Disclaimer: I, of course, don't own any of these great characters. Don't forget to R&R ;)
IX.
The Happening
Sipping on her tea, Bulma watched her husband as he completed his evening ritual. Fifteen minutes earlier, the Saiyan had strode through the bedroom and into the master bathroom, where he completed his nightly ten minute shower, emerging promptly with a towel around his waist. He then casually dropped the towel, exchanging it for a pair of pajama pants; although he had initially been resistant to the silly Earth concept of pajamas, they had become one of the few human habits he had more than warmed to. Now, silently, he joined his wife in bed, his upper body elevated by the pillows, one hand absently massaging the bloodied knuckles of the other.
"Rough day at the office?" the beautiful scientist asked cheekily, grinning at her mate.
"Hn," Vegeta muttered in reply. He would be glad when this whole pregnancy ordeal was over; he was now officially out of working drones, and needed a healthy wife to see to their repair.
Bulma set her tea on the nightstand, releasing a tired sigh. "Let me see," she insisted, taking Vegeta's wounded hand into her own.
Although giving no verbal agreement, the Saiyan also offered no objections, nor pulled away, which Bulma had come to understand (after many years) as permission. She knew he would never admit such a thing, but she suspected that her partner found comfort, and even relief in her touch.
She thoroughly inspected his hand, carefully turning it over, delicately caressing each torn or bruised patch of skin. Of course, he didn't flinch—why would he? The physical pain he had endured in his lifetime far surpassed anything she could even imagine, she was sure. In fact, when trying to picture the event leading to any of his numerous scars, she herself was the one to cringe and shake with rage. She pushed the thoughts away, extra susceptible to them in her admittedly over-emotional state. Instead, the scientist studied the Saiyan's hand, admiring how large and masculine it was; she had always liked his hands. She leaned down and, one by one, kissed his knuckles.
At this, Vegeta rolled his eyes, but still made no protest. "Yes, I'm sure that's very effective," he drawled, looking at his mate skeptically.
"Well, I wouldn't call it conclusive," Bulma replied with a wink, "but I've yet to find a flaw in my methodology." She gave a quick laugh under her breath, but was cut short by a flutter in her stomach. "Hey, she's kicking! Packs a good one, gets that from you no doubt," the scientist teased. She placed Vegeta's hand on her belly. "Wait for it, maybe she'll do it again!"
The Saiyan's cheeks reddened; this was actually the first time he had touched his wife's swollen stomach, and they both knew that. She had tricked him, undoubtedly. He had been avoiding this moment for numerous I-mustn't-show-any-sign-of-emotion-or-weakness reasons. But, now it was happening, and while he was indeed plagued by several nagging heart strings, he could not seem to pull himself away. Instead, he waited, intently and silently, for a second kick.
As if the unborn child could read his thoughts and, even more impressively, heed his commands, she kicked again, so forcefully that Bulma gave a small jump. "Ha! She did it again! She must be glad you're here," the blue-haired genius said with a smile, further settling into a rested position, dangerously close to a Saiyan-Prince-snuggle.
"Can they do that at this stage? Sense others?" Vegeta asked, eyebrow raised, hand still firmly in place on Bulma's bump.
Bulma opened her mouth to chastise her husband and insist he bother to learn one thing about babies before they had one, but stopped herself. "Well, human babies can't, but I honestly don't know about Saiyans. Maybe she can! She is the daughter of the Prince of All Saiyans, after all," she said with a smirk.
"Yes she is," Vegeta agreed, feeling a third kick from the babe. His face then became serious. "What are you going to call her?"
Bulma blinked. She had not been expecting the question from him, although she had given the answer considerable thought over the past few months. "Hmm…well, I was thinking Bra. What do you think?" She wasn't sure why she had bothered to ask; she knew he would hate it.
"I hate it," Vegeta replied with a grimace.
"Well, if you want to give birth to her, by all means, name her whatever you want," the scientist retorted, crossing her arms.
The Saiyan growled. "Don't be ridiculous, woman," he shot. "All of this foolish fuss—birthing a child cannot possibly be worse than any wound I have received during battle."
"Oh, is that so?" Bulma opened her mouth, ready to unleash a lip lashing of unimaginable heat, but paused, face paling.
Confused by the lack of verbal attack he had been expecting (and somewhat looking forward to; the release of a victorious argument was the only sort of release he could reach with his wife as of recently), Vegeta looked at the beautiful genius quizzically. "What?" he demanded.
"So…don't freak out…" Bulma said smoothly, although the edge in her voice could not be camouflaged.
"Enough with this freaking out idiocy! I have warned both you and your son about what I will do to the next person who says those irritating words! I am not freaking out, nor will I, at any point, freak out, you insufferable woman!" The Saiyan glared at his mate, eye twitching.
"Ok, good," the scientist replied with a deep breath. "Because it's happening."
Vegeta blinked. "What's happening?"
Bulma rolled her eyes. This was going to be interesting.
