All rights belong to Akira Toriyama, Toyotarou and Toei Animation
This is based on the manga cannon, so there may be some discrepancies with the anime.
Warning: references to adult themes
Bulma couldn't believe the progress Vegeta and Trunks had made in such a short space of time. They spent every night together, alternating between playing video games, and discussing saiyan history and culture. She had picked up a few things from their conversations which she had been unaware of. Vegeta even deigned to reveal a highly edited version of his own past, mostly telling Trunks about Celer, his attendant. Apparently that was not too violent a topic, and Bulma thought it was good that he was finally talking about that obviously grief-filled relationship. It was bittersweet to watch him struggling with his own emotions, pressing forward at the sight of Trunks' wide eyes.
Putting so much effort in for their son, even though it cost him.
And Bra was certainly not being forgotten, with Vegeta taking more time off at lunch to spend on her alone. To Bulma's great amusement, he had not understood what she had meant when she asked him to read to her, and was currently narrating some of the new military history books she had bought him. Bra seemed fascinated by it, though, and Bulma didn't think it was an issue. As long as he was reading to her, she wasn't sure the subject matter was even relevant.
He was spending time with both of their children, getting to know them, building a relationship with them. And she was really proud of him for doing so…only…
There was still something missing.
Her bed was still empty, hands reaching forlornly under the blankets to meet material, not a hint of muscle under her fingers like she kept imagining in her weaker moments. Vegeta persisted in his separate bedroom down the hall, ignorant of the pain it caused her.
He wouldn't understand it, wouldn't understand the way she needed him. He had never comprehended the desire to sleep in the same bed, even though he had acquiesced to her suggestion when they had first became a couple. It wasn't normal for him, and had probably simply slipped his mind amongst the tumult of his fight and reconciliation with Trunks, in the excitement of the birth of his second child.
But it needed to change. Nothing would be truly fixed, truly normal, until he slept in the same bed as her. Crawling out of the lonely sheets, Bulma decided to start her day, determined to set things right. Vegeta would be joining her in bed that night.
Somehow.
Bulma spent most of the day observing Vegeta, trying to work out how to raise the issue with him. Unbeknownst to him, she witnessed him training, muscles rolling and sweat pooling as he drove himself with the same perseverance he had always demonstrated, undiluted by the influence his family was having on him. Vegeta was nothing if not determined, and she loved that about him.
But watching him exercise did nothing to inspire her with a way to tackle the problem, only bolstered her resolution to fix it.
After spending the day in her lab, peeking in on Vegeta both in his training room, and while he was reading Thucydides to Bra, the answer finally came to her from an unlikely source. Trunks. And the solution was so obvious it made her want to plant her face on the table and never look up.
It was dinner time, and Bulma was running out of opportunities to broach the subject of a shared bed with Vegeta, when Trunks spoke up.
"Hey, Dad."
"Hm?" Vegeta responded, continuing his feast unabated.
"Would you train me again?" Trunks asked, right out of the blue, adding, "Please?" after a long look from his father.
"Are you certain that is what you desire?" Vegeta enquired, seriousness clear in his tone.
"Yes, I'm sure." Trunks nodded firmly.
"Very well. I will train you for one hour every day. No more, and no less. You will obey me without question, and continue even when you feel exhausted. A saiyan does not waver in the pursuit of his goals."
"Yes, sir."
Bulma stared down at her meatballs, idly pushing one around her plate as her mind whirled. Trunks had simply asked, without any warning or apparent premeditation, and Vegeta had accepted. She hadn't expected him to resume training Trunks only a fortnight after their enormous spat over the topic.
It made her wonder if she was only making things more complicated than they needed to be. Perhaps all she had to do was ask, and Vegeta would return to their bedroom.
Having no other ideas, she decided it was worth a shot.
"Vegeta," she cornered him in the hall on route to his bedroom after his nightly games session with Trunks. He paused, considering her with none of the malice that had been present on his features only a few weeks before. Just watching, waiting, and peaceful.
"Hey," she began, finding herself fiddling with her fingers. Which she shouldn't be, because confidence was key to interacting with Vegeta, and he had appreciated her strong-willed nature. He would do so again, she was sure.
"I have a question to ask you."
"What is it?" he enquired patiently.
She took a deep breath.
"Come back to bed with me."
"That's not a question. That's a demand," Vegeta pointed out pedantically, leaving her cruelly hanging as to his feelings on the matter.
"Vegeta…" she whined.
"Fine, woman, I'll sleep with you," Bulma was sure he meant that innocently, not understanding, even now, quite a large proportion of euphemisms, "Just don't complain if I wake you up getting out of bed early in the morning."
"You used to do that all of the time."
"Yes, and you used to complain all of the time. If it wasn't about waking you, then it was about leaving you to sleep in alone."
Bulma pouted, realising he was right about her grievances, but unwilling to concede the point.
"I don't care about any of that, now." She said instead, which was the truth. She didn't, just wanted her husband back in their shared bed more than anything else. Certainly more than another hour of sleep.
As he continued on his way, to retrieve his pyjamas, he assured her, she couldn't help but feel a thrill of excitement electrify her system. Changing into her own sleepwear, a more risqué number than she had donned these past nine months, Bulma slid into her side of the bed, vibrating with anticipation as she retrieved her book from the bedside table. It was still a little early for the realms of sleep, so a little light reading would do to occupy her until she was ready to rest.
But the words waiting on the page remained mostly neglected as her gaze consistently found her husband. Her eyes roamed over his lithe but strong form, his juicy muscles and delectable inferno-hair. The deep black eyes she so liked to dive into. She couldn't look away as the bed shifted absent of her own movements for the first time in nine months, Vegeta sliding into the sheets with his own book to keep him occupied. And it did keep him occupied, ebony irises tracing over pages and pages of text as Bulma watched, drinking in his presence, revelling in the warmth emanating from him.
The two had never been a couple for spooning or affectionately holding onto each other in sleep, with Vegeta a victim of nightmares which sometimes caused him to wriggle about. But Bulma couldn't help but be disappointed as he lay, face turned away from her, preparing for sleep. She wanted so badly just to hold him, like they had occasionally done in the afterglow. Propped up on her elbow, Bulma imbibed the contours of his form under their sheets, memorising every inch of him, hypnotised by the slight movements of his shoulders as he breathed evenly, quietly. Even when fast asleep. It always fascinated her how such an uptight and cautious man could fall into the depths of sleep so quickly.
She liked to think it was her presence which reassured him of safety, but she knew he had probably learned to grasp snatches of rest whenever possible.
Reaching out, she let her hand fall onto his cheek, stroking upwards into his nest of impressive hair, feeling its course fibres against her fingertips. She hummed softly in the quiet of the night, just feeling him, so close to her, finally with her in bed.
"Welcome home, love," she whispered, eyelids lowering, snuggling into the warmth of his body heat as she followed her husband into the dark.
Vegeta hadn't felt like this in a while, felt the stirrings of love in his chest, for his children, for his wife. Or at least, he hadn't allowed himself to act upon them in a while. He had been trapped in a whirlwind of rage and anger, only noticing its true effect when basking in its absence. Or near absence, since the echoes of callousness and evil still remained in his mind. But they did not rule him. Now he felt free, freer than he had been in some time. Free to cuddle his daughter, to read to her and enjoy her presence. Free to lose himself in her tiny, vulnerable face. Free to tell his son stories of the past he had kept concealed for so long, free to relish playing games with him, an activity his father would certainly disapprove of.
But that didn't bother Vegeta anymore.
And now the final step on his road to recovery, restoring his relationship with his wife. She had been his biggest support throughout this ordeal, his staunchest ally and defender, his healer and his goal. Despite his treatment of her, his surly attitude, his recalcitrance, even his invitation to find another mate, she had resolutely remained with him.
Not even till death would they part, because they had both died and were still together.
But she was the last hurdle in his road to recovery, the final stepping stone across the river of bitter disappointment and rage. Of Darkness.
Vegeta felt that he had finally reached the other side, though, as he bundled up his meagre possessions into his arms. Just a few training suits, a couple of shirts and trousers and underwear. Not a lot. He hadn't snuck everything out of their shared bedroom in those early, early days where he had wanted nothing to do with his wife or their marriage. Things he no longer wore, or didn't wear often still hung in their spare wardrobe, like the 'badman' T-shirt he was now embarrassed about (pink wasn't a feminine colour for saiyans, it was just faded red) or his wedding suit. Soon to be joined by the rest of his gear.
Because Vegeta was moving back in. He was pretty sure that was what Bulma, his wife who he was allowing himself to love again, wanted. She wanted him there, in their shared bedroom. Wanted him to be an active and frequent part of her life again. Wanted to share the precious moments of vulnerability found in sleep.
And probably wanted even more still. Even two weeks ago Vegeta would have balked at the idea of intimacy, although it wasn't a need for saiyans barring procreation (and thus had highly pragmatic connotations), but now he would perform as needed for Bulma's sake. Just as he had done before this debacle.
He would satisfy his Bulma, because he loved her. And that was okay.
He nodded to himself resolutely. This love for her, this love for his children. This thing the humans called 'love' as an entire concept.
It was okay.
He could feel it, accept it, enjoy it. No matter what his long-deceased father would have thought.
Everything was going just fine.
A large pile of possessions partially obscuring his vision, Vegeta stumbled out into the hall, coming to a halt before Bulma's bedroom door. Setting his shoulders, he turned the handle, entering their now shared domain. The place where he would be sleeping from now on. Where he would belong.
"Vegeta?" came Bulma's voice from the bed region, which he could not see.
"Yes, woman?"
"You've…you're carrying all of your things."
She was only stating the obvious, but Vegeta could hear the unspoken question, and began to grow concerned. He had thought she wanted him back, wanted to spend the nights together with him. Wanted him to return to cohabitation.
Had he misread?
"I thought you wanted me to move back in? But I can –"
Vegeta didn't get to finish explaining his possibilities of action before a female human missile struck him head on, the impact of which caused his clothing to go tumbling to the floor.
"Woman," he groaned as her arms wrapped around him, squeezing him tightly as she laughed.
"Woman, you made me drop everything," he complained, trying to extricate himself, delicately, from her grasp to retrieve his items. But she would not let go.
He started as he felt something wet against his cheek, felt a rhythm from her which could only mean.
"You're crying," he whispered, brain informing him that he should pat her back comfortingly, which he gave his best attempt at, but it was nothing so smooth as the way Celer had consoled him in his early childhood.
"Woman." He tried, rubbing the thin material under his hands, feeling her ribs shake with her now audible sobs.
"Woman, stop crying."
"I…I can't!" she cried, tears sliding down Vegeta's own cheek, unsettling him greatly. It was always times like these which brought home how out of his depth he was in emotional situations, how he was uneducated in all forms of social interaction.
He had patted her and rubbed her back. He had spoken to her. What more could he do?
"I'm just so happy!" the woman continued, shuddering with the force of her weeping.
The habit of humans to shed tears when glad was something Vegeta could never understand. Tears were for pain, physical or emotional. Tears were what he had bathed in during those early years with Frieza, not understanding, but not accustomed to the treatment yet. Tears were the droplets which ran down the faces of his victims' families moments before they joined their loved ones.
They were not the herald of happiness.
"Woman, can you let me go? I need to pick up my things."
"You insensitive jerk!" she yelled, still smiling, as she slapped his shoulder.
Things were getting back to normal in their household.
And though Vegeta wasn't about to cry, he too couldn't be happier.
Krillen was standing before Bulma's door, ready to pay his weekly visit to the wealthy scientist. He had weathered all kinds of emotional storms in his quest to be a supportive friend. He had seen her sob, apoplectic with emotion she had tried so hard to conceal from her family. He had seen her when hope lit up her face like a lightbulb, glowing as she told him the latest news.
She had been so much better these last few visits, smile lingering on her features as she described the changes her husband was undergoing.
Krillen didn't think it was a coincidence that all of this had happened so soon after Vegeta's transformation, after the birth of his second child. He had been so tempted to hear what Vegeta had to say, since the saiyan had used his phone to record the message. But Krillen had too much respect for Vegeta and of course his family to do such a thing. So the missive had been sent unopened.
Today, though, today Krillen could tell something was different as Bulma practically lobbed the door open, beaming at him. Her smile was enormous, and infectious, as she gazed down at Krillen. She bounced on the balls of her feet, leading him into the kitchen, and hummed merrily as she turned the coffee machine on. She look radiant, blooming as if the sun had risen in her eyes that morning, lips unable to settle into their normal alignment.
"What's happened with you? You look positively euphoric!"
She turned to grin at him, happiness lighting up her features.
"Vegeta and I had sex last night!"
"Bulma!" Krillen screeched, scandalised as he clamped his hands over his ears, "Too much information!"
"You asked. Don't be such a prude, Krillen," she said, handing him a mug full of delicious coffee, with fingers that had probably-
Don't think about it, Krillen!
"I'm glad you're happy, Bulma, but I do not need to know about your love life. No details, please."
"That wasn't details," she objected, "If you want details—"
"No!"
"Well, I was going to say I can't tell you because it's private."
"Yes! Yes it is! I'm never going to be able to look Vegeta in the eye again…"
"You barely see him as it is."
"Not the point, Bulma."
She hummed non-committedly, taking her seat at the table and swirling the coffee in her mug.
"So…" Krillen tried to get the conversation back to a safe topic, "How is everything with Trunks? Still settled?"
"Yep. I haven't had a problem with him since the pair of them made up."
"And Bra?"
"She's a good sleeper. A very good sleeper, actually, which is such a relief, you know?"
Krillen did know. Marron had decidedly not been a good sleeper. Not at all, which wasn't an ideal match-up with his once homicidal wife. He was quite jealous of how well behaved Bra apparently was, remembering his own struggles with fatherhood.
"So…everything's going well, then?" Krillen asked, knowing the answer yet regretting the question anyway.
"Yep!"
He wasn't going to begrudge Bulma her reclamation of the family she had lost. Felt happy for her, yet it was tinged with melancholy as well. He had enjoyed having a reason, an excuse to catch up with a friend every week like clockwork. Interacting with only his small household all of the time was very lonely, and although the added stress of Bulma's situation hadn't been ideal, it had been good to get out of the house, away from work, just to spend time with a friend.
"Can I…can I still come around to see you?"
"What? Of course you can! I'd be delighted!"
They devolved into a lively conversation about Krillen's wife, especially her mysterious debt to Vegeta, which fed into a discussion, somehow, on Marron, and what to expect as a girl grew older. It was nice to be the one in the know as opposed to Bulma for once.
As Krillen said goodbye, watching Bulma wave at him enthusiastically, he couldn't help but feel relieved.
Things were looking up for that family.
