"Her legs were incredible."

"What?"

Vegeta rolled his eyes. "Bulma's legs, boy. Your mother was the sexiest creature I had ever laid eyes on. I mean, it's not like I was a virgin or anything when we met, but she was a hypnotic predator. Next thing I knew, that woman had birthed a squealing, slant-eyed urchin with lavender hair – who preferred tearing out mine. I still shudder sometimes thinking about how Bulma got through breastfeeding you without fainting hourly. She was as strong as one… as one... of this planet's blue whales! That's the strongest Earth animal, right?"

Trunks scratched his chin. "I think you're correct, dad." Rather than recoil from their borderline bawdy discussion, the younger man smiled, peering into his foaming beer glass. He owned the pub anyway. He would remain with the mourning prince for however long it took to comfort him.

Neither man was drunk nor planned to be. Silk neckties had been loosened and suit jackets fully opened. Trunks untied his hair while Vegeta fingered the petals of a cobalt-blue rose pinned to his lapel. Father and son always looked fetching together. Bulma never failed to mention it either, especially when she forced her everlastingly cranky, introverted husband to dress formally. But, eventually, there came a time when she could simply ask. Vegeta might grumble for thirty seconds but would then agree. The reason? Vanity, at first - he looked smoking hot in tailored English-cut suits, he realized - but there were other motivations. It took more than thirty years of partnership, arguments, and "you pissed me off" make-up sex for the non-earthling to accept that his wife just liked being with him around others -and, yes, showing him off occasionally.

The act in itself was less about his physical attractiveness, though, since Bulma was comparably alluring. Having one's life partner nearby was for spiritual support. The person was with you and only you. More, the Saiyan prince's presence anchored Bulma. Her sturdy and proudly defiant love did the same for him. Deep down, he knew that he might have behaved similarly had they ruled as king and queen on Planet Vegeta from the start.

Vegeta would attend one or two important social events with his wife annually, in addition to smaller gatherings upon request. He couldn't leave until after thirty minutes, according to their agreement. Bulma never mentioned it when he stopped leaving altogether. Early on, she would mischievously hide herself at big parties until other women swarmed her husband. She laughed until her chest hurt. Vegeta often resembled a startled, trapped buck ready to drive serrated antlers into the hungry tigresses. The women were always gorgeous, but one wrong move and he just knew his hot-tempered spouse would ban him from their bedroom, or crush him in the gravity room during training… without warning.

Bulma never would and never did – not for those reasons, at least! As the years progressed their outings began and ended with her forehead touching his. She would kiss him gently and utter a quiet thank you. Nothing more. Indeed, his vivacious blue-haired sprite was a force of nature, and her confidence in his rectitude was unshakable. Vegeta had worked tirelessly to earn this once-unthinkable level of trust, and he took profound pride in it. Hell might welcome him again after his days on Earth ceased, but with Bulma his unforgiving past remained in the past.

Trunks handed him another beer. "Really, dad?"

Vegeta's penetrating ebony eyes traced along the edge of the bar's mahogany wood barrier. He looked up, smirking devilishly. "Really what, Trunks? You're a fucking pub owner, for gods' sake. Has my indelicate language offended your sensitive ears?"

Trunks pushed a bowl of peanuts between them. "I'm too young and innocent to be corrupted by your scandalous vulgarity."

Vegeta banged on the bar and laughed. "Where in the hell did you get those ideas from? Not from Bulma and me! You're our son, and now you're as old as dried dirt." He looked down and sighed. "You're all I have left now, I guess."

"Oh, dad." Trunks shook his head. "You know that's not true."

"Your sister blames me for not encouraging your mother to continue treatment, but it's what she wanted. I brought the subject up with Bulma, finally, because I understood her suffering. She would have done… the same for me, without regrets. I allowed myself to feel each piercing pain, each bout of nausea, and every breath she struggled with because I didn't want her to be alone with them. Son, you know my history. No pain I experienced, self-inflicted or otherwise, has ever been that excruciating for me. Bulma never cried out, but I certainly felt like it every time she gripped my hands. You understand, don't you?"

His father's stricken plea gave Trunks pause. "Of course I do. Bulla will come around. She always does."

"Where is she anyway?"

Trunks checked his text messages. "Having an early dinner with my wife and kids, apparently. I think it's better if you two give each other space. You were furious at the burial site."

"And you weren't?!" Vegeta snapped. "My only daughter couldn't set her anger aside for an hour to finish paying her respects? Bulma sacrificed for all of us in more ways than I care to enumerate. Our family looks out for each other. I couldn't care less what the argument is, but when I die you and Echalotte must support each other."

Trunks straddled his hands on the bar. "Dad, look up at me. Haven't I always kept my word? We've experienced hardships together that would have destroyed other families. Have faith…in both of us." He offered a warm smile to ease the tension. "Now what was that about mom's legs again? I have a hard time believing that your, um, seduction didn't go both ways."

"Hn. Then you're a naïve fool." Vegeta huffed, pretending that his son's comment was untrue, and pointed toward Trunks' phone. "Consider what happened when you met your wife. Bulma and I knew you were a captive the first time Arelis 'studied' with you in graduate school. After ten years you still have that ridiculous stoned twinkle in your eyes. Even your wife can't stand it anymore. Where is your pride, boy? You're beginning to resemble that idiot Kakarot."

"I'm sure Goku would take that as a compliment, dad."

Vegeta swallowed his beer and burped. "Sure he would, because he's an idiot. Your mother, however, was a saint for tolerating two Saiyan warriors for an entire lifetime. She could have easily poisoned our food with an undetectable substance and been through with us. She often said that when I came to bed without showering, you know. I could have burned her to ashes, and yet she threatened my life constantly. She gaslighted me! Me, the prince of all Saiyans, mentally bullied by a woman with periwinkle eyes, who stood two inches shorter. I didn't know what a periwinkle was until your conniving grandmother got me drunk and tricked me into unloading ten trucks of topsoil and flowers to plant in the backyard."

Holding back tears, Trunks looked to his left and coughed. Although he had been a rough-and-tumble kid, in adulthood he turned out to be the most softhearted and even-tempered member of their tight-knit family. Yet, at his core, he was tougher than granite like his parents. They admired and respected their son for becoming "better" than them in different ways. Ultimately, that's what they wanted.

"It's… fine, son," Vegeta said sadly. "I won't burst into wrathful flames if you cry in front me. Let's finish here and play billiards in the game room. I hope the money you spent on construction was worth it."

They walked there with their arms over each other's shoulders. Impressed by its beauty, Vegeta whistled at the handsomely-carved hardwood pool table. "You did not choose this alone, Trunks. Tell Arelis that she forced another compliment from me."

Trunks handed him a cue stick and walked away. "Whatever, man. It doesn't take much. You have a soft spot for my wife. I keep warning her and your doting grandchildren that your sentimental, curmudgeonly old sensei act is a fucking con game."

"Stop whining, boy," Vegeta said with smug satisfaction. "Perhaps you should have paid closer attention as a child when I tried teaching you about deception." He racked up the pool balls while Trunks flipped a coin to determine who would begin the game.

"Heads or tails, dad?"

"Heads."

"Ha! I got tails!" Trunks shouted, stamping his feet gleefully. "Your ass is mine, old man!"

Vegeta frowned. "Impudent clown." His forefinger twitched, causing the coin to fly into his palm. "Show some respect to your elder."

Trunks approached the pool table from an angle, raising his cue stick to break the balls. Two landed square into the table's leather side pockets. Vegeta stood against the wall, resting his stick on his foot.

"Okay, Trunks. I see I'm playing solid colors. Stop making a theatrical production of it."

Straight and relaxed, Trunks sunk another striped ball into the side pocket facing his father. "Dude, we just got started. Can you wait until you lose to be a sore loser?"

Vegeta studied his son's positioning on the floor. "Your aim has improved, I see."

Trunks chalked his cue stick and stood upright. "How long has it been since we played?"

"A year, before your mother's cancer spread."

"Yes, I remember now. Mom wiped the floor with us during our last cut-throat pool game together. She never said where she learned to play like that. Did she tell you?"

Vegeta grunted. "Are you kidding? Probably learned from the ex-boyfriend she dumped for me - or that old pervert Roshi, I suspect. Regardless, I didn't want to know. I stopped playing for a while, since I had to take her and Bulla shopping for hours when she won. It was torture. It really pissed me off that you managed to get out of it."

"Stop whining, Saiyan." Trunks winced and looked up. He had missed his shot. "You knew what you had when you settled down with mom."

Vegeta chalked his cue stick to begin his round. "I got more than I could have ever imagined. I had the better end of the deal, don't you think?"

Trunks laughed. "Is that a rhetorical question?"

"Fine then. Since you dislike my questions I will proceed to drown your futile hopes for victory." And he did, mercilessly scoring every shot from his set of balls. He kissed the cue stick triumphantly before driving the final eight-ball into the side pocket next to Trunks. "I win, brat. Pretty damn good for an old man who didn't grow up on this planet, hmm?"

"I suppose. We could catch fireflies and you'd find a reason to claim success because of your Saiyan heritage."

"Hn. You're part the royal bloodline the last time I checked, smart ass. I can only hope my grandchildren run you more ragged than you already are."

Trunks opened the door and returned to the bar to pour another beer. "Oh, don't sulk. I am the proud son of the two wisest, most-cunning troublemakers Earth has ever known. I am the fortunate one."

Vegeta stared at the mirror behind Trunks. Hazy visions of Bulma flashed through each stage of their lives together, from present to past. The display ended with her tending to him after he was severely injured while training. It was first time anyone in his life held him with genuine caring. He barely remembered if his mother did before she died, when he was a toddler.

"Trunks, I cried like a child at your mother's bedside when she said she knew how much I loved her. I had such a hard time finding the right words to describe it in a way I thought she would appreciate. She just smiled, and then she winked."

"Her last flirtation with you. She was Bulma Brief until the very end."

Vegeta looked down at his platinum wedding band. The uniquely human custom confounded and annoyed him when Bulma first insisted on wearing them – and their argument over it was explosive. Even Bulma's parents and Trunks wondered whether the ceremony would happen. Officially declaring themselves as mates for life in front of others should have been enough, Vegeta believed. He would have been satisfied not having anyone on the beach where they said their vows - except for Trunks and the fish in the ocean. Now, observing the stunning glint from the simple ring comforted his grieving heart.

"My mate was the finest flirt this world has ever known - and the smartest one. She... was my best friend. Now get the rest of the family over here. I want your sister to play cut-throat with us. The pub stays open until one of us beats her."

Thank you for reading! Please take a moment to leave a comment if the spirit moves you.