Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ A Taste of Heat ❯ Where's Daddy? ( Chapter 23 )

A Taste of Heat

 

By Trynia Merin aka Starbearertm

 

Visitation DayII

 

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!

 

Hours later, Bulma walked back and forth with a howling baby in her arms. Yet as soon as Trunks would settle down, he would suddenly grow cranky. Yamcha was being a good sport she could tell, but her temper was starting to fray to the breaking point.

 

“I'm sorry Yamcha I don't know why he's so cranky. Usually he's pretty quiet,” Bulma apologized.

 

“Hey, no problem,” Yamcha shrugged. “I guess I don't mind kids carrying on. You've never seen how sore a loser Krillen can be at a poker game!”

 

He paced with Trunks pumping his fists and howling, struggling to at least let the baby give him a chance. “I know, he needs to be burped a bit more,” Yamcha said. He turned Trunks to rest his head on his shoulder then patted his back.

 

Something warm and smelly dribbled on the shoulder of Yamcha's jacket. He wrinkled his nose and chuckled awkwardly, “Oh man, I think he spit-up.”

 

“Give him here. I'm so sorry!” Bulma groaned. “You forgot to use the diaper or the receiving blanket.”

 

“Hey it's wash and wear, no big deal,” Yamcha chuckled, handing Trunks back. Face flushed red, Trunks continued to howl even in his mother's arms.

 

“Baby please, shush! Please!” Bulma groaned, patting his back. She felt frustration shredding her nerves even more because she felt she had something to prove to her ex boyfriend standing concerned over her.

 

“You want me to go get him a bottle or something?” Yamcha asked.

 

“Shit, I forgot he needs to go down for his nap,” Bulma mumbled.

 

“I can…”

 

“No I'd better do it. I think Mom has some club soda in the kitchen which should get out that stain,” said Bulma.

 

“I know the way, B,” Yamcha said. “I'll just um… go take care of this while you put him down ok?”

 

“Yes. I'm SO sorry,” Bulma grumbled, glaring at her wailing son for a moment. She marched out of the parlor, leaving half-opened gifts and bits of paper lying about. Strangely Trunks seemed more interested in chewing on the colorful paper and ribbons then seeing the toys inside. Yamcha cheerfully waltzed into the kitchen, giving Bulma a reassuring smile.

 

Upstairs she rushed, holding her still fussing infant. She moved into the nursery, and plopped him down on the changing table. With practiced breathing through her nose she checked his diaper and then set about peeling off his clothes so she could change him. A few minutes later and the diaper were all right. She found a new clean set of clothes to dress him in, then attempted to rock him in the chair. It took the better part of an hour to try and quiet him so she could finally try putting him in the crib.

 

Trunks raised his arms and howled. Bulma groaned, shaking her head as she paced. “C'mon guy, give your mommy a break! I've got company! You've got to sleep in the crib sometime!”

 

“Mamamammam!” Trunks wailed, his fists raised.

 

“You said Mamma…” she whispered. It struck her as odd that he was speaking so soon.

 

“Mammamammamahaaaahh!” Trunks sobbed.

 

Sighing, Bulma realized there was only one solution. She picked him up and carried him towards the large double bed. Lying down, she rested him at her side, and decided a nap along with him wouldn't be a bad idea. Yamcha would just have to deal. Curling up with his mother, Trunks at last shushed long enough so Bulma's ears could rest.

 

Curtains flapped in the breeze. Trunks opened his eyes and blinked, giving a small whimper. His mother snored soundly, curled up around him with a bit of drool dripping out of her mouth. He turned his small head to peer with narrowed eyes towards the open window, feeling the breeze quicken. A small squeal escaped his lips and he turned over to face the window more fully.

 

It opened out onto a balcony. For some reason Bulma always kept her windows open at night. It baffled her parents. She never cared to do so before, so it seemed strange for her to prefer it now that she had a baby. Yet the security system would prevent any intruders from entering. Distant noises of West City echoed in the background. Bulma mumbled, not waking as her son froze still and peered with blue eyes expectantly as if waiting for someone.

 

A distant whoosh of air buffeted the curtains. Trunks gurgled, his arms held out before him. A distant speck increased in size and shape, slowly blowing up into a figure of a being. Male or female was not apparent but Trunks did not cry. He simply frowned and stared till the figure touched lightly down with booted feet on the balcony. Wriggling, Trunks slid out of his mother's arms. He dragged himself on his arms, scooting with frustrated grunts. Whatever it was he wanted to be outside with it.

 

With a clunk Trunks tumbled off the bed. Instead of crying, he blinked up in anger at the object. He snorted, giving it a slight kick. The whole bed vibrated, but Bulma did not wake. She mumbled and turned over, still sleeping soundly. Whimpering, Trunks pulled himself and inched towards the open door of the porch, seeing the movement of a male shape pacing outside. Each pull with his arms brought him closer and closer to the open door, and the windows keeping him from what he most wanted to investigate.

 

The shape snapped around, facing the open sliding door. Trunks grunted and fussed as he crawled and scooted with the restricting onesie. It didn't take long for him to reach the gap, and wriggle through it. White boots gleamed with gold toes just before the baby crawling towards them. Peering up with blue eyes, Trunks let out a giggle and raised his hands to the dark eyes peering down at him.

 

“what the hell are YOU doing out here, brat?” Vegeta grunted in amazement to see the boy crawling at such a young age.

 

“Dadadadada!” Trunks chirped, grabbing one of Vegeta's toes with his hand. He wrapped his hand around the other boot, and tried to pull himself up by grabbing the spandex and cuffs of Vegeta's boot. Vegeta remained riveted to the spot, gazing down at the action. Amusement covered his harsh angular features to see the baby struggling to stand. Grunting Trunks hauled himself to sit up with a hand on Vegeta's right boot cuff.

 

“HAHH!” Trunks blurted out, raising his hands up and sitting up on his own. Blue eyes gleamed in the sunlight, a large smile turned up to his father standing over him.

 

“Son of a bitch. I thought babies were weak creatures who couldn't move. How the hell did you get out of here without your mother knowing?” Vegeta mumbled. He did not reach down to pick up the boy, but watched Trunks grabbing at the spandex to try and stand up.

 

“Dadadadada!” Trunks laughed, grabbing Vegeta's boot cuff and pantleg. His fingers wrapped around the flexible cloth, and he shoved down with small feet trying to stand. Instead he landed smack on his bottom, and snorted.

 

“Overambitious are we, brat?” Vegeta smirked. His armor was smudged and battered, and he stood with a smirk of triumph replacing the concern on his face. Somehow the baby had sensed he was coming and moved to greet him with no one else knowing.

 

“Dada!” Trunks repeated.

 

“What?” Vegeta snorted, glaring down at him. “Your mother is going to be pissed off seeing you out here!”

 

Trunks continued to grab Vegeta's boot cuff with one hand, and pounded on Vegeta's thigh with his other fist. “Dadadadad!” he grunted.

 

Vegeta exhaled at the force in the small fist. It tickled slightly but he could sense the buildup of ki flickering in the baby's frame. His eyes widened in surprise to sense Trunks ki rising to a level that matched that of a Saiyan child. Of course Saiyan babies could crawl at half the age of a human one, and Trunks just showed his theory of the boy being a half-breed weakling had gone out the window. Was Gohan this strong at this age, Vegeta wondered. A small brown tail whapped against Vegeta's boot, and curled tightly around it as Trunks continued to babble.

 

“Stubborn thing you are,” Vegeta laughed. He finally leaned down on his haunches to take a better look at the boy. The young brow furled into a scowl and glared at him impatiently. Vegeta was amused at the expression that matched the one he must have been giving the baby that moment.

 

“Dada!” Trunks said distinctly, thumping Vegeta's knee. “Uhhh!”

 

“Be quiet or you'll wake your mother, boy,” Vegeta hissed for silence. “I suppose you've gotten my attention, brat. So let's not give me away. I'm not supposed to BE here remember?”

 

“Da?” Trunks asked, his hands held out.

 

Grumbling Vegeta reached down and scooped up the boy. Trunks grabbed onto the slick surface of the armor, and then seized a handful of spandex. He almost pinched Vegeta's skin underneath with a viselike grip that further surprised the Prince. A smirk traced over Vegeta's features and he held Trunks on his hip quite easily. The tail flailed about, whipping in the breeze.

 

“You'd best learn this now,” Vegeta said, guiding the tail and trying to get him to curl it around the tiny waist. Surprisingly Trunks did so after a bit of coaxing. Wearing the armor Bulma had forged for him, Vegeta glanced in through the windows. He carried Trunks low on his hip, hoping the motion of his body would keep the boy silent so Bulma would not wake. Obviously she must be asleep or she would have given Vegeta nine shades of HFIL by now to see him arriving after their argument. He crept towards the window to peer inside at Bulma's slumbering form. Indeed she was snoring for he could hear the rumbling with his Saiyan hearing through the afternoon air. Knowing her, she would sleep for hours making that sound.

 

He glanced down at the silent Trunks. On the small face was a neutral expression with furrowed brow. Vegeta held his son before him, shaking his head. “I suppose it won't harm to show you how to properly fly. And properly test your powers since you appear to be as far along as a Saiyan brat would be development wise.”

 

Trunks grunted, thumping a fist against Vegeta's breastplate. Nodding to himself Vegeta stepped lightly through the sliding door. He levitated silently through the room towards the nursery. Grabbing a diaper bag he filled it with supplies. Then he hung it on his arm, taking Trunks in his other. Father and son levitated out of the open window, not making a sound. Blue ki crackled around Vegeta, levitating him up with Trunks held close to his armored chest.

 

“This won't take long,” Vegeta mumbled. “You'll be back before your mother wakes. She need not know.”

 

Far below, Yamcha sipped a glass of lemonade in the vast kitchen. Before him was a plate of cookies freshly baked. Half of them were reduced to crumbs. Grumbling he dabbed at the spit-up stain on his new jacket with a towel wet with club soda to his left. Bulma had taken a long time to come back, so he guessed she must have fallen asleep. Naturally Yamcha had helped himself to the fridge to wait and see if she would wake up before checking on her.

 

Ki flared in his sense, and he rushed out to see what was happening. He saw a dark shape pass between him and the sun, rising from Bulma's balcony. He sensed the ki flaring before it clamped down, and saw the blue aura encasing the figure. A frown twisted his features.

 

“What's he doing back here… it can't be him!” Yamcha grunted. Black hair upswept fluttered in the wind. A laugh echoed in Yamcha's ears from high above, and he saw Vegeta holding the baby Trunks in his arms, and a diaper bag in his left.

 

Vegeta glanced down at the figure he sensed and heard. A frown covered his face and he rose steadily upwards with Trunks clinging to him. “Damn, that loser just HAD to be here! He'll ruin my plans!”

 

“Where do you think you're going mister!” Yamcha shouted from below. He rocketed up, ki blazing around him. Dark eyes sizzled with challenge as Yamcha streaked towards the hovering Vegeta still near Bulma's balcony.

 

“That's none of your affair, weakling!” Vegeta shot back. “Mind your own business and leave me be!”

 

“I won't let you take the baby!” Yamcha shouted. He held his hands up, one of them flickering with a sphere of energy drawn from his very soul.

 

Vegeta raised one hand after transferring the diaper bag to the gloved hand holding Trunks against him. Blue ki crackled around the glove with powerful levels to match and tease Yamcha's attempt at a defense. Snickering to Trunks held in his arms he said, “So you want to play? Watch brat and see how the Prince deals with interlopers!”