"Mom! Have you seen my red—"

Trunks halted in the living room at the raised finger pressed to Bulma's mouth. She tried not to smile at the look of incredulity passing over her son's face. Not that she could blame him. This was an unexpected sight.

Letting her finger lower, she looked down to her husband sprawled on her chest sound asleep. Her living Saiyan blanket. It was a rare display of vulnerability on Vegeta's part, something normally reserved for their bedroom only. His cheeks were flushed and his body burned to the touch, hot even by Saiyan standards.

Drunk? Trunks mouthed, making a drinking gesture with hand to mouth.

As if. Vegeta never drank, hating to lose control of his faculties. She ran her hand affectionally over her husband's sweaty brow, pushing back his damp bangs.

Sick, she mouthed back.

Trunks frowned. The young teenager would hate to know how much he looked like his father when he did so. His concern for Vegeta's well-being was evident in his blue eyes. Saiyans rarely got sick; the most notable instance being Goku's heart disease which had almost been fatal (if not for a time-traveling miracle).

"He'll be okay," she reassured. "Your genius father was trying to train through a rib injury and got pneumonia. He's medicated now and just needs to rest."

The lines of worry didn't lessen around Trunks' eyes. It hadn't been that long since his father's ultimate sacrifice. The boy had had nightmares about it for months after. Her too, if she was being honest. Even now when she woke in the dead of night she sometimes shifted to her husband's side and held him. Would press her hand to his chest and feel his warmth and the steady thump of his heartbeat to reassure herself that their family had been given another chance.

She cupped her son's cheek. "Really Trunks, he's fine. You know me, I ran tests. With his immune system he'll be back to his grumpy-pants self by tomorrow."

Vegeta stirred from all the talking, uttering an unhappy half-asleep sound (that Bulma knew better than to call 'cute'). She let Trunks go to sift her fingers through her husband's hair the way he liked, watching as the lines of his brow eased back into undisturbed slumber. Vegeta looked so sweet this way, relaxed and nuzzled on her chest. It reminded her of those times she once held her son this way, the boy smaller then, sick or seeking attention from the one parent who freely gave it.

"If you say so," Trunks murmured, knowing better than to argue with his mother. "Do you need anything?"

Bulma pointed to a blanket at the end of the couch. Trunks picked it up and helped lay it over them, draping it carefully over his father's broad shoulders.

Thank you, she mouthed, reaching out to squeeze her son's hand.

Trunks squeezed back and leaned in to kiss her cheek. "Please tell me you've taken his picture so we can blackmail him later?"

She laughed and shoved him away. Trunks stumbled to the door, holding up his hands in surrender. He paused to give his father one last glance before leaving them be.

Alone once more, Bulma turned back to her adorably pathetic husband, stroking his face and hair. As badly as she felt for him, she couldn't help find his current helplessness endearing. After all, who didn't love cuddling on the sofa, even if she had to drug her sick husband into doing so.


~xoXox~

AN: Long overdue drabble for Blacksheep115 who requested: "I love cuddles under the blanket on the sofa".

I got the idea of Vegeta being sick when I first read the prompt, but dismissed it thinking it didn't quite fit. However, even months later I couldn't shake the image, so I've given into my muse.