Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ A Saiyan For All Seasons ❯ Trunks ( Chapter 16 )

A Saiyan For All Seasons

 

Chapter Fifteen

 

Trunks

 

Disclaimer: DBZ belongs to Akira Toriyama.

 

Authors note:

 

Nearly all natural births in England are handled by midwives. I'm pretty certain it is a different practice in different countries, but since I'm English I'm going stick to what I know. As a mum twice over I'm loosely basing this chapter on my own experiences of child birth.

 

Thank you for Beta-ing LisaB *hugs*

 

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The room was dark for the most part. There was a warm glow coming from the slightly ajar door, but it didn't seem to fill the room, just dispel the shadows enough to make it comforting. Bulma was supposed to be resting, but she didn't take well to directions. She couldn't sleep when she still felt so exhilarated and awed. All she wanted to do was spend some time alone with her newborn son. It didn't matter that he was sound asleep in the cot beside her; Bulma just couldn't contemplate the idea of looking away.

 

My son. My son! I can't believe it!

 

As much as she would have liked to give birth on (or even a few days before) her due date, in the end she had gone overdue, and she had been induced.

 

They had used a gel to bring on her contractions, and it had worked… for a while.

 

The contractions had started in the base of her spine and slowly crept around to her lower abdomen. Her insides had groaned and complained, but they were nothing more awful than bad menstrual cramps - uncomfortable rather than painful - so Bulma had felt perfectly in control at that point. The breathing techniques she'd studied to help aid pain relief were effective, and she'd used them a little too vigorously for the pain she was actually in. When she had found out what real contractions felt like, she had been a little embarrassed about all the puffing and panting.

 

The contractions had continued steadily. They were rhythmical and just strong enough to stop her from resting properly. It was disappointing, therefore, when at the end of an exhausting day, and despite her steady contractions, she had found out she was still only two centimetres dilated.

 

Bulma wasn't tardy. As with any other aspect of her life, she had done her research. Every conceivable book on pregnancy and childbirth was purchased and studied, and when the information dried up, and the medical terminology became repetitive and dull she had resorted to taping the five o'clock showings of `Birth Stories' on Discovery Health. They were supposed to be real life stories, designed to show every possible outcome of childbirth, but which invariably ended with overweight forty year olds in birthing pools, or plain middle-aged couples from suburbia who, thanks to IVF, were now expecting their quintuplets via c-section.

 

Somewhere in this deluge of useless information, however, Bulma did stumble on a few common denominators. She knew well in advance that it took the cervix a while to thin and present at the proper angle in all deliveries, but especially for first time mothers. Knowing about it, however, and experiencing it… well… they were two entirely different matters.

 

The doctor had visited her that evening and decided it would be best for her to try and get some sleep. After monitoring her contractions he had prescribed a mild sedative, and Bulma, being exceedingly tired, was thankful for it.

 

Unfortunately, when she had woken up a few hours later, it was discovered that the contractions had, in fact, stopped altogether. Frustrated, but equally glad for the respite, Bulma had gone back to sleep on the promise from her midwife that they would try again the next morning.

 

The second morning had started very similarly to the first. She had another application of prostaglandin to help induce labour, and again she started to contract. By mid afternoon she was `progressing well' as the midwife termed it, and they started to discuss breaking her waters to help strengthen the contractions.

 

Yamcha had been in and out of the hospital the previous day, but disappeared the next. Her mother was there the whole time, so she wasn't alone, but Yamcha's absence upset her, especially when he'd promised her that he'd be there for `the big event' as he called it. Her mum hadn't seen him either, and could only offer the suggestion of “Perhaps he got stuck in traffic,” which did little to appease her. The man could fly! A little traffic wouldn't stop him getting to her bedside if he really wanted to be there.

 

The realization had dawned on Bulma, reasonable or not, that if it weren't for her parents, she really would be doing this alone.

 

Her waters were broken at four pm. From that point it had taken only two hours - two hours of the most indescribable pain she had ever felt - before she was ready to push. She had known it was supposed to hurt more after having the waters broken, but somehow knowing didn't quite prepare her for the event. Somewhere in the haze of pain, there was a recollection of the midwife discussing pain medication, but her contractions were manageable then, and Bulma had refused. Of course, when the intensity increased and Bulma mentioned pain relief, she was sure the midwife had great pleasure in telling her that it was too late.

 

Thankfully, when the pain had subsided and the urge to push took over, Bulma was given a break. It had taken less than fifteen minutes for Trunks Briefs to make his grand entrance into the world. He weighed in at a very healthy 9lb 9oz - how she had ever managed to squeeze out a baby that big was beyond her - and although he was covered in a fine film of white gunk when he was laid on her chest, she could see the purple tufts of hair on his head that resembled her father's distinctive colouring.

 

It surprised her. She'd been expecting to see the thick black spikes that crowned all Saiyans she'd seen, or at least, heard talked about. Vegeta, it seemed, couldn't win every battle, and she allowed herself a little smile at the discovery.

 

Of course, the little lavender tail that accompanied wasn't a shock, and Bulma had prepared her father's medical team for what to expect a long time ago. There was already an appointment booked for the amputation the following week. They'd delayed the operation mainly so that Trunks could be declared properly fit for the procedure, but it also gave her the chance to tell Vegeta of her plans prior to the event - a communication she wasn't especially looking forward to.

 

She'd asked Vegeta about his tail once before - if he missed having it. He had replied, “If you lost an arm would you miss it?” and then left. Bulma made a point not to bring the subject up again.

 

It needed to be discussed now, however, and she was ever conscious of Vegeta's promise to see their son before he left. She felt certain he would honour his words, and sooner rather than later - she knew and understood his need to train - but it was a pity that she had to broach such a delicate subject rather than enjoy the moment, as she would much prefer to do.

 

They'd crossed paths several times since the night outside the den, but neither had spoken. It wasn't as if they'd parted on bad terms. They'd made progress - very significant progress Bulma believed, but with their situation still unresolved there was no hiding from the awkwardness. Bulma at least tried to keep an air of friendly openness about her, but that was a trial in itself.

 

Vegeta's eyes always projected intensity like no other's when you met them head on, but in these last few weeks they had developed something more than that. It transcended the mood and made Bulma feel a little uncomfortable. It was as though his countenance had gained a steely resolve that she'd always seen the capacity for, but which he had never used to such good effect in her direction before.

 

It hinted restraint, and Bulma wasn't sure whether to be glad about it or leery.

 

She shook her head. There was no use thinking about it now.

 

She pushed herself upright and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Her limbs felt heavy and drained, her stomach ached and begged for inactivity, and yet still she couldn't sleep. She hung an arm over the side of the clear plastic cot and looked through the side. He was still asleep, his mouth softly moving in and out as he sucked in his dreams.

 

The light dulled as she ran a finger along his downy cheek. She looked up and peered through the dark - someone was close by.

 

“Trunks,” she whispered, “did you feel that too?”

 

Her baby slept on.

 

“Trunks?” inquired a familiar voice. “Your family, it seems, has a bizarre fascination with underwear.”

 

Vegeta!

 

The air caught in her throat. Had her thoughts conjured his presence, or had she fallen asleep? She pinched herself. Nope… it wasn't a dream. Looks like he is in a hurry to be gone, she thought.

 

The door creaked on its hinges. Her visitor took two footsteps inside. The door closed. The only light now came from the moonlight outside the window.

 

“Trunks was my uncle's name,” she explained. “I was nine when he died. We were very close, and I promised myself a long time ago that if I ever had a son then I would name him after my uncle. I'm still not sure about a middle name though. I have a few ideas written down, but now he's here, I'm not so sure. Does he look like a Trunks George Briefs to you?”

 

“No, but then Saiyan infants were rarely given more than one name. Names generally related to their predicted power rating and as such signified the child's rank within the empire. Vegeta - taken from the name of the planet - has been the name of Saiyan kings and their first born for well over a millennia.”

 

“You would have eventually become king if your planet wasn't destroyed?” she asked, even though she already knew the answer.

 

“That is correct.”

 

“And Trunks is your first born?”

 

Bulma wasn't as certain on this point, and even though she'd never heard him speak of another child, she wanted to make sure.

 

“That is also correct.”

 

“Then how does Trunks Vegeta Briefs sound to you?”

 

He thought for a while. “It's a darn sight better than George.”

 

Bulma laughed. “I think you're right. Vegeta it is.”

 

The room ebbed into silence, and under that silence Bulma felt composed enough to look away from the cot and at Vegeta instead. There was something about his countenance that didn't seem as stern or uncompromising as usual - maybe it was because his arms were hanging loosely by his side rather than folded. He was looking at her fingers as they stroked Trunks' face.

 

“How powerful do you think he will be?” she asked. “I want to get an early heads up on it,” she explained. “If he's gonna be strong, then I'll need to think about finding someone to help me control his ki, and,” she added, “perhaps to train him as well. He's half Saiyan. Chances are he's going to want to fight when he gets older, and I wouldn't want to discourage that.”

 

“He will be strong,” Vegeta replied, taking an extra step forward into the room, “despite his mixed blood. How strong is debateable, but if he was born on Vegeta-sei he would definitely be classed as an elite. I sensed as much before he was born, but,” he paused for a moment, “you needn't concern yourself with finding someone to train him.”

 

Bulma was stunned. She highly doubted Vegeta would want him to avoid training. That left only one option, but she didn't dare to think he was serious about it.

 

“No one,” he said in a steely authoritative voice, “will teach my son to fight but me.”

 

My son! Bulma felt her heart jump into her throat so high she couldn't swallow the emotion back down. He'd said those two short words with so much pride and possession! She removed her hand from the crib. She could feel it shaking under her emotion, and so she stuffed it into her lap to hide as much.

 

“Y…you will teach him?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“I… well I thought….” She paused and only continued when she found coherence to her thoughts. “Forgive me, I just wasn't expecting you to….”

 

“You weren't expecting me to take an interest in my own son?” he finished for her. “Do not be afraid to speak it, Bulma. My actions toward you would certainly warrant such beliefs.”

 

“You want to be involved?”

 

“I have an interest in the child's power,” he confirmed. “I believe it will be worth the effort to train him - when he is old enough to learn of course.”

 

“How would that work?” she asked. “You're Super Saiyan now - the legendary. You have the whole universe waiting for you.”

 

“Yes, I do,” he agreed.

 

“And you have freedom. You can go anywhere - do anything.”

 

He frowned. “You say it as though you do not wanted me to train the child!” he accused. “You would, perhaps, prefer Kakarrot or that half-arsed human to do it instead?”

 

“No, I wouldn't,” she said firmly. “I want you to teach him. I want it more than anything.”

 

“Then why are you trying to talk me out of it?”

 

“I'm not,” she looked down, “I just want to make sure you've thought it through properly first. I want you to be happy about it.”

 

Bulma wished he would come further into the room. His body pooled with the shadows and gave him all the substance of a ghost.

 

“I've thought about nothing but his potential for the past three weeks,” he replied. “Since I felt his ki energy for the first time. I'm not sure what compromises that will mean on my part, but I am prepared to make them.” There was a pause. “That is irrespective of other issues.”

 

Bulma felt emotion thick in her throat. “Thank you,” was all she could say.

 

He dipped his head in acknowledgement. At exactly the same time, Trunks started to stir in the crib.

 

Glad for the activity, Bulma pushed off the bed and scooped their son out from his cot. It has to be said that she hadn't had a lot of experience with newborn babies, and she was still nervous about holding him. Everything Vegeta said about him being so strong didn't make him appear any less delicate to her eyes.

 

Once he was out she sat back down and cradled him in her arms. A hole had been cut from the nappy, and Bulma let out a little squeak of surprise when she felt his tail make an attempt to wrap itself around her arm. It tried repeatedly to get some purchase but then gave up and lay along her lap. The end swayed contentedly back and forth.

 

“It's purple!” Vegeta exclaimed, breaking the silence. Bulma noticed that the shift of position was only now showing Vegeta their son's beautiful colouring. “No Saiyan is purple!” he said, absolutely aghast.

 

Bulma laughed through a yawn. “Yeah, that took me a bit by surprise as well. But, oh well! You have to remember that he is only half-Saiyan.”

 

Vegeta harrumphed. “It's as well I am going to train him. With hair that colour he is definitely going to need to know how to fight.”

 

“Fight off the women, isn't that right, handsome?” she cooed, wiggling a finger on his button nose.

 

“Well,” Vegeta relented. “At least he has a tail.”

 

And suddenly the room grew colder. Bulma swallowed hard.

 

“Yes,” she agreed, “He does, but I need to speak to you about that.”

 

Vegeta didn't answer, but she could feel his mood change. The hairs on the back of her arms bristled under his energy.

 

“There is nothing to speak of,” he said. The tone of his voice spoke extreme restraint. “I know the tail will be removed. It is… disappointing,” he acknowledged, “that something so indicative of his heritage should be lost, but I understand that it is necessary. Never be in any doubt, Bulma, that it is for the reason of your safety alone that I will not fight the issue.”

 

“Then promise me you'll never doubt,” she said, desperately trying to keep her emotions under control, “that if it weren't for Oozaru I wouldn't even consider removing it!” She stroked Trunks's tail affectionately from the base to the tip. “It is… beyond amazing!”

 

“I won't,” he agreed, and the tension passed. “An adult tail is even more amazing,” he added with just a hint of sadness. “It is a pity that you will never know how amazing.”

 

His voice was low and lilting, just the way it always sounded in the small hours of the morning. Why would he never speak to her that way during the day?

 

“Was your tail this soft when you still had it?” she asked.

 

“Possibly.” He shrugged. “I can't say I've ever touched an infant's tail.”

 

Bulma smiled. “Then why don't you come over here and feel it?”

 

Vegeta looked unsure. Bulma, however, was determined to take advantage of the situation and get them to interact.

 

“Come on, he's a baby. It's not like he's going to bite! He hasn't got any teeth yet.”

 

Vegeta squared his shoulders, and Bulma had to stop herself from laughing. He wasn't considering his actions; he was physically psyching himself up for it. She could see it in the twitching of his muscles in the moonlight. When he was ready, Vegeta walked forward to sit on the bed next to her. His hands were gloved. He plucked them off, one finger at a time, and placed them on the bed. His shoulder was right next to hers, she could feel the heat he radiated, and his hand brushed her thigh surreptitiously in the dark before he found the tail. Whether it was by accident or not, Bulma couldn't tell, but if it were a mistake then it was a pleasant one.

 

“It is softer than an adults,” he said as he felt the appendage and let the tip fall through his fingers. “It is more like human hair than Saiyan fur.”

 

He stroked the tail again as though deep in thought. “Bulma,” he said. “Is there a way to preserve it once it has been removed - as proof of his heritage?”

 

“I'm sure there must be,” she agreed. “Hey! Yeah I know! We could use the cryo-chambers. That'd work!”

 

“Cryo-chambers?” he asked.

 

“Yeah. They're usually used to improve performance and durability of high alloy, high strength, tool steels, like aluminium and titanium, but I'm sure Dad could create a smaller version to keep Trunks' tail in. Cryogenics will preserve it perfectly.”

 

He nodded. “Do it.”

 

“I'll talk to Dad about it tomorrow,” she promised. “I can't see that there would be a problem.”

 

It was at this point that Trunks decided to join the conversation. He didn't cry - it was a soft mewing that promised a more violent noise if his needs weren't addressed quickly. Vegeta promptly moved his hand.

 

“He's probably hungry. Here,” she said, holding him out in Vegeta's direction, “Will you hold him for a sec while I get ready to feed him?”

 

Vegeta looked mildly alarmed by this. “No way!”

 

“Don't be silly. Two seconds isn't going to hurt you.”

 

“I'll break it,” he warned.

 

“No, you won't,” she countered and not giving him a choice, she took advantage of his seated position and laid Trunks on his lap. “There! If you don't want to hold him then fine, but just make sure he doesn't fall off.”

 

Vegeta's brow furrowed dangerously low, and his teeth gritted. “This is ridiculous,” he snapped, but tentatively put a hand over the small child anyway. “Just be quick!”

 

Bulma was quick. Neither Trunks nor Vegeta looked very comfortable, and maternal anxiety wasn't about to risk leaving them together for long. She fluffed a pillow and leant it against the headboard before wriggling back into it and unbuttoning her pyjama top. She desperately tried to remember her midwives instructions for breastfeeding and lay another cushion on her lap before unclasping the hooks of her maternity bra. She set the breast pad on the side and stretched her hands out. “You can pass him over now, just be careful with his head because he can't support it on his own yet.”

 

She watched somewhat amused as one of the strongest warriors in the universe contemplated the tricky manoeuvrings of a newborn infant. He settled on one hand supporting the head and the other under the tail, but rather than pass him over, something caught Vegeta's attention. He looked genuinely surprised, and somehow, Bulma knew it wasn't just a trick of the light when she saw his brow relax. “Blue eyes,” he said, “Your colouring, but my shape.”

 

Bulma smiled and nodded. “Looks good together, doesn't it?”

 

“Like nothing I ever expected,” he admitted.

 

He watched transfixed until Trunks bunched his face up again, and started to cry louder. The spell broken, Vegeta's emotion evaporated, and Trunks was passed very swiftly on.

 

Vegeta watched intently, however, as Bulma arranged Trunks in the right position and moved her nipple over the top of his lip to encourage him to latch on. It took a while to get right, but eventually he settled. His sucking was rhythmical and made her breast tingle as the milk rushed through it.

 

Much to her surprise, Vegeta didn't seem to be in any hurry to leave. They didn't talk much after that point, but it didn't matter. Bulma even managed to fall asleep for a while after feeding him, and when she opened her eyes Vegeta was still there, only he'd moved from her bed to the window. They were still in her father's grounds. Bulma didn't want a hospital birth, but she was glad that the med wing allowed her to recover at home and yet still have the facilities to properly take care of her and Trunks should there be an emergency.

 

Vegeta must have considered it an extension of her home too, and since he couldn't train, probably didn't have much else to do. It was certainly a pleasant surprise to wake up and find him to still be close by. Never once, she lamented, had that happened after sex.

 

Light streamed through the window now, and coated Vegeta in a warm, orange glow of morning sunshine. Bulma couldn't remember a time when she'd seen him look so laidback and approachable.

 

She was about to say good morning to him when the door burst open.

 

Vegeta's spine instantly tightened and the look of complaisance on his face vanished. It was quickly replaced by that look of haughty disdain he usually showed her friends. Bulma did her best to hide her disappointment, but perhaps she greeted Yamcha a little less courteously than she otherwise would have.

 

“Well, look what the cat dragged in!” she snapped. “Just where were you when I needed you yesterday?”

 

“I'm really sorry, B, I wanted to be here, really I did.”

 

She crossed her arms. “Then why weren't you?”

 

“It's complicated,” he said, laying the flowers he'd brought for her on the chair by the door. He hadn't noticed Vegeta. The window was in an alcove created by the adjoining bathroom and, for now, the wall hid him from view.

 

“I was all ready to come yesterday morning,” Yamcha explained, “but then something happened - something bad between Kiko and I. We… we had an argument,” he admitted. “It started over an aunt of hers who passed away last week. It was her funeral yesterday. I know it sounds bad, but thanks to some differences of opinion Kiko hadn't spoken to this woman in over ten years, and yet mysteriously on the morning you needed me most, Kiko suddenly decides to go to the funeral. It wouldn't have been a big deal if it hadn't been taking place in East Town. It's over three hundred miles away and, as you know, Kiko can't drive, so she asked me to take her.” He sat down on the end of the bed. “Well, of course I said that I couldn't take her because you still hadn't had the baby yet. I told her that I'd promised you I would be with you for the big event, but she wouldn't listen to reason. She accused me of caring more about you than I did about her, about your needs coming before hers… ugh! It was nasty, nasty stuff, Bulma.”

 

He sighed and put his head in his hands.

 

“The long shot of it all is that I got so mad I walked out on her. I thought about coming here yesterday, really I did, but it wouldn't have done any good. I wasn't in the right frame of mind. I would have made a really lousy birthing partner.”

 

“I'm sorry, Yamcha,” she said, and reached across to lay her hand comfortingly on top of his. “Are you okay?”

 

“Not really,” he replied. “I'm so angry! Some of the stuff she said. It was really out of order - especially what she said about you. To be honest, B, I…I'm starting to wonder if I know her at all.” A tear escaped and slid down his cheek. He brushed it angrily away.

 

Bulma was still sore, but she pushed the covers aside and crawled along the bed to meet him. She put a hand on his shoulder and rubbed it sympathetically.

 

“Shit, B!” he exclaimed. “I'm such an idiot.”

 

“No, you're not,” she soothed, feeling decidedly uncomfortable. She could see Vegeta over Yamcha's shoulder. He was looking intently at her, a shade of barely concealed rage on his face.

 

He was jealous of her affection for Yamcha! There was no other way of interpreting that look. The emotion was so thick in the air it almost choked her. She wasn't about to ignore the needs of her friend, however, just because Vegeta disapproved. Then again, she didn't want Vegeta to leave because of it.

 

“Are you sure you want to be here, Yamcha?” she asked. “Maybe it would be better to talk to Kiko. You guys have a good thing going, and it would be a shame to lose it over something like this. We all say things in arguments we don't mean, and certainly,” she said, making sure to look Vegeta straight in the eye, “certainly our relationship may give rise to those who are looking in, cause for concern, but we both know it's not that way between us anymore, and I'm sure deep down Kiko knows it too.”

 

He shook his head. “I can't forgive her,” he said. “If she'd attacked someone else, someone who meant less to me, then maybe… maybe I could forgive her, but not you, B, not you.”

 

“Um, Yamcha?” she whispered.

 

He looked up at her, and she tilted her head in Vegeta's direction.

 

Yamcha's body froze as he realized they weren't alone. “Oh shit!” he mouthed so only Bulma could see.

 

“Um hi, Vegeta,” he said, moving away and thumping his emotion down. He ran a hand through his hair. “I'm sorry about all that. Silly human stuff, eh? Bulma said you were back, but I must admit that I wasn't expecting to see you here.”

 

“And why would I not want to come and see my son?” he asked, more calmly than Bulma expected.

 

“I guess I figured you'd have too much training to do, but I'm glad to be wrong. Congratulations, Daddy!” he held out his hand.

 

Vegeta didn't take it, and the way he looked at Yamcha portended slow and painful death.

 

“Well,” Yamcha said, moving towards the door. “I can see this is a bad time. Maybe I should leave and come back later.”

 

“No, don't leave,” Bulma called out to him, and she glared at Vegeta. “My friends are always welcome.” Vegeta wasn't going to make her feel guilty about her friendship with Yamcha, nor was he in a position to exact control over it. “You only just arrived and there's someone important I want to introduce you to.” She gestured to the cot. “Yamcha, I'd like you to meet Trunks Vegeta Briefs. The labour - when it finally happened - was intensely painful but mercifully short.” She smiled. “Both mother and baby are doing well.”

 

Yamcha smiled nervously and walked towards the crib. “He's beautiful, Bulma, just like his mother. Isn't that right, Vegeta?”

 

Vegeta snorted and looked away.

 

“May I?” Yamcha asked.

 

“Go for it, just be gentle. I have to go freshen up, but please,” she looked pointedly at Vegeta, “try not to kill each other while I'm gone.”

 

It took a while for Bulma to shower, pee, change her maternity and breast pads, and make her self look presentable. These things couldn't be rushed; she just hoped her guests were behaving themselves. Having put her makeup away and wrapped a towel tightly around her wet hair, she was about to leave. Yamcha's voice, however, stopped her. Intrigued about what type of conversation he and Vegeta were having in her absence, she put an ear to the door and listened in.

 

“So you're leaving tonight?”

 

“That is correct,” Vegeta replied.

 

“Bulma will be sorry to hear it. I have no idea why she cares about you so much, but she does care, Vegeta, remember that.”

 

“I do not understand her attachment either,” Vegeta admitted. “But I plan to.”

 

“I'm glad to hear it.” There was silence for a while. “So you're still going to help out with the Androids. I hate to say it, but… well… we'll need your help on this one.”

 

“Of course you will.” Vegeta snorted. “You sure as hell aren't training for it.”

 

“I…” Yamcha lowered his voice. “How do you know about that?”

 

“I make it my business to know these things. To be honest, it surprises me. I understand now I have spent some time on this planet that it must take great effort and dedication for a human to progress as far as you have. You will never have the power of a Saiyan, but… ah well… who cares? It's not like I give a shit about what you do anyway. I just don't understand it.”

 

“You said it yourself,” Yamcha replied with a sigh. “I'll never be as strong as a Saiyan. My dream when I was young was to be the best fighter in the world. I would train constantly. I'd put my body through any regime no matter how rigorous to be better than Krillin, to be better than either Tien or Piccolo, and back then, even to be better than Goku. I wanted to be the best, but I can't go on deluding myself - I will never be the best. For all the years I've spent pushing for my dream, I'm no happier as a result. I think there is a time in everyone's life when they have to change. Mine is now. I will be there when the Androids arrive, and I will give it my all, but I know how it will really end. I know I'm going to be nothing more than a spectator when the real fighting begins.”

 

“A spectator, yes, but I still think you are an idiot for not training,” Vegeta replied.

 

“Perhaps” was all Yamcha said, and thus the conversation ended.

 

Bulma decided to go back into the room. Both Yamcha and Vegeta watched her as she walked out from the bathroom and sat down on the bed. Yamcha passed Trunks to her and she gladly took him.

 

“So, Vegeta,” she said calmly. “When are you leaving to train?”

 

“Tonight,” he replied.

 

“Can you do me a favour? When you land next time can you try and make sure it's a little further away from the house? You almost landed on Mum's apple trees last time.”

 

“No promises.”

 

“Well, at least I can say I tried.” She sighed. “I guess that only leaves one thing to sort out before you leave.”

 

“And what would that be?”

 

“We… well, I need to know when I can announce our son's birth to the rest of the Z Senshi.”

 

Vegeta's brow furrowed. “Kakarrot… I mean… they don't know?”

 

“Obviously Yamcha does, but you told me not to tell anyone about… you know… what happened between us, so I didn't.”

 

“I did not expect you to keep it a secret from them, woman, but seeing as you have then I think you should keep it that way.” He looked intently at Bulma. “It seems we both have a secret to tell. The arrival of the Androids will truly be a memorable day for everyone involved.”

 

Yamcha looked between them. “Did I miss something?” he asked.

 

“Quite possibly,” Vegeta said, walking towards the door. “Quite possibly,” he said again, and with one long last look at Bulma, he left the room.

 

Bulma wished he had stayed longer, but she really didn't have any grounds for complaint. Their conversation that night had been one of the best and most reasonable they had ever shared. There were no hidden agendas played, no out of control hormones, and no bitterness to spoil it. For that one small, but wonderful amount of time their acceptance of each other had been more to do with feeling than lust, and Bulma could not have wished it different. There was no regret, no hurt between them - just companionship.

 

With Vegeta gone, the conversation naturally moved back to Yamcha's problems with Kiko. They talked for a long time on the subject, but eventually Bulma talked him into going back home. She'd only met Kiko a handful of times, but she seemed like a nice enough woman, and Bulma didn't think Kiko would say something genuinely nasty about her if it weren't for badly wounded feelings. Yamcha didn't always think before he opened his mouth - what man did? - and she felt sure there was some duplicity of situation going on that she wasn't aware of.

 

Both her parents visited her in the afternoon, and her father informed her that the final preparations for Vegeta's departure were all completed. They were planning on an eight o'clock launch. Ever mindful of her promise to Vegeta, she told him about her idea for a small cryogenics tank. Her father agreed, and went off to draw some plans up before the launch.

 

Mrs. Brief fussed around her for the rest of the evening, but by a certain degree of contrivance on Bulma's part, she was gone well before eight o'clock.

 

At five minutes to eight Bulma put Trunks down, got up and walked to the window. She could only see the top of the spacepod from where she was, not any activity on the ground, but it didn't matter. At eight o'clock precisely she started to feel the floor shudder. Trunks started to cry. Bulma only ignored him for as long as the pod was in view. Once it was out of sight she put a hand to the glass and sighed.

 

“Bye, Vegeta” she whispered, and then went back to nursing.