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 Six: Family

 

 

“Momma! Poppa!”

 

Vegeta watched his woman’s face light with indescribable happiness as the two humans stepped from their space capsule. She half-waddled, half-ran to them so quickly that he feared she would fall, and it was all he could do to keep from rushing over to her like a doting fool. A stab of something akin to jealousy shot through his chest as he watched the tearful reunion, feeling every bit the outsider he was. He was reminded painfully that Bulma belonged to these people, and not to him alone. A part of her would always be reserved for her family, even her friends, who had been a part of her life long before she had become his. His greatest fear was that someday that part of her heart would reclaim her, take her from him. His own heart clenched at the thought. He could not lose her.

 

As if sensing his anxieties, she called to him, smiling brightly through tears of joy. “Vegeta, come here! What are you waiting for? Momma and Poppa want to meet you!”

 

He closed the awkward distance between them, coming to stand at her side, not sure why he, the Prince of all Saiyans, should feel such apprehension at meeting mere earthlings. Because they’re my parents, silly, she invaded his thoughts, nearly making him jump out of his skin. Her hand slipped through his arm, and he forgave her instantly as her essence soothed him, just as it always did. They’ll love you. Don’t worry…

 

I am not in the least bit concerned, woman, he thought back to her. Let’s just get this over with…

 

He could swear she smirked as she glanced at him, as if to say that she could see right through him. With chagrin, he realized that she could. An annoying side effect of this bonding thing.

 

“Momma, Poppa, this is Vegeta,” Bulma said proudly, drawing his attention back to the couple. Doctor Briefs seemed a kindly old man, with lavender hair and a bushy moustache. A tiny black creature was perched on his shoulder, the infamous cat Bulma had told him was her father’s constant companion. Vegeta would have thought him an eccentric old fool were it not for the fact that he had invented such wonders as the encapsulation technology and the gravity chamber. For those things alone, Vegeta had to respect him.

 

“I’m very pleased to meet you, son.” The old man’s words and expression were genuine, though his use of the word ‘son’ jarred Vegeta. Even his own father had rarely called him that. Vegeta nodded to the elder man, hesitantly returning the handshake that Bulma had told him was a human custom.

 

It was then that Vegeta got a good look at Bulma’s mother. Much younger than her husband, Mrs. Briefs had light hair and wore clothes that seemed more fitting for her daughter. Bulma had warned him that her mother was a bit of a flirt, but until this moment he had not really understood what that meant.

 

“Oh, Vegeta! It’s so nice to meet the young man who stole our Bulma’s heart!” she said, placing a hand on his upper arm. “Bulma, you didn’t tell us how adorable he was! And Bulma says you’re a Prince, too!”

 

“Yes,” he said hesitantly, feeling his cheeks grow hot.

 

“Well what a perfect match for our little Princess!” her mother replied. “And look at you, Bulma!” To Vegeta’s relief she turned her attentions to her daughter’s swelling abdomen. “You are absolutely glowing, and you look ready to pop! How much longer is it?”

 

“Any day now, Momma,” she said happily, though Vegeta could sense her nervousness. “Poppa, did you bring all the supplies I asked for?”

 

“Oh, yes,” her father assured her.

 

“Not to mention an entire layette, nursery furniture…all the best for our little grandchild!” her mother added. “Just show us where your house is and we’ll set everything up for you! Wait until you see the cute little outfits…”

 

Vegeta watched in confusion as the two women walked off in their own little world talking excitedly about baby clothes, furnishings, and a score of other things he didn’t quite understand. What were diapers? And binkies?

 

Doctor Briefs chuckled. “It’s a good thing we were able to put everything she brought into capsules, or we would have never gotten off the ground.”

 

“Your capsules are an incredible invention,” Vegeta told him, more comfortable to discuss something a bit less personal. “As is your gravity chamber. I might not have been able to defeat our enemies so quickly had I not had the benefit of training in it for months.”

 

The old man nodded proudly. “Glad it could help, my boy. And Bulma told me she’s increased the gravity to 350G.” This time it was his turn to seem impressed. “You Saiyans must be made out of… Kami knows what, to withstand such forces.”

 

“Can you increase the G-forces?” Vegeta asked abruptly, the question he had had on his mind for months now. Bulma had said it wasn’t possible, but he suspected it was just her irrational worry for his safety that had kept her from upgrading the device.

 

Doctor Brief’s eyes opened wide. “Are you saying 350 times Earth’s gravity isn’t enough?”

 

“I can already function at those forces as easily as outside the chamber. I desire a new challenge.”

 

The man smiled wryly. “As if living with Bulma weren’t enough.”

 

Vegeta fought hard to suppress his grin. “You know your daughter well. She can be obstinate to say the least.”

 

“Where I come from we just call it bossy,” the older man replied confidentially. Then his face sobered as he added, “But she…means everything to us, Vegeta. She’s a very special young woman, and I hope—”

 

Vegeta knew what the man was saying, what he was asking, and for some reason that was beyond him he was compelled to respond. For it was clear that Bulma’s father loved and valued her just as much as Vegeta himself. How difficult it must be to entrust her to a virtual stranger who would be taking her to the other end of the galaxy…

 

“I know,” Vegeta said solemnly, “and I vow to you that I will protect her with my life.”

 

Doctor Briefs sighed deeply, nodding with understanding and satisfaction. Those few words had relieved his fears, and Vegeta was glad that he had uttered them. Didn’t the man who had brought his woman into the world deserve that courtesy?

 

“Now, why don’t you show me that gravity chamber,” Bulma’s father said, patting him on the arm, an action that would have unnerved him before but somehow seemed quite natural now. “Let’s see what my brilliant daughter has done, and if there’s some way I can make it even better for you.”

 

 

 

 

Bulma sat on the bed looking through the huge pile of tiny clothes her mother had brought for the baby, everything from little onesies and pjs, to miniature designer jeans and sweaters. She picked up a little cap with doggie ears. “This is adorable!” she squealed, then looked down at her swelling abdomen. “You are going to look so cute!” she murmured.

 

“Woman, just who are you talking to?”

 

She started at Vegeta’s voice, then turned to see him looking at her with thinly veiled amusement. She hadn’t even heard the shower stop, so engrossed had she been in going through her parents’ gifts. She held up the cap. “Well, I don’t think this is really your style, so I guess I was talking to the baby,” she teased him.

 

Vegeta looked at the assortment on the bed and frowned. “What kind of garments are these for a Saiyan Prince?” he grumbled.

 

“He’s a baby,” she said, enunciating every word. “What do you want to put him in, armor?”

 

“It would be preferable to that ridiculous thing,” he muttered, motioning to a playsuit decorated with baby dinosaurs.

 

She stood to lace her arms around his neck, loving the scent of his freshly cleaned skin. “You can make him a warrior when he’s two,” she purred, brushing her lips lightly against his. “Let him be a normal baby for a couple of years, okay?”

 

She could see the smile in his eyes that told her she had won her way with him once again. His arms wrapped around her as best they could in her condition, as he kissed her tenderly.

 

“So, what were you and Poppa talking about all that time?” she asked, running her fingers through his soft, damp hair.

 

“Nothing you need to know, woman,” he told her with mock seriousness.

 

“Come on, Vegeta! You were with him over an hour!”

 

“We were commiserating on how annoyingly stubborn you can be,” he replied blandly, then added, “such as in your insistence that the gravity chamber could not be raised over 350G. Your father was able to get it up to 450G in twenty minutes, and confided that you could have probably done it in half the time—if you’d wanted to.”

 

Bulma wasn’t sure if she was angrier at her father for tweaking the gravity settings or for giving her away. “Yeah, if I’d wanted to have my husband flattened like a pancake,” she responded dryly.

 

“So you admit it!” he said with a spark of satisfaction in his eyes. “I knew it. You’re a treacherous woman.” He kissed her again to show her that that was a compliment.

 

“Someone’s got to keep you from killing yourself,” she retorted as he scooped her into his arms.

 

Setting her gently down on the bed, he lay down next to her—

 

—and frowned as he felt a lump underneath him. Bulma giggled as he pulled out the offender.

 

“What the hell is this?” he asked in annoyance, holding up the blue stuffed dinosaur.

 

“It’s a toy for the baby,” she said.

 

“What does he do with it?” he asked, turning it over suspiciously in his hand. “Target practice?” He raised his palm as if to blast it and she grabbed the stegosaurus out of his hand.

 

“Cut it out, Vegeta! It’s a cuddle toy.” She demonstrated, holding the plushie protectively against her chest. “He’ll sleep with it.”

 

“Does your mother know the brat is a boy?” he asked in disbelief.

 

“Of course she does. It’s blue, isn’t it?”

 

“What does that have to do with anything? Woman, Saiyan children don’t ‘cuddle’ with stuffed animals,” he said in exasperation. “They train to fight, and fly—“

 

“Vegeta, it’s totally normal for children to play—”

 

“What is normal for a human and a Saiyan baby are two very different things,” he told her. “You can’t coddle him, Bulma, or smother him with affection as I’ve seen so many races do. It’s not normal. He will grow to be weak—“

 

“Bullshit,” she told him plainly, looking him in the eye. “A child needs love and attention—“

 

She stopped mid-sentence as her words seemed to engender a reaction in him that she had not intended. His expression had hardened into one of cold anger, which seemed to grow out of some hidden pain she had unknowingly touched upon.

 

“I would not know about such things,” he said bitterly.  For a long moment he was silent. Then, the pain was forcibly removed from his eyes as he took on a mask devoid of emotion. “Do as you wish with the child, Bulma,” he said finally, in resignation. “When the time comes, I will begin to train him. That is…all I can really offer him.”

 

He turned from her, leaving her at an uncharacteristic loss for words. Somehow, their light conversation had dredged up the ghosts of his past, of a childhood cut tragically short. And yet, she had always assumed that before Frieza he had led a happy life. He was a Prince! He must have had everything he wanted at his beck and call…

 

Except, perhaps, the one thing that she’d told him every child needs. Love. He’d rarely spoken of his father, and mentioned nothing of his mother. Had he even known her? There was so much about this man, her husband, that she still did not know. But she wanted to know. She wanted to understand everything he had lived, his joys and his pain, for only then could she in some small way try to rectify the injustices done to him in the past. To repair the damage that had been done, if that were even possible.

 

“Vegeta…” she said softly.

 

He didn’t answer. She reached out to him with her thoughts, but his own were silent, as if he could not even bear to put into conscious thought the myriad of emotions that were brewing within him.

 

“Vegeta,” she whispered again, this time running her fingertips lightly down his bare back. He shivered at her touch, his desire for her outweighing all other conflicting emotions, as it always did. Still, he would not face her.

 

“Go to sleep, woman…” he said in a hushed whisper. Her fingers caressed their way to the base of his tail, and he took in a breath. “Bulma, please…”

 

“Talk to me, Vegeta,” she pleaded in his ear, slipping her arm around him.

 

“Don’t you ever get tired of talking?” he complained irritably. Nevertheless he turned around to face her, knowing it was no use to argue with her.

 

“What is it?” he said tiredly, his face a mask of anger that she knew was directed at something more complex than she could imagine.

 

She touched his face lovingly. “Vegeta, you have so much to offer our son—so much you can teach him. Training him to fight is just one part of that.”

 

She could see in his eyes the desire to believe her, tinged with the despair and self-doubt that was the product of a lifetime. “Fighting is all I know, woman,” he admitted, for the first time in his life feeling that was insufficient. He thought for a moment. “Honor, pride in our Saiyan heritage—these are the things a Saiyan child learns. Military strategies, how to outwit an enemy—“

 

“What did your father teach you?” she dared, knowing she might be opening a Pandora’s box.

 

His face hardened. “My father trained me to be a warrior, and a future king. He taught me to fight, to kill—” he looked at her with a challenge in his eyes. “Is this what you would have me teach our son? That beings less powerful than Saiyans deserve to be squashed like insects or forced into submission by our race? My father would ravage the Earth without a second thought or take its people as slaves simply because we have the power to do so. I don’t think he is a shining example you would wish me to follow, either as a king or a father.”

 

“I’m sorry,” was all she could say, kissing him lightly on the lips to quell his embarrassment for the truths he had suddenly spewed forth. She could feel the anguish within him, hand in hand with the relief that she had not recoiled from him in horror at his admissions. He’d expected her to be disgusted by his words, but instead she loved him all the more now that it became clearer just how he had grown into the killing machine he once had been. It hadn’t been all Frieza’s doing. Frieza’s cruelty had just ignited the powder keg of violent thought and behavior that his father had instilled in him. She found herself wondering how his mother had fit into all of this, but didn’t want to bring up any more pain than she already had. For a long while, they lay quietly holding each other, until finally he spoke. And with regret she knew that he had heard her thoughts, and she had unintentionally dredged up even more than she’d ever intended to.

 

“I never knew her,” he said in barely a whisper. “She died…giving me life.”

 

Bulma just held him more tightly, her eyes beginning to fill with the tears he would never shed himself.

 

“My father told me it was because she was weak…she could not survive the force of my ki as—“

 

His voice broke off, as a new realization began to dawn on her. She looked up into his eyes as he continued, “But I always thought that somehow…he blamed me for—“

 

“No,” she said tenderly. “It wasn’t your fault—“

 

“She was at the summer palace in the country. She went into labor two months early, before they were to take me from her womb. They didn’t have facilities, or the experience with live birth. They were in many ways as backwards as they are on this planet—“

 

His voice drifted off as his own fear gripped him. Bulma took his face in her hands, and looked into his eyes. “Vegeta, that’s not going to happen to me!”

 

“I will not lose you!” he choked out, trying desperately to control his emotions.

 

“No, you won’t,” she promised him, shaken to the bone by the intensity of his love and fear for her, but needing to reassure him. “Not ever.”

 

He kissed her deeply, leaving no doubt of what she meant to him. And despite the disturbing memories that they had relived together, they fell into a peaceful sleep, as he held her tightly in the protective embrace of his arms and his love.

 

 

 

 

 

Vegeta threw off his six sparring partners at once with an ease that frightened all but one of the men. The five, who had heard of Vegeta’s strength but never witnessed it, had volunteered to aid the alien Prince in his daily workout. One by one they came at him again, only to be swatted away like annoying flies. In his childhood, he mused, he would have killed them each with a single ki blast through the heart, thinking no more of it than had he exterminated an insect. Somehow, he had grown to value life more than that now, and as each opponent seemed too injured to proceed, he would send them on their way.

 

Only one remained now, and Vegeta smirked at his friend—perhaps one of the first men he had ever called friend. Rossdark was tougher than most of his race, probably hardened during his service to Frieza. He was no challenge to Vegeta whatsoever, yet the Saiyan Prince had grown to enjoy his sparring sessions with him.

 

“What’s the matter, ouji-sama, do you think that’s all I’ve got?” Rossdark grinned, then rammed his fist into Vegeta’s stomach. Vegeta swiftly grabbed his wrist and flipped him onto the floor.

 

“No, but I think your wife will rant like a madwoman if I send you to the regen tank one more time this week.” Vegeta threw a towel at his opponent, and wrapped one around his own neck. “We’ve both had enough for today,” he said kindly, though both men knew that Vegeta had barely approached his limit. He remembered something Bulma had said and added, “You’re welcome to dine with us tonight if you wish. Bring your family. Bulma and her parents are quite fond of them.”

 

“Thank you, Prince Vegeta. They enjoy your family’s company as well.” He paused, then said, “We will all be very sorry to see you leave this planet when your obligation to the dragon is through.”

 

Vegeta nodded thoughtfully. Their months here had been a peaceful respite that he and Bulma had desperately needed after their ordeal with Frieza. But wondering what lay ahead when they returned to Vegeta-sei had filled him with an ever-increasing anxiety. “I have obligations to my people as well,” he responded, the weight of those obligations seeming to press more heavily upon him every day. “But…we have…enjoyed our stay here. Your people have been hospitable, and you…have been a good friend.”

 

“You shall always have friends and allies on Korwal-sei,” Rossdark replied warmly. The man had no idea what that meant to a future King of a planet that had not seen him since he was a boy. Who, if anyone, would he ever be able to trust as he had trusted this man?

 

“Bulma tells me there is actually a movement to elect you president,” Vegeta commented as they began to walk from the training dome. Rossdark’s part in the destruction of Frieza was well-known, and had made him a virtual hero amongst his people.

 

“I’ve considered the offer,” the other man replied modestly.

 

“You should take it,” Vegeta told him confidently. “You’re already a leader amongst your people, and you know more about the workings of the galaxy than any of them.”

 

“Knowing of galactic politics and wishing to take part in them are two very different things entirely,” Rossdark replied wisely. “In many ways, our people were more secure before we came to know of the existence of other beings.”

 

Vegeta sighed. His very presence on this planet would bring attention to Korwal-sei, especially when it was known that the dragonballs had restored Vegeta-sei and Earth. “Your people have no choice now but to deal with your neighbors. But I do promise you this. As long as I live, Vegeta-sei will be your planet’s foremost ally and protector. It is a debt that I owe to you…for many things.”

 

Rossdark nodded gratefully. “So, have you had any news from Kakarot?”

 

Vegeta scowled in frustration. “That half-wit should have contacted me by now. I’ve no idea if he even made it to Vegeta-sei. He should have been there for weeks now. I don’t know what’s more unnerving—waiting for that clown to send word, or waiting for my woman to decide to give birth.”

 

Rossdark grinned. “It is the worst kind of anticipation in the world, trust me. But Melza says she is near her time, and she has been midwife to many women.”

 

“Not to women bearing Saiyan children,” he murmured.

 

“Do not worry, ouji-sama,” Rossdark assured him. “Melza has attended many difficult births. Dr. Syne will also be there, as will your in-laws with all the technology they have brought with them from Earth. And there is still the little Namek Dende to heal her in case of an emergency.”

 

“It’s about time that Namek found his way down from the polar ice caps,” Vegeta said irritably to cover his own concern.

 

“If it will make you feel better, ouji-sama, I will fly there tomorrow and bring him back myself—”

 

Vegeta was about to respond when the sudden shouts of Rossdark’s children drew their attention.

 

“Poppa! Prince Vegeta!”

 

In distress the two were running towards them, and with a shudder of fear Vegeta realized they were coming from the direction of his home outside the village.

 

“What’s wrong?!” he snapped at the boy in barely contained alarm.

 

“Princess Bulma sent us to find you! She and her father detected five space pods approaching Korwal-sei. They’ll have landed by now!”  The boy was putting up a brave front, but his sister, the little girl who had taken such a liking to Vegeta, was trembling with fright.

 

“Where?” Vegeta asked calmly, somehow less concerned about this threat than he would have been had they come to tell him that Bulma had gone into labor.

 

“Four seemed to be heading for town, and one towards the polar continent.”

 

“Were there any communications, or indications of who they were?” Rossdark asked his son.

 

The boy shook his head, then straightened his back. “Father, I wish to come with you. If there is any danger—”

 

“—the best place for you to be is protecting the family,” his father finished for him. “Where is your mother?”

 

“She’s with the Princess,” Pota piped in, her eyes wide with fear.

 

“Will you do me a favor, then, Pota?” Vegeta asked the little girl. “Tell the Princess that I will take care of everything, and we’ll expect dinner waiting for us when we return.”

 

The little girl nodded bravely. “I will tell her, Prince Vegeta,” she told him solemnly, as if having taken a sacred vow.

 

Vegeta nodded at her, then turned to Pandelis. “I leave my household in your care, boy. Do not disappoint me.”

 

He turned to the father. “Come, Rossdark, let’s see who’s been foolish enough to challenge us.”

 

With that, he took to the air, his curiosity and annoyance outweighing all else.

 

 

Irritation turned to rage as they approached the village to see smoldering ruins where buildings should have been. Vegeta knew that only the fact that his family had not been in the village kept Rossdark from utter panic.  Below survivors were running from the town even as the four beings who had landed continued to wreak havoc with random blasts of energy.

 

Vegeta found the first, a lizard-like Racos-jin, poised to blast a group of children into oblivion. In fury Vegeta incinerated him with a single blast, sending the children scurrying away, terrified but alive. Rossdark had found the lizard’s companion, and dispatched him in similar fashion. The blasts and screams were coming from further into town now, and the two men rushed to find a small Tsiru-jin barking orders at a blue-skinned soldier who must have been seven feet tall. The latter was obviously a lackey, and Vegeta let Rossdark decimate him while he rushed at the Tsiru-in youth, the stench of the lizard a sickening reminder of the enemy Vegeta had vanquished just months ago. His ki crackled golden energy as he powered up to Super Saiyan, grabbing the terrified Tsiru-jin by the throat and squeezing just short of strangulation.

 

“Who sent you?!?!” he boomed, though the pink scouter on the creature’s eye was all too familiar.

 

“Lord Cooler!” he gasped, trying in vain to detach the Saiyan’s hands from his neck.

 

Frieza’s brother. “Why am I not surprised?!” Vegeta snarled, tightening his hold on the Tsiru-jin’s throat. “What was your mission? Tell me!” he demanded.

 

“To find out…if the rumors…were true…”

 

Vegeta smirked in satisfaction. So, word had gotten about.  “And what rumors might those be?” he taunted, though he knew very well.

 

“That a Super Saiyan…had destroyed Lord Frieza…and somehow brought back…the planet Vegeta…”

 

“You can tell Cooler that it was Prince Vegeta himself who sent his brother into Hell, and if he ever dares attack this planet or Vegeta-sei again, I will personally see to it that he joins him there!”

 

The Tsiru-jin hissed with contempt. “I won’t have to tell him ,Vegeta—my scouter has already transmitted everything to him.” The alien smirked as if expecting Vegeta to be surprised, but his eyes opened wide as Vegeta glared at him nonplussed.

 

“That’s just as well,” he replied dryly. “I wanted to kill you anyway.”

 

Vegeta had barely a moment to enjoy the look of terror on the lizard’s face before he blew him into oblivion. 

 

In disgust Vegeta surveyed the scene below them. The screams of the women and children had died down to the gentle sobs of mourning. Cooler’s men had destroyed the peaceful town with as little remorse as…

 

…as he himself had displayed time and again in Frieza’s service. Vegeta fought the desire to be sick as he remembered how many innocent lives he himself had taken in just as careless a manner. How different it seemed when the victims were people he had lived among for the past few months—families, with children, children who knew no more of intergalactic power struggles than any child should have to…

 

“I will make him pay for this, Rossdark! When I leave this planet I will seek out every fucking lizard and wipe them out of existence once and for all!”

 

“Ouji-sama, that will not bring back the dead.”

 

Rossdark’s voice was so filled with defeat and grief that it brought Vegeta from his rage. He looked at his friend, at the eyes devoid of the satisfaction that revenge could bring. And in Rossdark’s fear of what mindless slaughter the Saiyan Prince might embark upon, Vegeta saw the same reaction that Bulma would have if she knew the murderous impulses that were coursing through him now.

 

“No, it would not bring them back,” he said softly, pushing down the desire to kill that flowed in his veins. “But it would prevent those abominations of nature from taking any more innocent blood.” And would that ease my own guilt? he thought to himself. Could it in any way repay the debt of all the blood I have spilled in my lifetime? He looked into his friend’s eyes, and added quietly, “At the very least, it will give the dead some peace once they have been avenged.”

 

Rossdark nodded thoughtfully. “Perhaps with the dragon balls—” He stopped mid-sentence, his eyes opening wide with fear. “The polar continent! Pandelis said the other ship was heading there! If they kill the Nameks—”

 

“Damn!” Vegeta cried, knowing they had already lost time. How had he been foolish enough to forget the other ship, or realize what its destination must be?! Turning sharply towards the north, he powered up in an angry burst of ki that brought him close to Super Saiyan…

 

…and then he stopped, his face paling as he felt it suddenly. The tiny ki that had danced at the realm of his consciousness, warming him with its presence, reassuring him throughout that she was safe…

 

…flickered.

 

“Rossdark,” he said hoarsely. “You see to it yourself.”

 

“Ouji-sama?” the other man asked in confusion at the sudden change that had come over the Saiyan Prince.

 

“It’s Bulma,” he said simply, then shot through the air towards their house, his heart frozen with fear as he reached out desperately for a sense of her.

 

It was there. Faint, then flaring, as if she were under incredible duress. He touched down so abruptly that the ground broke beneath him, rushing into the house to find the living room devoid of anyone save Rossdark’s children. The little girl ran to him. “Ouji-sama! Thank the gods you got here! It’s the Princess! She’s having the baby!”

 

 

 

 

Kami, please don’t let me die!

 

She was dying. She had to be. The pain was excruciating, much worse than she had ever heard it could be. A memory flashed in her mind, though she wasn’t sure if it was hers or Vegeta’s, an image of his mother in that desolate country palace, giving her last breath to the son who had literally ripped through her. Her face was wet with tears, both from the physical agony and the panicked fear that she would not live to see her son. That he would grow up as Vegeta had, without a mother, without the love that only she could give him, and teach him to give. That Vegeta would be left alone, to fall back into the black abyss of hatred and rage that she had tried so hard to pull him from…

 

“Vegeta!” she cried out as another wave of contractions washed over her.

 

“I’m here, woman,” he said suddenly, grasping her hand. And as his face appeared above her, relief and frustration fused into a tearful cry.

 

“What took you so fucking long?”

 

“Next time don’t send me to fight off villains first,” he retorted, though the tenderness in his eyes spoke volumes of what could not be said in front of others.

 

“It hurts…so much…” she gasped in between breaths.

 

“I know—” he began to soothe her, but she broke him off.

 

“You have no fucking idea! This is all your fault, Vegeta! I should never have let you touch me!”

 

His face flashed crimson with embarrassment, the shock and hurt of her attack leaving him at a momentary loss for words. Bulma regretted her outburst at once, and was glad when her father broke in at Vegeta’s side to explain. “Pay her no mind, Vegeta. Women in labor always blame their husbands. I remember Bulma’s mother using some choice language she had never used before, and has never uttered again since that day.”

 

Only Bulma could detect the relief that flooded her husband’s face, to be replaced at once by that arrogant smirk that was his signature. “I’m used to it. Having an insolent foul mouth is normal for her.”

 

“Just breathe like I showed you, Bulma,” Melza was telling her. The Korwal-sei-jin woman seemed so at ease that it was maddening. Didn’t she know this was not an ordinary baby?

 

“I want an epidural!” she cried. “Demerol, something!” She looked up at Vegeta with pleading eyes. “Make them give me something for the pain!”

 

His eyes opened wide with sudden worry. “What are you waiting for?” he barked at the others.

 

“We do not use such things,” the doctor explained to him.

 

“And you’ve brought nothing from Earth?!” he snapped at her father.

 

“She can’t have an epidural. She’d too dilated—”

 

“What the hell does that mean?!” he nearly screamed in confusion.

 

“It means your son won’t wait for me to take any fucking painkillers!” she choked out as the contraction approached its crest. “Aaaaaaaah!”

 

“Breathe, Bulma…” Melza coached her in a commanding voice. She obeyed, panting until the pain slowly eased.

 

For the moment, at least.

 

Bulma sighed deeply, closing her eyes for the respite she knew would be all too brief. The time between contractions was decreasing steadily, and she waited with dread for the next onslaught…

 

A cool washcloth on her head soothed her, but this time, she knew it had not been her mother.  She opened her eyes to stare weakly into the dark worried eyes of her Saiyan Prince. “Vegeta…” she whispered softly.

 

“Shhhhh. Save your strength,” he said gently, his face a mere inch above hers.

 

“I can’t do this,” she sobbed, loud enough only so that he alone would hear.

 

“Yes you can,” he whispered. “You can do anything, woman. You tamed a Saiyan Prince. Surely you can bring another into the world.”

 

“You don’t know how much it hurts…” she said weakly.

 

“Then let me share your pain,” he said softly.

 

Bulma looked at him questioningly for but a moment. Then, as he placed his hand gently over her womb, she knew at once what he meant to do. From his fingers flowed the energy of his being, replenishing the strength she had lost, wrapping her in the warmth of his essence. She saw herself lying there through his eyes, felt his love, his fear, intermingling with her own. And this time, as the next wave of contractions begin to wrack her body, she saw her pain in his eyes, knew that he was feeling it even as she did…

 

“I can see his head!” Melza announced suddenly, as the instinct to bear down made her begin to push. Bulma clutched at Vegeta’s hand, crying out as the baby seemed to rip through her in its struggle to be born.

 

“Push!” the doctor urged her.

 

You can do it, Bulma! Vegeta’s voice sounded in her mind.

 

I can’t! It hurts! He won’t come out!

 

The pain reached its crest and there was no more clear thought. The room began to spin in a surreal blur of  images and voices. The doctor, her father, Vegeta, in a mad panic that seemed to be fading with her consciousness.

 

“Push, Bulma, he’s coming!”

“Shouldn’t you do an episiotomy?”

“A what?”

“The baby’s too big—“

“A Caesarian then—“

“It’s too late!”

The glow of Vegeta’s ki was surging through her, and she felt it, just as she felt his desperation and helplessness. Then, with one last push, there was nothing left to feel, but the warm flow of blood, and the escape from pain.

 

“You did it, Bulma!”  Vegeta whispered close to her face, his lips brushing her forehead.

 

“Baby…” she murmured, trying to open her eyes. A high-pitched cry was music to her ears.

 

“Bulma?” he called. She wanted to see him, but her eyelids wouldn’t listen to her. “Bulma!” She could hear the panic in his voice, just as she felt it in his ki, still so closely entwined with hers. Didn’t he know it was all right now? Couldn’t he hear the baby crying?

 

“What’s wrong with her?!”

“She’s lost too much blood! We can’t stop the bleeding!”

“Do something, damn you!! Do something now or I’ll rip you to shreds!”

 

Even the sense of him was starting to dim. Was she dying? She knew she should feel fear and panic, but all she could feel was Vegeta’s, as he thrust his mind into hers, calling to her through their bond, his life force pouring into her, clutching at her desperately, unwilling to let her go. You will not leave me, woman! his voice wept in her mind. I will not let you! Bulma!

 

I love you, Vegeta… was her only conscious thought. And then there was nothing.

 

 

 

 

 

Vegeta awoke from blackness into sudden panic. He jumped from the couch, just as Rossdark entered the room. “Where is she?! Is she—?”

 

“She is alive, ouji-sama,” Rossdark assured him.

 

The words were a balm to his sickened heart. He drew a deep breath of relief, as his father-in-law entered the room.

 

“You saved her life, son,” the old man said wearily, his eyes moist. “Her heart had stopped, but somehow you brought her back.”

 

“I gave her my energy,” he said simply. All that he was had poured into her through their bond, as he’d grasped desperately to hold on to her fleeting life force. Thank the gods it was enough, he thought, inwardly shivering at how close he had come to losing her. “I need to see her now,” he said aloud, heading towards the bedroom.

 

“Vegeta, wait.” Doctor Briefs’ voice stopped him dead in his tracks as he realized with sudden dread that there was something more they had to tell him.

 

“What is it?” he asked sharply. “Is she out of danger?”

 

“For the moment,” her father told him, the expression in his blue eyes, so like his daughter’s, grave. “But she’s lost a great deal of blood. She’s very weak—“

 

Vegeta cringed at those words, remembering his father’s voice. She was too weak…

 

“She’s been unconscious for hours now—”

 

“Hours? How long was I out?”

 

“You lost consciousness when you gave her the last of your energy, ouji-sama,” Rossdark explained. “That was twelve hours ago.”

 

Had it possibly been that long? Had he lost so much of his energy that his body had needed to repair itself? Or had Bulma’s unconscious state pulled him into darkness through their bond? He said no more to the two men as he pushed past them into the bedroom.

 

Had it not been for the tubes and machines attached to her, he would have thought her asleep. Clean sheets had replaced those that had been drenched in her blood, and he shuddered at the image in his mind of the last moments he remembered. There had been so much blood, so much more than he had ever imagined it possible for a being to lose and still live…

 

“Why have you not put her in the regen tank?” he growled angrily. “She’d be fully healed by now!”

 

“The regen tank was severely damaged in the explosions. The Princess’ laboratory was nearly obliterated,” Rossdark explained calmly.

 

“Then fix it!” he hissed at Bulma’s father.

 

“I’ve been trying all night,” the old man replied helplessly. “It took hours just to uncover Bulma’s notes—“

 

“What about the Namek boy, Rossdark?” he snapped, cutting off Doctor Briefs.

 

“Near death,” Rossdark replied quietly. “I’m sorry, ouji-sama, but by the time I reached the polar continent, the Tsiru-jin was inches away from killing them both.”

 

“We’ve treated them as best we could, but they will have to heal naturally,” his father-in-law put in, then added in frustration, “just like Bulma.”

 

“I can’t believe this is happening!” Vegeta cursed as he looked down helplessly at his woman’s sleeping form.  Gingerly he caressed her cheek. “Bulma…wake up…”

 

“She can’t hear you, Vegeta. She’s fallen into a coma. And with all the blood she’s lost, she’s too weak to fight her way out of it.”

 

“Then give her my blood,” he commanded, not taking his eyes from her face.

 

“A transfusion to a human is not that simple,” the doctor told him. “If the blood type doesn’t match hers, her body will reject it.”

 

“What about you, or her mother? Surely one of you must have blood that matches hers—“

 

Briefs shook his head. “We’re both type A, and she’s type O. No, I’m afraid all we can do is feed her plasma and antibiotics to keep her alive and healthy until her body can produce more blood—“

 

“And how long does that take?!” Vegeta blurted, unable to contain his frustration.

 

“It could take a week or two,” Briefs told him.

 

Vegeta struggled to suppress the panic and rage that threatened to send his ki soaring. “That is unacceptable,” he said, gritting his teeth. “You will repair the regen tank.”

 

Briefs voice was kind as he said quietly, “I’ll do my best.” He looked at his daughter’s still form once more, patted her hand, then left.

 

“He has been working tirelessly, ouji-sama,” Rossdark said after a few moments, reminding him of his presence.

 

“He can rest when my woman opens her eyes,” Vegeta said emotionlessly. “Now leave us, Rossdark.”

 

Vegeta waited until the door swished closed behind his friend, then sat on the bed looking down at his wife’s too-pale face. How he wished to see those beautiful blue eyes smiling up at him! “Bulma,” he whispered, his voice filled with the emotion he would not let the others see.  “Please, wake up…” He bent to kiss her, feeling his eyes burn with tears he refused to shed as his lips touched hers lightly. Bulma, hear me, please. Woman, I know you’re there. I need you to wake up. I need you to come back to me…

 

But as his mind reached out to hers, dark silence was his only response.

 

A baby’s cry from the next room drew him from his concentration, and for the first time since he awoke he realized that he had failed to even ask about his son. For the briefest moment his heart warmed at the sound of the tiny life. At least the brat is all right. But at what price? The child had ripped through her body, just as many years ago he had—

 

“Vegeta?” The high-pitched voice of his mother-in-law disturbed his troubled thoughts. “Oh, I’m so glad you’re awake. My poor Bulma! She didn’t even get to hold her little son! And he’s so beautiful! Look at him!”

 

Vegeta closed his eyes, fighting his own curiosity. He could not.  He would not look upon this child until his mother was out of danger. “You will care for him until his mother is able to,” he commanded her, his back still turned to her.

 

“But Vegeta, don’t you even want to see him?” the woman was asking in disbelief.

 

He could not bring himself to say no. That would be a lie. He answered her with a terrible silence instead.

 

“All right, then, he’ll be in the nursery,” Mrs. Briefs said finally.

 

He forced himself to nod, holding his breath until he heard her leave.

 

He knew Bulma would be furious with him.  And the part of him that hated his father for blaming him for his mother’s death was filled with shame. But his inner rage at what was happening sought blame, and he feared that if he looked upon the baby that had torn its way from her womb, that blame would be irrevocably placed. Better that the child be kept out of his way…

 

Thus he began the vigil that would last for days.

 

 

 

Days. Without sleep. Without change. Without any sign of reprieve. He sat at her bedside without rest, refusing food and rebuking any conversation save for progress reports on the regen tank or the Nameks. On the sixth day he looked in a mirror, frightening himself with the beginnings of a beard that made him look strikingly like his father. It was then that he decided to shower and shave, relenting at last to eat just enough to keep his strength from failing. Yet still, he would not see the child, the infant whose cries were a constant reminder of what had done this to his woman.

 

He knew she was there. Trapped in darkness, unable to reach him even in thought. Yet he could feel her presence, the slightest stirrings of her spirit. Or was it exhaustion and desperation that made him think so? He didn’t know. But that night, after the doctor had checked her IV and left for the day, he lay beside her, reaching tenderly to wrap his arm around her, closing his eyes again, trying for the umpteenth time to touch her soul…

 

He was walking in a fog, calling her name. He knew he was dreaming, and yet he felt that his subconscious mind had broken through where his weary conscious mind had been unable to. Suddenly he heard the faraway voice he had yearned to hear…

 

“Vegeta? Vegeta! Please, help me!”

 

She was walking in the mist and he ran to her, though it seemed to take an eternity to reach her. Her eyes opened wide with delight and she ran into his arms sobbing. “I knew you would find me,” she wept.

 

His lips crushed against hers as their tears intermingled. It was all right to cry in a dream, wasn’t it?  “Bulma,” he whispered, hugging her to him. His voice was so choked with emotion that he could hardly speak.

 

“Why can’t I wake up, Vegeta?” she moaned. “Please, help me!”

 

“Your father is working on the regen tank. It was nearly destroyed,” he told her, running his fingers through her hair. “But you have to fight, woman. You have to fight your way back. You can do it. You have to do it. I need you. The brat needs you—“

 

Even as he uttered the words he faltered in shame of what he knew she would read in his thoughts. She looked at him, her expression hardening. “Vegeta, you son of a bitch, you haven’t even held our son?”

 

“I can’t,” he said softly, feeling he would lose total control of his emotions.

 

“Don’t you dare blame him for this, Vegeta! It’s not his fault!” she scolded him angrily. “If I die, he’s going to need you—“

 

“You will not die, woman!” he commanded her, tears falling freely. “You will not die!”

 

“Shhhhhhhh.” She brought her lips to his, and he kissed her hungrily, knowing this was a dream, but praying for it to be real. When they separated, she held his face in her hands. “Just remember what I told you. Every time you look at him…”

 

She was starting to fade. “No! Bulma, don’t leave me!”

 

His heart was pounding when he awoke, and his face was wet with tears. In the darkness he looked at her, still asleep, still unmoving.  Had it all been a dream? Or had his mind touched hers as it so often did in sleep? How he wanted to believe that it was true! And yet the memory of her anger brought shame to him even now. “I will make it right, woman,” he said softly.

 

The room where his son lay sleeping was dark, but with his Saiyan senses he could see perfectly. He looked down at the boy, so tiny, with hair that was shockingly light for one of his race, but a tail that proudly announced his Saiyan heritage. He could see himself in the boy. Even the lavender locks were arranged with a widow’s peak that marked him as one of the royal line. Vegeta reached gingerly to touch the tiny hands, surprised when even in sleep the babe seemed to grasp at his finger with a strength that was far beyond what a human would consider normal. He smiled in the darkness at his son, feeling the strength of a ki that seemed a mixture of his own and Bulma’s. He would be a strong warrior. Of that there was no doubt.

 

It was then that the child’s eyes opened wide, and Vegeta nearly gasped at the light blue eyes that stared up at him. Bulma’s eyes. And her words to him came back with such force that they shook him to the very core of his soul.

 

Every time you look at him…just remember this is what our love made…

 

Oddly enough, the child was not crying to have been disturbed from his slumber. And somehow Vegeta knew that just as he could feel his son’s ki, the infant could sense his.  “You know who I am, don’t you, brat?” Vegeta asked quietly. As if in response, he made some unintelligible noises. “I am your father,” he said as he carefully reached into the crib to pick up his tiny heir. He remembered Bulma’s warnings about an infant’s neck, and awkwardly but gently eased his hand under the child’s head for support. His son made no complaints as he settled into Vegeta’s arms, and after a few moments he found himself letting out the breath that he had unconsciously held as he had taken the baby into his embrace. “And you, are a Prince of the greatest warrior race that has ever lived,” he told him.

 

The baby yawned and leaned in against his chest, closing his eyes. Vegeta smirked. “You seem unimpressed,” he murmured as the sensation of holding his son filled him with an odd mixture of excitement and calm. “Why don’t I take you to your mother?” he suggested.

 

He sat at her bedside, the child still in his arms. “I’ve done what you wished, woman,” he sighed. “Now it’s up to you to come back to both of us.”

 

 

 

 

Bulma’s mother had nearly had a coronary when she’d gone to check on the baby and found him missing. She’d burst into Vegeta’s and Bulma’s bedroom in a panic, and was probably too relieved upon seeing the child in Vegeta’s arms to even notice the Saiyan’s total mortification at being found in such an unlikely posture. He’d handed the baby over to her and told her that he was going to encapsulate and move the boy’s things into their bedroom, in the hopes that his proximity would be beneficial to Bulma’s recovery. The older woman seemed delighted, and to Vegeta’s humiliation made some comment as to how “sweet” he looked holding his son. Vegeta had grunted in annoyance and left the room, his cheeks hot with embarrassment.

 

The boy had awakened and was crying shrilly as Vegeta expanded the crib and changing table and placed them near their bed. “What does he want?” he asked, hating the fact that he seemed so ignorant in these things.

 

Mrs. Briefs giggled, much like Bulma, he thought, as she handed the screaming infant over. “See for yourself,” she said knowingly.

 

The boy was soaked. Vegeta made a face of disgust, holding him at arm’s length. “What…am I supposed to do?”

 

“Would you like me to teach you how to change his diaper?”

 

Under any other circumstances, Vegeta would have balked at the notion that he, a Saiyan Prince, would have to attend to such menial tasks that were normally delegated to servants. But there were no servants here. And the boy’s mother was…

 

He looked at Bulma’s sleeping form for a long moment, then turned to her mother.  For Bulma, for their son, he would swallow his pride yet again.

 

“All right. Show me.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

“All right, brat, let’s see if you can keep this one clean for a couple of hours.”

 

The baby gurgled at him as if in reply, and Vegeta had to keep his lip from twitching into a smile. Disgusting and tedious as this chore had become, he was well aware that he had developed an attachment to this tiny creature who depended upon him for everything. Nearly a week had passed since he had taken over the child’s care. No wonder his father had had servants attend to his needs since infancy. Feeding, bathing, changing and keeping track of the brat were a full-time job. He was beginning to understand the bond that lesser races appeared to have with their offspring. The mere contact, the intimacy, of childcare seemed to foster a closeness that Saiyans would find unnatural.  He wondered dully if his father had ever fed him, or dressed him. No. His father had had little to do with him until the time had come to train him. My life would have been very different, he thought bitterly. No man who has cared for his son like this could ever surrender him to a monster. He knew without a doubt that he would condemn to hell anyone who tried to harm this little boy.

 

“Just don’t tell Kakarot about this,” he said with a smirk as the boy reached out to him and he picked him up.

 

“I think Goku has changed his share of diapers.”

 

Vegeta’s heart stopped as he turned to the frail voice that had spoken to him. “Bulma!” He rushed to her side, his heart in his throat as she smiled weakly at him.

 

“I knew…you’d make a great father…” she said softly.

 

He brushed the hair from her face, kissing her forehead. And I knew you would come back to me.

 

“My baby…” she cooed as she looked at the tiny bundle in his arms. Vegeta gently laid their son upon her chest.

 

“He’s so beautiful…” she wept, wrapping her arms around her precious baby for the very first time.

 

“He has your eyes,” he replied, struggling to contain his own tears of utter joy and relief at the scene before him. “It’s about time you woke up, woman,” he chastised tenderly, his voice cracked with emotion. “I have more important things to do than change soiled diapers.”

 

“Such as?” she challenged playfully.

 

“Such as this,” he murmured, bringing his lips to hers.

 

 

 

 

Even as Vegeta kissed her gently she could feel his lips tremble with the emotion that he was trying so hard to control. She looked into his eyes, as filled with unshed tears as they were with unabashed love and relief. “I knew you’d come back to us,” he said in a hushed whisper as he pulled away to look at her. “How do you feel, woman?”

 

“Tired…weak…” she said truthfully, feeling as if the last few moments of emotion had sapped her strength.

 

“You must rest—“ he began, cutting himself off as she heard her father’s voice.

 

“Vegeta! I’ve done it! The regen tank is—“

 

Poppa’s face broke into a wide grin as his eyes met hers. Gods, he looked exhausted! She remembered Vegeta telling her in her dream that Poppa had been working on the regen tank. At least, she’d thought it was a dream…

 

“Bulma!” her father exclaimed, coming to her side. “Thank the gods you’ve come out of it. We’ve all been worried sick.”  He glanced at Vegeta. “I guess I’m a little late.”

 

“Not at all,” Vegeta assured him graciously. “She still is not completely recovered. The tank will heal her. I am grateful to you.”

 

Was that Vegeta talking? Her Vegeta? His courteous manner was almost as much a shock as waking to see him changing diapers. Do you think me an utter boor, woman? his voice resounded in her head, reminding her that he could hear nearly all her thoughts. She smiled weakly at him as he took the baby, laying him in the crib by their bed. As soon as her father had detached her IV, Vegeta scooped her into his arms, wrapping the blankets around her. “Close your eyes and rest,” he commanded her. She snuggled against him, safe, warm, and more at peace than she had ever been, as blackness fell around her once more.

 

 

She was floating in a sea of warm energy that seemed to infuse her with strength as it healed her body from the trauma of her son’s birth. Reclaiming her consciousness, she opened her eyes, straining through the breathing mask and the rippling blue liquid to see the figure beyond the tank that encased her. She smiled as Vegeta’s thoughts reached out to hers, enveloping her soul as the healing liquid enveloped her body. How much longer? she sent to him impatiently. In response he pulled the switch that began to drain the tank of its regenerative fluids. She was suddenly aware of cold air on her body, and began to shiver until Vegeta reached in to wrap her in a blanket. “Let me get you home,” he said softly as he raised his ki to warm her.

 

Only as he carried her from the wreck of what had been her laboratory, did she realize the extent of the devastation around her. What had once been a growing town was in ruins, homes and shops she had known now destroyed. Vegeta noticed her eyes grow wide and sighed deeply. “I had wanted to tell you first,” he said quietly. “I thought you would sleep as you did on the way here.”

 

“What happened?” she asked, aghast. “Oh gods…” she whispered, tears coming to her eyes. Wasn’t that Rossdark’s home, or what was left of it?

 

“They are all well,” he assured her, reading her thoughts. “With the exception of his father. The women and children were at our home attending you. He perished in the house with the first blasts.”

 

“Oh no,” she moaned softly, remembering the kindly old man. “Who did this?” she asked, still incredulous. “And did you get them all?”

 

Vegeta nodded. “You need not worry. They were five weaklings. Rossdark and I destroyed them.”

 

She looked at him expectantly, knowing there was something more. “But who sent them?”

 

An image of Frieza came to her mind, and her mouth opened wide with shock. “It—it can’t be. You killed Frieza—“

 

Vegeta frowned in annoyance that his thoughts were so easy for her to sense. “Not Frieza. His brother, Cooler. Another freak of nature. Word got to him of my ascension, and—“

 

“—he wants revenge for his brother,” she finished, not sure if she were picking up his train of thought or coming to a logical conclusion.

 

He nodded. “Your friend Kakarot hasn’t gotten back to us yet. I just hope Cooler didn’t take his revenge on Vegeta-sei. He was always more powerful than Frieza, and a lot smarter. The news of Vegeta-sei’s rebirth has sent ripples of shock and fear throughout the galaxy. Cooler will see us as a threat.”

 

“If Goku and the others are there, they’ll fight alongside the Saiyans to destroy Cooler,” she told him with certainty.

 

“They won’t win,” he replied blandly, his own fear and hopelessness sending a shudder through her. He must have sensed the worries he had betrayed—and involuntarily transferred—to her, for he stopped in midair to look into her eyes. “No matter what has happened on Vegeta-sei, no matter what he has planned for me, I swear this to you. Cooler will not harm you or our son. You must believe me. And you must trust me.”

 

“I do,” she said truthfully, gazing at him with all the love and conviction in her being.

 

His features softened as her faith in him soothed his troubled spirit. He hugged her to him protectively. “Let’s go home. Our son is waiting.”

 

A smile crossed her lips as she closed her eyes and thought of the beautiful baby. And only then did the thought strike her. “Vegeta,” she said suddenly, looking up at him again. “We still haven’t given him a name.”

 

“I was too busy keeping his rear end dry to think of one,” he said mirthlessly, but she could see the glint of a smile in his eyes. It hadn’t been such a chore as he pretended.

 

“I suppose ‘Vegeta’ is the natural choice,” she suggested. “Isn’t that a tradition in your family for the firstborn son?”

 

His face darkened. “I’ve given that name a bloody legacy throughout the galaxy. I would not burden him with that.”

 

There was nothing she could say to convince him otherwise. “Any ideas then?”

 

He nodded. “Trunks.”

 

She smiled. “For Poppa.”

 

“He worked tirelessly to repair the tank. His genius has brought us to where we are today. And—he is a good man. It would be fitting.”

 

She couldn’t have agreed more. But it was the thought behind his gesture that overwhelmed her with love for him. It was so hard to believe that this was the same man who had nearly destroyed the Earth just two years ago…

 

His face became expressionless, and she knew that he had caught her musings. She could feel him shudder involuntarily as the hell that had been his former life washed through his memory like a wave reminding the sand that it had not disappeared forever.

 

“I love you,” she said simply, feeling her words push back the black tide of anger and guilt that constantly fought to reclaim him. The past would always haunt him. He’d told her that before. But she would spend the rest of her life helping him to fight off the ghosts of yesterday, replacing them with new memories of the future they would build together.

 

 

 

 

 

The gravity was oppressive, and in a sick, illogical way, the challenge thrilled him. This was what he had wanted, what he had needed all the time he had spent on this planet sparring with weaklings that could never hope to even approach his level. His heart pounded with the strain and the adrenaline that flowed through his veins as he struggled to summon his ki for his finishing move. He could barely speak the words, silently mouthing Final Flash as he lifted up his arms to gather his energy and take aim. The training droid smashed into nothingness as the Gravity chamber itself, no, the ground beneath it, quaked with his power. Vegeta collapsed to the floor, his energy spent.

 

And laughed out loud. Let any of them challenge me! I will show them what the Legendary reborn can do!

 

Before Bulma’s parents had come from Earth, the lack of a real challenge in training had concerned him much more than he would have ever been willing to admit. He’d defeated Frieza. He’d become a Super Saiyan. Yet he knew in his heart that that might not be enough to win the trust of a people who had not seen hide nor hair of him since he had been a boy. He’d prided himself on being the Prince of all Saiyans, but as the time grew near to return to his planet, his apprehension had grown. He was not the child who had been taken from Vegeta-sei. Frieza had seen to that. But nor was he that monster that Freiza had tried to create. He credited his woman for that. And now, he was a man whose views of so many things in the Universe were drastically different than they had been even two years ago. He was a prince.  A warrior. But he had become so much more.

 

A husband. A father. A friend.

 

He had no regrets about the growth that he had undergone, and was happier than he had ever been, or even imagined he could be. But to the Saiyan people, he would be an utter enigma. An oddity. An outsider, in many ways.

 

But one thing was certain. Saiyans valued strength above all else, and fortune had smiled on him in that respect. Strength. He had no doubt that he was the strongest Saiyan alive. But the need to surpass even his own accomplishments burned within him. It would not suffice to be the strongest. He must strive for even more…

 

For that reason, he had asked his father-m-law for one last favor as the Briefses prepared to return to Earth. And despite Bulma’s angry protests, the kindly man had finally agreed, and raised the chamber’s capacity to 500G.

 

His woman had been furious with both of them, and as he’d stepped into the chamber, he’d feared that perhaps she had been right, and she would have to peel him off the floor with a spatula. But a few hours had raised his tolerance, and with his Final Flash he had passed his own self-imposed test.

 

Within moments, Vegeta could feel his strength almost back to full force. He was tempted to push his training even further, but had satisfied himself for now. Besides, it was late. He had promised Bulma to return for a farewell dinner she and her mother had prepared for the night before the her parents’ departure. Just thinking of what delicacies the two women had prepared made his stomach growl in anticipation.

 

He showered and dressed quickly, donning one of the pairs of“jeans” and black “T-shirts” they had brought him from Earth. The human attire was certainly more comfortable than that of the Korwal-sei-jin, those heavy, loose-fitting pants and shirts made of a rough and itchy fabric. He was still amazed at the sheer volume of gifts, supplies, food, furniture, vehicles and even an extra house that the Briefs had been able to bring with them, thanks to their encapsulation technology. Doctor Briefs had drawn up schematics for him to pass on to the scientists on Vegeta-sei so that they might replicate the process with their own technologies. That should certainly impress his father…

 

Just the thought of his father made him tense with anticipation. Where the fuck was Kakarot? Two months had passed since Bulma had recovered from Trunks’ birth, making it a full eight months since the clown had left. Had the Saiyans even given him a chance to deliver Vegeta’s message? Or had they wiped out the weaker men on the spot, without even the courtesy of  allowing them an audience with the King?

 

Vegeta thought grimly that he would not put it past his people to have done the latter. On first appearances, Kakarot was abnormal for a Saiyan.  Men such as Nappa would think nothing of putting him out of his misery. Vegeta found it strange that he was actually counting on Kakarot’s superior strength to have impressed the Saiyans sufficiently to give him access to the King. For surely once his father knew he was alive, he would send word to him…

 

Wouldn’t he?

 

The little boy hidden deep inside his psyche, the child who had been betrayed and handed over to a monster, screamed silent doubts that shook him to the core of his being. And only the cries of his own son kept him from slipping into the depressing train of thoughts that he fought constantly to avoid.

 

He moved to the crib, smiling like a fool as the sight of the child warmed his heart. Trunks had grown tremendously in the past eight weeks, and the awareness that shone in his eyes was as impressive as the ki that burned more brightly each day. He would be a strong one, this boy, this little Saiyan no ouji…

 

The brat stretched out his arms upon seeing him, though Vegeta was sure his son must have sensed his ki when he’d come into the room. Many times the boy would be crying, then stop before his father was even in his view, as if he could feel his approaching presence. He lifted him up just as Bulma popped her head into the room.

 

“Oh, you have him, Vegeta? Good, can you change him and bring him in? Momma and I were just putting dinner on the table.”

 

She was gone before he could mutter, “No problem.” Since Bulma’s recovery she had taken over the more disgusting duties of parenthood, but she would often joke that he’d done so well the first two weeks that she hated to take this honor away from him. In truth he didn’t mind, but he pretended to nevertheless, telling her this was a woman’s job, just to annoy her…

 

He smirked at the boy as he warned him, “None of your attacks today, brat, all right?” He could almost detect a smile on his son’s face, as if he were preparing to pee on him anyway. Why Trunks did this only to him, and not to his mother, Vegeta could not understand. He’d make a note to ask him when he was older. The chore done, Vegeta held the child close for a long moment, embracing him in a way he never would do in front of anyone else but Bulma. Trunks snuggled against his chest, wrapping his tail around Vegeta’s arm. And once more, the Saiyan Prince knew the true meaning of peace.

 

“Vegeta, come on! Dinner’s ready!” his woman called impatiently from the next room.

 

So much for peace.

 

Vegeta’s stomach growled in anticipation as he saw the feast the women had prepared. A fine mix of Korwal-sei-jin dishes and delicacies brought from Earth adorned the table, as his in-laws and Rossdark’s family waited politely for him to join them. Bulma took the baby from his hands, setting him in a special seat with a table attached that she called a “high-chair”. The others greeted Vegeta and he gave them a nod, urging them to begin even as Bulma started to heap a Saiyan-sized serving before him.

 

“Oh, my little grandson, I’m going to miss you so much,” he could hear Bulma’s mother cooing woefully at the baby. Vegeta turned to see the woman fighting tears in her eyes as she played with his son. Only then did he realize that despite the festive chatter, there was an undertone of sadness in the room.

 

“Momma, please don’t start, or I might cry too,” Bulma was telling her mother from the other side of the baby.

 

“I can’t help it, Bulma. Kami knows when we’ll see you all again…” she replied, dabbing her eyes with her napkin.

 

“There, there, dear,” Doctor Briefs said, patting his wife on the arm. “The kids promised they would come to Earth to visit—“

 

“We will,” Vegeta interjected before he even realized he was speaking. Bulma looked at him, smiling through the unshed tears glistening in her eyes, and he was glad he had done so. Until this moment he had perhaps not realized how difficult this would be both for his woman and her family. The Briefs had been a tremendous help, and though Bulma’s mother’s incessant chatter and often embarrassing comments had sometimes tested his patience, he was grateful for all they had done for them in the past three months. He would actually miss their presence, just as he would miss the Korwal-sei-jin friends that supped with them now. These people were, in essence, their extended family. Once he and Bulma went back to Vegeta-sei, things would be very different. Formality, duty and responsibility would replace the warmth, the peace, and contentment that they had found on this world.

 

“Could we go to Earth to visit too, Poppa?” Pota asked her father eagerly.

 

“I’d like to see Vegeta-sei,” Pandelis added enthusiastically, though the look of worry in his mother’s eyes made it clear that after all they had been through, she was hesitant to ever step off their world again.

 

Rossdark smiled at his children. “We shall see. Right now there is too much to do on Korwal-sei to even think of taking a trip.”

 

“Yes, your father is an important man,” Vegeta said. “He’s been president for less than a month, and I know he has many plans.” Rossdark had won the election with a mandate, especially after his role in protecting the planet from Cooler’s men. Vegeta was glad. It was good to know that one world already considered Vegeta-sei to be an ally. The rest of the galaxy might not be so forgiving…

 

His thoughts were interrupted by a sudden surge in energy that seemed to invade his being. A rush of ki, no, not one, but many, headed towards them. He stood from the table abruptly as he strained to discern the signatures, sensing some that were vaguely familiar and others that were not.

 

“What is it, ouji-sama?” Rossdark asked in alarm.

 

“Someone’s coming,” he said sharply, even as the sonic boom of a rapidly approaching spacecraft sounded above them. “Bulma, everyone, stay here. Rossdark, come!”

 

The Korwal-sei-jin followed him from the house, and they took to the air, headed on in intercept course for the alien ship. Too late. They reached the site just as the craft made a less than graceful landing barely a mile from the town that had been ravaged just two months before. Vegeta powered up, bursting into golden energy as the hatch opened, prepared to take on…

 

“Kakarot?”

 

The surprise on Vegeta’s face quickly turned to a smirk meant to hide his relief at seeing the idiot. “So you’ve finally decided to come back. It certainly took you long enough.”

 

“Hey, Vegeta! Hi Rossdark,” he greeted them as he flew down from the ship. What was wrong with this fool? He acted as if he didn’t even realize that the fate of two entire planets was at stake.

 

“Sorry it took so long, Vegeta,” Kakarot said in that serious tone he usually reserved for battle. “We ran into a few problems—“

 

“Well, did you complete your mission?” Vegeta asked gruffly, impatiently.  “Did you deliver my message to my father?”

 

The goofy irritating grin was back as Kakarot replied, “Of course I did!”

 

The others were piling out now, Kakarot’s son and Earth friends, as well as several Saiyan warriors. Vegeta stiffened as he saw the latter, suddenly aware that he must not look very much like a Saiyan no ouji in his current attire. Nevertheless, the soldiers bowed down before him, a respect he might have relished before but at the moment made him uneasy.

 

“We are at your service, Vegita ouji,” the squad captain said, rising to stand before him. Vegeta looked at him in blank shock.

 

He had Kakarot’s face.

 

“Bardock?” he asked cautiously.

 

The slightly older copy of Kakarot gave him a smile that was much more reserved than that of his youngest offspring. “You remember me, ouji-sama. You were just a boy the last time we met. But my son tells us that it’s your doing that Vegeta-sei lives again.”

 

“Not only mine,” he was quick to add, wanting Bulma to receive the credit and respect she deserved from the outset. “My wife. Without her genius, you would all still be dead.”

 

Bardock nodded knowingly. “Kakarot has told us all about the Princess Bulma. He considers her family, and therefore so will I.”

 

The thought of Kakarot and his father as kin to his woman was something Vegeta might have turned his nose up at in the past. But if her acceptance as their future queen would begin here, then so be it. Gohan ran up to them just then, startling the soldiers with his familiarity with their prince as he voiced the question that was on all their minds.

 

“Vegeta, did Bulma have the baby yet? Are they all right?”

 

In front of these men, Vegeta remembered he must refrain from showing the great joy he felt as he responded proudly, “We have a son, and they are both well.”

 

“Congratulations, Vegeta!” Kakarot gushed excitedly. “That’s great! What did you name him?!”

 

“His name is Trunks,” he announced authoritatively, knowing full well he would shock the Saiyans, but not caring. They would learn to respect him and his family, no matter how un-Saiyan they might be.

 

“Cool! For Bulma’s dad,” Krillin interjected, coming up to them and offering his own congratulations.

 

Vegeta nodded, not sure if he was more perturbed by the strange looks he was getting from the Saiyans or from the humans who had hung back observing the interchange. He didn’t need to sense the angry ki of that weakling Yamcha to know that he was throwing daggers of hatred at him. “Enough of my personal life,” he said in a commanding tone. “Kakarot, you said you delivered my message. What was the King’s response?”

 

At this Bardock looked at his son expectantly, almost hesitantly, but the fool just grinned from ear to ear. “You can ask him yourself.”

 

For a moment, Vegeta was stunned. But as the soldiers fell to their knees, he sensed the ki that he had not felt since childhood, and he looked up to the figure that had drawn the attention of the Saiyan warriors.

 

And with a swirl of conflicting emotions, he stared in shock at the face that had not changed since the day he had been taken away. “Otoussama,” he said in a harsh whisper, then dropped to his knees, feeling every bit the little boy he had been almost thirty years ago.