Continuation from Summary: As Vegeta struggles against the unruly pangs of his own heart, Bulma struggles to raise her child alone with none but her pillow to hold at night. But will solitude last forever?

Okay peeps. This one's not like all the others. I'm sick of stereotypes so sorry if this one's weird. R&R, hope you like it.

((AUTHOR'S NOTE: I have a new collaborative profile called KDKB! Since both myself and another author worked together on this story, we decided to use a new penname so we both get credit. If you like Hellsing and the writing style of this story (improved by several years of practice), go check it out!))

"Alright, alright!" Bulma called over her shoulder when she heard the baby crying from the next room. Drying her hands on a dish towel and stacking the last of the plates into the cupboard, she pushed her pretty blue hair out of cerulean eyes and padded down the hall toward the baby's room. She opened the door and stepped quickly inside, hurrying across the toy-littered floor to scoop Trunks from his crib and hold him close.

"Yes, yes, I'm here, Trunks," she cooed, nuzzling the silky little nose. The baby gave a squeal in response, locking a chubby hand onto his mother's huge hoop earrings. "Ow! Trunks!" she yelped, by now used to the unusual strength the boy possessed at little more than four weeks of age. Tugging the little fingers apart, she freed her hoop and set her son back in his crib to remove the now aching golden bangle.

"You'll need to learn to control that grip of yours," she scolded gently, leaning down to once more lift him into her arms. The stunning blue eyes sparkled under lowered purple brows, and the baby gave a warning hiccup. Recognizing the danger signal, Bulma bounced the child on her hip and chirped indiscriminately into his ear, all the while praying that Trunks would remain quiet just a little longer.

"My, you look like your father," she said for what must have been the tenth time that day. She gave her son a playful poke in the side. Voicing the similarity eased the pain of her husband's absence, if only enough for her to shove the tears away for just a few minutes longer.

Vegeta had been gone almost a month. He had not waited to witness his baby's birth, and Bulma doubted if he even gave his son a single thought since conception. Always training, training, training…

Shaking her head angrily, Bulma steeled herself against the unpleasant thought and bounced the baby even more vigorously, making the child screech in delight.

"Careful, dear!" Mrs. Briefs, who had been watching from the doorway, rushed into the room and tore Trunks from his mother's grasp. The baby scowled, but the blond woman didn't seem to notice. "If you bounced him much harder, his cute little head would've popped right off!"

Bulma rolled her eyes. "Mother," she said through gritted teeth, "I'm almost thirty two years old. I think I know how to take care of my own son." She reached for her baby, but her mother whisked him away.

"I doubt you even know how to hold him right. Let me show you again-"

"I know how to hold him!" Bulma screamed, startling them both into awkward silence. Trunks gave a wail, and Bulma took the opportunity to snatch him back, cuddling him close while shooting her mother a venomous stare.

Mrs. Briefs recovered almost immediately. "You know I was just trying to help, dear," she said coolly. "That's all I ever try to do, and yet no one ever seems to need me…" the older woman broke off into a strangled sob, casting a look at her daughter from under lowered lashes.

Bulma rolled her eyes and sighed in exasperation. "Mom, it's not like that," she grated, turning to put Trunks in one of his numerous playpens. This accomplished, she looked back to her mother and planted her hands on her hips. "I just want to do this on my own, okay? I'm a big girl, mom. I don't need you breathing down my neck all the time."

"I know, I know!" her mother sighed. "I just feel so useless…everyone else is out there fighting that Cell person and all I can do is make dinner and hope for the best! It's just so hard…"

"Don't I know it," Bulma muttered.

"What was that dear?"

"Nothing." Letting her arms fall to her sides, Bulma pursed her lips, lowering her eyes. "Look, mom. I'm sorry. I've been so stressed lately, what with taking care of Trunks, keeping up with that new training device, maintaining the gravity room, worrying about Goku and…and the others…" The girl sank into a padded rocking chair, letting her head fall into sweaty palms.

Mrs. Briefs caught the unspoken concern and flicked her daughter an understanding look. Laden with sympathy, she sat down beside Bulma, placing a reassuring hand on the girl's knee, not surprised to find it trembling with suppressed tears.

"He'll come back, dear," she said quietly. "I know he will."

"How do you know that?" Bulma demanded, tears finally exploding into torrential rivers that flooded down her cheeks and met with the ocean of her sea-green blouse. Trunks began to cry, but she didn't notice. "Dammit, I don't have a clue what's going on down there, and it makes me sick! I should be down there watching them, giving them my support! I should be there, mom," she forced through gritted teeth. "I should be with them! Then I could make sure he would come back!"

"Honey, I don't think it would make a difference if you were there. Whether he survived or not wouldn't be affected-"

"Dammit, I know he'll survive!"Trunks wailed louder, but Bulma still paid him no heed. "Goku's with them, for God's sake! Whatever happens, we WILL win! I'm…I'm just worried…" her voice fell low, and she fixed her gaze on her palms, which were now wet with tears. "I'm worried he won't come back. I'm scared he won't come home."

Mrs. Briefs bit her lip. She had been turning the same situation over in her mind, afraid of the likelihood but convincing herself otherwise for her daughter's sake. Vegeta was always distant. He hadn't even allowed her and her husband to attend the wedding, permitting only the priest and a closed door for a witness. No pictures had been taken, no videos filmed, no cake cut. Not even a ring encircled her daughter's finger. It had seemed more a matter of business than anything else, considering the circumstances…

"See?" Bulma said quietly, kneading the tears from her puffy eyes. "Even you know it's true. Vegeta doesn't really love me. He used me for pleasure when the gravity room was cooling down, and being a prince he was honor-bound to comply with our customs and take the vows. He never even gave me a second glance after the wedding was over!"

Mrs. Briefs shrugged helplessly. Tugging Bulma into a comforting embrace, she stroked the silky hair with tender fingers. "I won't tell you anything I can't guarantee," she murmured, drawing her closer still. "But I can say that everything will work out for the best. You know you can always count on your father and me. And you have a beautiful baby boy who needs his mother right now. Don't ever forget that, alright?"

Bulma shook out of her mother's arms, not wanting to feel any more confined than she already was. Bending over the pen, she hefted the screaming Trunks and held him close.

Mrs. Briefs sighed again and got up. "I'll give you some time to yourself now," she said, turning to leave. "But if you feel like talking, I'll be in the living room. Your father is tinkering with something or another, and I'll bet he's forgotten to eat again." She started toward the door.

Before the door slid shut, Bulma cast a thankful look over her shoulder. "Thanks, mom," she called softly, forcing the lump from her throat with a determined cough.

Mrs. Briefs only smiled and shut the door with a quiet click.

Trunks grunted and grabbed a handful of her blouse. Bringing him up to eye level, Bulma sniffled and cracked a small smile.

"Do you think he'll be back, Trunks?" she asked quietly. The baby promptly threw up all over her, and she wrinkled her nose in disgust. "Well, I don't know what to make of that, but I guess I'll find out." Wiping the dribble from her son's now smiling mouth, she strode down the hall to find a change of clothes and an aspirin.

She had barely opened the bathroom cabinet when she heard someone burst through the front door. Dropping the bottle into the sink, she tugged Trunks close and dashed down the hall, taking the steps three by three to come skidding to a halt at the bottom.

"Krillin?" she gasped. The diminutive fighter looked up, his eyes brightening at the sight of the genius girl. Over his shoulder was slung a body - whose, she could not be sure, for it was covered in a soot slathered blanket. The sight made her heart lurch painfully; she swallowed hard.

"Bulma!" he cried, staggering toward her. "You'll never believe this! We won! We really won!"

Taken aback, the blue-headed girl reeled. "W…won?" she stammered. "But…who's that?"

Please, God, not Vegeta…

"Oh, yeah." His face darkened, becoming serious at once. "Well, this may be kind of hard to believe or accept, but…"

Oh God, no…

"Well, uh, y'see…" a faint flush stained his wan cheeks, giving him the look of an overcooked turkey. "Cell kinda…ingested Android 18 and then…spit her back out. I was wondering if there was anything you could do to help…?"

Such relief flooded her system that she didn't even stop to think of what this could mean. "Yeah, of course I can help!" she said brightly, trying to staunch the tears that now sprung from relief rather than sorrow. "Here, just take Trunks and I'll bring her into my lab…" Thrusting the baby into his arms, she hefted the heavy android onto her shoulder and toted her across the room with a strength borne of reprieve. Wild hope shone in her blue eyes, carrying her to the big iron door at the end of the hall and into the lab, Krillin tagging close behind.

"I'm so glad you're gonna help," he gushed, not noticing that Trunks had latched onto his arm and was now attempting to teethe on his earlobe. "I was afraid you wouldn't want to do anything after what she had done…"

"Well, all of us have made mistakes, and I trust you," she replied, not really listening. She had already laid the unconscious machine on a long wooden table and was preparing to hook her up to the computer. Her thoughts were all on the battlefield with the prince who had stolen her heart. Idly plugging in the right wires and pressing a few buttons, she tottered off toward the capsule storage case.

"H-hey, where are you going?" Krillin asked, surprised at Bulma's unusual lack of attention. Shooting 18 an uneasy look, he followed after the young scientist, who was now sorting through her various capsules in search of one of her vehicles.

"Oh, I'll be right back," she said mindlessly, a dreamy look on her face. "I'm just gonna go see everyone on the battlefield…"

"B…but what about 18?" he pleaded, casting yet another anxious glance over his shoulder. "Aren't you gonna fix her first?"

"She's a machine, she'll be fine!" Bulma snapped, already heading for the exit. "And anyway, I have to recharge her internal battery before I can do anything else. If it makes you feel any better, I'll be back within the hour." Grabbing Trunks almost as an afterthought, she nodded curtly to Krillin and headed out the door, leaving the little man to scratch his bald head and wonder what he was supposed to do with himself.

"We're going to see Daddy, Trunks," she whispered, pushing the button of the capsule to release her helicopter. Strapping the boy into his carseat, she hurried around to the driver's seat and strapped herself in, barely remembering to open the garage door before taking off into the sky, her hopes flying high on wings of unfounded faith in what wasn't there.

Gohan sat alone on a huge boulder overlooking the destroyed battle ring. Unshed tears stung the backs of his eyes as he replayed the battle with Cell over and over in his mind, wondering if he would ever again see the father that had won him his life at the price of his own. His muscled arms hung limply at his sides as he stared aimlessly at the broken tiles, lost in thoughts of the past and avoiding notions of the future.

The rest of the fighters sat in silence, not knowing what to say to break the spell of grief Gohan had cast upon them all. They knew that Goku would be back in time; they would never see the last of the fearsome warrior. But to explain this to his son…that was a different story. And so they said nothing, each casting aggrieved glances at the boy who had saved them all.

Except for one.

Vegeta stood off to the side, his burly arms crossed, nose pushed into the air at the insanity of it all. Kakarott's son, of all people! How could he be the one deigned to reach Super Saiyan 2? Him, a child, ascend beyond the Saiyan Prince? And the fool, Kakarott himself, had left without their final fight!

"I will get you, Kakarott," he hissed into the wind, "even if it means I will have to kill myself to get to you! I will defeat you, lowlife Saiyan scum!"

The midmorning breeze brought the undertone to the sensitive ears of Piccolo, who cast the Saiyan Prince a look of avid disgust. He was about to reiterate when the sound of a chopper broke the uneasy silence with its whirring blare.

"Bulma…?" he wondered aloud. All eyes were upon the approaching helicopter as it settled onto the plains with a rushing sigh. The blue-haired beauty leapt out of the seat, flashing sapphire eyes surveying the scene with practiced precision.

"About time!" she shouted, crossing her arms. Though her tone was stern, her face was alight with joy. "I thought you guys would never be done!" Laughing wildly, she ran and threw herself into her future son's arms.

"We did do it, mother," the young man said softly, "but at a terrible price."

The smile disappeared as she pulled back to stare him in the face. "Wh…what do you mean?"

Trunks looked away, unable to supply the requested information. Bulma looked around, only to meet with the same answer from each of the averted gazes.

"Well?" she demanded, suddenly afraid. "What is it? What-"

"Kakarott is dead." Vegeta stepped up from behind, his deep black eyes flashing in the morning sun. "He died fighting Cell."

The girl forced a laugh. "We…we can always wish him back on the DragonBalls, can't we?" she ventured hesitantly.

Vegeta snorted and looked away. Yamcha cleared his throat uneasily.

"Not exactly," he muttered. "Goku asked not to be wished back to life. Believe me, we tried; but he just said no. And well…it's not going well with Gohan." He nodded toward the boulder.

"Oh…oh my…" Bulma followed his gaze and winced when she saw the boy sitting alone, unblinking, silhouetted by the rising sun.

"Yes, yes, boo hoo." Vegeta started toward Gohan, features twisted into a horrible sneer. "We all suffer losses. For him to carry on like this is unacceptable. He is of Saiyan blood, no matter if his father was a bumbling idiot." Gohan looked up, black eyes ablaze with fury. The boy got to his feet, but did not advance.

Vegeta snickered. "Look at him. Pathetic. I lost my entire planet without shedding a tear." Raising his voice, he called, "Come on, you little brat! Get over yourself and go home! There is nothing to be gained by sniveling like a bloody baby. If you truly want to be worthy of the title of 'Saiyan', then you had better start-"

Smack.

"You…little…jerk," Bulma raged through gritted teeth. Vegeta's eyes were wide, his head still turned to the side from where she had struck. Pulling her hand back, she smacked him again. "You slimy little jerk! How dare you talk to Gohan like that after his father died? You're no prince! You're nothing more than a scoundrel! A lowlife-" smack - "bloody-" smack - "scoundrel!"

Smack.

Everyone stood in shock. Piccolo's normally stoic face was twisted into one of utter disbelief. The others were similarly slack-jawed at the show of fury towards the Saiyan Prince. Vegeta regarded Bulma incredulously, looking as if he would strike her back at any moment. Yamcha tensed, ready to spring into action should Vegeta actually decide to hit the girl he himself had loved for so long, but the Prince just snorted and backed away, turning his back upon them all. Bulma heard the baby crying from the helicopter and awkwardly went to tend to him, fully aware that every eye was fixed upon her back.

"Whoa," said Tien, unable to tear his gaze away. "That was amazing!"

"Tell me about it," Yamcha replied, equally awed. "I've never seen Vegeta cowed like that! Man, that felt good!"

"No, Vegeta was right." Gohan walked up behind them, eyes dry and mouth twisted into a semblance of a smile. "I can't just sit there like a baby. Dad wouldn't have wanted that. It was all just…so sudden. One minute he was there and the next…" The half-Saiyan shook his head violently. "Well, in any case, I'm better now." He looked up at Piccolo with shining eyes. "We did it. Now I want to go home."

The future Trunks departed a half an hour later, exchanging a two-fingered wave with his father and a nod with everyone else. Bulma had watched him go, a smile upon her pretty face as she hoisted her own Trunks in her arms and had him wave goodbye. With a final wink, the boy from the future blinked out of sight.

The gathering of the Z warriors slowly dispersed. Gohan and Piccolo headed back to the boy's house, followed by Tien and Chiaotzu. Yamcha and Puar muttered their own goodbyes and headed off, leaving Bulma alone with Vegeta.

An awkward silence filled the space between the two. Bulma busied herself with fussing over Trunks' baby cap, and Vegeta worked out a kink in his shoulder muscle with various stretches. Neither looked at the other.

Finally, unable to take it anymore, Bulma strapped Trunks into his seat and started toward her husband.

"Why did you do that?" she demanded.

"I will do whatever I please, woman," he snarled, lunging into a toe-touch.

"No, you will not!" she roared, stomping another few steps forward. "Not while you're my husband!" She laid heavy emphasis on those last few words, hoping to spark some sort of reaction from the stoic Saiyan Prince.

"So what?" he returned, casting her a disgusted look. "You act as if that should mean something to me."

Bulma's mouth flapped open and closed a few times before snapping shut in indignation. "It should!" she screeched, a vein pulsing in her temple. "Vegeta, we have a son!"

The warrior shrugged. "That means nothing."

"Nothing? Nothing?" Reaching the end of her limit, she grasped him by the brawny shoulder and attempted to spin him around, succeeding in nothing but throwing herself into his face with the force of her pull. He sneered down at her, vicious canines gleaming in the mounting light.

"Yes, woman. Nothing. The vow will retain me until the whelp comes of age; then I will leave without looking back." Turning from her, he started to leave, preparing to launch himself into the air and leave her behind.

Not knowing what else to do to retain him, Bulma threw her arms around his waist and pulled herself close.

"Do I really mean nothing to you?" she asked softly, trying not to notice his alluring scent of sweat and blood.

Vegeta paused in midstep, unaccustomed to the show of affection. He flicked his coal eyes across her rigid figure, lips curling in a sneer when he noticed her trembling lip. "Nothing," he replied again. "Now let go."

"No."

"Dammit, I said let go!" Warm power enveloped them as his black hair became gold, and flashing green eyes bored into the sapphires as he glared at her in rage. "Let go," he hissed, "or I will take off and let you fall."

"No, you won't," she said forcefully, willing herself to believe it as much as she believed he would shoot off into the air. "You won't let me fall, Vegeta. I'm your wife."

"Watch me!" he roared. Kicking off the ground, he shot into the air, hands balled into fists at his sides.

Bulma watched the ground fall away with a wave of sickening dread. Clinging tighter to his neck, she threw her legs around his waist and buried her face in his shoulder, biting her tongue against a cry that wouldn't come anyway. She felt cool mist on her face as the clouds rushed past, calling to her to wait for them to catch up. She would have liked nothing better than to oblige.

Suddenly the ascent stopped. A light breeze tickled her neck and swayed her long blue hair. Still Vegeta's arms rested at his sides, but now he regarded her with curiosity rather than anger.

"You know I can peel you off me right now," he said softly, brow furrowing. "You would fall at a speed nearing that of sound and hit the rocky cliffs below."

Bulma forced herself to look into his burning black eyes. "I know," she replied, setting her mouth into a grim line.

"I would have no regrets."

She swallowed hard, but remained staring him in the face. Something in his tone had sounded almost…awed. It took the edge off his words and allowed her to answer without a quiver in her voice. "I know," she said again. "But neither would I."
Vegeta's eyes widened. "And why would that be?" he demanded. "You'd be falling to your death!"

Why would that matter? She wondered. You act as if I should have regrets. Aloud, she said, "At least I would know, if only for a split second, what was like to be a Saiyan."

The widened eyes narrowed dangerously, and he moved as if to loosen her grip. "You could never know what it was like to be like me. Saiyans never fall. To say such a thing is unacceptable!" Removing one hand, he held it fast and went to work on the other.

She watched him in horrified fascination, clinging to his hand with all her might. "But I would know what it was like to go soaring through the clouds," she whispered, feeling him start to slide from her legs' death grip on his hips. Grimacing, she added, "And I would know what it was like to be betrayed."

Vegeta stopped trying to free himself, his eyes glittering in outrage. "How dare you!" he howled, pressing his face into hers. "What do you know of betrayal? Hell, woman, I'd be doing you a favor by letting you die! Then you wouldn't be around to pester me!" But his eyes told a different story as they bored into hers - one of sadness, futility, and treachery. For a moment in time, the wall of pride was dropped, revealing the man inside the monster. He looked like a child…frightened, cowed, and fumbling for his way all in that one simple glance. Bulma burned that image into her mind and determined at that moment to find him again. Without even thinking about it, she leaned forward and gently pressed her lips to his.

The Prince went rigid, as he had at their tiny wedding. His already incredible body heat increased twofold, and his death grip on her hands loosened ever so slightly. He seemed to almost hungrily lean into the kiss, as if he were a man dying of thirst with a bottle of water. The green eyes squeezed shut, and he tried to pull away, but found he could not. He could only float, immobile, beneath her grip of feather-soft steel.

When she finally let her lips fall away, his eyes flashed open; he pushed her to arms' length and regarded her with a furious stare.

"What did you just do to me?" he demanded. "What kind of strange power did you have that you kept secret, woman? How could a puny human hold the Saiyan Prince at bay with a touch?" Bulma looked at him questioningly, not knowing what to say. When she didn't answer, Vegeta issued a violent shake. "Tell me or I'll rip your head from your shoulders!"

"You don't scare me, Vegeta," she murmured. Bringing up a slender hand, she rested it upon his cheek. "And that was called a kiss. We did it at our wedding, remember?" she asked, suppressing the lump that seemed to be becoming quite a nuisance as of late.

"It was a ritual," he replied coldly, "nothing more. It didn't hold me then! Why does it now?"

"Maybe you've discovered you actually have feelings after all!" Bulma snapped, angry he would disregard such an important occasion, but somehow not surprised.

"Hardly," he snorted. "A Saiyan has no need for emotions. All they do is hinder the inevitable decisions that must be made. Come on, woman. I don't have time to put you down, so I'll take you with me. Remain perfectly still and I may decide not to drop you!" he snarled. A golden aura enveloped the couple, and Vegeta's coiled muscles tensed to take off at sonic speed.

"Wait!" Bulma cried, pounding on his chest. "The baby!" She twisted her head to desperately look over her shoulder. "We have to get Trunks!"

"I said remain still!" Vegeta snapped, grabbing her wrist and twisting it painfully behind her back. "The child is of no importance to me. If you want to get him, though, be my guest!" Letting go, he suddenly disappeared from her grasp, reappearing a few feet away to watch her fall.

Time seemed to stand still as she absorbed his twisted smirk with glazed eyes. For a split second, she hovered where she was. Then she plummeted to earth, watching his golden silhouette as it fell toward the heavens in a blinding blaze of power.

"So this is what it's like," she whispered into the rushing wind, "to fly by yourself." Strangely she was unafraid as she watched the planet leap up to hit her. She watched the clouds swirl by in fascination, numbed more by that stinging sneer than the cold atmosphere that swirled around her. Closing her eyes, she tried to imagine the destruction of Vejitaseii. Did the Saiyans look on in terrified awe as the titanic wave of energy hurtled toward them? She could almost see the proud race with their heads held high, watching their doom approach on wings of betrayal.

"This is what it's like to fall victim to the one who promised you everything and nothing."

Opening her eyes once more, she saw the Earth reaching out to strike her. Chuckling grimly to herself, she held up her hand on a whim.

"A toast," she murmured, "to the Saiyans." She squeezed her eyes shut and prepared to meet the cliffs of Earth.

But she didn't hit.

A pair or strong, muscular arms wrapped themselves around her slender waist and hoisted her into the hair. The scent of sweat and blood once more flooded her mind as she was cradled almost gently to a armor-covered chest. She opened one eye and found herself staring into those of the Saiyan prince.

"You know nothing of broken promises," he murmured, setting her lightly beside her helicopter. Without another word, he turned on his heel and rocketed into the sunrise so her eyes could follow him no longer.

Pushing her hair behind her ear, she tried to peer through the light, but ended up having to look away. Sighing heavily, she turned back to the helicopter to find the baby out of his carseat and crawling toward the rising sun, his chubby little hand outstretched and mouth open in a wheedling cry.

"Oh, Trunks…" Bulma glided over to pick up her son and hold him close. "I know, I know." Sighing, she went to strap him back into his seat. But when she began to fiddle with the straps, she found that they had been ripped apart. Eyebrows raised, she looked back at her baby.

"Guess I'll be holding you on my lap," she whistled, climbing into the driver's seat. "And you'd better be good, or Mommy'll crash and then we'll both be in trouble." Trunks simply blinked and looked back out the window, his stunning blue eyes fixed pointedly on the sunrise.