...Wake up, my little Prince, a soft voice breathed in his ear.

Vegeta snapped awake with a gasp and, instantly, the first thought to claw its way through the remnants of his nightmare was: Where am I? It was a common reaction created from decades of waking up in unfamiliar territory aboard warships, space pods, and an unnamed multitude of alien worlds.

Gripping the arms of the chair he was seated in, he looked out of the window and didn't recognize the urban landscape that was spread out as far as he could see. In the admittedly early hour all he saw were contrasting lights amidst a cityscape of twisting spires and gentle curved shapes. There were no fires indicative of a raging battle, no screams of the dying or the charring stench of death that he was so accustomed to. If anything, the city beyond appeared remarkably peaceful and the Saiyan wondered what he was doing here as a direct contrast to such apparent tranquility. Then it came to him.

Earth . . . he was on Earth.

Falling back in the chair with a grunt, he raised an absent hand to his waist in search of that comforting presence and his weary features tightened when he came up empty. Still half-asleep it eventually dawned on him that his tail was gone; another casualty of Saiyan pride and arrogance that this world had effortlessly claimed. He slumped in defeat at the mere reminder. No home world, no throne, no people, no tail. He was a mere shadow of a Saiyan now. A ghost holding onto lost traditions nobody cared about. Why did he even bother?

Shaking his head, he got to his feet while rubbing the small of his back with a grimace of discomfort. He eyed the bed in the room with resentment and wished he could get used to its soft surface. All he ever managed was a few hours of restless slumber in that rectangular nest before he ended up going to the chair and sleeping that that arms-folded/legs-spread pose that years of being in the space pods had drilled into him. It was the only position he found remotely comfortable anymore. It was just another legacy of being a puppet of Frieza he had to deal with in the course of his life.

Glancing at the clock on the dresser he saw with no surprise that it was barely five in the morning. He hadn't gotten more than four hours sleep on any given night since crash-landing in the Capsule Corporation yard two months ago, and it didn't look as if this time was going to be any different.

With a sigh, he stalked off towards the bathroom in the hopes of salvaging something out of this already shitty day . . .

Still more than half-asleep, Bulma shuffled her way into the kitchen of the Capsule Corp. building in her nightgown and fuzzy slippers and began to salvage something for breakfast. Ever since Vegeta's unexpected return, the Briefs family food budget had skyrocketed. It was six o'clock in the morning and Bulma was hoping to beat the moody Saiyan to the last piece of chocolate cake left over from yesterday's supper. The minute she opened the fridge door, her perspective of the day dropped a notch. The cake was gone. Not only that, there were only two pieces of bread left, both crusts, one apple with a bite out of it, one cheese slice, and a bottle of juice with about one gulp left in it. Other than condiments the refrigerator was bare.

"I should have known . . . " she muttered. She pulled out the milk carton and swished the contents with a frown. There was about half a cup of milk leftover from Vegeta's assault. When she grabbed a bowl and overturned a box of her favorite cereal, only a meager handful of survivors spilled out.

"Son of a bitch." She placed her face in her hands in disgust. It was going to be a long day.

A shower and a change of clothes later she headed eagerly downstairs to the Research and Development labs on the ground floor of the headquarters building. She, her father, and a handful of technicians were mapping out a new communications microchip that had the potential to revolutionize interstellar transmissions; if any of them could figure out the schematics, that is. The chip relied on an unheard of decagonal co-dependency that more than quadrupled the speed and processing power of the model currently in use. Bulma was translating the elaborate schematics into the company mainframe to make a three-dimensional image to better understand the chip's function. She'd never admit it, not even to her father, but the computational notations that the designer had included with the detailed designs were almost over her head. Almost. It was the greatest challenge she'd had since Namek and if Bulma thrived on anything, it was a challenge.

Before she reached the doors of the main lab Vegeta pushed them open as he was leaving. The pair came to a sudden stop and eyed one another warily before the Saiyan piped up, "You look like shit. Is that the style now?"

"I wouldn't know. You set the standard," she shot back, unruffled.

His lips twitched in amusement, which was about as close to a sincere smile as he got when he was around her. "Good comeback. You do realize that people like you who believe that they know everything are annoying to those of us who actually do."

"Vegeta, your arrogance is only matched by your insignificance. Why do you take yourself so seriously? Nobody else does."

"I'd be very easy to get along with if you could just learn to worship me," he said adding a wry chuckle at her dirty look.

"Enough with the verbal sparring," she said in surrender. "You know, I didn't appreciate you cleaning out the kitchen of everything edible this morning."

"Your mother should shop more often," he said aloofly. He was wearing a pair of gray sweatpants and a black, sleeveless T-shirt, on his way to start his morning jog. The explosion in the gravity simulator had been a week before and she could still see the faded bruises on his face and arms.

"Mom's been shopping practically every day since you arrived, you moocher."

"A Saiyan in training needs to eat."

"Is that so? Well, food costs money I'll have you know. Not that you give a damn. Maybe you should get a job and contribute to the household instead of freeloading and intimidating my father every time you break something."

"You seem to have this preoccupation with food, woman. You'd be better off coming with me on my run."

Bulma blinked at him. "Did you- Are you implying that I'm out of shape?"

That damnable smirk of his was back. There were some days when she wanted to claw that smile off his face, but she knew she'd never survive the action. "Some exercise would do you some good," was all he said as his answer.

She sputtered for a few seconds and then stepped around him to continue to the lab. "I don't have time for this bullshit. I'm working on something important!"

"You are up early. For you, anyway. What's got you so excited?"

"Nothing you would understand, just a micro-chip design. I'd try to explain it to you, but it would be over your head." She added a sniff of disdain.

His dark eyes narrowed in annoyance. "Try me. Saiyan economy was based on technology-"

"-That your race stole from helpless worlds as you conquered them. I know all about how your kind made its living."

Beginning to get angry now, he persisted, "We still had to figure out ourselves how to use the technology in order to replicate it for our own uses. You seem to dismiss the Saiyajin as warlike savages. We were a complex and intellectual race of noble warriors."

"Butter it up all you want to. It was that arrogance that killed your people off," Bulma said in a dismissive tone. "Now you're just a worthless prince of an extinct race. I imagine the universe is breathing a sigh of relief over that. I know I am."

He made a choked hiss in response, his face visibly darkening at her clipped words. That vein on his left temple popped out and for an instant, she actually thought he was going to attack her. He ended up whirling away and stalking out of the building, almost bowling over an employee who was coming into work.

Bulma regretted her words immediately. Vegeta, like the rest of the surviving Saiyans, had been forced to work for the very being that had been responsible for the destruction of their home world. He hadn't needed her to grind his face into the fact as coldly as she had. He could just be such a damnable, irritating person at times!

She debated giving chase but caught a glimpse as he left the compound to begin his run and knew she wouldn't have a hope of catching up with him. Reporting to the lab she went to her console to begin the day's data-entry, but her mind just wasn't on the job. Several technicians drifted over and attempted light banter only to find her lost in thought and unresponsive. They decided to leave her alone. Eventually a hand dropped on her shoulder, making her jump in surprise and when she looked up she saw the kindly face of her father smiling down at her. "It's lunch time, daughter."

She sat back and stretched. "Is it noon already? I lost track of the time."

"I think you're due for a break," Dr. Briefs said in an amused tone, studying the monitor. "You've entered the exact same grid-radiant coordinates three times in a row."

She scrolled back and saw that he was right. "...oh. Sorry about that. It would make the job easier if I could talk to the designer just once."

"I told you that the blueprints came from one of the Capsule Corp. labs in Europe. The technician is currently in the field and unavailable."

"I'd like to meet him when he comes back," she said as she got slowly up from her chair. "The guy is a genius. I think I'm in love!"

Smiling for no apparent reason, her father replied, "You'll get to know him in due time, I'm sure. Come along to my office. Your mother brought down sandwiches."

Her stomach growled, pouncing on the word, and both of them laughed. For the next hour Bulma spent the time alternating between eating and ranting over her brief confrontation with Vegeta earlier in the corridor. Her father compassionately remained silent while he listened and waited until she had gotten the anger out of her system before he said gently, "That wasn't a very nice thing to say, Bulma."

She drank from her cup of coffee, collecting her thoughts, before finally admitting, "No, I guess it wasn't but he's such an arrogant jerk most of the time! Sometimes I wish I had never . . ."

"Invited him back here after all of that terrible Namek business?"

"Yeah," Bulma muttered. When Vegeta had accompanied the surviving Namek people to stay at Capsule Corp. she had told her parents that he had been an ally that that they had met on the planet, deliberately keeping his origins vague. It was fortunate that he barely resembled the alien who, with Nappa in tow, had struck terror into every inhabitant on Earth. Her parents never suspected his true identity and she had to endure their eager acceptance of him even while she, and the rest of their friends, knew the brutal truth of the Saiyan's destructive past.

That had been almost two years ago and they all had settled into the charade. But she still didn't have to like it. Or him. "He's damned ungrateful for everything we're doing for him. I wish he had just stayed out in space and left us alone!"

"But he didn't," her father said in Vegeta's defense. "He returned here because he had nowhere else to go. From what you've told me he has no home or people to turn to. He's among strangers here and views everything he encounters as a possible threat. Now tell me, how can I let my conscience turn my back on him and send him away?"

Her cheeks burned and she found herself unable to meet his eyes. Part of it was that she'd had to lie to her father but the other, surprisingly, was feeling sympathy for the Saiyan. "Dad, Vegeta is a lost cause. He's only here for the free food and the gadgets that you build for him. Once this business with the androids is all over, he'll take off and forget all about us. He already did it once before." The Saiyan's 15-month disappearance during the Garlic Saga was still something of a sore point for her. Vegeta had hung around Capsule Corp. for almost four months until the Namekians had used their Dragonballs to wish back Krillin and Yamcha. Once he had heard that Goku was still alive and out in space somewhere he had stolen the Capsule ship and blasted off without a word to anyone. Her parents had accepted the act in stride, but Bulma had felt betrayed and used. None of them had gotten so much as a single gesture of appreciation for all that they had done for him. Now that he was back, it was happening all over again.

Dr. Briefs considered this very carefully as he examined his daughters' frustration. "You make a good point, but I ask you; if he is so unredeemable then why is he training at such a maniacal pace to face a battle that isn't even his?"

"It's his competitiveness with Goku, that's all," Bulma said as her answer but it sounded weak. Her father heard the indecisiveness in her words and kissed the top of her head and went back to work, leaving her alone to ponder his words and her own conflicted feelings.

Before returning to her office, she left the headquarters building and walked around it to the south side where the Capsule 3 gravity simulator was located. The circular chamber was rocking in its support brackets as the interior endured one of Vegeta's frenzied training sessions. Before the accident that had leveled the original capsule, the Saiyan had been training at three hundred times Earth gravity. Despite his injuries and the delay in replacing the module, he still insisted on continuing where he had left off. Bulma had given up trying to make him see reason, but it worried her that he appeared so driven in his training that it had actually reached a point of masochism. It took some time for her to understand Saiyan physiology: The more severe an injury a Saiyan received, the stronger one got. Vegeta was going out of his way to cripple himself just so he could reach a level that Goku boasted easily. It was driving him insane.

She climbed onto one of the supports and looked inside the closest view portal. The chamber was active, the interior lit with its red caution lights and the sparse surroundings shimmered as if through a heat haze from the inhuman pressure imposed on it. Directly across from her Vegeta was engaged in deflecting ki bolts back and forth between several robotic sentries. There was none of the Saiyan's usual precision or grace with his parries; his movements were only clumsy desperation.

He tried to get to the air to evade one attack and was hauled roughly down by the extreme gravity where only a tight roll saved him from being shot. He was wearing down; even Bulma could see that from her vantage point. He was breathing so hard that he appeared close to hyperventilating. When one of the sentry's deflected his ki bolt back at him, he managed to punch it away but it created the necessary diversion for the other to get on his blindside and attack. The next shot drove him to his knees and the ricochet of the remaining blast nailed him directly in the ribs before he could bring up a shield of defense.

Bulma flinched when he heard his agonized screaming but remained on her perch knowing full well any interference would not be tolerated. Beneath her Vegeta struggled to rise from where the blast had thrown him and coughed up an alarming amount of blood as he cradled his side. He got agonizingly to his feet, his knees threatening to buckle under him and he faced the looming sentries with clenched fists.

"AGAIN!" he yelled to the computer for a repeat of this sure torture.

Bulma was unable to watch anymore and lowered herself to the ground even as the capsule began rocking again. She returned to her console to resume her typing, but it was a long time before she could will her hands to stop shaking.

Normally aware of his surroundings Vegeta had been oblivious to the spectator, which was just as well. It had been Bulma's earlier words that had insulted his heritage and, more importantly, him that had driven him into such a self-destructive rage. There was no telling what might have happened if he had caught sight of her when he had been struck down. It might well have been the final blow to his ego that would have turned Capsule Corp. into cinders. His intense fury eclipsed even the agony in his side as he leaped and flipped about the chamber, avoiding laser volleys with more recklessness than skill. A part of him that was nagging away at the back of his mind with growing volume was asking why he even bothered with this useless training. He wasn't getting any stronger; it was almost the opposite. At this rate, he would never surpass Kakarrot.

He lost his concentration at the mere thought of his hated rival and stumbled. Two laser blasts slammed into his back and drove him face-first into the floor. He grayed out for several minutes until he started retching up blood and hauled himself to his knees before he choked. The blood was dark red, indicative of a serious internal injury.

His training was over for the day. Sweat ran into his eyes like bitter tears, blurring his vision. He lowered his head and brought both fists down on the floor in frustration.

That evening he failed to show up for supper and the door to his quarters was closed. It was the only indication that the Saiyan would ever give that he had overdone it earlier, he would certainly never admit it. On those occasions, he came and went by the bedroom window rather then risk being seen in the house and encouraging unwanted attention. Vegeta's race had been fiercely xenophobic of other species and he was no exception, withdrawing from the Briefs family unless he needed something. Part of the problem was his damnable pride, Bulma observed. The Saiyan could never simply ask nicely, he had to demand things in an attempt to save face, creating unnecessary tension. She was starting to understand him a little and was coming to realize that not everything that came out of his mouth was meant to be interpreted as an insult or threat. Very often she got the impression that there was a double meaning to his words if she could just take the time to puzzle them out. Unfortunately, she wasn't sure if it was worth the bother to even make the attempt, given its source.

When she collected the empty dishes to take into the kitchen she saw her mother making the final additions to a tray she was going to take up to Vegeta's room. At her daughters discouraging look the blond spouted, "Well, dear, he HAS been training all day. The last meal he'd eaten was at five this morning and I imagine that he's rather famished!"

"This isn't a bed and breakfast, mother," Bulma said coolly, watching as the other woman put aluminum foil over the plate of leftovers to keep it warm. Despite her better judgment she volunteered to take the tray up to Vegeta's room and ignored her mother's smug expression when she left the kitchen to go upstairs.

The Briefs had generously offered the stranded Saiyan his own quarters on the third floor of the headquarters building down the hall from their own living area. It unnerved Bulma, who liked to roam the labyrinth of corridors after dark, to have to be careful what she wore in case she bumped into Vegeta, who was also a late-night prowler. So far, the two had managed to avoid one another and she wanted to keep it that way. She would have preferred that he move out entirely, but he had arrived at Capsule Corp. with only his perforated armor to call his own and no money. It irked her that he could conveniently fall back on his pride in an argument but seemed to have no trouble taking advantage of handouts they offered him: free room and board and, according to her mother, a generous spending allowance. She figured the Saiyan to be just one big hypocrite because of that fact and it was one of the reasons that she had little respect for him. In his own way, he was no better than Yamcha, who had also been a user, but at least the human fighter had shown appreciation for what the Briefs had freely given him.

She reached his room and was going to just leave the tray outside in the hall for him to trip over later. She ended up gritting her teeth and knocking lightly on the door. She tried for several minutes and experimentally tried the doorknob when she got no answer, finding it unlocked. Not sure what she would find she braved herself to open it and step inside.

The room was quite large with an adjoining bathroom that gave the quarters the privacy he required. It was tastefully furnished with a large dresser on the right-hand side where a small TV was placed, currently turned off. There were no personal possessions visible to her eye except for the battered chestplate of his armor lying on the chair. Her eyes softened at the sight of all of the pain that was etched into the white and gold material: The gaping blast hole over the stomach from Krillin's attack, the cracks and splinters of severe beatings, and the smaller hole over the area of the heart that had finally killed him. Involuntarily, she had to submerge a shudder at the mere sight of it. What thoughts did Vegeta have when he looked at all that damage? she wondered uneasily.

On the left side of the room was the double bed with a night table beside it. The lamp was turned on low and Bulma could see that Vegeta was asleep, his back to her. She hissed in breath as she approached the bed and placed the tray on the nightstand. The blankets were down to his waist and she could plainly see the immense bruise that covered his rib cage and lower back.

Softly clearing her throat, she attempted, "Vegeta..."

His form might have given a twitch in response or it could have been just her imagination. He was exhausted, that much was clear for him not to react to her close proximity. She found herself reaching out to touch him when she quickly drew her hand back and left the room as quietly as she came in. For no reason that she could fathom, her cheeks were burning.

"What on Earth was I thinking?" she whispered to herself in confusion.