From last chapter: Speculation about the nature and cause of Trunks' condition is causing tension between the people who care for him.

Gohan felt like they had dropped into the middle of a raging tornado as soon as they arrived at the medical center. Videl and her father appeared like the fighters they were - ready to enter the ring and go at it. His daughter stood as straight as an oak tree, solidly staring down her enraged best friend. Bulla had been told to wait to see her brother, and she wasn't having any of it.

"Can't you see, Pan?! Everyone is treating us like hysterical girls! We're not. We don't need to submit all the time! Saiyan or not, none of the men are perfect. Look around. My dad preaches to me about being strong and smart, and I can't even be trusted to see my own brother yet when he's sick!"

No one replied as a slow-moving muscular shadow approached from the rear. Vegeta's shirt was unbuttoned at the top, with his tie hanging over his neck. He paused, observing her.

"That's enough, Bulla," he said sternly. "Your concerns have been heard."

Bulla's jaw jutted rebelliously as she confronted her father. "So what are you going to say now, daddy? Did I make another mistake by not sensing your ki? I guess I'm letting my silly emotions take over?"

"I believe every adult here will agree that those intense emotions you speak of set us apart from most others as an entire family. It's about how they're used - and you're right, we are quite imperfect."

Vegeta didn't look all that well himself, Gohan thought. Now was the time to divert the conversation. "How are my brother and Bulma? Are they in a room with Trunks?"

"Kakarot too," Vegeta replied. "Go with Bulla. Trunks is under an oxygen tent. He has pneumonia."

"This happened so fast," Chi Chi gasped. "He was fine before the wedding."

Vegeta gently brushed his thumb over Bulla's cheek. "Don't stay long. Until we get a handle on things, we must limit our contact. I know this is hard on you, but Trunks is very, very sick. Bulma and Goten should be with him the most for now."

"I'm… I'm sorry, daddy. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. Are you going to be OK?"

"You don't have to worry about that, princess," Vegeta said, serving up a cocky smirk. "I'm a big boy."

Hercule poured water, offering it to him. "Hey, um, Vegeta, I know you prefer to sort through stuff on your own when you're upset sometimes."

"That's right. I do."

"I mean, we're all family now, like you said," Hercule continued, convincing him to take the glass. "I mean, you were there for Trunks and everybody when Goten, uh, was in the hospital."

Nothing the old wrestler said offended Vegeta, but there had been too much activity. He just needed more breathing room and less talking.

"All of you should go home. There's nothing more you can do for now."

Goku walked beside Chi Chi, touching her back. ""Give Vegeta his space, guys. Let's go."

Afterward, Vegeta headed for a quiet room - one with lock - to withdraw deep inside of himself. His teeth clenched, sensing an unwelcome presence long before reaching the door.

"You should go, Namekian."

"Not until we talk," PIccolo replied.

"Oh?" Vegeta's arms folded over his chest. "If you're back to share more conspiracy theories, then I'm not interested."

"You are an anchor in your family now, Vegeta. If Trunks dies - like this - it could consume you."

"My son won't die, and I am no weakling."

"No one doubts that, Saiyan - not since the day you stepped foot on Earth. I certainly never have."

"Leave me." Vegeta felt heavy pressure in his lungs. He couldn't take much more talking. "I don't want to hear any more about Tuffles. They weren't as virtuous as you assume just because they hated my people. Our dead races are... forgotten history now."

"I assume nothing." Piccolo wrapped his shawl over his shoulders. His long stride didn't take long to reach the door. "I want you to understand something. If you cannot bring yourself to find who did this to Trunks, then I will. No one will judge you, especially not me."

Piccolo lowered his head, placing his giant hand on the prince's shoulder. He kept it brief.

Vegeta's lengthy, vacant gaze focused on a large chair. "I can always count on you to be brutally honest - perhaps one step below a Saiyan warrior such as myself, or my wife."

"I'm honored that your haughty opinion of me almost meets your outrageous expectations."

Vegeta exhaled, moving away from him. "Why do you feel compelled to do this, Piccolo?"

"Because the sword spoke to me, and the good man who wielded it wouldn't bear seeing his father pained by this. Neither would his namesake."

Bulma's wedding attire, now covered by a starched lab coat, was a wrinkled mess. Windswept hair strands flowed from what had been a tight bun. Her heels had been replaced with a thick pair of hospital clogs. Goten wore scrubs and a face mask. Now that Trunks' condition had been stabilized, they couldn't touch him, not until his breathing improved underneath the tent. Bulla and Gohan had left after seeing them.

"I'm so sorry that this happened on your wedding day. It was just so special."

Goten smiled, holding Bulma's hand. "And it always will be. Everyone there made it a wonderful day."

"Until this."

"Since when have we let illnesses, near-death experiences, surly gods, know-it-all idiots, and every bloodthirsty psychopath in the known universe stop us before?"

Bulma lightly smacked the back of his head. "You actually sound like your dad now."

"Sure I do. We still share some goofy similarities. Speaking of fathers, shouldn't Vegeta be back here by now?"

Bulma sat next to Trunks' bed, reading his patient chart. The question seemed to go in one ear and right out of the other.

"Did you hear me, Bulma?"

"Yes, dear."

"Maybe I should go find him then."

"No, you shouldn't." Bulma frowned as she looked back. "Let him be."

As a newly married man, Goten wasn't inclined to offer much comment up front to his mother-in-law about her relationship with Vegeta. Though he was still somewhat in shock from the day's events, he also took Piccolo's words seriously. In the moment, though, he had to stay focused solely on Trunks and remain sane throughout it all. Others in the family were well equipped at investigating.

"All right."

"Don't take my tone personally." Bulma said, rubbing the back of her neck. "I'm just tired."

Goten fiddled with his wedding ring. Oh, the hell with it. No time like the present.

"You believe what Piccolo said then?"

"I'm not sure yet, Goten. All I know is Trunks' condition and symptoms are a spot-on match to Anisum's illness, though this onset appears to be much quicker and more severe. Anisum was already in his forties. His health deteriorated over a longer period, from what Vegeta told me. I'm almost ninety-nine percent sure that this is some kind of a blood-cancer variant. The tests should be back soon."

"All of it is just so disturbing. I wonder if Trunks hadn't been feeling well for a while."

"He would have told you." Bulma felt assured of this. "It's unlikely that you wouldn't have noticed."

"Bulma, if you didn't somewhat believe Piccolo - that this might be a Tuffle assault - maybe you wouldn't be pushing Vegeta away now."

"Really?" Bulma's chair swiveled around. "Do you believe we would be married if I hadn't accepted that Vegeta's mere existence would be nectar for demented assholes seeking revenge? Exhibit A: Frieza."

"But -"

"Oh, but nothing." Bulma's lips contracted into a thin line. "Just stop this right now and sit in this chair. You should be the first person Trunks sees if his eyes open again."

"When his eyes open, Dr. Brief, not if."

"Yes, of course," she replied, hugging him. "I misspoke."

"Are you going to find my new father-in-law?"

"Yes, since you won't let this go," Bulma sighed, glancing at her son's bed again. "My husband and I are a team, just like you and Trunks are. Are you calling Chi Chi later?"

"Definitely. You know how mom is. Rules are rules. She won't try to burst in to take charge over everything as long as you're on the job. When you're not, then she'll be here."

Goten's eyes shut as Bulma left. Anxiety would not take control. He knew what he was getting into - much like his in-laws: Tomorrow is never promised. Live your best life with the time you have.

"Go…ten."

"No, no. Trunks," Goten said, touching the tent. "Don't try to talk. We'll likely have to put you on a machine soon if your breathing doesn't improve. Dende did a lot to help before we got here, but we just don't know about the rest. You have pneumonia."

Trunks blinked lethargically, staring at his husband's wobbly double image. He remembered Dende speaking to him at the Lookout but not much after that. Even being this sick, and possibly getting worse, he wasn't frightened for himself. He wanted to know how this happened - and if others were in danger. His gaze drifted until his eyes closed. Maybe he could figure it out before losing consciousness again.

Goten held the bedrail. "We still have a honeymoon to take, lover boy. Like I always say, your family is full of drama queens - or maybe it really is just you. But there is no other queen in this world that I would rather spend the rest of my life with more than you."

"Good…to know."

Goten's head lifted, eyeing him. "What did I say about not talking? That means telepathy too. I know you can't wait to get into bed with me - because I'm that irresistible - but we have other concerns."

Trunks knew he wouldn't stay awake much longer, but he couldn't leave his husband without a good memory, especially if he died that night. The corner of his mouth curled weakly into a smirk.

Goten quietly chuckled at his husband's championship-level stubbornness. "I know what you're doing. Oh, if Vegeta could see this now. You're almost like twins when you do that. I'll be…OK."

Bulma knocked on the door, assuming it was locked. The more people around - including the staff - the less Vegeta desired to be cornered by anyone unless he had a direct way out.

"Can you hear me? May I come in?"

"I heard you breathing about a mile down the hall." Vegeta opened the door, appearing even scruffier than he did earlier - unsurprising to his wife. "Don't stand there all day."

Bulma handed him two capsules, attracting his scrutiny. "Seriously? You're suspicious over this? Trust me, it's too late in our relationship to consider slaughtering you. I'm stuck with what I have."

"I always knew the day would come when you finally admitted defeat."

He broke open a capsule containing sweat clothes and sneakers - a great relief. He presumed the other had a meal since no one actually had a chance to eat since the pre-wedding reception. But he wouldn't eat anything until his wife had food first, which he knew she hadn't. His eyes were downcast. Her reaction at the Lookout was so distant. He felt accused of doing something wrong, which he hadn't.

Bulma held her arms out to him. "Why don't you start with thank you? How many times do I have to remind you about good manners?"

Vegeta didn't have anything pithy to say. Bulma kissed him as they embraced. He held on to her like they had almost lost each other. Bulma didn't expect to cry, but it happened when she felt fear in her husband's heart that he sometimes couldn't express. They argued all the time, but deep down he still wondered what the tipping point would be for her to stop loving him altogether.

"I'm sorry, Bulma."

"About what?"

"That I couldn't protect them. This is my fault."

"I think they would both disagree wholeheartedly."

"And you? I saw how you looked at me when Piccolo spoke."

"I was scared - and angry, yes, but I know none of this is your fault. You weren't even born yet when the Tuffles fought the Saiyans. I guess it's just harder when the enemy isn't grinning in your face anymore, going on full-frontal attack."

Vegeta moved back, holding her shoulders. "I need you to stay hopeful with me. We'll do every possible thing to keep him with us."

"He's married now, Vegeta. That decision doesn't solely belong to us anymore."

"That doesn't mean we give up our rights as parents."

Bulma exhaled, locking hands with him. "Now listen to me good. Set aside whatever guilt you feel. The rules don't change. If Trunks were in battle, the choice would still be left to him and Goten if he couldn't recover from injuries without a lot a hardship or were in a vegetative state. Of course we would be consulted, but Trunks was barely five when he tried to understand those same expectations with you."

"We were both quite knowledgeable and mature at that age, woman."

"I wasn't there when you were five, so that's unverifiable."

"Hn. If you say so."