Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ A Taste of Heat ❯ Visitation Day ( Chapter 22 )

A Taste of Heat

 

By Trynia Merin aka Starbearertm

 

Visitation Day

 

Disclaimer: I don't own Dragon Ball Z. I don't own Vegeta, Bulma or Baby Trunks sadly. Akira Toriyama does, and Funimation brings us these great cartoons! I wish I did, but I only can claim this story as a work of fanfiction from my overactive imagination. Don't sue me! I hope to present a `realistic' portrayal of the struggle not only Vegeta but Bulma has with this whole change in relationship. If things seem OOC, then it's just my vain attempts to delve into their minds.

 

Bear with me here. I hope this will all make sense in a chapter or 2!

 

 

“How long has your daddy been gone, hmm?” Bulma asked as she carried Trunks downstairs. Dressed in a powder blue onesie and a black cap with small `horns', the little Trunks let out a giggling shriek as Bulma jostled him on her hip playfully.

 

“Oh how's my little princess and her little prince?” asked Bunny as Bulma carried her son into the breakfast nook of the huge kitchen. Momentarily Bulma frowned at the word.

 

From behind his paper, Dr. Briefs grumbled, “Dear, you know she hates that!”

 

“Well he IS a little prince. He's MY prince, right?” said Bulma, lifting her son and blowing a raspberry on his tummy. Another shriek and laugh from him canceled anyone's response. She sat down at her usual place, holding Trunks on her knee.

 

“Let me take him dear,” said Bunny.

 

“No, I think he wants to sit with the rest of the family, don't you Trunks sweetie?” Bulma cooed. Feelings she was afraid would never surface came so easily. Knowing how to be a mom seemed almost inbred. Like coaxing a new machine to life. Yet this was truly hers. Nobody could dispute he was her boy.

 

“You're spoiling that boy rotten,” said Dr. Briefs. He felt Scratch rub against his heels, then leaned down to pick up his black cat. It settled comfortably across his shoulders with a soft mew and an unimpressed yawn.

 

“So what? He's MY boy to spoil, aren't you, Trunksy-wunksy,” she laughed, ignoring her father. “Besides you spoiled ME rotten.”

 

“I still think you should look into a nanny,” said Dr. Briefs. Absently he scratched his cat's chin as it bumped against its master's ear. A slight purring rumbled around his head, calming him with its familiar drone. Somehow it was always easier to cogitate with the purr of Scratch echoing in his ears like a mantra. Lately Scratch did double duty as a method of calming the aged scientist when dealing with her ideas of parenting.

 

“Dad, knock it off. I'm NOT working for six months and that's FINAL,” she growled at him, hugging Trunks possessively to her.

 

“Honey, we have lots of working mothers,” Dr. Briefs said, trying another tack.

 

Unfortunately Bulma's temper flared to boiling point. It became entirely clear this was her chance to make a statement. Protectively she settled Trunks to straddle her hip. Blue eyes the same shade as his mother's fixed Dr. Briefs in an intense stare. Baby Trunks glimpsed up to see his mother's intense frown, and instantly copied it. Angrily Bulma said, “Maybe dumping me on a nanny worked for you, but he's MY son, and I'm NOT abandoning him.”

 

To this Dr. Briefs blinked. His ears still didn't register what she said till a second later. Then he drew in a deep sigh. “Nobody says you would be, dear. But remember your responsibility…”

 

“Oh please! Save it dad,” said Bulma acidly. Slowly she rocked back and forth, swinging Trunks on her hips with one hand around his back, and then other clasped before her.

 

“But Princess…” Dr. Briefs persisted.

 

“You listen to your Gramps Trunksy? He's all cranky! Cause he wants mommy to do things HIS way. Well you know what, I love spending time with my little man, huh?” Bulma cooed, turning her full attention to her boy. She strode over to the table and sat down at her usual place. Instead of putting Trunks in the expensive high chair she set him on her knee so he could peer over the table at her breakfast.

 

“Honey I'm TRYING to talk to you!” Dr. Briefs grumbled, marching over to glare at his daughter.

 

“So am I, Dad. Read my lips. Trunks is my number one priority. And he IS the heir to the company,” Bulma answered firmly. She gently unbuttoned her shirt, then discretely shifted Trunks so he could nurse at her breast. Both Dr. and Mrs. Briefs blinked at the natural scene, wondering what on earth had possessed their daughter.

 

“She's got a point dear. Who could resist spending time with this handsome angel?” Bunny asked, moving over and setting a cup of coffee by Bulma's elbow.

 

“Whatever you say Princess,” sighed Dr. Briefs, realizing that his daughter was not going to stray from her determination.

 

“You've got enough VP's to run things. And besides, Trunks is the future of Capsule. And I want my little man to grow up knowing he's loved,” she said pointedly. Trunks looked up at his frowning Grandpa out of the corner of his bright blue eyes. A frown wrinkled his forehead as if he had greater comprehension of the whole conversation. Bulma removed him from her breast to burp him.

 

“He is,” said Bunny, leaning down to kiss her grandson after he was done. “You can't deny that.”

 

“Fine, I suppose there's no convincing you otherwise, about a nanny,” sighed Dr. Briefs. Bulma returned Trunks to finish his meal in full view of her grandparents. Both mother and daughter seemed lost in their own world at that moment. She nodded, focussing right on the bundle in her arms during the uncomfortable silence. Bunny shook her head at her scowling husband, refreshing his coffee. Sullenly Dr. Briefs dug into the plate of waffles and maple syrup she placed before him when he realized his daughter had made her point. For the next fifteen minutes she attended to nursing Trunks as her parents ate their breakfast. Bunny couldn't help but see how at peace Bulma seemed with the baby in her arms. From day one Trunks seemed to be her whole existence. Yet wasn't that how it should be, with a mother and her child, Bunny thought.

 

“You're such a natural with him, dear,” Mrs. Briefs observed, sitting down next to Bulma. She picked at her fruit salad, and smiled endearingly at her daughter with pride.

 

“Thanks Mom. Don't worry, you'll get your turn. I just want Trunks to know who Mommy is,” Bulma whispered.

 

“I know dear,” Mrs. Briefs nodded, with a look of regret on her face. “I suppose there's no convincing SOME people that old dogs can learn new tricks.”

 

“Humph,” Dr. Briefs mumbled, rustling the morning science journal. He erected it like a screen to shield himself from his wife and daughter's glares. Bulma rolled her eyes then removed Trunks to burp him again.

 

“You know dear, you always DO complain about the number of your lady employees who wished they were home with their babies. You always HATED it when they asked for 26 weeks instead of 12 for maternity leave?” Bunny said. She winked at Bulma who widened her eyes.

 

Only a slight rustle answered them while Dr. Briefs turned a page. Nodding towards Bulma, she waited for her daughter to pick up on the hint. Bulma was pleased her mother wasn't always as dizzy as she made out to be. Clearing her throat Bulma said in a louder tone of voice, “Yeah mom, you're right. I think we should let some of our employees be able to bring their babies to work,” said Bulma.

 

“Humph, babies in the labs, what will they think of next? Atomic playpens?” Dr. Briefs mumbled.

 

“Just because your nannybot didn't work there's no need to be testy, darling,” Mrs. Briefs sniffed at him.

 

“They could telecommute. And I can still run that project and look after Trunksy here at the same time. And I can direct the lab workers by videoscreen from here,” Bulma added. To this Dr. Briefs lowered his paper the slightest bit. He peered overtop to meet his daughter's gaze. Bunny flashed Bulma the victory sign under the table.

 

“All right, we'll do it your way, Princess,” said Dr. Briefs. “I suppose I am pushing you too hard. I suppose that five more years won't hurt.”

 

Suddenly the phone jangled. Bunny moved over to pick it up. “Hello? Yes, she's here…”

 

She glanced over at Bulma. “Who is it, Mom?” asked Bulma, holding Trunks on her lap.

 

“Security says we have a visitor. Seems your little friend Yamcha's brought some belated baby shower gifts…” said Mrs. Briefs.

 

“I didn't HAVE a baby shower,” Bulma rolled her eyes. “That's the lamest tradition. Okay, let him in. Tell them I'll meet him downstairs in the parlor.”

 

 

Bulma had dressed a half-hour later, and changed Trunks yet again. She strode into the room with her baby boy on her hip. A pile of gifts lay around the feet of the handsome young friend that she had seen march out of the door weeks before. It had been at least four months since he had even called her, and they had patched up things to the level of friendship.

 

“Bulma, babe, you look good,” Yamcha said with a smile, leaping up to see her. His muscular form was clad in a butter yellow suit with white pullover sweater underneath. To her surprise his hair was cropped short and spiky on top.

 

“What did you do to your hair?” she asked with a giggle. “You look like a jarhead!”

 

“You like it?” he chuckled. “Hey there little guy! You're a handsome dude!”

 

Trunks glanced over at Yamcha, blinking. He reached out his arms towards the boy, to Bulma's surprise. “This is Trunks,” she said.

 

“Wow, he's a lady-killer already, just like his grampa,” laughed Yamcha. “Hey there! It's your Uncle Yamcha! Can I hold him?”

 

“Sure… if you want to…” said Bulma holding her son out. Trunks quickly snapped his head around as she tentatively handed him to Yamcha. With a huge grin her ex boyfriend settled her son into his arms with surprised ease. He boosted Trunks up and held him up.

 

“Hey sport, you wanna fly?” he chuckled, making a funny face. Trunks squealed with a surpassing laugh as Yamcha swung him in small arcs.

 

“What's all this stuff?” she asked, frowning. She prodded one brightly wrapped package with the toe of her house slipper. Duckies and birdies always annoyed the heck out of her. Especially since she enjoyed decorating Trunks bedroom with pictures of robots and space ships rather then cutsy animals.

 

“You didn't tell me when the baby shower was!” Yamcha pouted. “Sport, your mamma here forgot to tell Uncle Yamcha you were even here! Bad girl!”

 

“I hate baby showers, they're so stupid!” Bulma glared at him. Despite her annoyance, she was glad to see him. Especially since he seemed so COMFORTABLE holding her son. Trunks giggled and imitated the strange faces her friend was making as he babbled in a high pitched voice.

 

“Oho what a sourpuss! Your mommy's a sourpuss kid!” Yamcha pouted. “You gotta tell her to lighten up! Especially when Uncle Yamcha's got some cool stuff!”

 

“Knock it off you dork,” Bulma giggled, realizing how silly he looked. “Okay, it's good to see you, but I didn't expect you to even WANT to show up after…”

 

“I wanted to see the kiddo, and see if his mommy was still as beautiful as she was before,” Yamcha said innocently. He settled Trunks against his hip, and the baby didn't even flinch. Blue eyes glanced up at Yamcha with a probing frown.

 

“Flatterer. But it won't get you zip,” said Bulma with a sigh. “I know all your cheap moves.”

 

“I got all new cheap moves,” he joked. “KIDDING!”

 

“Jerk,” said Bulma as she saw him gently rocking Trunks. It hardly seemed fair, and she swallowed the lump in her throat.

 

“He's handsome all right. You do good work. Your mommy's one heck of an inventor, sport,” Yamcha grinned at Trunks.

 

“Since when did YOU get so comfy with kids, huh?” she asked.

 

“I love kids,” Yamcha said. “Cause you're always telling me I'll never grow up, remember?”

 

“Who's the bigger kid, you or Trunksy?” Bulma stuck her tongue out at him as she reached for Trunks. Yamcha reluctantly passed him back, and she sat down. A second later he lowered himself into the plush sofa next to her.

 

“Ouch, babe,” Yamcha chuckled. “So, you okay? Goku and Piccolo said you'd had your baby, and I wanted to see him, and you. Can you blame me? I mean… well… I still care about you you know. Even though… you know… your with him…”

 

“I am glad you're here,” she said quietly.

 

“Is he off training?” Yamcha asked, glancing around. Trunks glanced from Bulma to Yamcha with wide blue eyes.

 

“Yes, as a matter of fact. He left two months ago,” said Bulma. “He's in space.”

 

“Was he here when…”

 

“Yes. But could we please… talk about something else?” Bulma asked. “Like why you're here? Cause if you think…”

 

“I want to be friends, babe,” said Yamcha quietly. “Cause I miss you. And I figured you could use a friend. Nothing more. No tricks.”

 

“I could use a friend,” she said softly, feeling her stomach aching next to the hole in her heart. She fought back tears and put up the veneer of the indestructible Capsule Princess with a fake smile.

 

“Good. Cause I'm here for you,” Yamcha said. “Whatever way you need.”

 

“Why? I mean considering the last time…” Bulma said quietly. She stared at an invisible ink stain somewhere on the wall away from Yamcha's face.

 

“Cause I've known you too long not to care,” said Yamcha. “And I wanna be part of your life in some way. If it's okay. And I wanted to apologize for trying to push my way into something that you weren't ready for.”

 

Suspiciously Bulma narrowed her eyes and asked, “What's that mean?”

 

“I did a lot of thinking. I missed you, and I realized we both needed a break,” he said.

 

No sooner did the words come out then Bulma felt her stomach tying in knots. It sank to her toes along with her good mood. There went a nice day curdling like sour milk thanks to him. Was she never to be rid of him, or was she making a huge mistake on what could have been. Anger mingled with resentment and a dash of regret. She bit her lip so hard she felt blood forming inside her cheek. All she could do was stammer, “I can't even THINK of that… I mean you can't mean…”

 

Yamcha rose from his chair, and said down next to her. His hands rested on her shoulders reassuringly. She clutched Trunks like a teddy bear to her, feeling her son curl up in her arms. Blue eyes glared up at Yamcha accusingly, as if the baby could sense the source of his mother's angst. At that moment Yamcha retreated slightly at the frown the child cast him. Was it his imagination or was he sensing the kid was telling him to back off in his own way? Nervously he laughed. He settled for nudging his thigh against Bulma's, keeping his hands to himself. Baby Trunks glanced up at his mother again, still frowning because his mother was so distraught.

 

“Bulma, it's not what you think. I don't feel sorry for you,” he said quietly. “I only care about you. I still… I still love you, you know. Take it for whatever it means.”

 

“Yamcha, that doesn't help,” she said softly. Trunks began to fuss and whimper, grabbing hold of her hair. She rocked him as he opened his mouth and started to cry. Immediately she rose from sitting next to Yamcha, and began to pace around with Trunks in her arms. Back and forth she rocked him, patting his back and trying to shush him. One finger thrust in his diaper showed it was still dry, and he had just eaten not an hour ago.

 

“Bulma… please, hear me out!” Yamcha said.

 

“Shh! Quiet down!” Bulma whirled on him.

 

“Sorry!” Yamcha held up his hands. He started to get up, but Bulma whirled on him, holding Trunks with one hand. The other she held before her with the palm facing Yamcha.

 

Her voice was tinged with bitterness when she said, “How can you just waltz in here and expect me to accept your `forgiveness' because I don't want it!”

 

“I'm not asking you to accept anything, except my friendship,” said Yamcha. “If you want me gone, I'll leave now. But I don't want to be shut out of your life forever. Please. Just sit down and let's talk about this rationally okay?”

 

He patted the place next to him. Through the blurr of tears unshed Bulma, asked, “Friends? Are you… are you serious?”

 

Yamcha nodded with a smile, saying, “Friends? I'm not gonna push it. “

 

Bulma lowered herself to sit down again. She settled Trunks on her lap, curling her arms around him to hold him on his back. He curled against her body, looking up at his hands tugging on his mom's bright blue hair. Yamcha reached over to lightly caress her shoulder. Quietly he whispered, "I mean I'd lie if I said I didn't want more, but you don't need that right now. And if I can't be Daddy, I can be Uncle Yamcha, can't I?”

 

“Yes, you can,” she said with a small smile. “I guess it's okay.”

 

“Let's just clear away the slate, Bulma. Friends, okay?” he asked. “I won't push.”

 

“Friends is fine,” she said firmly.

 

“You look like you're in serious need of a hug though,” he said. Bulma felt her reserve melt, and accepted his arms around her. Resting her face on his shoulder she thought how strangely unfair this all was. How dare he try and offer her something she didn't want or deserve. Trunks whimpered a bit, and they parted after a moment.

 

“Sorry, I'm sorry…” he gasped.

 

“It's okay,” she said quietly, holding her baby close. “I… I…”

 

“You miss him, don't you?” Yamcha asked, stroking her shoulder.

 

“I do. I love him,” Bulma whispered. “And he's gone. And I'm not sure if I want to kill him or jump him when he comes back.”

 

“Man, that's a bummer,” said Yamcha. “If you want me to leave I'll go.”

 

“No, stay,” she said, grabbing his hand as he tried to rise. “You gotta show me what all this crap is that you've brought!”

 

“Okay!” Yamcha nodded, rubbing his hands together. “What first?”

***