By QueenSaiyajin
Disclaimer: I do not own Dragonball Z or any of its characters, and am writing this fanfic purely for entertainment purposes.
Vegeta stormed into the Gravity Chamber, throwing the switch that would seal him away from the rest of the world, and setting the gravity for 150G. A modest start for him, but he hadn’t exactly been prepared to do this right now. His entire body ached, and waves of dizziness kept setting him off-balance. What he really needed was sleep, but that blasted woman had made it impossible. All he had wanted was to lose himself in her, and fall asleep in her arms. But her incessant need for what she called ‘communication’ between them had ruined all that.
In a way, he knew that he had been wrong. He’d expected her to be angry at the way he had left, and had attempted the easy way out. How many times had he silenced her with a kiss, or chosen to comfort her with actions rather than words. For each time they made love, their bond grew more intense, and the emotions that passed between them made their love for each other an undeniable fact that need not be spoken aloud. At least, as far as he was concerned. Why was it that she always needed those verbal affirmations and reassurances?
In a maddened frenzy, he threw punches faster than his own eyes could follow, imagining that idiot Kakarot in front of him. It hadn’t been humiliating enough to have to give his power over to that mere soldier. Why did his own wife constantly have to hold that clown up as some shining example? Who cared if he had gone off immediately to see that screaming harpy that he called his wife? Most likely the fool was afraid of her. Did Bulma actually expect the Prince of all Saiyans to behave like that? Sometimes he wondered with more jealousy than he liked to admit why Bulma and Kakarot had never, in all those years, become more than friends. She seemed to admire and care for him so damn much…
“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh…”
In a burst of rage he ascended to Super Saiyan, with such explosive energy that the chamber itself shuddered. But something was terribly wrong, as he seemed suddenly to be sweltering in the heat of his own ki. The dizziness overcame him again even as he could see Kakarot laughing in his face. He could still hear that bastard laughing as the blackness engulfed him.
Bulma awoke to a high-pitched cry that she hadn’t heard since Baby Trunks had fallen off the balcony and hit his head. She’d nearly died of fear that day, until Vegeta had flown down to retrieve him, and she’d seen that the child had suffered nothing more than a black and blue mark and a bad fright. Vegeta had assured her that Saiyan babies were strong and durable, and couldn’t be hurt by such an accident. But she’d hovered over him nevertheless, much to Vegeta’s chagrin, knowing that if anything happened to her precious son it would destroy her. Now she ran to him in alarm, the despair that had filled her dreams taking a back seat to her maternal instinct. She found him standing up in his crib, safe and sound, but still screaming his head off.
“It’s okay, Sweetie, Mommy’s here,” she soothed him, taking him into her arms. But even as she pressed her cheek against his, she knew that something was definitely wrong.
“Momma, come quick!” she called frantically.
She was holding Trunks at arm’s distance, examining him, when both of her parents ran into the room.
“What’s the matter, Bulma? Is the baby okay?” her mother asked, wide-eyed with worry.
“He’s burning up with fever!”
“Oh, poor baby…” her mother cooed, feeling his forehead.
“That’s odd,” her father said with worry. “He’s never been sick a day in his life. Just like Gohan. Didn’t Vegeta say Saiyan babies don’t usually contract the same viruses we do?”
“He’s still half-human,” Bulma murmured absently as her
mother fumbled for the thermometer and inserted it gently into Trunks’ ear.
“Well, what is it?”
Her mother’s usually calm expression had darkened. “A hundred and four.”
Bulma took a deep breath, willing herself not to panic. Just because her son had enjoyed good health for the first two years of his life didn’t mean he would be completely immune to common childhood illnesses. A hundred and four was high, but not dangerous. “Ibuprofin,” she said, motioning to the medicine cabinet in Trunks’ bathroom. “The pediatrician had given me some samples—“
Within an hour of squirting the liquid medicine into the baby’s mouth, and after giving him a cool bath, his fever had gone down considerably. He’d fallen asleep in Bulma’s arms, and she gently laid him back into the crib. “He must have had a headache from the fever,” she told her parents as she met them outside his room. “That’s probably why he was crying.”
“I wouldn’t worry, dear,” her father said in a comforting tone. “It’s probably just a passing bug.”
She shook her head. “I don’t know, Poppa, none of us is sick, and like you said before, Saiyans don’t usually react like that to Earth virus—“
She stopped mid-sentence as her older son came from his own bedroom, his face pale white. If he’d seemed worn out last night, sleep had left him in even worse condition. “Mom, I need….something…I have a terrible fever—“
“Trunks!” Bulma ran to him as he fell to his knees. “Poppa, help me get him back to bed.”
The older Trunks was barely conscious. Remembering the small supply of Senzu beans that Vegeta kept in their room, Bulma found one and slipped it into her son’s mouth. Only when he failed to respond did she truly begin to panic.
“Try the Ibuprofin, Bulma,” her father said gently. “The children’s dose helped the baby. They look to be suffering from the same thing.”
“But how? Trunks never even went near Baby Trunks last night—“ Then it hit her. “Vegeta.” More than once she’d found him slipping discretely into the baby’s room to check on him. “He must have gone in there last night. He and Goku were both acting strangely—Piccolo said there was something weird in their ki…”
“They must have picked up some kind of virus in space that only affects Saiyans,” her father surmised. “Otherwise you would have had it, too.” He put a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry, Bulma. The baby’s fever went down immediately. His will, too. After all, they do have precisely the same genetic makeup.”
Bulma nodded. It was just a virus. A fever. How bad could that be?
The next few hours kept Bulma too stressed over her sons’ health to deliberate her own problems. At half hour intervals she had been taking Baby Trunks’ temperature, until finally she was relieved to see it slip under one hundred. He was still sleeping peacefully when she went back to her other charge, her son from the future. The virus had hit him much harder, probably because he had contracted it from the source. His temperature had stubbornly remained at one hundred and two, and his only waking moments were filled with delirium. She sat at his bedside looking down at him now, struck once more by how much he resembled Vegeta. Of course, his disposition was much sweeter, but she had often thought that Vegeta’s gruff manner was more a result of the horrors he had lived than his true character. She would miss him so much when he went back to his time, but she could only imagine how her older self must be worried sick about him. She would be.
Trunks stirred, then looked up at her with glassy eyes. “Mom? Is that you?” he asked weakly.
“I’m right here, Trunks,” she said, grasping his hand. “You had me really worried.”
“I told you I’d be back,” he said, attempting a grin. Only then did Bulma realize that in his delirium he thought he was back home with his own mother.
“You just rest, Sweetie, and you’ll be fine,” she promised him, kissing his forehead.
“Hey, Mom, it was great…” he told her.
“What was, Trunks?” she asked gently.
“Meeting my father…fighting with him…” Even his weakened state could not diminish the excitement in his eyes.
Bulma struggled against the swell of emotions as she thought of how awful it must have been, both for this boy, and her other self, to have spent those years without Vegeta. Obnoxious as he could be at times, she still loved him desperately. “I’m…glad you got to meet him,” she managed, trying to smile through her anguish for the boy.
“Mom…there’s something else…I want you to know…” he said.
“What is it, Trunks?” she asked softly.
“You told me he never said it to you…but…he did love you…”
Bulma was too astonished to speak. Surely this must be Trunks’ disorientation speaking. “How…do you know?” she found herself asking.
“I asked him. And he told me. When we were training for a year…in the Hyperbolic Time Chamber.” He smiled. “I guess I got him at a weak moment.”
“I guess you did,” she agreed, tears pooling in her eyes.
Trunks lost the battle with his eyelids. “I wanna sleep now, Momma,” he said in a little boy’s voice.
Bulma bent down to kiss him on the cheek. “Sweet dreams, baby,” she whispered.
Bulma left her son’s room and burst into silent tears. But at first she wasn’t even sure what had brought them on.
It was difficult to believe that Vegeta had admitted to his son what he could barely bring himself to tell her aloud. But they had spent a year alone together in training. Though Vegeta had ignored the young man at first, she knew that he had softened in the end, and they had spent a good deal of time sparring—the Saiyan equivalent of father-son bonding. In those moments he must have been affected by the boy’s deep devotion to his parents, the mother who had raised him alone, and the father he had barely known. He’d come to the past to do more than save Goku, or help the others defeat the Androids. He’d yearned desperately to know the Saiyan Prince whose blood flowed through his veins. That year of training, though it had been the most difficult time of his young life, had been like a dream come true. In the end he had emerged with new respect and admiration for his father, and an understanding, he’d told her, of the man his mother had fallen in love with. That other Bulma had never known the depth of intimacy that she had shared with Vegeta. He’d been taken from her too soon. The revelation that Trunks would bring back to her would warm her heart in ways that only Bulma could understand.
Bulma knew that her heart ached for her other self, and the joy she had never truly known. And it ached for Trunks, so desperate to know his father. In sudden fear she wondered if the Cell Games would leave her and her infant son to the same fate. She didn’t know if she could bear losing Vegeta. Not now. Not after they had broken down so many walls to be together.
Only now that her sons both seemed to be stabilized did she realize that he had been gone training for hours. Taking a last look in on the baby, she smiled brightly as she saw him standing up in his crib, reaching out to her with his chubby little arms.
“Mamamamamamama…”
She scooped him into her arms, relieved that he was cool as a cucumber. His fever had broken. She hugged him tightly, then changed his sweat-filled clothes, just as her mother came into the room.
“Is he better?” she asked hopefully.
“Yes, thank goodness.” Bulma hugged him to her. “The fever’s gone. Isn’t it Trunksy?” she cooed. The baby laughed and pulled at her hair.
“Oh, by the way, Bulma, that was Chichi calling,” Mrs. Briefs said as she held her arms out to her grandson. “It looks like Gohan has the same thing as our boys. She was actually looking for Goku. He was acting strangely all day and just took off somewhere.”
That wasn’t unlike Goku, and yet Bulma was certain that both Goku and Vegeta must be suffering from some form of the same affliction as their sons. “Momma, would you please watch Trunks? I really should check on Vegeta. He went to train hours ago, and if he is sick he’s most probably in denial about it.”
“Sure, honey, go on. I saw him go into the Gravity Chamber this morning, but he didn’t come out even to eat. That’s really not like him.”
Suddenly worried, Bulma hurried outside, peering into the windows of the GT, expecting to see him in one of his frenzied workouts…
And her heart stopped as she spied Vegeta lying lifeless on the floor.
“Vegeta!” she cried, knowing that even had he been conscious he wouldn’t hear her. She ran to the control panel on the chamber door, lowering the gravity to normal, each millisecond she had to wait seeming to crawl by so slowly that she felt she would burst.
Then she was inside, kneeling beside him, pressing her ear against his burning chest until with relief she could hear the steady beat of his heart.
“Vegeta, wake up,” she pleaded, caressing his cheek. His entire body seemed to be emanating heat at a temperature she didn’t even want to contemplate. “Vegeta, it’s me. Please, wake up…”
She heaved a great sigh as his eyelids fluttered open, and his glassy gaze focused on her. “Bulma?” he asked, as if in confusion. She could feel his thoughts, a swirling brew of disorientation.
“Yes, it’s me, I’m right here,” she said softly. “You’re sick, Vegeta. I need to get you back to the house.”
He didn’t answer her, instead, looking about him as if sensing something there besides the two of them. “Where is he?” he asked sharply, pulling himself to a sitting position.
“Who?” she asked, realizing he was probably just as delirious as Trunks had been.
He looked at her with distrust. “You know who I’m talking about, woman. Kakarot! He was just here!” He stood up, brushing off her help, and looked around the chamber.
“Vegeta, Goku isn’t here. He left last night. You must have been imagining that you saw him—“
“Are you mad, or is this some kind of a sick joke?” he growled. “Kakarot was right here. I was fighting him, and—“ He stopped as if trying to remember just what had happened next.
“Vegeta, listen to me. You’re very ill. You’re burning up with fever.” She tried to take his hand but he pulled it away.
“That’s ludicrous—“
“Trunks came down with the same thing. He’s delirious with fever and nearly passed out. That must be what happened to you.”
He shook his head vigorously. “No. I’m fine. I was just resting—“
“You both contracted something out in space. Even the baby caught it from you!”
For a moment she saw worry flash in his eyes as her words hit a nerve he could not ignore. “The baby? What’s wrong with him?”
“He’s all right now,” she assured him. “But his fever had gone up to almost a hundred and five—“
“The child’s never been sick a day in his life,” he said, dismissing her. “He’s a Saiyan—“
“And all of you who have Saiyan blood have been affected,” she broke in. “Even Gohan and Goku.”
Vegeta eyed her suspiciously. “You’ve seen Kakarot then?”
“No,” she responded, not quite sure where his thoughts were taking him. “Chichi called.” She reached out gingerly to touch his cheek, looking into his eyes. “Vegeta, please. You’re burning up. You need to get in bed.”
For a moment he seemed to calm at her caress, but then anger flared in his eyes at her words. “That is precisely what I tried to do, but for some reason I wasn’t welcome there.”
Bulma closed her eyes and sighed deeply. “Vegeta, I’m sorry,” she said, gazing into his eyes again to show him that she was sincere. “I was just hurt. I didn’t know what you had been through.”
His hand reached up to hers, gently but firmly detaching it from his face. “I don’t need your pity, woman,” he spat. “Nor will I tolerate it.”
Bulma tried to remain patient, knowing that the fever was speaking to her now. “I wasn’t pitying you, Vegeta, I was trying to tell you that I’m sorry.”
“Save your apologies. I couldn’t care less,” he said turning away from her. He put his hand on the control panel, although she could swear he’d done it to steady himself.
“Vegeta, listen to me. You’re not thinking clearly—“
“I am thinking with perfect clarity for the first time in over two years,” he told her with venom in his voice. “To think that I, the Prince of all Saiyans, would seek comfort and refuge in the bed of a low-born Earth woman---“
“Stop it, Vegeta,” she warned, slowly dying inside as his malady brought out the rude and arrogant brute that she had hoped gone forever.
“You are the cause of my weakness, woman!” he cried with insanity in his eyes. “You and your half-breed brat, distracting me from my true destiny! Had I spent the last two years training instead of letting you corrupt my warrior spirit, I would have destroyed Brolly myself with no one’s help, then shown that son of a bitch Kakarot who is truly the most powerful Super Saiyan!”
“Vegeta, please stop,” she said in a shaky voice, her exhaustion weakening her defense to his verbal assault. “Just come back home, let’s get your fever down, and then we can talk about this.”
“There is nothing to talk about,” he told her in no uncertain terms, although she could feel him battling to guard his thoughts from her penetration, shutting her out in every way he possibly could. “Now leave me alone to my training.”
“No,” she said stubbornly. “You’re sick, and I won’t leave you here like this.”
His face took on an evil smirk she had not seen since Namek, as he put his hand on the gravity control. “You will leave right now, or I’ll turn the gravity up to 300G with you in here.”
Bulma shuddered. In a normal state, it would be an empty threat. But for the first time in their relationship, she was suddenly afraid of him. He might turn her into a pancake just for sport. Of course, once he was cured, he would probably kill himself when he realized what he had done. But that wouldn’t help her much, would it?
“Okay. I’ll go,” she said quietly.
It took every ounce of will she had to leave without looking back.