AN: I don't own anything, except the cute and cuddly kitteh. So, I haven't updated in a while. Sorry, again. Thank you for all of the reviews I've received on this story while I'm frantically trying to finish a PhD. It's coming along gradually, especially with slow chapters like this – but, I say 'I must tie everything together and that takes thought and many chapters of back story.' And you say, 'but we want to read BV porn and have a corny outline'. I say 'Poo to that. You're all lying. Deep down, you too long for a good read. SO, AU it is!'

Hopefully, it's not too crappy. Thanks for reading, and feel free to leave a review. The next chapter will come out soon.

Chapter 14: Expectations

It would be another month before they landed on the sandy beach. Krillin knew to expect nothing more than what was there as he climbed out of the plane toward the small town that sprawled above the many terraced farms like a staircase. The inhabitants never looked to him or his companion strangely, which also failed to surprise the Tibetan. Turning though, he observed how different Bulma seemed this time as she waltzed toward her jeep wearing a casual bright dress instead of her sturdy slacks and tank. He wanted to say it was because of the weather that she chose to be so relaxed. Yet somewhere deep down, Krillin could not help but let concern slip back to the surface.

"The weather is wonderful today."

Bulma normally did not return to her Chinese residence in the fall or winter. There was too much to prepare for: the end of the fiscal year, holidays, New Year. Further distracting, it was the one time she was actually forced to be around family and away from seclusion to do what she did best. She pulled at the dusty handle and careened back to her companion with a rare true smile, "It's not often this cool here."

Krillin returned her grin.

By transferring Vegeta to Tokyo, it would give everyone the chance to judge for themselves. Bulma considered that it would also give Goku the opportunity to have his say in person before she ever gave the alien time to flee. To at least face the crimes he committed. Of course Goku would have preferred to handle this in China over Japan, away from towering buildings filled with potential media and government interest willing to muddle their exchange. Still, it was a compromise he would have to deal with, and that was how she presented it to Krillin as they arrived.

"Are you returning to Nepal or Songshan for holiday?" She idly questioned on their drive.

The monk paused, "Songshan to visit my old teacher. He's been ill."

"I'm sorry."

"It's his time."

Krillin was young for his abilities. As the eldest boy in his family, it was his charge to live in the monastery until adulthood and receive an education in the traditional Galub ways. Somehow, however, he made it much farther east during his early schooling, and one day was rather unceremoniously given to the shaolin temple by his primary mentor for unspoken reasons. The acclamation was difficult, although he always managed to recall it with a sort of fondness if asked. After all, experience – he rationalized – simply created a foundation where chance and fate could intermingle, leading to unforeseen opportunities. Surprises. And ever was this obvious as he glanced over to one of the world's most powerful women recklessly skirting up their gravel path and into the dragon's gape.

They passed the village with a casual wave and approached the dwelling quicker than she anticipated. Turning the engine off, Bulma's voice picked up with subtle impression, "Well, he's made something of the place."

The white-washed concrete was clean, and a slate roof replaced large holes and broken beams last she saw them. Although weathered by years of neglect, most of the outward damage seemed repaired with an added patch of green around the front and along the roadside. She noted two red chimes, lined with a string of coins and bells, hung on one side of the doorway. The character 'tiger' was scrawled beneath it in child's handwriting.

"Hn."

"Where is he?" Krillin questioned, peering around the side of the building.

"I'm not sure. He might be out on a chore," she peeked through the window inquisitively, "I can return tomorrow if we don't find him."

The monk missed half of her statement, inspecting one of the several well-maintained paths leading back to the village. For a long time, the farmers planted fruit trees and pine along the sides of their terraces and between boulder-lined walls in order to keep landslides from ruining the crops during monsoon. Thorny indigenous vines overgrew many of the shrubbery left unkempt since, yet the trails before him remained neatly trimmed.

It was not for him to question, and with a shrug, Krillin turned on his heel toward the home. A snap of a twig heightened his senses suddenly enough, and he finally caught sight of the guest Bulma so kindly obliged. Leaning against a tree not an arm length from him, cold eyes penetrated in eerie silence.

At first, he thought his heart might leap from his chest. It was the first time Krillin had been this close to the alien since staring him down over the shoulder of his friend. Black hair and refined features were all the same as he remembered, save the rabid expression now mellowed into a blank stare. The light filtering down between leaves seemed to sap the color from the male though, allowing what little expression to leave its menacing vibe.

He managed a slow, calming swallow. They say that predators feed off fear.

"Krillin!"

The alien's line of sight strayed toward the voice as Bulma rounded the house, and Krillin finally let out the held breath.

"I see you fixed up the place," she said with confidence, paying little mind to a proper greeting.

Vegeta glanced momentarily over the woman before lifting himself from the tree and bypassing her, "Given the conditions you left me in."

She let out a huff with her smirk before turning back to her friend at the head of the trail, "Come on, let's make this quick."

Entering the building, Vegeta dropped the small parcel he was carrying on the scant counter space and began digging beneath for a large thermos. It was a bag of green tea that Lin left for him at the restaurant. She was very keen to give it to him as a gift, not saying why and without much conversation. Awkwardly, she simply approached him, placing the tea in his right hand with a smile and walked away. It was not until he left for the afternoon that he noticed the youngest sister spying around the corner.

He knew what to do with it. In a minor way – one he would not dare admit to the children who followed him constantly, for it would only exacerbate their curiosity – the item invoked a brief, ever so tiny smile in his eyes, even if it was a farce to him. Such as sad set of circumstances, he considered. He was becoming so accustomed to his day to day activities that a simple bag of dried leaves could spark such interest. Perhaps this was a special blend.

"So, what's the tiger for?"

Shit, now he had guests.

Stiffening, Vegeta could sense her scrutinize his space with an eager sense of judgment. The square enclosure was utilized to maximum efficiency. Along one sidea thin countertop outfitted a kitchen, complete with a makeshift stove and a wok neatly placed above it surrounded by essentials he accumulated over the months. The other side comfortably staged a cot and clean linen stacked in the corner. An aged table, gifted by a fieldworker, separated them.

He knew the conversation would direct itself with or without his cooperation. So, it was pointless to fight the involuntary flinch as a padded thump and rumble across the enclosure quickly revealed the reason. Bulma looked to the object in shock at first, followed by a blooming smile as the sensation of a fluffy tail wrapped around her calf with another pleading cry. Cheekily, she glanced up just as Vegeta's jaw tightened in response to thoughts echoing metrically off the walls.

This was unexpected.

Unwarranted.

He has a pet?

"Xiao Mei found her and brought her to me," His headache was going to return, he knew it. Whispering abashedly, "Her parents were forcing her to get rid of it."

"So, you kept her," her voice half surprised, half uncertain.

Turning with a prepared pot in his hands, he chose not to answer. Instead, an deep scowl focused on the other intruder already sitting at his table. Krillin's reservation sent the wrong message, "What? Did you believe that I would butcher it like any other thing?"

The small man blinked from the sudden confrontation, evenly replying with as much consideration as he could assemble, "I make no judgments."

A barely audible grunt emphasized Vegeta's skepticism, but was dismissed with his next question, "Tea?"

Bulma pursed her lips, still fixed on the kitten while it flitted around the underside of the table for attention, settling for a spot near the monk's foot. Perhaps this transition would be easier than she even realized.

Tapping her forefinger on her lips in thought, "Unfortunately, we don't have much time to chat today. I have to see Krillin off and then make some arra-"

"Are we returning?"

"Well," she paused. But it was too late as she missed the change in his demeanor. Instantly, the pot was gone, replaced by a tight grasp onto her upper arm. She glanced up in a flare of frustration only to be met by steely eyes.

"You promised."

The sharpness in his hiss was threatening enough. Krillin motioned to intervene before a slight hand warded away the danger.

Bulma only looked on with a rivaling will accompanied by her innocent smile, "Arrangements have been made. We can talk about it tomorrow, ne?"

The sayian's once passive expression now oozed with intensity as he slowly relinquished his hold. One misinterpreted intention; one wrong statement and the whole situation could run out of control.

Yet, Bulma remained unfazed, casually gathering herself to leave and patting the kitten's head on the way the door, "We're returning to my home for the evening for some rest." She nudged back with a pleasant suggestion, "Would you like to join us?"

"No."

"Well, then I'll see you in the morning."

It was that simple. The scientist strode out to her jeep, a composed smile on her face as though nothing unusual transpired.

Krillin paced between the pair, unsure of how to respond and more importantly how to leave now that the hostile focus shifted back toward him. Tension unable to release itself as easily as his friend just diffused the confrontation – it disturbed him more at how flippant she was in return.

"Bulma," the monk began as they drove away. He could feel the spiteful gaze probe them as they left.

"Krillin," she replied.

"Are you sure…"

"Do you trust me?"

This was no idle question.

She turned to her friend, the vehicle pulling to a stop, a seriousness that intuitively he could not disregard, "Trust me. Please."

The next morning, Bulma came to greet him. It was early; the sunlight just barely peaking through the window pane. To be frank, she did not expect Vegeta to be there when she arrived. The residents said that he often was out of his hut before sunrise, returning briefly around breakfast to find the labor men with a new set of chores for him. Ever since the cook left for Maoping, they effectively left him to his business. She guessed it was for the better.

Sliding into one of the chairs near the door, she basked in the morning glow. Today was an important day, for both of them. She would get to learn his technology; he would get to flee. It was win-win in her eyes.

That was the assumption she was sticking to at the moment, anyway.

Her hand reached down instinctively just as a furring back met her fingers. She opened an eye to the scrawny shape with a wry smile, "Why hello, little thing."

The black kitten was extremely small, although she wondered if a blind person would question that with all the quakes rumbling within its little chest. Preparing a place for it in her lap, purring filled the room.

Must be a runt.

"You want it?" The reply was low from the entry, but it managed not to startle her. Bulma had been practicing this for weeks.

She turned slightly toward him, "She's very cute. Have you named her?"

Vegeta cast a glare before returning to his chore, "Where's the monk?"

"Krillin? Wow, I'm surprised you remember him. It's been nearly nine months."

He sighed through his nose, a response not too uncommon with the locals. She would go on like all of them.

"You know, I've always loved cats," she said idly, massaging the back of the kitten's ear, which only escalated the fevered approval. "My father had a series of them as I was growing up. Little ones. Fat ones. Once, he had this little blacky – he called him Scratch – that would sit on his shoulder all day long." She smiled, "This little girl sort of reminds me of him."

Ignoring her was all he could do. Perhaps he could drug the tea and get her to leave. But they had plans, and her postponement was trailing long enough.

"You should bring her with, I think."

"No one asked your opinion."

"Hn. Maybe not," the woman finally looked up, taking a cup and pouring herself some tea. A defiant grin followed as she reached into her tote, "Here, I brought something for you."

He turned only halfway as a thin plastic object was offered at arm's length.

Snorting further, his tone when flat, "What is it?"

"It's a tablet," She said proudly. "It will help you with everything you need to know while you're with me."

Skeptically he grabbed the edge, noting the immediate difference in technological style relative to tools she gave him previously. It was lighter than it appeared, even though it was large enough to cover part of his window, if it were not semi-translucent. Perhaps this was another magic mirror.

He made the first guess, "It's a communication device."

Bulma smiled more fully and cuddled the kitten between her palms, "Kind of. It's like my computer back at my home, only portable."

Ah, it was protocol slip, except this was bulkier and loaded with thin series of squares on one side lined with strange text. They're technology was behind.

"It's too thick."

"Okay," she chuckled a bit in confusion. "Look, all you have to do-"

"I'll figure it out." He waved dismissively, turning the device over in the light.

Long silence passed after that. Eventually, Vegeta sat down and poured a cup of tea, all the while tracing the edge of the legal-size pamphlet of plastic wearily. All Bulma could do was observe, his companion's attention now also entranced. He never turned it on – she was biting at the chance to point out the button. After all, it was one of her designs, and the model had not yet been released on the market.

Capsule Corp. housed a collaboration of the greatest minds in the computing industry. Long after the twenty-first century heralded the computing age into constant interaction with the user, everything from syncing with credit cards, cameras, cell phones, chargers, was acquired remotely. After the War, however, technology became somewhat retro in its use, and companies discovered that they had to rebuild their infrastructure and user platforms for an utterly new generation. Complete set of tools, all geared to create a 2D, 3D, and 4D environments were developed; although the average client would likely never get past the text tool on an average day. Personally, Bulma enjoyed modeling complex design projects with software outfitted to think with the human brain as it worked. It was her learning computer, as she called it. But then she did leave the classy product labeling to the Advertising group.

Abruptly, he put the tablet down as though her new toy now bored him, "When do we leave?"

"But," her expression tightened into a pout, "you haven't even turned it on."

He apparently did not want to play as the glare slowly took shape.

"Oh fine," a sharper tone emphasized her disapproval. "We'll leave tomorrow. It will give me some time to gather my extras, anyway. I assume you won't have much to bring."

He grunted.

The kitten mewed to his disdain.

"Well, except for you, sweetie," the woman coed. She paused then to glance up at his disinterest, "Where we're going is very different than here – you know that."

Was it a question or an indirect instruction? Vegeta gave a side-glance, unsure how to respond.

She would hate to admit risk to anyone, but the venture warranted precaution, "You have to promise to do as I ask."

"Or what?"

"Or I can't help you," she replied simply. "We have that agreement."

That was shaky at best, but it would have to do. Somehow, she got the feeling that this alien was not one to take back his word. Nodding subtly, Bulma received her answer and the burden lifted from her shoulders. A smile broadened her cheeks as she roused herself from the chair; her lap warmer without hesitation curled up on the floor near her caretaker again.

It was when she turned to leave that a word fixed vividly in her mind – Xixi.

She turned back to a the stark image of her new collaborator cantered back in the chair with tea in hand, so composed and self-assured. She was sure she heard him.

"Is there anything else you want to say?"

A small smirk augmented his reply, "You play a dangerous game, Bulma."

She laughed and walked out into the sun.