Sole Survivors

By QueenSaiyajin

 

 

Disclaimer: I do not own Dragonball Z or its characters, and am merely borrowing them for this Alternate Universe story which begins during episode 71, “The End of Vegeta”. This is a Bulma/Vegeta story. The rating is NC-17 for some nice, romantic love-making. There are also, however, some references to torture and abuse in Vegeta’s childhood, but they are extremely vague.   If you are under 17 or would prefer not to read anything with sexual situations, please do not go any further. By the way, this is my first A/U story, and I think it may turn into an epic. Please send comments/criticisms to [email protected]. I love feedback of any kind!

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Seven: Fathers and Sons

 

The Saiyan no Ou came to stand in front of him, resting his hand on his shoulder. “Rise, my son.”

 

Vegeta did so slowly, still too astounded to speak. The respect and admiration he had held for this man wrestled with the rage of a betrayal that had shattered his image of his father forever. There were so many things he wished to say, none of which would be fitting in this quite public setting. So he settled on the first neutral thought that came to his mind.

 

“It is…good to see you alive, Ottousama.”

 

His father was smiling, something that seemed so strange on his face. “It is thanks to you that I am,” he said. The King was looking him over, and he was conscious again of his casual garb, so—common—compared to his father’s royal robes. “You have grown into a powerful warrior,” Vegeta Ou continued, nodding his head with pride. “It is difficult to believe that you are the same boy I sent away with Frieza.”

 

Vegeta’s face darkened in a silent rage. “I assure you, I am not,” he said bitterly.

 

The meaning was not lost on his father, whose visage sobered. “We will speak of these things in private—“

 

“There is nothing to speak of,” Vegeta replied curtly, the words spewing from his mouth before he had even considered them. Anger at his father was the emotion that was  quickly winning out. “Frieza is dead,” he declared, “by my hand. He is no longer a threat. But his brother is. Two months ago, Cooler sent five men here to find out if the rumors were true of my ascension. I destroyed them, but Cooler knows that Vegeta-sei has been brought back—“

 

The King held up a hand as if to silence his son. “Cooler is no longer a threat either. He’s dead.”

 

Vegeta stared at him in shock. “What? But who—?”

 

“Kakarot.”

 

Vegeta’s head snapped towards the bigger Saiyan, who was looking at him with a wide grin of satisfaction. “But you couldn’t even match my power. There’s no way you could have killed Cooler!”

 

“He launched an assault against Vegeta-sei,” his father explained. “Our elite forces couldn’t touch him. Then Kakarot went after him.” He sighed, glancing at Bardock’s son. “When the day was done, Cooler was dead. And Kakarot…was a Super Saiyan.”

 

“That’s….not possible!” Vegeta cried, stupefied. “He’s just a third-class soldier!”

 

“Who defeated an enemy that eluded a hundred elites,” his father replied, with just enough admiration to make Vegeta growl. “I would say that supercedes any determination made at his birth.”

 

“How did you do it, Kakarot?!” Vegeta challenged, glaring at him.

 

“Someone had to stop him,” Kakarot said in that lower voice that he used only in serious situations. The total lack of smugness in that matter-of-fact answer was maddening. But his next words sent Vegeta over the edge. “I told you it was just a matter of time.”

 

In fury Vegeta powered up his ki, bursting into golden energy that made the Saiyan soldiers step back in fear. “Then show me, Kakarot!” he roared, his eyes burning a bright teal. “Let’s see if you can match up to me!”

 

Kakarot stepped towards him, his eyes gleaming with the thrill of battle. Suddenly he too was golden-haired, and even the humans and Namek stepped back in anticipation of the battle that was to ensue. “Whatever you say, Vegeta,” he said, prepared to accept the challenge. “I’ve been looking forward to this.”

 

“I command you both to stop right now!”

 

Vegeta Ou’s voice halted both men before they could act. The Saiyan Prince turned to his father in anger. “Isn’t this what you came here to see? Proof that I am the most powerful being in the Universe?!”

 

“I don’t believe Kakarot was challenging you,” the King said with a chuckle. He turned to Kakarot. “Were you?”

 

When had his father and this half-wit become so chummy?! Kakarot powered down, the childish countenance reappearing with his black hair.

 

“We just wanted to have some fun,” he said with a look of disappointment. “Right, Vegeta?”

 

In exasperation Vegeta returned to his normal state.  This imbecile could take nothing seriously. Yet he had defeated one of the most powerful beings in the Universe. It just didn’t make sense. “We will have our battle,” he grumbled.

 

“That’s fine with me, but to be honest, I’d really rather have some dinner right now. You think Bulma could fix us up something?”

 

 “Kakarot, you are insufferable!”

 

“I don’t know what that means, but if it’s another word for starving—“

 

Vegeta shook his head in frustration, but this time had to fight to keep from cracking a smile. “Yes, I am sure Bulma can prepare a feast for all of us. Give us two hours to prepare, and I will come back to show you the way to our home.”

 

“I can have our cooks prepare a meal on the ship,” the King broke in, and Vegeta eyed him warily, wondering the cause of his apparent hesitance.

 

“Father, I insist you allow us the honor of showing our hospitality,” he responded diplomatically, knowing that no matter how powerful he had become he still could not tell King Vegeta what to do. He didn’t dare to say that he wanted the King to meet, and approve of, his family.

 

“To be honest, Ou-sama,” Kakarot broke in, “Bulma cooks a lot better than those guys on the ship.”

 

Vegeta Ou seemed to stiffen at the mention of the Earth woman, and a thousand red flags went up in Vegeta’s head. But finally he agreed. “Very well. We will see you in two hours.” With that he went back into the ship, and everyone present, including Vegeta, seemed to heave a collective sigh of relief.

 

Gohan ran up to Vegeta. “Do you think I could come along now, Vegeta? I really wanna see the baby.”

 

Vegeta nodded, once again remembering how powerful the little half-Saiyan had proven to be. Vegeta Ou seemed to have accepted Kakarot and his half-breed brat. He would have to accept his new grandson. Wouldn’t he? “Come. You can keep him occupied while his mother prepares for our guests.”

 

 

 

 

 

“Two hours?! Are you out of your mind?!” Bulma screeched.

 

“It’s only another thirteen people,” he began, though he knew her reply even before she uttered it.

 

“Eight of whom are Saiyans! Do you realize how much food that is? We don’t even have a place to put them all!”

 

“You could do it, Bulma,” her mother interceded in her usually calm and cheery manner. “Melza and I will help you cook, and your father can set up that big capsule house we brought you. That’s what it’s for, anyway. Entertaining.”

 

Vegeta openly grinned at his mother-in-law, probably for the first time. “That’s an excellent idea,” he told her, and Momma looked as if she would burst with happiness for such acknowledgement from her handsome son-in-law. He turned to Bulma, a pleading look in his eyes. “It’s settled, then,” he said authoritatively. But in her mind, he whispered, Please...

 

Damn you for being nice to Momma and then giving me that pathetic look. You know I can’t resist you when you beg.

 

I don’t beg, woman! he boomed back at her, but he kissed her on the lips. Thank you, my love.

 

“Okay, come on girls. Looks like we have to get ready to feed an army…”

 

 

 

 

The Capsule House was huge and luxurious, dwarfing their tiny home of the last few months. Momma had insisted that Poppa bring it once she had heard that her new son-in-law was a prince. She’d told Bulma that a Prince and Princess should live in a castle, and that they would need something big and impressive until they got back to Vegeta-sei. “You’ve got to make him a home like he’s accustomed to,” her mother had instructed her, not knowing that what Vegeta had become accustomed to in the past two decades had been anything but luxurious. But Momma had meant well, and Bulma had thanked her, leaving the capsule tucked away for a special occasion.

 

Now, she was glad that she would host the King, her new father-in-law, with a bit more elegance than she would have been able to in their tiny home. The truth was, she was a nervous wreck at the prospect of meeting Vegeta Ou. The things she had heard of him had not been favorable, even from his son. Knowing Vegeta’s own aristocratic snootiness must have been ingrained from birth, she couldn’t help but wonder what the King would think of an alien daughter-in-law, and a half-human heir. Vegeta had tried to reassure her from time to time when the topic had come up in conversation, but she knew that even he had misgivings about how his father might react to his family. He had never said so aloud, of course. But there were thoughts and dreams she had sensed from him that he didn’t even realize, and she had purposely kept quiet about it to save him from any embarrassment.

 

The sumptuous dinner was near completion, and she had left her mother and Melza to the finishing touches while she had gone upstairs to shower and dress. But what to wear? The mini-dress she’d had on didn’t seem quite appropriate. Pants were out. She settled on a black dress her mother had brought her, tight enough to show off her figure, but modest enough to be respectable. The neckline plunged to show her cleavage, but was tasteful, and the hemline came to a V in front and back, with slits on the sides. Sequins and beads made it glisten as she walked. Sexy but elegant. Perfect. She was debating how to wear her hair when Vegeta came into the room. She turned to him nervously. “Do I look okay?”

 

The expression on his face told her she looked more than okay. You look…too incredible for words… he thought to her, too taken aback to find his voice. She smiled and fell into his arms, knowing this open show of affection would be taboo in front of his father and the other Saiyans.

Her fingers tangled in his hair as he kissed her deeply, his love for her washing over her with the cascade of other emotions he was feeling. Gods, he was a bundle of nerves! She couldn’t even begin to sort out the myriad of conflicts that were raging within him...

 

Even after their lips had parted he hugged her tightly to him, and she sensed he’d needed to do this for the past two hours, ever since his encounter with his father. He’d said almost nothing of the meeting, but she knew that something had shaken him terribly.

 

“It’s Kakarot,” he said emotionlessly. “He’s become a Super Saiyan. I just don’t know how it’s possible…”

 

Bulma looked up at him in shock. “Goku? A Super Saiyan?”

 

He nodded. “He killed Cooler.”

 

“Isn’t that a good thing?” she asked, not quite understanding.

 

“There can only be one Legendary Super Saiyan,” he told her, releasing her. “Don’t you understand, Bulma? I will only be fit to rule my people if I am the most powerful! They’ve already witnessed his power. Unless I prove myself superior they will question my right to the throne. By Saiyan tradition, he could very well challenge me—“

 

“Vegeta, listen to me!” she said, taking his face in her hands and making him look her in the eyes. “Goku will not do that. He has no interest in being King. He fights for the pure challenge of it, or to protect the people he loves. I’m sure the only thing he wants to do is get back to Earth—although he’d probably like to pig out first on a good home-cooked meal,” she added, remembering where her friend’s priorities lie.

 

His lips curved into a smile. “He’s already told the king you’re an excellent cook.”

 

“Good. I’m glad he’s put in a good word for me.”

 

His expression sobered. “My father respects strength above all else. Kakarot seems to have made a very good impression on him.”

 

So that was it. “You’re his son,” she said with meaning.

 

“Yes. His son,” he repeated her words with disdain. “We know how much that means to him.”

 

“You’re not going to resolve all your feelings about your father in one night,” she told him. “Just remember one thing. You are the Prince of all Saiyans. No one, and nothing, can change that.” She smiled as she saw his face soften with her words, and she kissed him gently, feeling a good deal of his tension melt away with their contact. When she came away from him, she said, “Let’s just get through tonight, okay? Now tell me—“ She twirled around for him, letting him get a 360 degree view of her.  “Do I look like a Princess?”

 

“No,” he said quietly.

 

“Huh?” But she looked perfect!

 

He stepped towards her, touching her cheek gently, gazing into her eyes. “You look like a Queen.”

 

“Why, thank you, Sire,” she said with a bright smile. He kissed her tenderly, and took her hand, as they headed downstairs together.

 

 

 

 

He arrived at the ship with Rossdark at his side. Having realized that he’d stupidly forgotten to introduce the planet’s leader to his father, he’d invited him along. Rossdark had suggested he and his family leave to allow the Saiyans a private meeting. But with Kakarot and his friends there, including that weakling ex-boyfriend of Bulma’s, the dinner would be far from private. Vegeta assured him that he’d much prefer to have friends there.

 

The Saiyan no Ou had sensed his ki and was standing there when Vegeta arrived. His face was unreadable, and even Kakarot’s clownish cheer was more welcome than his father’s scrutinizing stare. He’d changed into more formal attire, a button-down shirt and black pants that his in-laws had brought from Earth. But he knew that in his father’s eyes nothing less than armor would suffice.

 

“Ottousama, allow me to present Rossdark, the leader of this planet.”

 

“I am at your service, Sire,” Rossdark said, bowing.

 

King Vegeta merely nodded an acknowledgement.

 

“Rossdark served me well on Frieza’s ship, and was invaluable in obtaining the planet’s dragonballs,” Vegeta added, hoping to stir more courteous a reaction in his father. “For his loyalty I have vowed Saiyan protection of this planet.”

 

His father looked at him sharply, but said nothing.

 

“Hey Vegeta, you think we could get going?” Goku asked, coming up to them. The idiot’s interruption was ironically a welcome one. “We’re really starving.”

 

“Then let’s get going,” Vegeta said authoritatively, struggling to cover his unease with his father’s behavior. With that he took off into the air.

 

 

 

He flew alone, dreading the evening that was about to unfold. He’d known his father was an elitist, and he had suffered from the same arrogance most of his life. But so many things were different now…

 

“So, boy, not even king yet and you’re making treaties?” His father’s voice startled him from his thoughts as the older Saiyan caught up to him.

 

He looked at his father’s face, unconsciously copying the same hard emotionless countenance. “Rossdark is a good man, and a friend. You could have shown more courtesy. He is, after all, the leader of this planet.”

 

“A King has no friends,” his father told him, his voice taking on the same instructional tone as when Vegeta had been a child. “Especially among those who are his inferiors. By making that vow to him, your honor now would prevent us from taking a very useful planet.”

 

“We have no need to take this or any other planet!” Vegeta replied sharply to his father.

 

“They are weak,” Vegeta Ou replied blandly.  “We are strong. It is the way it has always been.”

 

Vegeta wanted to berate his father in fury at his arrogance. Had he learned nothing from the failures of his past? But this was not the time for a deep discussion on the future course of the Saiyan Race. Instead, he replied, “Strength comes in many forms, not only in physical power. My woman has no ki to speak of. But she is a technological genius. She created the dragon ball radar we used to find the dragonballs, and the device Kakarot used to bring my image to you. Not to mention the encapsulation technology that she and her father have invented and utilized to transport huge volumes and masses over distances in space.” He paused, looking his father in the eyes, knowing that his pride in her was evident. “Strength of mind, of character, can be just as valuable as physical strength.”

 

His father’s eyes had softened for a moment, as if he saw some merit in his son’s words. But the Saiyan mask of stoicism descended once more as he said, “Such a people should be taken as royal slaves—not as a mate.”

 

A deep rage welled within him at his father’s insult. “You are wrong!” he snarled, a reaction much milder than he would have had had it been anyone else who had uttered such a slur. But his father’s eyes burned with rage nonetheless.

 

“I will excuse such insolence from you only because it has been over twenty years since I last trained you in the behavior of royalty. But mark my words, boy. If you ever wish to rule in my place you will have to learn what it means to be the Saiyan no Ou.”

 

“I’ve learned more in those twenty years than you could ever imagine,” Vegeta replied, his eyes devoid of the fear his father had always instilled in him. “And I am the strongest being in the Universe. No one will question my choices.” Not even you.

 

A smirk that was shockingly like his own crossed his father’s face. “You think that, eh? Well, as you so aptly pointed out, strength alone does not make a King.”

 

Their arrival at the capsule house prevented him from answering. “We’re here,” he announced.

 

Kakarot and his father caught up to them just then. “Wow, where’d that big house come from, Vegeta?” he asked as they landed in front of the huge domed building.

 

“Bulma’s parents brought it from Earth, in a capsule. Her father designed it,” he added, glancing at his father and satisfied that the King seemed sufficiently impressed.

 

“Their technology is amazing,” Bardock commented.

 

“Princess Bulma has made incredible contributions to our scientific and medical knowledge,” Rossdark added, deliberately directing himself at King Vegeta.  “She is brilliant.”

 

“From what Kakarot’s told me, she’s a genius,” Bardock replied. Was it Vegeta’s imagination, or was this show of admiration being put on for the King?

 

“She’s a really amazing cook, too,” Kakarot added, grinning impishly.

 

“Enough!” the King said to them, though his hint of a smile told them that their point had gotten across. He turned to his son. “All right, let me see this ingenious little woman of yours that I’ve heard so much about.”

 

She met them at the door, and Vegeta could not have been more proud of her. Her dress was shimmering in the last rays of sun before dusk, and she’d left her hair long and luxurious just as he liked it. Her eyes seemed like blue pools smiling at them, and her creamy white skin was  exquisite against the black of her attire. With the exception of that clown Kakarot, all of the Saiyan men seemed utterly enthralled by her beauty.

 

“Ottousama, I present to you my wife, Bulma Briefs, of Earth.”

 

Even Vegeta Ou seemed impressed, as she lowered her head demurely and said, “It is a great honor to meet you, Sire.”

 

“I’ve heard a great deal about you, Bulma Briefs,” the King told her as his eyes bore into her. “We shall see if you live up to the legends.”

 

“I told him you’re a great cook,” Kakarot piped in, as if that explained it all. “Bulma, we’re starving. Could you please let us have something before there’s any more talking?”

 

Bulma laughed at her friend, and even Vegeta was glad that the fool in his inimitable manner had broken the tension. “Sure, Son-Kun. Come in, gentleman, and make yourselves comfortable. Your dinner’s already on the table.”

 

 

 

 

Bulma had set a place for Vegeta Ou at the head of the huge table, placing Vegeta and Bardock at either side of him.  It was amazing the resemblance that Son-kun bore to his father, though the latter's eyes seemed to bear the weight of a great burden. A deep wisdom seemed to dwell within him, the same that had shown itself in his son only in times of dire need. Vegeta had said on more than one occasion that he thought Goku a fool, but she knew this to be far from the truth.   It was innocence and good that shone in Goku's face, and guided his actions. Bulma suspected that it was simply this lack of innocence in the older, hardened warrior that made him seem so different. He had seen, no, caused, as much carnage in his lifetime as Vegeta. And like Vegeta he had had an epiphany, seeing and regretting the evil of his ways. Perhaps that was why Vegeta seemed to like, or at least, respect, him. He had told her the stories, virtual legends now, of how Bardock had been granted the curse of future sight by the Kinassans, and how in seeing Vegeta-sei's end, had tried to prevent it, by taking on Frieza himself. He had failed, of course, but through the miracle of the dragonballs had been brought back to life. Bulma wondered if he still possessed the power to see the future. There were a few things she just might want to ask him. But for now, she was just happy to see the look on Son-kun's face as he sat contentedly next to his father, stuffing his face. Both father and son seemed glad to be reunited.

 

Vegeta and his father were quite another matter altogether. She had not sensed such tension in her mate since before he'd destroyed Frieza. She'd purposely avoided telepathic contact with Vegeta, not sure if his father would be able to detect it. But something told her the two had already exchanged uncomfortable words, and she could only wonder if she and the baby had been the topic of discussion.

 

King Vegeta's contempt for them all was poorly hidden, and Bulma didn't think he could care less. He'd been civil to Poppa, but hadn't said a word to Momma, who in her typical fashion had gushed about ‘seeing now where Vegeta had gotten his good looks’. Vegeta had flushed slightly at that, but had looked seriously worried as his father had simply glared at Momma in disapproval. The Saiyan no Ou had an air about him that seemed to say he would just as easily blast an annoying person out of existence as he would swat a fly.  For Vegeta's sake he had been polite to her thus far. But how far would that tolerance go? It was inconceivable to her that he had not even asked to see his grandson, who was napping after a vigorous play session with Gohan. It occurred to her that the elitist monarch might not even consider the half-human child a legitimate heir. If that were the case, she knew Vegeta would be devastated. No matter what had happened in the past, his father's approval meant more to him than he would ever admit.

 

"I'm sure Bulma could draw up the schematics for you--"

 

Hearing her name drew Bulma from her musings. She turned to her father's voice. The doctor had been deep in discussion with Bardock, who was thoroughly intrigued with the Earth technology he had seen tonight. The King was silently observing, his face a stoic mask.

 

Bardock raised his eyebrows. "You're saying that the Princess understands all your designs?

 

Vegeta Ou's interest seemed to perk, though she would bet that Bardock's use of the title ‘princess’ had ruffled him. Poppa just chuckled. "Understand them? Why I'd say she's refined most of them.  Except for the first prototype Capsules I designed when she was a little girl, she's worked with me on developing almost everything our Company produces. Some of the things she's come up with even I don't understand."

 

Bardock seemed singularly impressed, as opposed to the other Saiyans who appeared to take no interest in ‘tech talk’. The King's next words voiced what was probably the popular opinion.

 

"I suppose a weak race with virtually no fighting power would have to compensate somehow to survive," he said disdainfully.

 

Bulma saw the faces of her friends, especially Krillin and Yamcha, register their anger at the insult. Neither would dare to respond to the King. But Goku, with his fearless honesty, was quick to defend his adopted planet.

 

"Humans are not weak!” he told the King, his outright disagreement with Vegeta Ou eliciting worried looks from the Saiyan soldiers. “Krillin, Yamcha and Tien could hold their own against any of these guys.”  He motioned to the Saiyans, who weren’t sure whether to be outraged or amused by Goku’s boast.

 

“Uh, he’s only speaking hypothetically, of course, isn’t that right, Goku?” Krillin put in meekly.

 

“And look at Gohan,” Goku was continuing proudly. “He’s half-human, and he was even able to defeat—“

 

“More meat, Goku?” Bulma broke in quickly, not letting him finish the sentence that would have made Vegeta either die of humiliation or blast him on the spot.

 

“Uh, sure, Bulma, thanks!” Goku said, happily distracted.

 

She glanced at Vegeta, who was doing amazingly well at controlling his emotions. “You and I have both found the secret to producing strong sons, Kakarot,” he said stiffly. “I believe it’s the mixture of Saiyan and Human blood. My son is only an infant and his energy level is extraordinary. I wouldn’t be surprised if he surpassed Gohan by the time he was two.”

 

“I don’t know about that, Vegeta—” Goku began, but his own son broke in before angers could begin to flare.

 

“Hey, Bulma, where is the baby? Shouldn’t he be awake by now? I know everyone else will really want to see him!”

 

As if on cue, a shrill cry erupted from upstairs. “Excuse me,” she said, rising. As she passed out of the King’s line of sight, she threw a warning glance at Vegeta.

 

Just bring down my son, woman, so I can show this baka what a true Saiyan warrior is. And don’t put him in anything ‘cute’!!

 

She had to suppress a laugh as she hurried upstairs to Trunks. A change of diaper and a fresh new pair of pajamas devoid of any teddy bears or bunnies, and he was ready. “Okay, kiddo. This is really important for your daddy,” she said as he snuggled against her, wrapping his tail around her arm. “Whatever you do, please don’t pee on the King!”

 

Not that that wouldn’t be absolutely hysterical, she thought to herself.

 

When she reached the dining room, she felt all eyes turn to her. But even the friendly smiles and comments of her friends could not ease the tension of the disapproving stares of the Saiyans. With the exception of Bardock, they were looking at her baby as if he were some sort of an aberration. She instinctively held him closer as she came to face the King.

 

His face was hard as he glared down at his grandson, such a contrast to Poppa, whose eyes lit up each time he saw the boy. With a dull ache in the pit of her stomach she knew at that moment that Vegeta Ou would never accept this baby as his son’s rightful heir. Indignation swelled within her, but she pushed it down, knowing that Vegeta would feel her despair.

 

Vegeta came to stand beside her, his presence making her feel safer amongst all the hostile glares. Despite the Saiyan stoicism he was trying to maintain in public, she could hear the pride in his voice as he said, “Ottousama, allow me to present my son, Trunks.”

 

“Trunks?” The King raised an eyebrow, and Bulma wondered if he was insulted that Vegeta’s firstborn had not been named for him.

 

“Say hello to your grandfather, Trunks…” she cooed, holding him up for Vegeta Ou to see.

 

The baby looked up and smiled.

 

The King merely cast a disparaging glance in the boy’s direction, then looked at his son. “If it weren’t for his tail, you wouldn’t even know he had Saiyan blood.”

 

Vegeta’s eyes flared with anger. “He has royal blood. My blood runs through his veins, and he will be the most powerful King Vegeta-sei has ever seen!”

 

One of the Saiyan soldiers who had had too much wine made the mistake of chuckling, murmuring, “Trunks Ou.” Before he knew what was happening, Vegeta had grabbed him by the throat and raised him into the air.

 

“Do you have a problem showing respect to your Prince?!” he roared. “Or are you anxious to be dead again?”

 

There was pure terror in the man’s eyes, as he tried to gasp for pardon. Bulma knew that Vegeta’s rage was directed at more than just the man, and that this drunken fool was suffering for the King’s rudeness as well.

 

“Leave him for your son to punish, Ouji-sama,” Bardock said suddenly with a calm assurance. “The boy will surpass all of us by the time he’s seven years old. When he too is a Super Saiyan, no one will dare question him.”

 

Silence. Deafening silence. All eyes turned to Bardock, with the reverence deserving of a prophet. So many had doubted his abilities to see the future, but he had been proven right; no one would dare question his visions now.

 

Vegeta smirked as he dropped the Saiyan to the floor. “You have seen this, then?” he asked with satisfaction.

 

“He will ascend while he is still a child,” the older man replied. 

 

“You see, Kakarot?” Vegeta said smugly to his rival.

 

“I do sense a strong energy in him,” Goku agreed pensively, coming over to look at the baby more closely, then broke into a grin.  “And he’s a cute little guy, too!”

 

Vegeta groaned as Goku proceeded to make faces at the baby, eliciting a burst of giggles. Soon Krillin, Gohan and Chaotzu had followed suit, and were taking turns testing Trunks’ strength as he grasped their fingers and pulled at their faces. Piccolo and Tien were watching close by, forever the loners, while Yamcha stayed away. For a moment Bulma’s eyes met his, and she turned away in guilt at the sadness she saw there, knowing that she was responsible.

 

The four Saiyan warriors had gone back to their meals, clearly afraid of what Vegeta would do if they even looked at the little prince in the wrong way. Bardock’s prediction had shaken them almost as much as Vegeta’s protective rage. Bulma glanced over at her mate, as he talked quietly with his father of politics. His face was calm, but she could feel the turmoil within him. His father’s manner had been deplorably rude, and she knew that Vegeta felt embarrassed by it. She also knew that a part of him was still that little boy who wanted terribly to make his father proud. Vegeta Ou’s clear disapproval of his son’s family was tearing him apart inside.

 

“Do not underestimate King Cold,” she could hear the King saying. “He will be out for revenge for his sons. We must eliminate him, or make peace with him at once.”

 

“Make peace with him?” Vegeta was scoffing in disbelief. “Those Tsiru-jin slime can’t be trusted. They used us for our strength and then tried to wipe us out of existence!”

 

“Then we must be prepared to destroy them—and take their empire as our own. Half of the planets they conquered were our handiwork anyway. Our only mistake was in letting them reap the benefits of our labor.”

 

Vegeta’s glared at his father, incredulous. “Our only mistake? What about the fact that we slaughtered billions upon billions of innocents in Frieza’s name?”

 

Bulma silently swelled with pride for her husband, knowing that he truly was a changed man. But Vegeta Ou was looking at his son as if he had committed high treason. “Inferior life forms, boy. The strong must always vanquish the weak. It’s the way of the Universe. I’ve told you that a thousand times. The Saiyan Race is feared and respected throughout the galaxy. That is as it should be.”

 

“We are feared and despised!” Vegeta corrected. “To rule does not mean to destroy and enslave! By the graces of the gods we have been given a second chance to choose another path for our civilization. Only a fool would make the same mistakes twice!”

 

Vegeta’s impertinence was trying the King’s patience, she could tell. She watched as Vegeta Ou stood from his chair, his eyes blazing.  “Take care with your words, Vegeta. You know nothing of what it is to create an empire, or to rule one.”

 

“But I know what it is to destroy entire worlds,” Vegeta countered bitterly, too caught up in the ghosts of his past to notice that she, and the others in the room, had stopped to listen as the father and son had raised their voices.  “I will carry that shame with me for the rest of my days. To do so was to dishonor our people, not make them great. Why do you think I chose not to give my son my name? I have left a legacy of blood and destruction throughout the galaxy, and I would not have him branded with that disgrace.”

 

Vegeta Ou shook his head in disgust. “I don’t know what weakness has overtaken you, boy.”  Bulma’s heart broke for her husband as she realized the weight of those words, and saw the anger cross his onyx eyes.  “Mark my words, boy, the Saiyan race will rebuild the empire that Frieza took away, and the royal line of the Legendary King Vegeta will carry on his name for centuries to come. But it won’t be ruled through weakness, or by half-breed bastard heirs. When your time comes you will give your name to your true heir and he will rule as his forefathers did before him!”

 

Bulma’s face turned white as King Vegeta’s true sentiments came spewing forth. She held her baby more closely, protectively, for the first time afraid for his life. But as her eyes met Vegeta’s she saw no fear—just a blinding rage at the father who had attacked someone more precious to Vegeta than his own life or pride: his son. In fury Vegeta faced his father, his ki seeming to glow with his indignation. He seemed to be straining to refrain from blasting his father into oblivion as he said evenly, “No one refers to my son in such a manner. Were you not my father, you would be dead now.”

 

It was then that the King spied her nearby, and knew that this discussion had become public domain. He sighed deeply, tiredly. “Enough of this farce, Vegeta. I would speak to you in private.”

 

Vegeta’s control of his rage was much more tenuous as he said, “Yes, I think we should.” With that he strode towards the door, stopping only to address Bardock and Goku. “I leave my family and friends in your protection until I return.”

 

Then he was gone, leaving the King to follow behind him. Infuriated, the monarch turned to his guards. “Back to the ship,” he snapped. To Bulma’s relief, the four Saiyans followed their King, and the only ones who remained were those whom she would trust with her life. Welcoming the respite from unbearable tension, she sagged into a chair, still hugging her now-sleeping son to her breast.

 

“Well, Vegeta certainly didn’t get his good manners from his father,” her mother pouted indignantly. “He was downright rude. Who does he think he is?”

 

“The King of a race about to make the same mistakes the second time around,” Bardock muttered. He turned to Bulma. “You don’t need to worry about him,” he told her, as if reading the fear in her eyes. “The King couldn’t hurt him if he wanted to—Prince Vegeta has far surpassed him in power, and he knows it.”

 

“Is my baby in danger?” she asked quietly. His silence told her all she needed to know. “I don’t understand, Bardock,” she said, trembling with the effort to hold back her tears. “You said…he would be a Super Saiyan…”

 

“What do you see, Father?” Goku implored him, his expression dark. When Goku was this serious, it was definitely time to worry, she thought with sudden panic.

 

Bardock just shook his head grimly, in seeming frustration. “I’m not…sure…I see images, visions, but no clear path, no logic. They don’t make sense…unless the future isn’t really set…”

 

“Bulma, I don’t like the sound of all this,” Momma was saying nervously. “Why don’t you and the baby come back home with us—“

 

“No! I won’t leave Vegeta!” she cried.

 

“Not permanently,” Poppa said gently. “Just until Vegeta and his father sort this out. ” The real worry in her father’s eyes was frightening her.

 

“Bulma, your parents are right,” Yamcha broke in suddenly, probably the first words he’d said to her all night. “Vegeta can…take care of himself. But you and Trunks are targets. Did you see the way those Saiyan soldiers were looking at you? You can’t really be thinking of going to Vegeta-sei—”

 

“I’ve got to agree with Yamcha,” Krillin was saying, suddenly at her side. “You can’t put yourself and the baby in danger like that—”

 

“If you think those guys are tough, Bulma, wait until you see some of the hardliners back on Vegeta-sei,” Piccolo added, breaking his own contemplative observation.  “They haven’t learned a damned thing from being dead for over twenty years. They’re just like the King. They think that if Frieza hadn’t screwed them over they’d still be ruling the galaxy.”

 

“I don’t think it’s safe, Bulma,” Gohan added.

 

“Please, stop it. All of you!” It was all too much, too fast. She closed her eyes, reaching out for Vegeta with her mind and feeling him. She breathed deeply, and looked up at her family and friends. “I know…you’re worried for us, but until Vegeta gets back—“

 

“It is pointless now anyway,” Rossdark told them all. “The Prince and the Princess are bound to this world as I am until the dragon returns. She could not leave before then without destroying the Earth and the Saiyan home world.” He didn’t have to add that all those present who had been brought back by the dragon would simply return to the other world.

 

“All right, then,” Goku said, in that serious voice that was much lower than his own. “Everyone just calm down. I don’t think Bulma and the baby are in any immediate danger. Those soldiers wouldn’t dare touch them after seeing how powerful Vegeta’s become. And the King—I don’t think Vegeta’s going to let his father anywhere near them again.”

 

“It’s very late,” Bardock said, nodding in agreement with his son. “You should all get some sleep, and Kakarot and I will stand watch until Vegeta Ouji returns.”

 

Bulma looked down at her baby, asleep now in her arms, and kissed him on the forehead. Please, Vegeta. Come back soon…

 

 

 

 

Vegeta had flown to an isolated spot far from any signs of life or civilization.  What was about to transpire between himself and his father could very well result in a battle the likes of which this planet had never seen. He wouldn’t chance the destruction that might ensue if they were to come head to head near any populated area. He hadn’t looked back once, but could feel his father’s ki following him, growing with the king’s impatience. When Vegeta finally set down, the silence of the dark night had not abated his rage, and he crashed down so hard that his feet crushed through solid rock. He turned to his father, a venomous contempt in his voice that had been years in the making as he sputtered, “Explain your blatant insult to the honor of my woman and son!”

 

“You will not address me with such disrespect, boy! I am still your father and your King!”

 

“Then I respectfully ask you to explain your inexcusable lack of respect towards my family!” he spat sarcastically.

 

The King’s face was red with a fury that he seemed to be trying to restrain. When Vegeta had been a boy, that look from his father had often been prelude to a serious beating, reprimand for some impertinence, and a reminder of who was the stronger. But Vegeta was no longer a child, and his father was no longer the more powerful warrior. Both men knew that very well, and for a moment the Saiyan Prince was not sure just how either of them would adjust to the new balance of power. He braced himself for the physical and verbal assault…but it never came. Instead, his father looked at him with something akin to sympathy as he said, “I know things have not been easy for you…and I can understand how you might find comfort in such a beautiful and intelligent girl…but you are the Prince of all Saiyans. You will someday be King. To lead our people you must choose a mate from among our finest warriors, a woman who is fitting to be your Queen—”

 

“I have already chosen such a mate, and she will be my Queen,” he replied with a confidence that dared anyone to say otherwise.

 

“And you think your people will accept her and her half-breed brat?” his father asked dubiously.

 

“They will because I say it will be so. No one will dare challenge me!” he returned fiercely.

 

“They will kill them, Vegeta!” the King said in harsh frankness.

 

His father’s words bit into him with the truth that he had been trying to deny. If the King’s reaction to his family was in any way indicative of the arrogance of his people, Bulma and Trunks would be in great danger. “I will protect them!” he roared, though he knew his father could see his faltering confidence in his own ability to do so.

 

“Then protect them by sparing them a violent end,” Vegeta Ou said with sudden calm. He paused, as if hoping Vegeta would guess his next words and save him the difficulty of saying them. But despite the growing pain in the pit of his stomach, Vegeta refused to admit where he knew his father was going with this. Finally, the King spat it out. “Put them down yourself, boy. While they sleep. If you wish, I will do it for you. Then this whole mess will be done with and you can move on to take on your true destiny.”

 

Even knowing in his heart what his father would suggest could not soften the blow of his words. Vegeta’s body shook with a fury greater than he had ever known, his ki soaring uncontrollably as he burst into a golden glow of energy that was even more than Super Saiyan. The ground was shaking below them, the shock wave of his transformation nearly knocking the King off balance. “You will not touch my wife and son!” he boomed.

 

The King stood before him, inexplicably unafraid. He should be afraid! If he dared touch Bulma and Trunks Vegeta would blast him into oblivion without a second thought!  But his father was looking at him strangely, as if something had just occurred to him. Suddenly, he was shaking his head with disgust. “You fool. You’ve bonded with her, haven’t you?”

 

To answer such an intimate question seemed more obscene than to ask it, but his father took his hesitance as an affirmation.

 

“Foolish boy. Now you’ve sealed her fate and your own. If she dies by anyone’s hand, your bond will probably take you with her.”

 

His father’s words merely confirmed what he had known to be true all along. He could not go on without Bulma. Now he understood why. It occurred to him with great pain that this simple fact meant what he had suspected about his parents all along. They had never bonded. If they had, then his father would never have survived his mother’s death. His father’s  inability to understand the simple truth of his love for his family was abundantly clear. With a sickness in his heart he now knew why. The King could never comprehend something he had never known himself.

 

“Perhaps…there is another way,” Vegeta Ou said thoughtfully. 

 

“I’m waiting,” Vegeta said impatiently, hanging onto the small hope that his father would find a satisfactory solution.

 

“You could leave them here…or send them back to Earth.”

 

“What?” he asked, incredulous at his father’s gall.

 

“You can visit them from time to time…but on Vegeta-sei you will choose a queen to bear you an heir that will be more suitable. A King does not have to bond with or even care for his Queen, as long as she bears him a son.”

 

Vegeta thought he would be sick. “Was this how you felt for my mother?”

 

Vegeta Ou’s face darkened. “I did care for your mother. She was a fine Saiyan warrior of noble birth, and a fitting queen. But I would not have been so stupid as to bond with her, and give my enemies a weakness to use against me. If you want to keep your Earth woman and her son alive, then do so. But their existence must be secret. And you must choose a proper Queen to bear your heir!”

 

“I already have!” he replied sharply.

 

“That light-haired blue-eyed freak you call your son—“

 

“What do you know of sons, old man!?” Vegeta cut him off in a rage. “You, who gave your own son over to a monster!”

 

 The King’s closed his eyes briefly, the shame of his actions clear. “I know it was difficult for you, Vegeta,” he began.

 

“Difficult?!” The anguish of a lifetime suddenly burst to the surface, like boiling magma erupting from a volcano. “Did you know what he would do to me?! Beating me down physically, and emotionally, using  me for his…perverse pleasures and whims, draining me of every ounce of dignity and pride—“

 

“Vegeta. Say no more, please.”  His father seemed shaken. Good. Let him drop dead from his guilt.

 

“I submitted to his will because he vowed to keep you alive,” Vegeta told him, refusing to spare him this. “By the time I learned that he had destroyed our planet it was too late. He had already transformed me into a half-mad killing machine with no conscience and no reason to ever believe that this was wrong.”

 

“I am sorry, my son,” the King said, real regret in his eyes. “But I had no other choice. I did it to save our people.”

 

“You betrayed your family, and you led your people to ruin,” he said with contempt. “When I am King, I will do neither.”

 

“You will find things are not so cut and dry,” his father warned. “A King must make difficult decisions. It’s easy for you to second-guess my choices. But in my place, you might not act so differently.”

 

“If you do not change your way of thinking, it will be your downfall once more,” Vegeta countered.

 

“And your affection for your little family will be yours,” his father warned. “They are your weakness, Vegeta.”

 

“No, Father,” he replied, looking him in the eyes. “They are my strength. And I will not let you, or anyone else, take them from me.”

 

 “Is that a threat, boy?” his father asked knowingly.

 

“Take it as you will.”

 

He didn’t look back as he took off, leaving his father cursing in their native language. There was nothing else to be said here. He had purged himself of a lifetime of resentment and rage, with a sort of closure he had never imagined he would have. The black spot on his soul that Bulma’s love had begun to mend seemed even lighter after tonight. If only he could rid himself of this dull sense of foreboding that his father had planted, he would truly be at peace.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Reluctantly, Rossdark and his family had bid their good byes, while Momma had worked tirelessly to prepare beds for the Z Warriors in the Capsule Mansion. Sitting in the living room now with just her parents and friends from Earth, Bulma felt a bittersweet comfort in their presence. Trunks was sound asleep, and yet she had been unable to bring herself to set him down. She was virtually powerless, yet somehow her baby felt safer in her arms, and until Vegeta returned, that was where he would stay.

 

“More cake? Cookies?” Momma asked with a yawn, bringing around another tray. The sugar high alone would have kept them up had anxiety not played a hand. Barely an hour had passed since Vegeta had gone, and Bulma kept reaching out, relaxing only when she felt that he was still near. A dozen nightmarish thoughts assaulted her, the most horrific of which was that the King might actually kill his son in disgust at his weakness, then seek out Vegeta’s tiny infant heir. The thought kept her clutching at Trunks more tightly.

 

“I’ll take some,” Goku said cheerily as he grabbed another handful of cookies. The others were watching him in amusement, saying how nothing had ever disturbed his appetite and nothing ever would.

 

Suddenly, the door swished open and Bulma let out a heavy sigh of relief as Vegeta stepped into the room. “Vegeta!” she breathed.

 

His eyes were burning bright teal, and his hair, swept up in the golden glow of a Super Saiyan, seemed almost longer than it had been when he’d left. The warriors in the room seemed to start at the incredible power that was emanating from him, only Gohan daring to go closer and say, “Wow! Vegeta! What happened to you?”

 

“He’s ascended beyond Super Saiyan,” Goku said knowingly, with a smile of admiration. “Haven’t you, Vegeta?”

 

As if he’d only just realized that he’d forgotten to power down, Vegeta did so now, giving Goku a slight nod devoid of any of the pleasure she would have expected of him on such an occasion. His eyes fell on her and the baby, and his body seemed to heave a deep sigh of relief. She wanted to run into his arms, but she knew that he already felt awkward amongst all of her Earth friends. They were keeping watch over me until you got back, she told him silently as he stepped towards her.

 

The tenderness in his eyes told her what he would never say or do in front of others. He raised a hand to her face, caressing her cheek, as if boldly stating that no one would dare challenge his open show of affection now. “I need to speak to Kakarot and Bardock alone,” he said quietly. I will join you upstairs when I am through.

 

She nodded, turning to the others. “We should all get some sleep,” she said, hinting that they should leave the men alone. Following her lead, the others departed, though clearly dying of curiosity. She chuckled as Piccolo’s ears perked up; she’d have to ask him to relay whatever he heard with his supersensitive hearing.

 

Alone in their bedroom, she considered putting Trunks in his crib, but thought better of it. Until

Vegeta clued her in on what was going on, she would lie down with him beside her.

 

Just in case.

 

 

 

 

Vegeta paced nervously, his tail thrashing wildly as he considered how to say what he must. Kakarot was sitting like a fool, munching on his mother-in-law’s sweets, while Bardock eyed him patiently, waiting.

 

It occurred to him that once again he had ascended without the fanfare that such a feat should have deserved. But somehow, kicking Kakarot’s ass and proving his superiority had taken a back burner to other concerns. Kakarot was a clown and an idiot, but the strongest damned fighter next to himself. And his loyalty to Bulma, and the rest of those Earthlings, was without question. Once more, Vegeta found himself having to look to the bigger Saiyan as an ally.

 

He looked into Bardock’s eyes, wondering if he could be trusted as well. His gut told him that he could. Perhaps his gift of foresight, and his failed attempts at knocking some sense into the more arrogant Saiyans, had made him a wiser man than the King. It troubled Vegeta that a third-class

Squad Captain should have more sense than his own father. But his father was an enemy now, as far as he was concerned. To him, to his people, and, most importantly, to his woman and son.

 

“Did you know how he would react, Bardock?” he asked quietly. “Did you ‘see’ this?”

 

“Not precisely, Ouji-sama. But I am not surprised.” He shook his head. “He hasn’t learned from his mistakes. None of them have.”

 

“And yet I thought I was giving our race a second chance,” he murmured.

 

“You have, Prince Vegeta. But the road ahead will be a difficult one. You can’t trust your father. And you must take care to protect your family.”

 

Vegeta fought the urge to ask specifics, sensing that Bardock was telling him all he knew, or all he could. “I need your help, Bardock. Your pledge of loyalty. I need you and Kakarot to go back to Vegeta-sei until I return, to keep an eye on things. To report back to me anything I should know.”

 

“But Vegeta, I was going to go back to Earth—“ Kakarot began.

 

“You fool! Do you not understand what is going on around you? You say Bulma is like a sister to you, but do you realize the danger she is in?”

 

Kakarot’s face sobered. “I can’t believe your father would actually do something to her or the baby.”

 

“Then wake up, Kakarot! He gave me three choices tonight—to kill them myself, to let him do it, or to abandon her so that I could take a Saiyan wife.”

 

Kakarot’s face contorted in anger. Good, the fool had a spine after all! “What do you want us to do?” he asked, in that lower voice that he reserved for battle.

 

“Keep my father from destroying our race before I even have a chance to try and save it,” he said simply. “And make sure he does nothing to turn public opinion against me or my family. Meanwhile, I will continue to train and become even more powerful. Then no one will dare question me or my choice of Queen.”

 

“You have my pledge, my Prince,” Bardock told him, bowing down on one knee. “Your father led us to our destruction once.  I refuse to let that happen again.”

 

The fact that Bardock had so readily agreed to what was tantamount to treason against his king was disturbing. The man might someday turn on him just as easily. But Bardock was known to be an honorable man, who loved his people. He could see the danger of the path the king had chosen to follow. Somehow, either by instinct or premonition, he knew that Vegeta had far nobler plans for the Saiyan race. Vegeta wanted to trust him.

 

He had to.

 

“You know you can count on me, Vegeta,” Kakarot told him as his father rose, not quite a formal pledge, but a sincere one.

 

“I am indebted to you both,” Vegeta told them gratefully. “And Kakarot, you needn’t worry about your friends. Bulma’s parents have sufficient room in their ship to transport them all back to Earth.”

 

“Ouji-sama, do you think it might be advisable to send the Princess and young Prince back to Earth temporarily for their own protection? Until you have established your control on Vegeta-sei?”

 

Vegeta eyed him narrowly. “Bardock, if there is something you have foreseen—some threat to Bulma and the baby—I want to know right now.”

 

“There is nothing specific. If there were, I would tell you. I just sense that someone will try to harm them—or you.”

 

“Anyone who tries will regret it,” he replied. “No, unless there is some precise danger you foresee, I would prefer to watch over them myself.”

 

“As you wish.”

 

“It is settled then. I will tell my father in the morning that Kakarot is my lieutenant, and that I wish him to return to watch over our people until I am able to do so myself.”

 

And so it was decided.  Bidding the men good night, he hurried up the stairs to the bedroom that Bulma had chosen as theirs when the capsule Mansion had been set up that afternoon. He didn’t like this house very much. He was anxious to move back into their little home that held so many memories of their life together. He’d half-joked to her once that they should bring it back to Vegeta-sei, and set it up beside the royal palace as their own private retreat. Tonight, however, there was a certain safety in knowing that half a dozen warriors who considered Bulma like kin slept under the same roof. After all that had transpired, he wasn’t sure he felt comfortable to ever leave her side again.

 

He’d expected, no, hoped, to find her asleep. But as he stepped through the door her beautiful blue eyes were wide with a fear that he cursed his father for having placed there. The door closed behind him and she was in his arms. “I’m so glad you’re back,” she sighed, the warmth of her body pressed against his giving him more comfort than she could possibly know.

 

“Everything will be all right,” he whispered, hugging her to him. Gods, she felt so good in his arms. After all the horrible scenarios that had passed through his father’s lips, just holding her made him feel as if he would cry with relief. I never want to let go of you. Never! his mind cried out to hers, and he kissed her deeply, not even having the strength to speak.

 

For a long while they stood in a loving embrace, until finally she said softly, “Tell me. What happened?”

 

He separated from her, studying the determination in her eyes to know the truth. He owed it to her, and yet he wanted to spare her. She should not have to know, to fear. “It will be all right, woman,” he managed hoarsely,  knowing he wouldn’t be able to talk about it even if he wanted to.

 

“I want to know what your father said,” she insisted. “I have a right to know. It concerns me, our baby, and our future together…”

 

“Can’t you simply be satisfied with my vow to protect you and our son?” he complained, though he knew damn well she was right.

 

“I know you will,” she replied. “But I still want to know what your father said about us.”

 

“You’re a pain in the ass,” he said dryly.

 

“I know. But I still won’t shut up until you tell me.”

 

His lips twitched into a weak smile. “That’s for sure.” He glanced at the bed, thinking to lie down with her there, and saw the baby sleeping comfortably in the center.

 

“I was lying down with him in my arms,” she explained. “I—I didn’t feel safe—”

 

“Leave him there. He can sleep between us tonight.” The thought of lying with them both in his arms was comforting. After what had happened tonight, he didn’t think he could bear to ever have them out of his presence.  For now he scooped her up, sitting back in a large armchair and settling her on his lap. Her fingers laced around his neck, and she looked at him expectantly.

 

“Tell me,” she prodded him.

 

How to begin? How to tell her things that shamed him so? “Your parents have treated me like a son,” he said softly. “I am disgraced by my father’s behavior towards you and the baby.”

 

“What did he say when you were alone?”

 

He took a deep breath. Woman, this is so hard to talk about.

 

Then show me… she whispered in his mind.

 

Vegeta hesitated, knowing how disturbing she would find his father’s words to be. But she would never be satisfied until she knew it all. He nodded, taking her face in his hands and kissing her. And as he felt her mind reach into his, he opened himself to her completely, letting her see the memory as he had seen it, feel it as he had felt it, the anger, the pain, the outright rage as his father had suggested the unthinkable…

 

In his arms she began to tremble, and when he opened his eyes to look at her there were tears streaming down her face as the intensity of his emotions overwhelmed her. He held her tightly against his chest as she wept softly, hating himself for exposing her to this, hating his father even more. “I’m sorry…I’m sorry…” he whispered, stroking her hair.

 

“Don’t let him hurt our baby,Vegeta! Don’t let him!” she sobbed, clinging to him.

 

“I won’t,” he vowed. “No one will harm you or our baby. I promise you.”

 

For a long time he held her, until she had cried all the tears there were to shed. He knew that the emotion within her was more than hers alone. His own rage and anguish had engulfed her through their bond, and she was purging herself of all that he could not. When she looked up at him, her reddened eyes were burning with the anger that followed despair.

 

“I can’t believe he would want you to kill us! What the hell is his problem?!”

 

He almost smiled. This was his Bulma—indignant, angry and ready to fight. “What do you expect of a man who never even bonded with his queen, and sent his son off to—“

 

She cut him off, touching her fingers to his lips. He kissed them, glad that she had. He never had what we have. He will never understand. I consider myself fortunate that he did not raise me to be just as he is. Ironic, wasn’t it? That in subjecting him to that hell, his father had actually spared him from growing up to be a clone of himself.

 

He told her of his discussion with Kakarot and Bardock, and the plans that had been made. “We can trust, Bardock,” she assured him. “He’s different from the others.”

 

“Let’s hope there are other men like him on Vegeta-sei,” he murmured. He sighed deeply. “It will not be easy, Bulma. Even Bardock suggested that perhaps I should let you and the baby go to Earth until I have stabilized my control—“ He said it quickly, almost wishing he hadn’t, but needing to know if she herself was ready to face what lie ahead.

 

“Is that what you want?” she asked warily.

 

“Is that…something you would wish to do?” he countered, dreading her answer.

 

“Momma and Poppa suggested it,” she admitted. “Piccolo said the hardliners on Vegeta-sei were as bad as your father—“

 

“But with less than his strength,” he reminded her. “None of them would dare challenge me.”

 

“Krillin and Yamcha were worried too—they thought it might not be a bad idea if I went back to Earth until—“

 

“Yamcha.” The name left a bitter taste in his mouth. “So he suggested you go back to Earth.” He tried to contain the sudden urge to blast the weakling human in his sleep. “Why am I not surprised?”

 

“Vegeta, it’s not like that,” she reassured him lovingly.

 

“I suppose he thinks that once you were away from me he could win you back.” He was finding it impossible to conceal his jealousy. The thought of Bulma and the baby light years away, of that bastard Yamcha trying to…

 

“It doesn’t matter,” she told him, looking him in the eyes. “I told them that I won’t leave you.”

 

“You…you did?” He wasn’t sure whether it was the unwavering loyalty in her gaze or the tenderness in her voice that melted his anger and doubts into nothingness.

 

She smiled at him, running her fingers through his hair. “Do you really think I would let you go anywhere without me?” No way I’m going to let any of those Saiyan bitches try to get a hold of you!

 

He laughed, then kissed her tenderly, gratefully, too overcome by his feelings for her to speak. She was no Saiyan. But she was the bravest woman he had ever known. I will not let you down, woman. You will be my Queen. And no one will dare say otherwise.

 

They moved to the bed, and he held her close, their baby sleeping between them. His tail slipped protectively around them both, and soon the soft sound of her steady breathing told him that she was asleep. He looked at them for a long while, his precious family, in pure wonder and thankfulness that they were his. He could almost lose himself in the peacefulness of it all…

 

But he could not sleep. And he would not rest, until the threat to those he loved had been wiped out of existence forever.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“You will never be his Queen!

 

The dark rage in Vegeta Ou’s face was terrifying. He would stop at nothing to keep her from his son. His hands clenched around her throat, and she knew that he could snap her neck effortlessly, instantly; but for some sadistic reason, he was enjoying the torture of slow strangulation. Bulma gasped for breath, tears streaming down her face as she struggled in vain to break away from the crazed Saiyan. Where was Vegeta?! She reached out for him with her mind, but felt only a void where his spirit had been…

 

She looked into the King’s eyes, black like Vegeta’s, but evil, so evil…black like death, her death at his hands, blackness that she was falling into…

 

The hands loosened around her neck, and she gasped in air in wonder at being alive, opening her eyes, expecting to see that evil onyx glare, instead coming face to face with blood red eyes, alabaster face, sickening stench…

 

Was it Frieza? No! It couldn’t be! Vegeta had killed him. No, not Frieza, much bigger, much stronger, more evil emanating from him if that could possibly be…  “Vegeta!” she screamed as the thing came closer, wrapping its tail around her waist, pulling her roughly against his deathly cold body. Fear and ice made her shiver, as the monster’s face twisted into a sinister grin.

 

“Vegeta? He can’t help you anymore,” it said, motioning to the side. Her eyes followed his gesture to the prone form of Vegeta, bloodied and broken, lifeless. Her scream failed her as grief consumed her, and the thing tightened its grip around her waist…

 

 “Bulma! Bulma! It’s me! Wake up!”

 

Her eyes snapped open, yet she was still struggling, as something wrapped around her waist. But as sleep dissipated into the morning light, it was not the hideous monster but Vegeta who held her against him, not chilling cold but the warmth of his skin that drew her from the horror of her nightmare. “Vegeta! Thank Kami you’re alive!” she blurted, clinging to him in relief. It had been so real. Yet here he was, warm and alive, as reality came flooding back to her.

 

“It’s all right,” he soothed her as she buried her face in his bare chest, taking in his scent to erase the memory of that stench…

 

Only then did she realize that it was her husband’s tail that had found its favorite resting place  around her waist, holding her close. Hadn’t it wrapped itself around her and the baby last night? “Trunks!” she said suddenly looking up in alarm, but his hand caressed his cheek.

 

“He’s all right, and so are you. I woke up and he was soaked to the bone, so I changed him and put him in his crib. He fell back asleep.”

 

Bulma sighed deeply, laying back down into his embrace.

 

“What kind of nightmare was that, woman?” he asked with concern. So, he had not seen it. He’d probably been awake.

 

“Terrible. First your father…was choking me to death…and then he turned into some kind of monster. A Tsuri-jin, but not Frieza. Bigger…stronger…He had his tail around my waist, and had me against his body.” She shuddered at the memory. “Cold, so cold…”

 

Vegeta frowned.

 

“What is it?” she asked, suddenly afraid.

 

“King Cold. Frieza’s father. My father was talking about him last night. But you never saw him. How could you have seen him in your dream?”

 

“From your memories maybe?” she suggested.

 

He shook his head. “I haven’t dreamt of him—or even thought about him. Unless somehow your subconscious found images in mine…”

 

“Maybe,” she said distractedly, then reached up to kiss him on the lips.

 

He smiled at her. “What was that for?”

 

“I’m glad you’re here. In my dream, you—“ She hated to even say it, to tempt the gods with the suggestion.

 

“I what?” he pressed, curious.

 

“You were—he had killed you.”

 

He seemed totally unperturbed by that. “No chance of that happening, woman,” he assured her. “If King Cold came anywhere near you or the baby, he’d be the one in the next dimension.”oHow

 

 

His confidence was comforting, but his words only evoked more concern. “Do you really think he might come after you—as retribution for his son?”

 

His face grew grave. “I don’t know. But if I were in his place—that’s what I would do.”

 

The idea that Vegeta might ever have to avenge—no, she wouldn’t even think it. Vegeta ran his fingertips down her face, and she could hear him cursing himself silently for even putting the thought into her head. “Woman, I have already promised you,” he said softly. “I will not let anything happen to you or the baby. Ever. There is no need for you to be afraid.”

 

“I’m not,” she said honestly, knowing better than to say so if it weren’t true. He could read her emotions better than his own. “How could I be afraid? My husband is the most powerful man in the Universe.”

 

He smiled, that loving smile he reserved only for her, that was so different from his usual smirk. The fingers caressing her cheek traced a path to her neck as he bent to kiss her lightly. Bulma laced her fingers around his neck, pulling him down to her even as his tail wound more tightly around her. “Not to mention the most gorgeous man in the universe,” she breathed as his kisses covered her face, her neck, and his hands caressed downward, leaving heat in their wake. She didn’t need to see his face to know that his cheeks were crimson with his blush. Why was it that he could boast about his power, but was so shy when it came to taking compliments about anything else?

 

Shy? she heard him ask playfully in her head as his hand cupped her breast, fondling it, playing with her nipple until it was as hard as his manhood pressed against her.

 

Horniest man in the universe too, she teased back, too breathless with her own desire to speak aloud.

 

His mouth moved over her sensitive bud, tasting it, suckling at it, making her literally tremble with want for him. I haven’t had you in our new bedroom, yet… he thought to her.

 

We’ve only been here one night, she replied, tangling her fingers in his hair.

 

Too long to wait...  His fingers were like fire on her flesh as they danced slowly downward, dangerously close but then teasing her as he played in her blue curls at the edge of her womanhood.

 

Please, she begged as even clear thought became difficult.

 

And you call me horny, he thought with a chuckle as his fingers dipped into her warmth.

 

Ohhhhhh…  Her body arched up to meet his hand as he played in her wetness, stroking the center of her pleasure even as he thrust his fingers deeper…

 

She came so quickly and violently that her entire body shuddered with her release. Until that moment she hadn’t even realized how much her body had wanted him, had needed him, through all the tensions of the past day.

 

He brought his face down to hers, their lips almost touching as he whispered, “Was that fit for a queen, my lady?”

 

“Yes…” she breathed as his mouth covered hers. His kiss deepened as her hands smoothed over the perfectly toned muscles of his chest, his abdomen. He was trembling at her touch, and as she took him into her hands she could feel him shudder with desire. A low growl rose in his throat as she gently stroked him, then guided him into her warmth…

 

He gasped, and she gasped with him, as their sensations and thoughts melded into one with their flesh. His burning need for her became hers for him, as the afterglow of her passion burst into renewed desire. He moved inside her slowly at first, careful as always not to lose control. The fear that he might hurt her with his greater strength was always in the back of his mind. But as she wrapped her legs around his, pulling him more deeply within her with each thrust, she could feel his restraint slipping away with all rational thought, as their shared need drove them closer and closer to…

 

Bulma!!!!!!  His spirit cried out her name as he erupted within her, the sheer intensity of his climax bringing on her own. For an instant frozen in time the thin wall of flesh that separated them seemed to vanish as their beings ceased to exist but as part of the other. Even after they had begun to feel their own selves once more, they clung to each other awash in the peace of their bonded souls, words— and even thoughts— unnecessary.

 

For a long time they lay together, until a knock at the door made Vegeta stiffen in anger and apprehension. “Who’s there?” he barked, in a voice that was such a harsh contrast to his loving whispers.

 

“Vegeta? Sorry to bother you, but your father sent a soldier over here to get you. He says he needs to talk to you right away.” Goku’s voice sounded embarrassed, as if he knew somehow what he was interrupting.

 

Vegeta growled. “Tell him I’ll be down in a few minutes.”

 

Bulma could feel his contentment swept away in a tide of rage and dread. His handsome face was set in a scowl that conveniently obscured the insecurities within. Only she knew how worried he truly was.

 

“What do you think he wants?” she asked as he stood from the bed. Kami, how empty she felt as necessity made the physical and emotional space between them widen!  He must have either read her thoughts or felt the same sensation. His expression softened as he bent to take her face in his hands, and kissed her tenderly.

 

“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I need to take care of this.”

 

“Be careful,” she said worriedly. He nodded silently, dressed quickly, and left.

 

 

 

Kakarot and his father were the only two awake, and Vegeta wondered if they had stood watch over the household all night. A soldier waited at the door, unfortunately not the one who had incurred his wrath the night before. Too bad. He could have used a good warm-up.

 

“You will guard my woman and child with your lives while I am gone,” he said, more an order than a request. It had occurred to him that it wouldn’t be beyond his father to lure him away while sending in his lackeys to finish them off.

 

“No one will get near them,” Kakarot said seriously, making it clear that he had imagined the same scenario.

 

Satisfied, he followed the soldier back to his father’s ship, bracing himself for the worst. His father would give him an ultimatum—that he knew.

 

How the King would react when Vegeta blatantly told him to fuck off was still up in the air.

 

 

 

 

“Her scent is all over you,” Vegeta Ou said in disgust.

 

Vegeta smirked, knowing that even had he taken a shower the fragrance of Bulma would still linger on his skin, though only another Saiyan could sense it. “As mine is on her,” he replied, “to warn away anyone who would take what is mine.”

 

Vegeta Ou raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. They were alone in the throne room of the King’s ship, and the King knew without a doubt that that warning had been directed at him.

 

“Why did you summon me here, Father?” he asked impatiently.

 

The King shook his head. “You obviously took no heed to my words.”

 

“Nor you to mine,” he snapped. “I have chosen my future Queen. And she has given me a son who shall be my heir.”

 

“We will see how the people react to your ‘queen’. Or, for that matter, to you.” The King’s eyes bore into his with an unkind glare. “They’ve seen neither hide nor hair of you since you were a boy. And you will come to rule them with an alien woman and child at your side? They will see you as a foolish weakling, governed by your emotions and your dick!”

 

Vegeta’s fury burst into a golden glow of Super Saiyan, almost knocking his father off balance. “No one will see me as weak, or question my judgment!” he roared. “You’re the one who was too weak to defend his people and his family! You failed both, Father, and if you refuse to learn from your mistakes then it is you who will be unfit to rule!”

 

“And you think that your ascension alone will garner you the support of the people?” Vegeta Ou eyed him keenly. “There are those who are so impressed by Kakarot that they would sooner see him on the throne.”

 

Somehow, his father had learned the exact buttons to push. Vegeta’s ki flared as he pushed himself further, beyond Super Saiyan…

 

The ship was shaking, and for the briefest moment of satisfaction Vegeta saw a glimmer of fear cross the older Saiyan’s eyes. But in an instant it was gone, as Vegeta Ou composed his face in that regally fearless expression that he always wore. “Enough, enough,” he told his son. “Unless you mean to challenge me right now for my crown.”

 

Vegeta powered down to Super Saiyan, knowing he’d gotten his point across. “I have no desire to take your place right now,” he said calmly. It was the truth. “All I wish to do is return to serve my people when my duty here is fulfilled. They will come to know me and my family before I take the throne. And when they see with their own eyes that I am the Legendary reborn, they will deny me nothing.”   

 

To his astonishment, his father did not argue. “Very well, then. We shall see what happens. Until that day, we have more to concern ourselves with. King Cold could attack at any time. We must prepare our armies, our defenses. If it is before your arrival—“

 

“Kakarot will return with you as my lieutenant. We have already spoken of this. He has agreed to protect Vegeta-sei until I am able to do so myself. And then, you will have no need for armies. I will be the sole protector of our planet.”  It was a bold statement. But it was meant to be. Confidence and strength was all that his father understood.

 

“Are you sure that’s a good idea? Sending Kakarot? Perhaps he has his own plans to take the throne.”

 

Vegeta smirked. “You’re afraid of that fool? He aspires nothing more than to keep his stomach full.”

 

“And Bardock? Might he not use his son’s power to his own advantage?”

 

“What would you do then, Father, eliminate them on the chance that they might turn against you?”

 

His father’s face was like stone, as he said, “It would not be the first time. A King must eliminate his rivals.”

 

“Or simply surpass them, as I have done with Kakarot,” Vegeta replied. “There is no need to fear Kakarot or his father. He is a fool, but a trustworthy one.  And Bardock is a man of honor. They would not move against me, if only for the sake of my wife, who is like a sister to him.”

 

“But would they move against me?” The King asked suspiciously.

 

“Are you and I not united in the same cause, Father?” Vegeta countered slyly.

 

Vegeta Ou eyed him carefully, as if he knew damn well that their plans for Vegeta-sei in no way coincided. But he merely said, “It is settled then. I will trust Kakarot as you bid me to. And you may spend the next few months living out your little fantasy life. But when you return to us, you will do so alone. You will leave them behind—if you value their lives.”

 

The added threat enraged him, but he maintained his superficial calm, knowing that the situation was past the point of arguing. His father would never accept Bulma—not willingly. But he would accept her nonetheless. Vegeta left no doubt of that as he responded, “And you, Father, will leave them alone—if you value yours.”

 

The King nodded his understanding of their stalemate with a face frozen in defiant fury. “We shall see, my son. We shall see.”

 

 

 

 

 

Bulma had showered and dressed just in time to find a hungry Saiyan baby crying for his breakfast. Downstairs, she found that her mother had already prepared a meal for the others, a farewell breakfast of sorts. Poppa had said that they would wait until after King Vegeta had departed before they set out for Earth. Apparently, Goku expected that to be sometime today. So he was spending his last moments on Korwal-sei engaged in two of his favorite activities—eating and spending time with his son and his friends. Gohan hadn’t been happy to hear that his father wouldn’t be returning to Earth, and they were all worried about Chichi’s reaction. When Bulma walked in the room, Krillin was in the midst of complaining that he was always left with the onerous task of breaking news to Goku’s wife.

 

“I’d wear armor if I were you, Krillin,” she joked as she sat at the table, Trunks in her lap. “She’s likely to beat the shit out of you.”

 

“Thanks, Bulma,” he said facetiously. He couldn’t deny it was true.

 

“Oh, my little Trunks!” Momma cooed sweeping the baby into her arms. “Grandma is going to miss you so much!”

 

“I still think you’re crazy to go to that planet,” Yamcha said from across the table.

 

“I’d have to agree with Yamcha,” Piccolo told her pointedly. He glanced at the scarred warrior. “Although I think he has other reasons for saying so.”

 

She could see Yamcha’s face grow crimson, but she looked away, not wanting to encourage that line of thought. “We’ll be fine,” she assured her worried friends and family. “Vegeta won’t let anything happen to us. Have you seen how strong he’s gotten?  No one would dare do anything to piss him off.”

 

“I don’t think the danger lies on Vegeta-sei,” Bardock said suddenly, almost as if he were straining to remember a dream that was fading in the morning light. “It…will all be settled before you even get there.”

 

The group was silent, each of them knowing they had just witnessed the Saiyan warrior’s precognitive gift. “What does that mean, Father?” Goku pressed him, his face dark. “Is there some danger to Bulma here on Korwal-sei?”

 

Bardock sighed deeply, shaking his head in frustration. “I don’t know. I only see bits and pieces. I see a young man, a Saiyan…and a Tsuri-jin.”

 

Bulma’s eyes grew wide. “King Cold?” she asked, feeling a sudden chill on her spine.

 

Bardock looked at her, intrigued. “I’ve never seen him in person, but probably. He was bigger than Frieza, stronger. How…did you know?”

 

“I dreamt of him last night. Attacking me…his tail wrapped around my waist. And Vegeta was…” Her voice trailed off. She couldn’t say it aloud.

 

But Bardock could, and did. “Dead.”

 

Bulma looked into Bardock’s eyes in shock and affirmation. “My nightmare…it was …”

 

“My vision…” he finished for her.

 

“No way,” she heard Gohan saying.

 

“But how?” Krillin asked. “And what does it mean?”

 

Suddenly the fear that she had known in her nightmare came flooding back to her, as Vegeta’s reassurances that it had only been a dream were squashed under the weight of Bardock’s prediction. “Goku! You can’t leave! You’ve got to stay here and help him! You can’t let him die!”

 

Suddenly Vegeta’s commanding voice made his presence known as he said, “I don’t need anyone to help me, and Kakarot has a job to do on Vegeta-sei.”

 

They turned to see him standing in the doorway, having just walked in on the conversation. Bulma could see the fury in his eyes, and feel his anger at her for having suggested that he might need Goku’s help. “Vegeta, my dream! It wasn’t a dream! It was Bardock’s vision! He saw the same thing I did!”

 

“That’s ridiculous,” he scoffed. “Bulma, with all that you’ve been through it’s no wonder you would have nightmares of Tsuri-jin monsters. I already told you that you have nothing to worry about.”

 

“Oh yeah? Well, what about Bardock’s vision? You told me yourself you believe in his power!”

 

She watched him struggle with his own pride and the truth of her words. He turned to Bardock. “What exactly did you see, Captain? And has it changed your opinion of the best course of action since we spoke last night?”

 

Bardock seemed just as unsure as before. “Images. Like those the Princess described. A powerful Tsuri-jin with his tail around her waist. You—lying dead. But there was more.”

 

Vegeta was listening intently, aware of the same thing that had occurred to her. Vegeta had awoken her before she could see more. What else had Bardock seen?

 

“There was a young man. A Saiyan. He was here, on this planet.”

 

“An assassin?” Vegeta asked. “Sent by my father?”

 

But Bardock shook his head. “No. He seemed to be fighting at your side.”

 

“I thought I was dead,” Vegeta said dryly, and Bulma wanted to slap him for his irreverence.

 

“I thought you were, at first. But then the young man came, and something changed…but I’m not sure what or how.”

 

Vegeta shook his head, unimpressed. “Does any of this indicate to you that we should change our plans?”

 

“I don’t think so,” Bardock replied. “Neither Kakarot nor I were part of what will happen here.”

 

“Then you can best serve me as we discussed last night.” He paused, knowing all eyes were on him and trying to maintain the façade of control of the situation. Only Bulma could feel the unease that had crept into his being since this morning. She wondered how much of it had to do with Bardock, and how much with his audience with his father. “The King requests that you return to the ship now, both of you. He wishes to depart immediately.”

 

Bulma could feel the collective sigh of relief at the thought of Vegeta Ou’s departure. She only prayed her mother didn’t make some comment out loud. She watched as Goku gave his son a hug, some reassuring words to Krillin, and spoke something quietly to Piccolo. Then he turned to her.

 

“Son-kun!” She threw her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly.

 

“Don’t worry, Oneesan,” he said quietly in her ear. “I can tell he loves you a lot. He’ll take care of you.”

 

“I know,” she said smiling, kissing him on the cheek. “You take care of yourself, too, okay? And your dad. He seems like a really nice guy.”

 

She watched Vegeta leave with them, knowing that there’d still be hell to pay for having begged Son-kun to stay and help him…

 

 

 

Vegeta bristled as he saw Kakarot take his woman into his arms for a parting embrace. Lucky for the moron Vegeta could hear the words he’d whispered to her. He’d called her sister in their native tongue and made some embarrassing observation about how much Vegeta loved her. The fool’s openness about sentiment was repulsive, but his judgment was on the mark. Perhaps he wasn’t as much a fool as he seemed.

 

He’d walked outside with them, feeling it his duty to warn them of his father’s concerns. They had, after all, sworn allegiance to him. If his Father suspected as much, they would be in danger. He knew in his heart that Kakarot could defeat the King easily. There was no one stronger than the large Saiyan, except for Vegeta himself. Bardock, on the other hand, despite his strength, would still probably fall to the King, were the two to come to blows.  He had to warn them of the King’s paranoid fear.

 

“You know, I heard there was a baby born the same day as Kakarot that had an incredibly high power level,” Bardock mused after Vegeta had told of his conversation with his father.

 

“What did he do about it?” Vegeta asked, though he could guess the answer.

 

“The boy and his father were both killed,” Bardock replied grimly. “He wasn’t taking any chances.”

 

“Then you shouldn’t either,” Vegeta said bluntly. “He sold his son into slavery and would see his grandson dead. That doesn’t bode well for any of us.”

 

“And you be careful, too, Vegeta,” Kakarot told him. “King Cold is supposed to be a lot more powerful than Frieza or Cooler.”

 

“But he’s never fought an Ascendant Saiyan,” he replied, with more confidence than he truly felt. “Don’t worry, Kakarot—if he comes anywhere near my family, I’ll dispatch him as easily as I did his son.”

 

 

 

 

 

It was hard to believe this was really goodbye. There’d been a certain comfort in having Momma and Poppa close by, especially since Trunks had been born. Now more than ever, as her nightmares and Bardock’s warnings played at her fears, Bulma wished they could stay just a little longer. It wasn’t that she lacked faith in Vegeta to protect her and the baby. That he would do, without a doubt. But like any young girl leaving home, she would miss the security she had known all her life. She would miss her parents. Her friends. Her world.

 

Her mother was teary-eyed as well as Poppa prepared the ship for takeoff. Bulma was sure she would lose it, and was grateful that Momma had forgotten her reading glasses in the house, delaying things just a few minutes longer. She ran up to her bedroom, where her mother had left them while playing with Trunks, finding them at last on the bed. She turned to run back downstairs, nearly jumping in surprise as an unlikely visitor stood in the doorway.

 

“Yamcha! You scared the heck out of me!”

 

The scarred warrior was apologetic as he stammered, “I—uh—didn’t mean to. Sorry. I just—wanted to talk to you alone before we left.”

 

Bulma’s stomach tightened. She’d been avoiding Yamcha  for the last two days, and had thought she’d escaped the awkward encounter that she’d been dreading. Despite the fact that she and Yamcha had parted on friendly terms, their friendship was still understandably strained. The tension between Yamcha and Vegeta had been thick enough to cut with a knife. Although Vegeta knew he had nothing to worry about, and Yamcha would certainly go back to Earth and find himself a bevy of loose women to relieve his frustration—as he always had—both men still looked at each other as hated rivals. Far from being flattered, Bulma found it—annoying, to say the least. And when a warrior and a wannabe warrior were involved, there was always the slim chance that tempers could flare into something deadly.

 

“Yamcha, there’s really nothing to talk about,” she said as kindly as she could, stepping towards the door.

 

“Yes, there is,” he said firmly, blocking her way. “Bulma, I can’t believe that after all that Bardock said, after you saw how the King reacted to you and Trunks, that you would still even consider going to that planet.”

 

“Yamcha, I already went through this with Momma and Poppa, Krillin, Piccolo…” she said tiredly.

 

“Well maybe if we’re all in agreement you should listen to us!” he countered. “Babe, I’m just worried about you and the kid. That’s all,” he said, placing his hands on her shoulders.

 

“Don’t call me that, Yamcha,” she reprimanded, stepping away from him.

 

“I’m sorry,” he said, his hands falling uncomfortably to his sides. “Old habit.”

 

Bulma sighed. She knew he meant well. “Look, Yamcha, I appreciate your concern. But Vegeta will take care of us…”

 

“Vegeta,” he spat in disdain. “When will you open your eyes and see that he’s nothing but a cold-blooded killer?!”

 

Any fondness she felt towards her old friend was swept away in anger. “Don’t you dare talk about him like that! He’s my husband, and the father of my child!”

 

“Do you think that wipes away all the death and destruction he’s caused?! Is that who you want to spend the rest of your life with?!”

 

“Yes!” she hissed, pushing her way past him. “Now, get out of my way, Yamcha—“

 

She stopped mid-sentence in surprise as she saw Vegeta standing in the hallway, apparently having heard the entire conversation. His eyes were ablaze with anger as he turned on the weaker human, who was probably ready to wet himself with fear.

 

“V-Vegeta…” Yamcha managed.

 

In the blink of an eye the Saiyan Prince had grabbed the taller warrior by the neck and was holding him in the air. “I may be a cold blooded killer,” he said in a calm but menacing voice, “but I have more brains and honor than to try to seduce a man’s wife in his own bedroom!”

 

“I wasn’t…only…goodbye…” Yamcha choked out, struggling in vain to pry the Saiyan’s fingers from his throat.

 

“Oh really?” Vegeta smirked sarcastically. “All right. Good bye.” With that he threw him over the banister, peeking over with satisfaction as he heard the loud thump at the bottom of the stairs.

 

Bulma watched open-mouth, but as Yamcha scrambled to his feet and ran from the house in fear, she could find no will to scold her husband for his rough treatment. She looked at him in mock reproof, but he just shrugged his shoulders.

 

“I didn’t want him to miss his flight.”

 

She laughed and threw her arms around his neck. He held her close, especially close, and she could feel his relief that she wasn’t angry. “At least you didn’t kill him,” she said, kissing him on the cheek.

 

“I would have, but it would have only supported his argument that I’m a cold-blooded killer,” he said dryly, but she could tell that those words had bothered him more than he would admit.

 

She looked into his eyes. “You’re not,” she assured him.

 

He breathed deeply, with the shame of a reluctant admission. “But I was.”

 

“But you’re not,” she repeated, without missing a beat to contemplation.

 

His face softened into the tender expression that was hers alone. “Thanks to you,” he said softly, and kissed her gently on the lips. For a moment she lost herself in his touch, until she heard her mother calling her from outside the house. Reluctantly she parted from him. “Come on,” she urged him. “Come say good bye.” For Momma and Poppa’s sake. Please.

 

He nodded, as she led him downstairs and outside, hand in hand.

 

 

 

 

Momma was holding Trunks one last time, while Poppa laughed at the little boy’s attempt to pull off his glasses. Bulma could hold her tears back no longer as her parents hugged her tightly, making her promise to stay in touch. Such a simple request, yet she would literally be half a galaxy away from them. She traded Momma her reading glasses for the baby, and Momma turned to Vegeta, whose face flushed incredibly as his mother-in-law gave him a spontaneous hug. Poppa was patting him on the shoulder, and Vegeta composed himself sufficiently to promise them that he would protect both her and the baby with his life. She loved him even more for that. These things weren’t easy for him. But he had gotten to know her parents, and genuinely liked them. He knew they needed his reassurance, and was enough of a gentleman to give it to them.

 

Yamcha had already boarded the craft, and Bulma was relieved for that. Krillin and the others said their good byes, and she was glad that Vegeta had come down with her to see them off. She didn’t want a bruised Yamcha to be their last impression of Vegeta, and of what kind of man he truly was. She giggled as Krillin kissed her on the cheek and whispered, “I’m sure Yamcha deserved it.” The little guy was smart, wasn’t he?

 

As the ship disappeared into the sky, her tears once more surfaced, though she tried to repress them for Vegeta’s sake, lest he believe she regretted her decision. He kissed them from her cheek as he took her and the baby into his arms and held them close. I am so fortunate you are mine, he thought to her, the emotion that was welling within him silencing his words.

 

For a long time they stood there, relishing this first moment of absolute privacy that the three of them had shared in a long time. It was just the three of them now, against anyone and anything that might challenge their happiness. It was both frightening and exciting at once.  The beginning of a new life…

 

A sudden explosion jarred them from their calm respite, and in alarm Bulma could see that a ship had crash landed in the distance. “Oh, Kami! It couldn’t be them, could it?!?” she cried as Trunks started to wail.

 

“No, it’s not them.” Vegeta’s certainty should have been reassuring, but the troubled expression on his face told her that he sensed some danger. “Get in the house,” he told her, ready to take off to investigate, but she grabbed his arm.

 

“No! Don’t leave us! Please, tell me, what is it?”

 

His eyes opened wide as something approached, no, someone, and he pushed her behind him as the intruder rushed towards them at incredible speed. Bulma clutched her crying baby tightly, her heart pounding wildly at the preposterous thought that the dreaded moment had come, when Vegeta would have to protect them against…

 

…a boy?

 

She’d expected a monster, a Tsuri-jin, King Cold himself, or maybe some Saiyan assassin sent by her dear father-in-law. She couldn’t have been more surprised to see the young teenager, so human in appearance save for the flowing tail, with bright blue eyes and long lavender hair. He was dressed in armor, but his face was not that of a soldier. She almost detected the hint of a smile as he looked at them in nothing short of wonder.

 

“Who are you?!” Vegeta demanded, not having lowered his guard in the least.

 

The handsome young man smiled at them awkwardly, almost shyly, as he uttered the words she’d least expected to hear, but that seemed to make such perfect sense...

 

 “I’m Trunks.”  He took a deep breath, looking Vegeta in the eyes. “Your son.”

 

 

{{Coming in Chapter Eight: Who is this Mirai no Trunks? And what kind of future does he come from? It’s got nothing to do with Androids!}}