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.
Krillen had decided, upon sensing Vegeta's energy the previous day, to let the family have a little time to themselves before barging in on them. They deserved the opportunity to catch up without unwanted guests rampaging around the place consuming all of their supply of coffee.
Not that Krillen felt he had been unwanted these past few weeks. He had been checking up on Bulma every weekend as promised, and it certainly seemed that she needed the company. She was frazzled, absent-minded, and required the presence of someone else to ground her to the present place and time. Her mind was constantly seeking out her husband, interfering with her work and making her frustrated.
Put simply, she had not been doing well, understandably, and Krillen was relieved for her that Vegeta had returned, even though he seemed to have done so far sooner than Krillen had anticipated. But Krillen was still worried, because Bulma had wanted her husband home no matter his behaviour, and it was entirely possible he had not recovered at all. Krillen didn't think that Goku would put Bulma at risk by passing the burden of an out-of-control saiyan onto her, but even a non-violent Vegeta was not necessarily well.
Krillen dropped down onto the lawn, straightening his shirt and looking around. The gravity room was on, which was entirely expected and did not give him much of a hint about the current domestic situation. He hummed to himself as he followed the sense of Bulma's presence into the compound. Upon entering, he noticed that the hangings had been disturbed, and there was a large dent in the wall, leaking plaster, caused by the damaged door knob. Picture frames were cracked, especially a shockingly endearing photo of Bulma and Vegeta's wedding.
This was not boding well.
The rest of the house seemed normal, from what Krillen could gather, though he rarely ventured further than the kitchen or the dining room. Reminders of the current crisis were everywhere, because every mention of Vegeta's family in the photos, children's drawings or souvenirs that littered the compound brought to mind a family potentially torn apart.
Potentially. He still didn't know for certain. Vegeta and Bulma argued constantly. Maybe it just got a little heated because of all the tension of the past few weeks. Maybe the damage wasn't even Vegeta's doing. Trunks was powerful enough by far and Goku had been there the previous day when Vegeta had arrived.
So maybe he was worrying for nothing.
Nope, he thought, entering Bulma's lab and catching sight of her at the table, he had not been worrying for nothing.
Bulma's finger-tips were pressed against her forehead, leg jigging absently as she considered the puzzle in front of her. Screwdrivers, screws and other odds and ends Krillen could not identify were jumbled about on the table's surface, around the piece of technology in front of her. Krillen had no idea what that was either, but he was more concerned with Bulma's state. Her coat was not buttoned properly, sitting haphazardly on her shoulders. And speaking of haphazard, her hair seemed to be trying to imitate that of the husband she was clearly distracted by. Smudged make-up was layered thick on her face, hiding the specifics of whatever was wrong but telling Krillen something all the same.
"Hey Bulma," he always kept it light, raising a hand to acknowledge her as she spun around on her chair, accidentally going too far in her haste.
"Krillen! You scared me!"
"Hehe, sorry about that. How are you doing?"
Bulma wrapped both arms in front of her chest in a protective gesture, looking balefully at her friend.
"It was supposed to be different this time…" she whispered, almost to herself.
"What do you mean?"
Bulma didn't seem ready to answer his question, though, at least not yet, instead diverting with, "You must have sensed that Vegeta returned yesterday."
"Yes, hence I came here to see you."
"He's…he's still not right, not at all. Went to the gravity room straight away, without saying hello first. He's relapsed, Krillen; acts just like he did when he first stayed here."
"Ouch. I'm so sorry Bulma."
"We had a big fight last night. He wanted to leave in the ship but I drained the fuel before he returned from his hunting trip. He won't eat with us," she explained.
"You're normally okay with him leaving on one of his training missions," Krillen pointed out.
"This is different," she objected, "Those times I know he'll come back. Now, if he left, I don't think I'd ever see him again."
"Oh Bulma," Krillen muttered, reaching out to place a hand on her shoulder. He rubbed it experimentally, but she did not shake him off.
"It was going to be different this time. He promised me." Shaking herself, Bulma rose from her chair, heels clicking on the polished floor as she gestured for him to follow.
"May as well get you a coffee if we're going to talk."
Soon they found themselves in the kitchen, gazing at each other over the top of a small vase of flowers. Krillen recognised them as ones which grew in the back garden, although he noticed these had been severely disturbed and not cleaned up. He had a bad feeling about that mess he saw, without fail, every time he came to visit. It signified something, and that something wasn't good.
"Krillen, I'm pregnant," Bulma said evenly, causing Krillen to spit out a mouthful of hot beverage over the petals he had been admiring earlier.
"S-sorry, I'll clean that up," he volunteered hastily, searching about the sink for a cloth to use. Eventually he had to settle for a sodden rag, which he gently wiped the table with, so as not to leave too much liquid on its lacquered surface.
"So…congratulations!" He tried to mean it, but he wasn't sure either of the parents wanted another child, and he knew that being unsolicited might not be good for the child's wellbeing. Trunks had turned out okay, but only because Bulma had warmed up to the idea. Vegeta had taken a while to grow comfortable with the thought of being, and acting like, a father.
"Thanks Krillen," she attempted to be sincere as well, but Krillen could tell the hesitance, "but I just wish…we were trying for another, you know?"
No, Krillen had not known that. Bulma and Vegeta had kept that card very close to their chests.
"And Vegeta…he was so looking forward to having another chance at fatherhood. He's been much better with Trunks lately, I mean before all of this happened, and he would have been ecstatic at the news. But…he didn't care one bit when I told him last night. I think he knew, but wanted to leave anyway."
She let out a harsh sigh. "This is all wrong, Krillen. We should be celebrating as a family! Instead, my husband has locked himself away in his training room and I can't concentrate on my work because I don't know if things are going to get any better!"
"I would tell you they will, Bulma, but I won't lie to you about my levels of optimism."
"I appreciate the honesty," she muttered, taking a sip of her coffee, "But it's only been a day. I shouldn't be so pessimistic already. He took a while to settle in last time he was this cold. I just…don't want to play the waiting game, I guess. I want my husband back, now."
"That's perfectly understandable, Bulma. Is there anything I can do to help?"
"I don't think so. Just being here is good support. And maybe you can give me a few tips if the baby is a girl."
"You bet!"
"How is little Marron, anyway?"
Krillen watched Bulma carefully as he waxed eloquent on one of his favourite subjects, his wonderful daughter. Bulma relaxed marginally as she told her a story from the other week where Marron had caught a bizarre but still astonishingly beautiful shell which now decorated their TV unit. They did not return to the subject of her husband or her pregnancy for the rest of the morning, but the elephant in the room still haunted their thoughts.
Vegeta lunged out of the way of another laser, legs threatening to buckle underneath him. Muscles ached in a way they had not in years, but Vegeta forged on, dodging again, but overcompensating on his recovery and destabilising himself. Red flashed onto his armoured back, flattening him on the metal floor as he tasted blood in his mouth.
Whether from biting his tongue or internal injuries Vegeta did not know, nor did he care.
Perhaps he had been reckless, he conceded, by turning the gravity up as high as he could withstand and then summoning the drones. He was well and truly wrecked only a few hours into his training session. Burns laced his skin underneath his tattered armour. He should have been more careful in that regard because he point-blank refused to ask Bulma for another set. He did not want to interact with her at all, if he could avoid it.
Unfortunately, she had hijacked his system that morning to try to cajole him into appearing for a family breakfast. As if he would accede to such a thing. He had already hunted his own meal, anyway. And he told her as much, trying to revel in the clear disappointment in her features. Why did she even want him around her, anyway? It was not as if he were the man she had married. He was an entirely different kettle of fish, one that she had enjoyed yelling at when prompted, but had nonetheless avoided as much as she could.
And speaking of fish, it hadn't been that bad, even compared with Panchy's cooking. No matter how tasty the concoctions of his mother-in-law, though, he was not about to subject himself to her presence. Or anyone else's. He was doing just fine on his own.
Just fine.
Even though muscles he had forgotten about were begging shamelessly like Frieza's torture victims on the worst days when Vegeta had been forced to watch. Even though he felt as if he had been buried under the earth, somewhere in the core. Even though his lungs were dragging in painful breaths and forcing them out in quick succession, and he thought his ribs might have cracked under the pressure.
He was just fine. And doing what he loved best. Training. Well, second-best. Fighting was far preferable, and he couldn't wait to relish the feeling of bones snapping underneath his knuckles again.
Another laser sliced at his side, sprawling him once more on the blood-splattered tiles.
Definitely an internal injury, then. Not that it mattered overmuch. Pain was his constant companion under Frieza's watch, whether internal or external. He could handle pain. And he could handle injury, even though it exasperated him. On the one hand, a saiyan grew stronger every time they recovered from being close to death – and strength was what he was aiming for with all of his might. On the other, though, recovery took far longer without a healing tank, and limited his ability to train for the duration.
It was a win-lose scenario that Vegeta had not enjoyed years before and did not enjoy now.
Wiping the blood from his lips, Vegeta's shuddering legs managed to support him again as he dove out of the way of another beam. A weaker (or more sensible) man might have ended the training session there, but Vegeta had lasted a full four hours of this the previous night, eventually turning off the unit with double vision and quivering breaths. He would be damned if he wasn't going to go further that morning, even if the sleep he had gotten from lying passed out on the tiles probably hadn't been enough to restore him after that session of torture.
Yes, torture. It seemed he wasn't about to be doing that to anyone else anytime soon, so he would have to make do with the next best thing, himself.
He hadn't felt all that much like inflicting pain on others just lately, fighting them, yes, slaughtering, not so much. He was hoping the urge would return soon, though, as it made him feel weaker, more human, without the intoxicating whisper of creating agony clawing at his skull.
It must have been exposure to those humans which was making him act more like one. Thus, it was essential he escape as soon as possible. The only problem was how.
And to think that he had been eager to get away from Whis and Beerus. He still did not want to see them, and especially not the fool Kakarot, but he thought it might be preferable to this blue-haired minx that he did not know how to act around.
As though his thoughts had summoned her, the communications screen blinked to life just as another laser scorched his calf. After dropping to one knee for an embarrassing moment, Vegeta flew towards the control panel, disabling the drones with a flick of his finger. It wouldn't do to be injured from a distraction, especially not if Bulma decided to try to smother him with her uninvited concern.
Sure enough, the look on her face was enough to let Vegeta know that she had seen the stumble, but thankfully she made no comment. Also fortunate was the red lights which continued to illuminate himself and his surroundings, disguising the blood on his face and on the floor, which could now be taken for sweat.
How convenient.
"Vegeta, come in for lunch," she commanded tiredly, voice devoid of all the fire he had admired in her.
"No." he replied simply, moving to shut the communication system down. It was a pity he didn't understand how it worked, so that he could remove the specific circuitry whilst leaving the important parts intact for his training purposes.
"Vegeta!" she yelled, with a little more life than before. He merely glanced at her, his face absent of any emotion as he regarded the figure he had once called 'wife'.
"What is it you want, woman?"
"I want you to spend time with us!"
"I have better things to do." He was surprised at the lack of hostility in his voice, but really, he was just tired of it all. He did have better things to do.
"Surely it would be quicker for you to come in and dine with us than stalk out some prey to hunt and then eat that."
Vegeta had to concede that she raised a good point but the extra minutes saved were not worth having to survive the raucous and emotional upheaval of exposure to his family.
"Perhaps, but I still refuse to be beholden to you."
"Vegeta, you're in the gravity chamber that I built for you."
Vegeta growled, "You said it was mine!"
The woman was always changing her mind about possession whenever it suited her in their arguments. It had vexed him before and was enough to re-awaken his rage now.
"I was unaware that when a gift is given on this planet, it continues to belong to the giver! Just another reason to be done with this stupid world!"
"Fine."
Vegeta couldn't believe his ears, was she really giving up? It must have been his lucky day, or would have been if he didn't ache quite so much.
"I'll expect you at dinner, then."
"You will not!" Vegeta shouted at a blank screen as Bulma's determined face disappeared.
She certainly shouldn't be expecting him for dinner, not with his history. She ought to know he would be doing everything in his power to avoid interaction and promote solitude. Vegeta snarled as he considered the communications unit and lamented his lack of electronics and engineering skills. They had not been part of an upper class education to prepare the heir to rule the kingdom. And he wasn't about to start trying to teach himself now.
But Bulma had a point about lunch – he was considerably famished from his workout and would need sustenance to restore his health. Resetting the gravity to earth levels, he sighed in relief, feeling as if he had grown an inch from the lack of asphyxiating pressure. Breathing more easily than he had in several hours, yet still aching around the rib-cage, Vegeta examined himself. The training suit was severely tarnished, littered with scorch marks and soaked in sweat and blood. His breastplate had fared no better, already dented and burnt black in some places. The boots and gloves which were symbols of his royal uniform were scuffed and he could see a fingertip peeking out.
They would last a little while longer, though. He would make sure of it, even if he had to make do with wearing scraps. He was not about to be parading in public, so dignity was not a large factor in his motivations. Staying away from Bulma was. But he would, he had to admit when he gagged fiercely at just a small sniff, need to brave his old bedroom to collect his spare suit.
The bedroom he had shared with Bulma.
He definitively did not want to enter that room, but he would. Needs must.
First, though, lunch called.