A/N - Wow ... It's been a while. Hello there! Hope you're all still with me on this one. I appreciate that it's been over a year since I updated this fic, but here I am to continue where I left off. This chapter is me getting back into writing for this fiction, as the last fiction I wrote was quite dark and intense. So not much really goes on in this chapter, but I'd like to think it's a nice, cheeky little read for you. Also, my writing style has changed quite a lot since I last wrote this. You might notice it, but it shouldn't make too much of a difference. Anywho ... Bon apetit!

Thanks to my lovely, patient beta, Adli.

Igniting the Fire – Chapter Thirteen

Flaky Relations

Journeying through the many corridors of Capsule Corp for something remotely interesting was becoming quite bad habit of Vegeta's. Though his mind was far too preoccupied on the heavenly, salty flavours against the pad of his tongue (as he chewed on his thirtieth beef jerky of the day), there was still a weight of boredom lagging behind him. It might have been a correct assumption to say that he was addicted to the things, making damn sure that the older woman presented him with a fresh box every other day. He was going through them like they were his one and only meal, less satisfied after than before, his ravenous stomach crying out the minute he stopped chomping the last. He gnawed into the flaky meat, pulled and snapped it in half, before chewing unscrupulously.

He passed window after window, until a sight that captured his soul, froze him with dread. Walking around. Several of them. He narrowed his eyes at the darkened street just outside the grounds, and basking in the gaunt, yellow light of the street lamps was a group of humans dressed in a costume resembling Cell. There was six of them in total. All dressed the same, except for one buffoon who stupidly chose to throw a Hercule Satan costume on. Maybe three years ago Vegeta would have fallen for this old trick, but not this time. This time he knew that the most ridiculous, waste of time ordeal that was Halloween was taking place, yet again.

Humans were hard enough to comprehend as it was, but this?

Further down the street, amongst another group of cackling humans and their brats, were houses with oddly shaped lanterns outside their front doors, burning orange, with offensive faces carved into them. He didn't mind those. There was something strangely comforting about their sadistic grins, especially when they beckoned a brat to cry. He remembered, way back when he first took up residence on this ball of mud, Bulma dressing up in barely anything at all, with the lame excuse of this frivolous holiday.

Vegeta stopped chewing when he saw a familiar group of morons flouncing up the pathway. Bulma, Q-ball and the Toaster, Scarface and some other small woman with short hair, all strode up the path, evidently dressed up like the rest of the Earth's population, wielding buckets filled to the brim with candy. And Vegeta was never surprised to see—supposedly—adults walking around dressed as animals. That was what made him uncomfortable: the unsettling feeling of 'getting used' to something. Back with Frieza, there was never much time to get used to anything, especially when it came to planetary customs. Those planets had usually been obliterated within a day or so. Three days maximum.

The beef jerky was soggy and flavourless in his mouth, but he continued to chew thoughtfully. In a way, he was thankful this year, thankful that Bulma didn't even bother to try coaxing him into joining in with the festivities. Only once had he been made to dress like a fool, but he didn't let that brush his mind very often.

"Would you like to try one of my ghoulish treats, Vegeta?"

He jumped, too small of an action for the human eye to catch, and turned away from the window to see the older woman dressed in a hideous, pink, fluffy costume, an all-in-one ensemble, with giant fabric ears poking out of the top of her head. One of the ears was bent. He finally swallowed the lump of pulped meat, glanced at the tray she was holding, too dumbfounded to respond. Various sized cakes sat on the tray in a compulsive pattern, each one working as a unit to create a sharp-toothed face. With a quick hand, he took one and crammed it in his mouth. By the time he checked out the window again, Bulma had vanished, no doubt declaring her inebriated presence within the building in a matter of seconds.

"Well? Are they delightful, or frightful?" the older woman said, dancing about on the spot, like her bladder was about to erupt.

He'd forgotten she was there. As usual, her cooking was immensely pleasing. So much so, in fact, that he swiped the tray from her hands and continued his ambling through the building, trying to think of nothing other than the satisfaction the consumption of these cakes brought to his stomach.

"What was the name of that guy? Lance?"

They all laughed. Bulma laughed so hard she swore she was working up a six-pack. The five of them congregated around the breakfast bar in the kitchen, threw their bountiful earnings on the table and scattered them across the surface like they were searching for gold. It had been a good turn-out this year. Earlier, Bulma had taken Trunks out for his first Trick-or-treat, but the poor guy couldn't keep his mind on anything other than the multitude of vampires, witches and zombies walking past. His eyes had widened, almost popped out of his skull at the sight of them all. She was surprised he had held his nerve for so long. That was the pride from his father's side worming its way into his personality. When they had returned home he was too exhausted to eat, so she put him to bed, and then called her friends, under the begrudged promise that, if need be, Vegeta would tend to his son.

The start of the night was strictly located in the hottest bar in town called 'Vanity', where they had soon become bored of the stern faces and pinched lips, and decided upon some trick-or-treating of their own. Suffice to say they had hit the mother-load.

"Where's the alcohol?" Eighteen said, looking grave dressed as Link from Zelda.

Bulma looked at the android for a few seconds, amused by how she had fitted into the group in such a short amount of time. Sure, she could be quite callous at times, but there was something sweet about her, something endearing. Plus, she was making Krillin immeasurably happy. Bulma envied them, she supposed.

It was three in the morning by the time her guests started to show signs of fatigue, alcohol mashing up most of their conversations, making them talk nonsense amongst each other. They had spoken about which type of candy was the best, tested who could blow the biggest bubble, who could fit the most cola cubes in their mouth, and dabbled in a pathetic attempt at charades. Conversation was running dry, and Bulma glanced at the two couples sitting together. Veronica, Yamcha's new girlfriend, was pleasant enough, though she had very little input within the group. She mainly just laughed when it was expected, and occasionally whispered something to Yamcha, only for him to grin and nod, trying to find a way to re-join the conversation. However, they looked content.

Bulma chewed a piece of gum, reclined in her chair, looked at Krillin and Eighteen and said, "So this is pretty serious, huh?"

Krillin, dressed as Roshi, tipped his sunglasses and smiled, his cheeks glowing red. He opened his mouth to answer, but snapped it shut again, swallowed, and looked to the other end of the room.

They all turned round to see Vegeta leaning against the doorframe, indolently staring back at them.

Bulma swivelled back around in her chair, too focused on extracting some answers out of Krillin to be worried about Vegeta. "Well?"

"Well," Krillin started, waiting for the all-clear from Eighteen, sheepishly gazing beneath his shades. "I … uh … guess you could say—"

"When did you and Vegeta start sleeping together again?" Eighteen said, flicked her blond hair off her shoulder, folded her arms, and mirrored Bulma's relaxed posture.

The volume in the room thudded to the ground, as Bulma flung herself forward, choked on the piece of gum she'd been champing on for the past half an hour. Her face flushed with heat as she gasped for oxygen, eyes rolling to all the vacant expressions her guests were giving her. A heavy pounding on her back, thanks to Yamcha, loosened the lodged gum, allowing her to spit it out and chuck it in the bin, so she could try to resume a more nonchalant pose. She settled on crossing her legs and leaning back, while glaring at Eighteen, who looked smug with the outlandish results.

"You OK, Bulma?" Yamcha asked, narrowed his eyes at her, then flicked them back to Eighteen as the stand-off continued.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," Bulma said, raising a hand. "That's a bit … er … personal, Eighteen." The heat was still prickling her cheeks.

OK, so she hadn't divulged any cherished information with her friends yet, but, truthfully, there wasn't much to say. She'd vowed to keep her own matters to herself from now on. Even so, she could feel Vegeta scrutinising her, baiting her to say something stupid. That was why he was standing there, wasn't it? It was as if he could foresee an embarrassing event brewing from miles away, still managing to show up right on cue to witness the carnage.

Eighteen leaned forward, her eyes narrowing to slits. "So is mine and Krillin's situation."

Bulma laughed. When did the evening suddenly drop in tempo? When did the laughing and the joking stop? People were clearly sleep deprived and getting grouchy.

"Situation? Wait." She shook her head to clear the thought. "Don't you think it's a bit different? My question to Krillin wasn't that direct," Bulma said imploringly, hoping Eighteen would back down.

Who was she kidding?

The android's anger flared even more, making Krillin sink back into his chair like the hermit he was dressed up to be. "But you want to know, don't you?" She flopped back, threw her hands up, glanced at everyone else in the room. "I bet you're all dying to know." She folded her arms and huffed.

Everyone itched uncomfortably in their seats as the silence stabilised. Bulma couldn't deny that the thought may have crossed her mind on various occasions. Could she be held guilty for thinking such a thing, though? It was a fact that Krillin was human, and Eighteen was an android, so how, exactly, would they? The answer would forever lay dormant, because, deep down, she did not want to know the ins and outs of anyone's sex life. Other than her own, of course … But maybe that was why Krillin and Eighteen's relationship worked. Sex mightn't have been in the equation.

Vegeta laughed. They all turned round.

"I would've come down a lot sooner if I'd known it was going to be this entertaining," he said, and smirked.

That was it. She'd had enough. Everyone was tired. It was time to go home. She yawned, discretely patted her cheeks to make sure they weren't still blazing with embarrassment, and slithered out of her chair. "Right, I think we'd better call it a night, guys." She sighed for dramatic effect, swept hair off her face with one sweating palm.

No one disputed against the idea, and everyone left in a sensible fashion, including Eighteen, who, in her own way, apologised for her little outburst, blaming the alcohol … naturally.

Trunks was in a peaceful sleep, hopefully dreaming about something pleasant, and not the traumatic experience he had had to withstand earlier in the evening. After checking up on him, Bulma threw herself in front of the vanity mirror and rubbed at her face with a damp washcloth, ridding herself of the cat-like eye makeup she had tried to master. The way Eighteen had spoken to her was still bugging her. She wondered as to why she didn't argue with the woman like she would have done, say, maybe a handful of years ago, when her sometimes brash personality got the better of her. Trunks had changed her. Vegeta had changed her, which was an annoying thought.

It still didn't give Eighteen the right to pick at her like she was a piece of old gum on her shoe.

It was getting colder, so Bulma opted for the comfiest, fleecy pyjamas she'd ever purchased in at least ten years. Style was not something she worried about when it came to pyjamas, even if they were bright orange with little ducks printed all over them. She got into bed and sat on top of the covers, squinting at the pages of a book she was desperately trying to immerse herself within, but couldn't stop thinking about how the night had ended. Not that she was embarrassed or anything, but why did Eighteen say such a thing? Bulma snapped the book shut and slammed it on the table next to her bed, deciding on a trudge down the corridor to Vegeta's room.

His bedroom door was gaping open, so she strode in and looked around, seeing the steam easing out from underneath the en-suite door. She knocked three times, stood back and folded her arms, listened to the sound of running tap water. Why was there so much steam? Was he running the bath and the sink? Did he ever think of waste?

"Vegeta. A word, please."

She stood idle, dabbling with whether to knock again, when the door swung open, blasting light and hot air into the room. It felt overbearing on her skin. Beneath the film of dispersing mist, Vegeta stood over the sink, splashing handfuls of water into his face, continuing his routine like she wasn't there at all.

Bulma tapped her foot, ran her tongue around the inside of her mouth, before saying, "So you found that funny, huh? I didn't see you trying to defend me back there."

He stood up, yanked a towel off the rail and dabbed it against his face, smearing it down to pat it across his neck and shoulders. "Whatever you and that tin-can hiss about has nothing to do with me." He dropped the towel and stepped over it.

Bulma stared at it, the small lump of crinkled material heaped beneath his feet, damp onto the tiles. "It is when she's blabbing that sort of thing." She looked away.

"What thing?" he said, stepped uncomfortably close to her.

"You know. That thing you found so hilarious." She sighed, finally allowing her eyes meet his.

"I didn't find it hilarious, at all."

She wanted to step aside him to check if he didn't still have the hot tap running, because it was too warm in his room. Fleecy duck pyjamas were not a good idea, after all. Then again, visiting Vegeta was not the plan, yet it had become, unashamedly, a regular thing for her, and as he looked at her, awaiting the next move, she felt herself drawn into him again. A familiar force enveloping her, pushing her into him.

"Hm," she said, running a finger down his chest. "You're definitely not laughing now."

In a whirlwind of speed, he grabbed her wrist, led her to the bed, pushed her down so her legs were just about dangling off the edge. He dropped to his knees in a mad panic, gripped under her thighs and dragged her into him, like she was a rag doll. Her breathing quickened already, anticipating everything yet not expecting his actions. Every time he surprised her, and yet he relied on such carnal instinct to exact his emotions, which struck her at all once.

He wrapped his fingers around the heavy waistband of her pyjama bottoms, curling them, and he peeled them down until they gathered around her ankles. She shuffled on her bum to kick them off, but was given no time as he gripped her hips and his mouth was on her, tongue was circling her, fingers were in and out of her so fast she lurched forward into half a stomach crunch, unable to believe the situation she was in. Very aware that it was four in the morning, and Vegeta's bedroom door was wide open, Bulma futilely tried to stifle her pleasure by grasping a handful of linen sheets and cramming it into her mouth, while flinging her head back, allowing the mash of events to continue. The sheets snapped out of her mouth as he sank his tongue inside her slowly, then ran it upwards, tantalising the skin, and started sucking. She was going to die. She gasped, lifted her hips a fraction off the bed, then down as he dropped the pace once again. No, no, she wasn't going to die. He was, if he was stopping. She could feel the smirk spreading across his face as he stopped, and she groaned, rolled her head to the side, spread her legs even wider, throbbing and hanging on the edge of sanity. She wanted more of him every time, but could never get enough.

Bulma was about to scold him, when he moved her further up the bed and was on top of her, their noses touching as he watched her startled expression sink. She blinked, looked into the eyes of this man and failed to comprehend how they always wound up in this scenario, each time feeling anew against all the others. She was hot, sweating in her fleecy jumper, legs akimbo, with a Saiyan lying on top of her, silently exposing emotions, urging him to decode every action she made. Then he was inside her, sighing heavily as he sank right to the hilt, his eyes darkening as she arched her back, meeting into each achingly slow thrust. The detachment was still there, as Vegeta's hands remained pinned at the sides of her head, while his pace quickened, and he pounded into her, her body building up towards its peak faster than she ever imagined it could.

And that was how it was, until they both climaxed and fell asleep together. That was how it had been for the past month.

After a deep, dreamless sleep, Bulma woke to a pleasantly warm autumn morning, the lazy orange day light intermittently wafting into the room each time the gentle breeze touched the curtains. She was on her side, her hand lacking feeling after being tucked under her head for the entire night. As she turned over, her body ached, still unaccustomed to the ferocity of Vegeta's ways in the bedroom, and her chest swelled at the sight of him. He was facing her, his cheek resting on his forearm, face relaxed, a tuft of hair plastered against his forehead, and still immersed in sub consciousness.

With her, he was always at his most vulnerable, exposing himself in every way with the possibility of being shot down. It made her skin prickle, thinking that. When he first came to Earth the thought hadn't even crossed her mind that they could ever be where they were today. Vegeta's breathing came in tiny huffs of air, so peaceful, so tranquil, and Bulma sighed, letting the smile she'd been holding back spread across her face. There had been a lot of sex in the past month, and it always presented itself in a crazy rush of adrenaline and hormones, neither one of them really thinking about what they were doing until they were actually doing it. It was as if they were teenagers, unable to keep their hands off each other, rushing into things in the name of lust. She took that, knowing that Vegeta wasn't used to any kind of relationship, and that it would take some time for him to adjust. And the sex was sensational.

Bulma reached out to brush the hair off his forehead back into to place, but was stopped by the distant wailing of her son. She sighed, guessing the sentimental moment would have to wait for another day, because it was breakfast time for Trunks.

Too many humans were running around the compound. Inside and outside, their irritating manoeuvring around the place was really beginning to test his patience. All he felt like he was doing these days was watching, stalking their activities until the job was finally done, which, Bulma had promised him was soon, though never specified the exact day and exact time. Pathetic.

This time he was unable to hold back, and decided to take a trip outside to see why the little weaklings were taking so damn long on his new gravity simulator. A month, Bulma had told him. It was going on two months, and as far as he could see, nothing other than an outer shell stood before him. His feet trampled against the thick, dead foliage the change in weather had created, as he marched over to the new dome situated at the very far end of the lawn; to give him peace, he hoped. There weren't any windows, which was what he had specifically asked for, but this made it hard for him to sneak a quick look at what was happening on the inside. Not that he would have had a clue, anyway. Nevertheless, humans were scrambling in and out within seconds, each one grasping onto the flapping papers in the wind. He sidled to the door, a little tempted to go in, but not enough to have to face the riff raff inside. It didn't matter. Well, it did more than anything. But he wouldn't lower himself to a recognisable inquisitive nature.

He sniffed, narrowed his eyes as the door zipped open and another male wondered out pushing a pair of glasses further up his long nose.

"I'm guessing it works, then?"

Again, someone had managed to catch him unaware, making him flinch. This time it wasn't the older woman, but the blond, short-haired female he had watched tailing Bulma's every move for the past month or so. She was standing too close, so he stepped back and frowned, disengaging himself from her presence, hoping she would take the hint and go away.

But she didn't.

"The chip … in your head … to stop the nightmares?" She looked at the floor, a little baffled by her own blabbering mouth. Then her head snapped up, a beaming smile spread across her blushing face. "Sorry," she said, holding out a hand to which Vegeta stared at, mortified. "I'm Mercedes. Bulma and I came up with the idea for the … uh … you know." With the same hand, she gestured to his face, which confused him even more, then, covering her shame, dropped the hand to her side.

Another human wondered into the building. And all of a sudden one of them was a mere few meters away, wielding a giant canon, which emitted air and a roaring sound that blew the leaves off the lawn. How many of them were needed? And did it really take this many to create a fucking gravity simulator, when Bulma could have done it herself?

"When will this be completed?" he finally said, filling in for the awkward woman's unfortunate lack of intelligence.

She arched an eyebrow, obviously taken aback by the question, cleared her throat and looked over her shoulder at the work-in-progress. "Oh, it should be in a few weeks. Bulma—I mean, Miss Briefs—needs to configure the right gravitron settings, then it should be good to go."

He huffed, stood his ground. That woman was to walk away first, once she realised her presence was no longer needed, even when it wasn't needed to begin with.

But she didn't.

"Sorry, can I ask you something real quick?" she said, her eyes glowing with delight.

He shot her a disinterested look, then looked past her at one of the trees in the garden, its branches swaying back and forth, letting the last few of its leaves go adrift to the wind, circling.

"What are you going to be doing in there?"

He stared at her. Was she stupid? He didn't even want to answer such a retarded question. In fact, he had a right mind to blast her on the spot. It tickled his conscience, an act that he was so used to doing in a split second. That was too many years ago, though. He couldn't do that now, even if he really, desperately wanted to. Like with this ignoramus.

All he could do now was feed her idiocy. "Training …"

She smiled an awful, sorrowful, almost pitiful smile at him, which made his distaste for her grow even more so. "But, the Cell games are over … There's no more threat," she said, wrapping a lock of hair around her finger.

"There's always a threat," he mumbled, bored of the conversation.

Beyond her head, beyond the tree he had been looking at, Bulma strode across the garden, pushing Trunks in his mobile chair, and he watched her, effortlessly grabbing his attention and erasing his mind of the trivial woes he had been so focused on before.

"So … what kind of training?" The woman before him was now frowning.

He blinked, angled his head. "Why is an Earthling asking me that?"

"Well … I'm curious. That way I'll know to sync the gravity simulator."

He narrowed his eyes, but had to get the last glimpse of Bulma before she ventured out of view. "Ask her," he said, gesturing across the lawn to Bulma. "She seems to have control over everything." And he walked away, unsure what to do with the nauseating twitching in his palms.

He was standing under a cold shower thinking about her … again. It was boredom. It had to have been. Aimlessly he spend his days eating, sleeping and at any chance taking this woman who he had a burning obsession to touch every time she breezed past him. What was happening to him? Of course, he would never acknowledge it. Every time he felt himself drifting towards that peculiar, unfamiliar territory, he shut his mind off completely. He did not want to think about anything anymore. But she was consuming him, possessing every inch of him, and he couldn't stand for it. Nor would he sit down and take it like a bitch.

The fickle glow of her ki was loitering within his mind's eye as he followed her life force wandering through to Trunks' room, around to her quarters, past his own room, and down the stairs. A part of him, albeit very small, wondered why she hadn't stopped by his room on her travels, but he quickly shook the idea away. He had become like an animal in heat. Surely, sooner or later, the feeling would pass, would be sated so much that he would no longer bear the sight of her. Still, he wasn't so convinced.

To take her mind off everything that had rapidly accumulated over the past couple of days, Bulma decided that, for one evening, she would vegetate in front of the TV, eating the remaining candy she had, while watching crappy reality shows until she would finally cave and fall asleep on the sofa. Unravelling a new piece of Hubba Bubba, Bulma squinted at the screen as a line of muscular, tan men all stood in before a girl while she deciphered which six out of the twelve were gay. It was trash, but she loved it, scoffing as the girl got it wrong three times.

She sank lower onto the sofa, shimmying a blanket around her shoulders, as she blew bubble after bubble, until one final, mighty bubble popped on her face.

"Disgusting."

Vegeta made his way to the sofa, perched on the other end, grimaced at her while she scratched the film of gum from her face.

"Hey," she said politely, smiling.

He examined at the TV screen, brows knitted together as one of the guys was recalling his time on the show in a very camp way, throwing his hands up in the air, gesticulating after every word he said.

'I just don't know how she guessed correctly', the guy said, huffing and flicking his copper bangs off his face.

Bulma laughed, more so at Vegeta's perplexed expression than anything, and she threw her legs across his lap, sinking further back into the sofa. He stiffened, shot her a look, before turning back to the screen. He definitely wasn't interested in it. Maybe she could find something he would favour.

Nothing was on. They had over three thousand channels, and not a single damn thing was on. Not for Vegeta, anyway. In the end she just threw on Japan's Funniest Home Videos, and cackled when a cat dive bombed off a couch trying to reach a window ledge. But soon even that wasn't enough to distract her from him being there. The tension, with each passing second that felt like an hour, was thickening, crawling onto her skin, stirring up that adrenaline once again.

She swallowed the gum, wincing as it slugged down her throat, and gently, in a soft, circular motion, rubbed Vegeta's crotch with her foot, waiting for his response, watching the stern profile of his face. The bulge in his jeans grew larger, but he remained intently focused on the canned laughter booming out of the TV speakers, his body betraying him. Bulma bit her lip, continued her onslaught, feeling him growing beneath the pad of her foot, trying to remain silent and not give out a weird little moan at pleasuring him.

Vegeta sighed through his nose, restraining by hopelessly grounding himself into the cushion of the sofa, angry that his body was giving into the torture regardless. This time she had chosen to come at him from a unique angle, but apparently, according to his engorging appendage, it was even more ensnaring than the last. Evidently, a single touch from her, outside of his clothing, was enough to provoke his lust. He clenched his jaw tight as sparks of electricity ran up and down his body, resonating from her actions, and it was enough for him to grab her foot.

His breathing was heavier than he thought, after the laughter from the TV had dispersed, and he checked her face, still trapping her squirming foot in his hand. He sat looking at her for a disconcerted moment, her chest rising and falling, the TV leaving a metallic hue on her skin. Even with his outstanding reflexes, he was unprepared when she scrambled across the sofa and onto his lap, squashing their bodies together, their mouths, as she kissed him deeply, hungrily, drawing his face up to hers. His eyes were wide, when she ground her hips against his and he responded almost instantly, too stunned by this wisp of a female to do anything other than immerse himself.

Gripping her hips to steady her, he regained control and pressed against her, becoming spurred on by each muffled moan she garbled into his mouth. The sound from the TV had shrunk until it vanished, gone with any entity in the room other than Bulma and himself. Nothing else was of concern while she was near him, on him. Fingers dug into her skin as she leaned back to frantically undo the zip of his jeans, freeing him. The look of awe on her face gave him momentous pleasure that he hadn't ever felt before, and he basked in it, in the rapture this woman had given him. Not just physical pleasure, but everything around that. It hadn't been glaringly obvious at first, yet as the days grew and his time on Earth solidified, he was beginning to see how much significance she held. As burdening as she was, she was also a beacon for him to follow, to guide him out of the darkness.

She rolled up her night dress and, gripping his shaft, guided him inside her. She smiled lazily, allowing him to settle into her, before kissing him deeply, bucking against him and building up a rhythm he could easily match. He inhaled between clenched teeth, holding her waist, allowing her control, relishing in the feel of her insides. She whimpered, clamped her hand over her mouth to stop herself, but he peeled it away, wanting nothing more than to hear her cry out when he made her come. She shook her head, smiled a secret, abashed smile, and threw her head back, letting go, moaning, grinding against him so hard.

Earlier, the thought had harrowed him. The possession she had over him had somewhat set him back within his advancements as a Saiyan, back when he first stayed at Capsule Corp. The thought of him ever getting tired of her was unhinged, unnatural. What they were doing was new to him, the feeling he was getting was troubling and purifying at the same time. It was like he had a flame dancing in the palm of his hand, and had to try to keep it alight without having any resources to do so. He did not know what to do with this. He didn't. He could have her ten times a day, and would still feel a hollow in his chest where his heart may or may not have been. No one had ever meant more to him than if they served a beneficial purpose. Once she had been that person, in order to help him reach his goal. Now she was something more.

And he didn't know what to do about it.