A/N: So, I'm trying to get my 5 stories up. It's been a long, long time since I've written fanfiction...and not on this site! The lack of screening sometimes irked me. But I've been relying more and more on when I get the urge, so I decided that I'd like to put myself to work doing something I like, and help people write. This isn't going to be particularly long, and is planned to just be this one-shot. I'm not particularly convinced of my skill or dedication, but I hope it's not too terrible! ~TheWonderfulShoe

He wasn't exactly sure how it had happened. He couldn't care less, really, about that frivolous blue-haired woman and her petty love affairs. When she broke up with that other weakling human, it hadn't even piqued his interest a little bit. Not at all. Humans were beneath him—he simply couldn't be bothered with their useless day-to-day trifles. He had far more important things to do.

Somehow, though, she had started to worm her way into his routine. It started pragmatically. He needed her machines. She fixed the machines, and he trained. It was a useful arrangement. He got what he needed—as he deserved, given his princely heritage—and she stayed out of his way, where she belonged! But...damn her, if he didn't start to get used to her, just...being there, bothering him! To the point where he actually started to notice when she wasn't around, even when the machines were fixed.

He didn't say anything, out of pride. And her casual acceptance of this, as if she somehow knew that she was getting under his skin, was unbearable. Smug, stuck-up human!

He didn't care, when his son was born! ...he had only been so gentle and helpful for her because if it were a male, it would be the next prince, that was all. Yeah. He didn't care, not about that woman. Never for her. And not any brat of hers, either.

I don't care. He told himself, arms crossed and facing away as that blue-haired blabbermouth and her vapid mother and scatterbrained father cooed over his son's bassinet.

I absolutely don't! I'm just…curious. That's all. He peeked over his shoulder—just for a second—to get a better look at the infant.

He saw Bulma look up and meet his eyes, so he clenched his crossed arms tighter against his chest, turning back to face the door, coldly. Damn that woman, again and again!

...even without looking, he knew that she was smiling at him. And, caught by his sharp Saiyan hearing, their baby gurgled.