boy and his mother recoiled, the Saiyan guessed his face was far from reassuring.

The messy haired half-Saiyan was standing up, trying to be courageous. "What do you want?"

"Breakfast."

He blinked a few times. "Uh. Okay. I guess that's okay.

"There's fish," he offered. "And cereal."

"That will be fine."

Vegeta nodded to the woman, who jumped backward.

"No. What do you want, really? To spar with Gohan? With Piccolo?"

"Hah, as though they-perhaps later. If they are capable of keeping up." The short man sat down at the table and began reaching for whatever was in reach. Chi-Chi got another plate for Gohan, and poked at her fish while eying Vegeta.

"So," The shaggy boy sipped at the milk left in his cereal. "I was thinking of checking on those baby dinosaurs. The stegosauruses. Hey, Vegeta, do you want to-"

"Don't encourage it, Gohan dear."

"Yes, mom."

Afterward, he helped clean the dishes. Or tried to, when Chi-Chi hysterically told Gohan to run to get help and she brandished a chair at the Saiyan. Vegeta could only duck the wooden legs and gather up the cereal bowls. "What, woman? I'm just trying to…help." His voice cracked on the last word, and convinced no one.

"Help. You want to help? You nearly killed my husband and my son!"

Vegeta pointed at her son, who stood in the corner, unsure of whom to help. "He's fine. He's…" his voice cracked again. "A good boy you can be proud of."

"What is this?"

"I am helping." He put the dishes in the sink, and ran water ineffectively over them. While he tried to find soap of some sort, he overheard the dark-haired woman telling the boy to go to Capsule Corp and inform Bulma that the day had finally come, and Vegeta had finally lost his mind. Hurry.

The Saiyan snarled at her. "I am not insane. You're the most ungrateful woman I've ever had to deal with. Including the blue wench."

"Oh really." She pushed Gohan out the front door. "Now I'm starting to think Bulma was a saint for helping you for so long. What Goku was thinking when he spared you…"

"He wasn't."

"Wasn't what?"

"Thinking."

At her blink he shrugged uncomfortably. "It was a joke."

She grabbed the chair again. "Okay, I've had enough."

"Damnit woman! I am trying to help!"

"Why?"

"Because I want to!"

"Get out!"

"No!"

He grabbed the chair from her, neatly tossing it and stomped close to her. She flinched again and closed her eyes, waiting for death. "Now, see here, woman. I don't care that you're Kakarotte's mate. He's not here to protect you."

He held his finger under her nose, sternly. The kitchen light reflected in her eyes, twin bulbs of yellow. "I'm here to protect you. Now, what do you need help doing?"

Vegeta glanced upward from his work to meet a pair of black eyes as emotionless as his own. Gritting his teeth, he struggled for a cheerful grin, and instead ended with a grimace and the beginning of an ulcer. "What do you want Namek?"

"Shouldn't I be asking what you're doing here, Vegeta?"

"No." The Saiyan went back to laying bricks.

"What are you doing?" The green-skinned alien acted as though Vegeta had begun to dance and call for a parade for the superiority of the human race.

"I am helping Kakarotte's mate by fixing this wall." The entire thing was destroyed by the brat, actually ruined by the shape of his body as he had flown through it. Vegeta shook his head. What had the boy been thinking?

Piccolo's eyes were huge, and his antenna's stood straight up. "That answers nothing."

Vegeta refused to show anyone his plans for becoming stronger. If they got a wind of it, they might do the same thing, and then he wouldn't be able to help the screeching woman. Just a waste of his entire time if such a thing happened. "I can do whatever I want."

The Namek stood there, watching him lay bricks and scrape pale grey cement, while the prince's shadow grew until finally Vegeta looked up to find himself alone.

"Good riddance."

"What a strange creature," Vegeta informed his spanner.

Chi-Chi was pacing, back and forth. As soon as Piccolo entered the room, she was at his side. "Is he gone, is he gone?"

"No," the Namek growled. "He's still there. Stacking bricks."

They both shuddered.

"Why's he doing that?"

"I have no idea. Perhaps he's waiting for Goku to return."

"Here?"

"Maybe he thinks it's the first place he'll come when his ship lands?"

Chi-Chi huffed, blowing the hair that had fallen out of her bun out of her face. "Hah. As if."

Piccolo shrugged, honestly at a loss. "Maybe he got sick of Bulma's and this is the only place to go?"

The mother rubbed her hands together, fretful. "Maybe. They do fight a lot."

"And you're used to feeding Saiyans."

"True."

They both breathed a sigh of relief at finding a possible explanation.

"And he's going all this work because he doesn't want to be a freeloader?"

"I guess. Maybe it's training of some sort."

"I guess."

The moment became awkward as their brief teamwork faded. They shuffled their feet. "Don't think I'm going to let you take Gohan again."

"I won't."

"Good."

"Hm."

"Can you stay for dinner? Just in case he really has gone insane."

"I suppose." It would be a lie to say he didn't dream of one day have an excuse to kill Vegeta.

At dinner, the Saiyan glared at Piccolo, and kept trying to overturn his water glass.

"Why's he here?" He pouted throughout the salad and soup and even through the roast beef. "He doesn't need to be here. He doesn't even eat."

"He's a guest," Chi-Chi yelled at Vegeta.

Between them, Piccolo and Gohan shifted uncomfortably.

"Why do they have to fight," Gohan whispered to his large green friend and ally.

"It doesn't matter. Just because they fight doesn't mean they're mad at you."

"Alright, Mister Piccolo. Pass the mashed potatoes."

"Leave some of that for your mother," Vegeta warned the boy.

"Fine."

Things remained quiet, Piccolo finished glass after glass of water to help his dry mouth and Gohan looking longingly at the mashed tubers while Vegeta and Chi-Chi threw insults over the food about the other.

"I hope you washed your hands before eating."

"I hope you shut your mouth soon."

"Get out!"

"No!"

And then it cycled back into silence and Piccolo running to the sink to refill his glass. After dessert, they sat around the living room. The Namek was soon growing wary of being a buffer, yet couldn't leave the boy behind to this.

"So," Vegeta cleared his throat. "You're a princess of some sort."

Chi-Chi gave him an odd look. "Are you making small talk?"

"I was not aware this talk was any smaller than the ones we usually have."

She huffed, stabbing a mended sock with her needle. Vegeta slowly figured out how to use the rocking chair, and the sound of it squeaking filled the room. Piccolo wondered if it was possible to have enough stomach acid to completely eat away his entire lower digestive system. The damn Son family. Always being responsible for hurting his intestines.

He rubbed his stomach, and obliged Gohan by helping him with his homework.

"You know, that's funny." Gohan laughed encouragingly. "Different countries and nation send princes and princesses to meet and get married, to signify joining the same side and starting alliances. Diplomacy."

"Wouldn't it be funny if the Saiyans had sent Vegeta rather than Daddy, and to marry Mommy?"

"Gohan. Go to your room." Vegeta pointed to the door.

The boy hung his head. "Yessir."

"And you stay in there," Chi-Chi warned, "Until we say otherwise."

"Yes, mom."

"…can I leave now?" Piccolo nearly pleaded, despite himself.

The next day, she didn't even blink at Vegeta's presence when he knocked politely on the door. Chi-Chi just glared at him before turning back to the pan of sizzling sausages. The Saiyan was pleased by the automatic addition of the third plate. Finally, they were treating him as a proper prince. With respect and a little touch of awe, as was necessary for one such as him.

"Vegeta," Chi-Chi nagged after he'd finished washing and wiping down the plates. "Hurry up and finish fixing that room.

"And were you sleeping outside last night?

"Couldn't you have bathed before coming home. Here. I mean. Here."

Vegeta just nodded, busy trying to get a spot out of a bowl. "Fine, woman. Fine."

"And you can fill your own bathtub!"

"The wooden tub outside?"

"It's not that cold out. Don't be a baby."

He snorted in disgust. "I am not an infant. Fine. I will require a towel."

"Fine."

"I'll get you soap."

Outside, it was cold. Vegeta dragged the huge tub to the nearest lake, dipping it in until it was sufficiently filled, and pulling out the fish for lunch. The woman was waiting for him, holding out a bar of soap and a clean towel that he traded his flopping aquatic life for.

"Thank you," he said awkwardly, and they both shook their heads at each others' kind behavior.

"Just stop smelling so bad."

As soon as he'd heated up the water and immersed himself, did he hear an odd noise. It was a high pitched whine, similar to that noise that a mountain lion in heat had made before Vegeta had killed and eaten it. He turned his head, well tuned ears trying to make out what direction it was coming from. Only after he swam in a small circle around the tub to turn around did he realize that he was right before the kitchen window.

Black met black as he and Kakarotte's mate started at each other.

One of her eyes was bigger than the other.

She kept going 'ffffffffff' and Vegeta slowly reached for the towel. Knowing there was no way around it, he stood very quickly and covered himself with the thin piece of now wet cloth.

If there was one person on the planet who had little fear of humans and cared even less for their emotional state, it was him. Yet Vegeta still made sure to cover himself with that towel. "Woman."

"Vegeta."

"I need my clothes cleaned."

"Do that yourself."

Finally her gaze dropped to the kitchen counter, and Vegeta felt less like sneaking away. What would, what would Kakarotte do if his mate was not-looking at him with glassy eyes and ringing out a dry hand towel in her frenzied grip? Would he laugh this off, or be disarmingly honest and sincere. Look her deep into the shifting eyes and say things were okay?

"Woman," The Saiyan leaned into the window, hands wrapped in a death grip around the cloth. "Everything is fine."

"It is?" For the first time, she appeared shy. A maidenly blush covered her cheeks, and she still refused to make eye contact.

"Yes. Now come out here to collect and clean my garments."

Her footsteps were as bashful and reticent. She gathered his clothing without a word, only saying something once she was holding his clothes protectively. "You know, for such a short guy, you're in nice shape."

What would that moron do, what would that drooling idiot do? "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

Then the woman was walking away, looking almost happy. His clothes swung merrily from her arms, and he could almost here her humming. Well, so long as she finished cleaning his outfit, she could make all the odd noises she wanted.

"A very odd woman," Vegeta informed the lukewarm tub of water.

"Mom?

"Mom?

"Mom?"

"Hm?"

"Why are you so happy?"

"Oh, no reason. I just feel happy is all."

"Oh. Okay. It's just…you were smiling when Krillin called crying about his latest date."

"He'll find someone nice. One day."

She folded another shirt, smoothing down the fabric. "There's someone for everyone out there."

"Even…Vegeta?"

Chi-Chi paused. "Well. Maybe not everyone."

"But most people?"

"Yes, so long as they look and search hard enough. That's how I met your father."

Gohan meditated on this. "It must have taken you a while to find Dad."

"Yes."

"Since he's always gone, disappeared."

"Right."

"Fighting someone or training.

"Or just busy doing stuff like fishing and hanging out with Krillin and Yamcha.

"Or sleeping. Or eating."

She gathered up the recently cleaned clothes, the stretchy fabric feeling not unlike skin of some reptile. "…Gohan dear, go and start heating up the water for the rice. I'll go find Vegeta."

He was right outside, sitting with his back against the tub. It was so odd. So unlike Goku. Even though they were both fighters from the same nearly extinct race, it really went to show you how little those things meant. Their hair was different, though both spiky and dark. Vegeta wore his straight up, while Goku's fell to every side. The smaller man tan and lither where Goku was bulky and pale. And nothing could be more different than their personalities and quirks. Not even their smiles were similar.

And Vegeta's eyes held none of the characteristic warmth Goku's did. A darker shade and more heavily shadowed, you didn't want it to fall on you, unlike her husband's. People pleaded for Goku for arrive, and people pleaded for Vegeta to never come near them.

"Thank you," he repeated, taking the handful of clothes. The muscles in his arms and shoulders rippled with even that slight gesture.

"…are you making lunch soon?"

"Yes."

Finally, after looked at her, he sighed deeply. "Please go back inside so I can dress, woman."

"Oh, okay." And she fled before he could see the blush staining and warming her face.

In the house, her hands plucked at the glasses, gathering them, and nervously she poured rice into the heated water and tried to focus on preparing the fish. Did he prefer fish, or beef? He ate everything set before him without a complaint or compliment, neither showing any favoritism for one dish.

He'd only been interested in the potatoes to tell Gohan to leave some for her, and another stupid wave of heat entered her face. What was this? Ha, she was a married woman, happily married, with a son she adored and a house to protect. And…

Well, it had been a long time since there had been a man in the house. Goku's friends didn't count for several reasons, not the least of them being that Yamcha could talk to girls without horrible flirting, and that Krillin just couldn't talk to girls. They weren't too bad, for fighters, Chi-Chi allowed. But not real man. A real man, who seemed to need her and required her attention.

Sure, Vegeta seemed only interested in eating her food and annoying her. Sure, he seemed to have made himself somewhat cozy if that nest outside was any indication. Sure, he sometimes helped around the house and it had been so long since anyone had been here day in day out to do something nice for her.

Oh.

But that was absurd. Ha.

Truly crazy.

He didn't care for her.

Perhaps out of some long-buried guilt and gratitude for Goku sparing him drove him to this. He couldn't be polite and just admit that he owed Goku anything. Instead he would just help the family he had left behind. Just working off a debt he felt he had to pay.

"I don't care that you're Kakarotte's mate."

But what did that mean? It could mean…a lot of things.

"He's not here to protect you. I'm here to protect you."

Oh god. Goku wasn't here.

After another week, she relented to the brat's begging and Vegeta's offhand comments.

"He's scaring off the animals, Mom!"

"I could make sure the fire continues to burn if you didn't shove me out of the house all the time."

"Fine! Fine! He can stay!" She huffed at them both, turning her back on them. "Just make sure he doesn't bring any fleas into the house. And that he stays off the couch."

"So he sleeps in the guest bedroom?"

"No. The floor."

Vegeta looked outrage, despite sitting so comfortable in the rocking chair her father had made. "I'm not sleeping on the floor."

He looked downward. "You don't sweep enough."

"Aw, Mom."

"Fine. Then you two can share Gohan's room."

Her son didn't look as crushed as the Saiyan did. "We can have a sleepover!"

"I am not the Namek, to mother and nurse you."

"I can make popcorn!"

"…fine."

Gohan went digging in his closet for old sleeping bag for Vegeta, while Chi-Chi sliced carrots and had Vegeta in the garden digging for potatoes and turnips. His curses echoed into the kitchen, and she hummed along with them. It was nice, for once, to have an adult to constantly interact with. Just his yelling as he lost another boot in the heavy soil outside was pleasant to listen to, though she had to constantly tell Gohan to cover his ears.

They had fallen into a decent enough routine. It mostly consisted of making breakfast, yelling at Vegeta, him going to help her in the field, lunch, yelling at Vegeta, Gohan sparring with him and Piccolo, then the Saiyan going to bathe and her fixing his clothes before making dinner. It was oddly peaceful, no matter how much she and he would fight.

It had been a long time since she'd felt so calm.

Of course, this was all destroyed the following afternoon when she'd gone outside to collect his clothing, and found him just sitting in the tub.

His hair, not as spiky as normal, was nearly touching the back of his neck. In the large wooden tub, he looked domesticated as the tiger Goku and Gohan had dragged home and given a bath to help with its smell. Of course, it had eventually run away after ruining one of the walls of the house. But Vegeta wasn't that well-mannered.

The frighteningly intense eyes were closed for once, making him appear normal, and therefore strange.

"Vegeta? Are you awake?

"Vegeta?

"Alright then. I'll just take your clothes.

And now from this angle, she could see into the tub. See the tanned, rippled, bulging skin that was completely devoid of hair, but not of scars. They branded his skin, smooth looking or rough, intricate or simply and all unknown.

"Huh."

Well, now she knew what Vegeta looked like naked. Should she just run into the house to rub her eyes with hot peppers, or dash a rock into them right now?

Well, you're still looking at it. Shouldn't you turn away at some point? At least before he notices and comments on your staring.

"Woman, are you still there?"

The woman floundered, trying to create a lie, or to just duck from view and scramble away. But why should she fear Vegeta? Besides the obvious. It was her house, her property, and even the space pirate/murderer respected that fact. So she settled for nodding and saying a polite, nearly-under-her-breathe, "yes."

"Why?"

Chi-Chi told him the truth. "I don't know."

She took the clothes back inside as always, and inside told Gohan tomorrow night that he could go play with his little friends and spend the night at their home. At his eager grin, she patted his wild hair and put the balled clothes onto a chair. Already her son was going on about fishing with Krillin and sparing with Piccolo.

Honestly, she wasn't sure which was worse. Krillin would feed the boy and make sure he didn't get sick. But he lived with a pair of perverts who were unafraid to watch their television programs right in front of her son. With Piccolo, the most she could hope for was that Gohan's clothes wouldn't be completely destroyed.

"Just be careful," Chi-Chi told him, as usual.

"Sure Mom."

Without him, the house was quite and the doorways gaped. It was surprising how his simple presence could fill a room, even when he was quietly studying. Somewhere, a voice whispered of plans years ago when their where three people living in this home. When a man was here.

Well. Now she had a man again.

She shivered at that thought, feeling tears coming to her eyes. This couldn't happen. It couldn't. It simply couldn't be, could not be more than a vague stray thought to be ashamed of. She cleaned his clothes, ignoring the hot flush on her cheeks and the blurry vision and her stinging throat. If there was one thing she had always prided herself on it was her honesty.

They had exchanged vows and rings, lived together, raised a child, had been happy. No matter what, there were still these fact that were the bedrock of their marriage. They had gotten married. They had a child. They had been happy.

She wouldn't…betray him like that.

Vegeta. Whatever Vegeta was, and was to her. It didn't matter.

She swore to herself not to let anything happen, Gohan here or not. Standing in the kitchen silent but for the sound of running water, she vowed. She vowed as she had on her wedding day, dressed in white and bearing a smile, to remain faithful.

But still Goku did not come back.

Vegeta hardly narrowed his eyes at the lack of Gohan's chattering company. It was suspicious, as was the woman's focused attention, but he did his best to ignore it. Just stuffed himself with the boy's share of potatoes and ignored it.

"So, Vegeta, why are you here instead of at Bulma's? Does she not feed you anymore?"

"She fed me as much as I required, albeit while screaming at me over some foolish offense she had taken."

"Do I do that less?"

The Saiyan blinked, both surprised at her willingness to agree that she did indeed scream and that she did in fact do it less. "Yes."

"Huh. I guess I like you more."

Again, she played with the strap to that flimsy dress she wore. Its dark color accented her black eyes, which he noticed she'd drawn black lines around. The way she was dressed reminded him of Zarbon-though thankfully she wore less cologne. The Saiyan amused himself with the fantasy of her turning into her own version of that hideous and ferocious beast that the green-skinned man had on Namek.

When he looked up for the gravy boat, she was leaning across the table.

It was similar too. Reminding him of the other woman. When she would reach across the table for something unneeded to show off those pale udders that humans obsessed over. And every time, the stupid moron would giggle and blush. How they would coo at each other for that act, as though they were being subtle and the only ones in the room. Right around then would Vegeta would be recalling his missions and the slaughter and death he would rein on those insignificant planets. Quickly the mood would change to one he preferred.

"Oh. Vegeta. Could you pass the turkey?"

Vegeta swallowed the mush of celery in his mouth.

There was a trap here. He could sense it, though its exact nature escaped him. But it laid in wait for him to slip up and ensnare him. What was she planning? Was the Namek hiding in a closet to jump out, like the boy had to surprise him as a lark? If so, he would end up just like the brat: with a bloody nose and another hole in the wall left for Vegeta to fix.

"So how's your evening been?"

"Fine. Just." He narrowed his eyes. "Fine."

"That's good, I suppose."

"Is it?"

She took another sip of wine, looking as wary as he felt. "Sure."

"…okay."

"Do you like my dress?"

"What does it matter?"

"I'd like to know."

"It's fine. It covers your skin sufficiently."

"Is that all you care about?"

The short man chewed thoughtfully. "Does it not keep you warm enough?"

Goku's wife paused. "Now that you mention it, I am a little cold."

"Then dress in something warmer."

"Goddamn you," she stood up, hands slamming down to rest on either side of her plate. "Why are you even here?"

"Dinner."

"Is that all? God, this is just like how it is with Goku!"

Vegeta stopped trying to frantically shove food in his cheeks, sensing a fight and knowing damn well to grab as much as he could before she threw him out. His ears nearly perked up.

"Exactly like him. You are him without any good qualities. Just eating and training and wrecking everything! Oh. But you're not as tall or as good-looking."

Painfully, the Saiyan swallowed.

"I'm sick of being surrounded by him! Damn him! And you! He's not here, but his crappy replacement is! I'd prefer Piccolo to you. Or Krillin. Or Yamcha. Or, whathisname, Goku's hairy brother!"

"Raditz."

"Yeah. Him. Better than you." Chi-Chi pointed at him, hand shaking and showing off a layer of paint on each individual nail. Fascinating. She was definitely dressed like the other screaming woman, and Zarbon. Vegeta couldn't stop staring at her hand.

Especially when it narrowly missed his nose when she finally threw a punch at him.

It was pathetic, but hardly more so than any other human.

"Get out! I've had enough hungry idiots to last me a lifetime!"

There seemed to be a piece of roll in his throat that wouldn't dislodge itself. "About Kakarotte."

"What?"

"You're saying I am becoming him?"

"Yes! Just as useless as him!"

"Am I as strong? Stronger now?" A fiendish light was glowing in his eyes. Even he could notice it in the gleam from the soup-stained spoons. But when he inspected himself using the butcher knife, he could see no green in his irises.

"Are you going to cut your throat?" She had no curiosity in her voice, only venom.

"No." Vegeta set down the knife. "But it's working. I am more powerful. And I was considering blowing up that bald weakling to see if that might help me as it did Kakarotte. Though I may still do it..."

"Good for you. Bad for the rest of us, I'm sure."

He found himself smiling at her.

She flinched back, horrified.

"I think this is due to you. You are the reason Goku is so strong. You train him, somehow."

The woman nearly swallowed her tongue. "What are you babbling about?"

Vegeta tried to explain, hand still fondly touching the knife. "There is a 'superhero' that the blue woman was obsessed with. He was sent from another planet, (to conquer, I suppose) and gained strength from the sun in this galaxy while a substance from his own planet made him grown weaker."

She was staring at him, eyes small as she looked at him as one would a dangerous madman. "Are you talking about Superman?"

"Yes. Him. You are the planet's sun. You made that third-rate idiot stronger."

Chi-Chi just stared off into nothing, trying to understand.

He was looking at her very steadily. "I want you to treat me exactly as you would him. Exactly."

"Exactly?"

"Exactly."

The mother was blinking. "So. This is all a way to get back at Goku?"

Vegeta straightened from looming over her as best he could. "What? No. I. I am trying to defeat him. In order to do so, I need to be stronger."

"And to do that, you have to stalk my son and me?"

"…yes."

He got up to leave, satisfied that he would at least have the last word. Let him have the last word, woman. Just let him have that.

Just as he'd slammed the door, Vegeta heard her yelling, "Weird little bastard dwarf. And your costume is worse than Superman's!"

Really, perhaps it was a blessing in disguise. A warning, telling her to avoid this man.

If she wanted to meet someone, a man, she needed them to be normal and definitely not a Saiyan. They were all just trouble, even the one raised by humans. Especially him.

When he came back to her house, she found him not standing in the doorway demanding food, but going through her closet. He held up clothes, scrutinizing them. The sight of him holding up a gi of Goku's was one that would never leave her mind. He was scowling at the ridiculous amount of spare cloth that hung past his feet that told him no, this will never fit you.

It was a terrible way to be awoken.

"Woman, get up and fetch me a pair of scissors."

"No! No!"

After some struggle, she tore (literally) the clothes from his grasp and told him to go downstairs. "Just go! I'll make breakfast in a second. Just go!" He finally, grumbling, left the room and her holding Goku's old torn gi.

And unlike what she had done when Goku had fled off to space and danger, she did not clutch the fabric to her face and inhale his scent of sweat and mountain flowers and dirt. Now she just shoved it to the floor of the closet before slamming the door without a second glance. She didn't have time to fantasize and sigh over his lost self. No. She had to make breakfast and wait for Gohan to return with new bruises and dirty clothes and either an air of sheepish forgiveness that Krillin gave off, or the dangerous and uncaring aura of Piccolo.

He jumped her as soon as she had entered the room. Immediately, Chi-Chi held up a hand. "No, Vegeta. No."

"I want that idiot's clothes. If he comes back-"

"What? 'If?'"

"Then he can have them back. Or get new ones."

She pulled the ingredients for pancakes out of the cupboards while he followed her around. "You're not taking his clothes."

"Why not? He doesn't need them."

Which was true. She sighed and handed him carton of eggs and a frying pan. "Make your own eggs."

Miraculously, he did. Cracking the eggs with expert precision, reaching for and smearing the butter on the pan. All while bugging her. "There is no reason to cling to his belongings."

"You won't even fit in them!"

"That doesn't matter," Vegeta argued back. "Four eggs, or five?"

She hid a smile that she couldn't explain. "Just two, thanks."

"Where's the boy? Shouldn't he be back yet?"

"He's running late, of course."

He didn't mention Gohan again except in taking more food for himself. "I don't understand while you still have his clothes."

"I don't expect you to understand."

Vegeta sneered at her, something that would have been more effective had his chin not been smeared with strawberry preserves. "Is this some weak human issue? Sentimental nonsense? He will obtain more clothes when he returns."

"Yes," she poured more syrup on her pancakes.

"And this is why I can't have his clothes?"

Chi-Chi slammed the bottle down. "Do you really want to look like him?"

"No," he allowed.

"And do you think dressing like him will make you stronger?"

"No."

"Then why are we having this argument?"

"Do you argue with Kakarotte like this?"

"Yes."

"…then why can't I have his clothes? There is no reason for you not to hand them over!"

"They won't even fit you!"

"Mom?"

Chi-Chi turned to the front door. Her son stood there, dressed in torn dirty clothes with a sheepishly smile. He was followed by two figures, one very tall and one rather short. Both were bald enough to gleam under the kitchen and sun light.

"Hi, Mister Vegeta."

A nasal voice broke in. "Vegeta? He's here?"

"I told you," a gruff, deep voice whispered back.

"What's he doing here?"

"We don't know."

Vegeta looked abashed, and it was an expression only he could make look scary.

"Don't tell them," he told her in an undertone.

She smiled. "Why not?"

The Saiyan just glared at her. "You know why."

"Fine, fine."

Through breakfast at the more crowded table, the guests (new guests, she corrected) mostly just stared at Vegeta. Like he was a wild animal they'd domesticated, but still could not be trusted. They gaped at her when he did the dishes.

"What blackmail do you have on him," Krillin whispered, awe in his voice.

Chi-Chi just smiled some more.

"Just be careful." Somehow, the ex-monk who had warned Goku so strenuously about marriage only to desperate want one when he got older seemed to pick up on her indistinct, hardly conscious plans. "When you play with fire and all that."

"Oh, it's fine," she assured them all while passing her son a glass of milk. "He's somewhat harmless."

Vegeta growled from his spot before the sink, either at them or a stubborn spot on a dish.

"Just don't do anything crazy," Piccolo told her.

"You know," Chi-Chi informed him as soon as the others had left and Gohan was in his room. "Maybe you can try on his clothes."

Why did she feel so much pride at the other men's discomfort? Because she'd turned Vegeta from a beast to a man? He was still a beast. They were right to be upset over his presence. There was no reason to trust him, or be friends with him. Sure, he might make a meal and clean a plate, but that didn't mean he was a good person.

Bizarrely, it was like when she had arrived to take Goku's hand. How his friends had freaked out and tried to talk him out of it. They thought she was crazy for proposing, but him crazier for agreeing.

No one had warned her of Goku.

Somehow, despite that outfit looking so normal on Goku and his friends, it was bizarre on Vegeta. It was wrong somehow, even though he had the same coloring as Yamcha. She tried to find a comparison for the sight, one of the Slim Jims Gohan and Goku loved in carrot skins, but it fell short. As short as Vegeta looked in that outfit.

That hair of his really added some height from a distance, and he looked even taller in slim fitting clothes, but in that mile of orange and blue fabric, you could truly see how small he was. Except for the large curved muscles very visible through the outfit hanging off him.

He waved an arm in disgust, the sleeve hanging down to his forearm like it very much wasn't supposed to. "Ridiculous."

"How come he's so much taller than you? I thought you were some Saiyan elite?"

"Better diet?"

It took her a full minute to realize that perhaps he'd been trying to compliment her. By then it was too late to thank him, so she just showed her vague gratitude by not stabbing him with the safety pins or laughing at the sight of him in that gi.

And maybe he showed his own thanks by finally taking the outfit off with a dignified snort and allowing her to see him only in a pair of underwear, ones even tighter than that spandex type outfit he normally wore.

They ended up back in the kitchen. Saiyans and their stomachs. Why did so much of her life with them revolve around a dish and a refrigerator?

"You know," the woman said, gazing down at her fingernails, so disinterest in him she couldn't even muster the energy to glance in his direction. The paint on them was chipping in a few spots."I'm almost surprised you aren't following his example more?"

"More? More how?"

Was it pathetic, or cute how easily he could be led?

"With a family? Settle down like he did."

Vegeta looked taken aback.

"But then," she kept her voice casual. "With those shorts of yours you probably won't be able to have any children."

His mouth opened and closed and opened. "Children?"

It was like he'd never heard of the word.

"Yes. Don't you want any kids? A pack of little Vegeta's to terrorize the planet?"

He crossed his arms. "I will not procreate with anyone unworthy."

"Who's worthy?"

Vegeta did that fish trick again. "No one. I am the last pure-blooded Saiyan left."

"And really, when you take into account that there's no half- or quarter- female Saiyan out there. Well." She patted his arm, stomach giving a giddy flop at the feeling of warm solid skin. "Have fun with that.

"How old are you, by the way?"

"It doesn't matter," he scowled at her.

"So the Saiyan race is just going to die then? And not with a bang, but a whimper. No. Not even with that. A bitter old man who thought he was too good for a wife."

"The Saiyan race has only me. But it's not dead so long as I breathe." He paused. "More useless, sentimental claptrap. If it was weak enough to die, then it deserved it."

"I guess we're better off anyway. Still, it seems almost a shame. You know. We could use more fighters to help protect the planet."

He remained stubbornly silent.

"Plus you might get lonely."

Vegeta snorted in disdain.

"No? Okay then."

He leaned forward, teeth gleaming dangerously between his lips. "What are you suggesting?"

"That you find someone you can stand talking to and have a few kids. Or try having a few kids."

His mouth was twisted, and she could nearly read the thoughts: but there's no one I can stand talking to. For all his supposed hatred of weakness and dependency, there was still a undercurrent of interest in this talk of babies. And what was more dependent than an infant?

Who could just stand by, emotionless, as their own species dwindled?

"What? You can't find a female who can stand you? I'm not surprised."

"I don't need a female."

Chi-Chi gave him a look, wide-eyed. "Oh, Vegeta. Do you not understand what the term 'procreation' means? Or are the Saiyan elites built differently?"

A choking noise sounded in his tanned throat. "I don't need to have a child."

"Why not? They can be a delight. Or a pain. But they're worth it."

"I have no urge to have one."

"Alright then. But I'll have you know that for only being a half-blooded Saiyan, Gohan is very strong."

"I suppose. Comparatively."

It was the nicest thing he'd ever said about Gohan.

And, though she knew it was disturbing to feel so, she was touched. What was nothing from another person was a lot from him. So unlike Goku, despite what she'd said before. The tiny things counted with him, rather than the grand gestures that Goku would occasionally demonstrate affection with.

What were Vegeta's grand gestures…?

Or was it better not knowing such a thing?

Still she wondered.

"I will not settle for a weak human," he warned her.

"Then find a strong one," Chi-Chi waved dismissively.

"Where?"

"You could try the records for the tournaments to see which women went far in it." Now she just wasn't being subtle at all. Before her, she could see Krillin's frowning, oddly motherly face and Piccolo glaring in his protective way. And Goku, always Goku, smiling or frowning, accepting with a shrug or a shocked disbelieving face.

Was she, was she offering-Chi-Chi didn't even know anymore what she wanted.

Vegeta looked lost in thought. Confused as her. Did he even like humans? What could he be attracted to? Probably not smallish pale dark-haired woman. It was so hard to tell with him, when enticing woman came onto the TV he tended to either mock them or ask questions such as why were they dressed in such little clothing and why did they wear paints on their faces? Did he have preferences? Surely he must.

Dark or pale women, black hair or something more exotic? A pale woman from up north, blonde and colorless? Blue-haired, perhaps? A blue-eyed, equally blue-haired scientist who constantly argued with him? Ah, but she was being ridiculous. Bulma was with Yamcha, and would probably go on a date with Piccolo before she touched Vegeta.

She was wondering what Vegeta was attracted to. Yes. There was no going back from this.

His brows were furrowed, eyes small as he worked something out through his head. "This is foolish."

"Maybe you should first meet someone you like, then have kids."

"This is foolish," he repeated.

Right here she wanted to just jump on him as she had Goku on their first night, demanding and stripping together, yelling at him over how ignorant he was, but how she would take care of that. All while Goku either looked on confused while she tore the clothes off his back, or frightened.

"Well," she gave an airy laugh, mocking herself. "I suppose you can always do what Goku did."

That obsessed glint came to him. "Yes?"

"And marry me. But, obviously," Chi-Chi had to laugh. This entire situation was so odd, and she knew she could not go through with this. "That won't work."

It was too insane. Vegeta, of all people? Couldn't she at least found a man a little taller, a little saner, and little less evil?

"Why not?"

The laughter died.

He was looking her up and down. "I need a mate. You are reasonably strong for a human female. Kakarotte is gone. You are used to bearing Saiyan young."

"You make me sound like an animal! An animal with a dozen children!" She stood to tower over him, still sitting.

Vegeta was wearing a skull-like smile, showing perfect white teeth. He chuckled. "I suppose that would be a way to spite that idiot. Taking his mate in such a way, and turning her into my own."

Her face was hot as she leaned across the table. "And do I get a say in this?"

He was still smiling, but almost gently. "You don't resent him?" Vegeta leaned in close enough to nearly whisper. "You don't want revenge?"

"Is this all this is? Just revenge?"

"What more could there be?" He laughed, his face younger, smoother.

He'd once been a child, like Goku had. It was hard to imagine him young and defenseless. With a tail and a ferocious appetite. Maybe, in a different time, he would have been the one sent here instead of Goku. The one to be raised by Grandpa Gohan, to meet Bulma, to be trained by Master Roshi. A boy who would have gone onto save the world.

"You Saiyans are awful at mourning."

Standing alone was enough to make her wary. Even more so when he began walking towards her. "Mourning what?"

There was little she could do to push him off, even if she'd been inclined towards saying no.

"Besides," he said into her neck, "You humans are too sentimental."

"And you'll teach me otherwise?"

He was muscular, but smaller than Goku. Compactly built, dense. She took a delight in the unfamiliar sent and feel of his body, spiteful, dishonest, unfaithful. The words passed through her head and gave her not a single twinge of guilt. All she felt was a rush of heat she hadn't felt for months (years?) rushing through her.

"What would Kakarotte do right now?"

"Oh," she muttered, shocked that he would still bring the other man up. But Vegeta didn't seem to care about such moral restrictions. "He'd usually hold and kiss me for awhile. He would go slow."

Vegeta lifted her against him, pushing her against the wall. That skull smile was back, and there was a look of delight in the black eyes. "He's a fool."

"Fine, then," Chi-Chi laughed again. "Show me what a fool he is."
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