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.
Vegeta had not appeared for dinner. Not that Bulma had expected him to, and she had even said as much to her son. But Trunks, not understanding the changes his father had experienced, was adamant the saiyan would want to see him. For the first time in a month.
He had not.
And the stubborn look on her boy's face, chin stuck out but trembling slightly, had fractured Bulma's already shattered heart. The family had eaten in forced conversation, the elephant in the room constricting her throat and making her voice shake as she tried to keep everything normal. Asking about Trunk's school day, her mother's book-club, her father's tinkering. Panchy had played along skilfully, as if completely oblivious to the drama in their household. Bulma knew her mother was not such a fool as that, although she did pretend on occasion for her enjoyment or to achieve a certain reaction. Making Vegeta flustered was a popular result she consciously strove for.
Dr Brief frowned at the display, but Bulma had pointedly looked and Trunks, and he had also allowed himself to be caught up in the hubbub of inane conversation. The exact kind that she had, only recently, been training Vegeta to participate in.
Immediately after dinner, without waiting for dessert, Trunks had sped out of the room, moments later banging on the door to the gravity chamber, which was still roaring with life, demanding to be let in. He had continued for five minutes straight as Bulma looked on, strained, through the kitchen window. Eventually, though, the boy had to accept defeat, and had returned for dessert, which, although it was his favourite, had done nothing to quell the disappointment evident on his features.
Her family was falling apart.
Bulma had initially planned on staying up until the gravity room powered down, to talk to Vegeta before bed, like a proper married couple. However, ten o'clock came and went and a yawning Bulma admitted to herself that she would need a good night's sleep to prepare herself for work the next day.
Making her way to the ensuite bathroom, Bulma began pulling off her clothing for the day, wondering idly what Vegeta was doing for himself in that regard. The gravity room wasn't stocked with his clothes – they were in their closet. He would need to confront the room they had shared together in order to find a clean change of clothes. A quick peek at his side of the closet told her it had indeed been raided earlier, and she cursed herself for having missed the perfect opportunity to confront him on her territory.
Scrubbing her thick cosmetics off before the vanity, Bulma examined her tired and tried face. She was sure there were a few more lines that would need covering than there had been a few weeks before, and she thought she could see a lone grey hair peeking out amongst the blue. Pulling it out with a quick yank, Bulma brushed her tangled hair, wincing as she pulled on the knots.
Gods, did she miss her husband. Usually he would be in bed at this hour, exhausted after a full day of training, stretched out and relaxed on their special mattress. Vegeta liked a hard bed after growing up in a Spartan military institution, while she preferred a soft, luxurious and springy one. As a compromise, she had replaced her old mattress with a half-and-half one when Vegeta had moved permanently into what was her childhood bedroom.
The empty half mocked her as Bulma slithered into the sheets, reaching out to feel the vacant space her husband had filled just a few weeks previously. Vegeta had left for long periods before, and although she hadn't liked it, she understood that Vegeta hadn't comprehended her lack of enthusiasm. Saiyans were accustomed to spending months apart from their companions, traveling the cosmos in search of conquests. Vegeta had no concept of the loneliness she felt when he left her, after over a decade of spending every night with her in bed. She knew Vegeta had been getting antsy; it wasn't a good idea for saiyans to be cooped up in one place, they had evolved to travel the stars and belonged amongst them, not playing house on earth. Vegeta had made that quite clear when he had agreed to deepen their relationship after the conflict with Cell. He had expected to be away frequently, satiating his need for silence and solitude in the endless vacuum of space. The fact that he hadn't left at all between that time and the arrival of Beerus had been a surprise to them both, but Bulma had noticed him looking longingly at the night sky, fingers trembling as he fought with desire.
Yet he had never left without reason. Not to train by himself; he knew he could achieve just as much stationed on earth, and so had never been absent for that purpose. A new master was different, though, that he could justify leaving for. To train to become a god.
And Bulma would never get in the way of her husband's ambitions. He had never been an obstacle to hers.
Bulma rubbed the sheets beneath her hand, wishing to feel the comforting bulk of her husband. How desperately she wanted to be held in that secure embrace, safe from the world as he breathed softly into her neck, curling about her like a cat.
It was torture to have him present, to hear and see the gravity room in operation, to know he was there, but not be able to touch him. Imprisoned in her own body for the foreseeable future as her Superman kept them determinedly apart, refusing to be in her company more than was necessary. To be prohibited from laying hands on that gorgeous hulk of muscle she had married. Not able to run her hands through his tough hair or down his solid form. It was pure cruelty.
How she missed him. The fire in her belly as they argued, the lustfully sweet succulence as they made up in this very room. The room which had seen them both at their most intimate, physically and emotionally. Playing host to a Vegeta the world had not seen beyond its privacy, and likely never would.
He could be so gentle, at times, savouring her in a way he never did with his meals. He never worried she might be snatched from him at any moment, which had been a constant concern in Frieza's mess hall. If she closed her eyes and concentrated, she could imagine the quiet sounds of his breathing, never snoring for fear of attracting attention while in the helpless depths of sleep. Not that he was ever helpless, going from deep sleep to glowing palm in the face a second after being disturbed.
It had taken her a fortnight to convince him to return to her bed after that episode, but he had never done it again. Had been more aware of her delicacy even in sleep.
Absently straightening her nightie, she could almost feel a strong hand tracing its way down her body. She could almost hear the guttural whispers of foreign langauges that Vegeta relapsed into in the throes of his passion.
She ached for him.
It was lucky that her bedroom had a view of the backyard, or she would have moved rooms long ago to keep an eye on the mysterious saiyan who had come to live with them. Leaving the comforts of her soft side of the bed, Bulma made her way to that full-length window, which gave her the perfect view of the gravity chamber. On a normal night, she would not have been able to make it out as the city's smog dampened the stars above, since it would have been abandoned and dark at such a late hour.
But not this night. No, it was still powered up, sickening red shining out of the windows and making Bulma's stomach tighten. He shouldn't still be training, it wasn't healthy. But there was nothing she could do about it, he certainly would not listen in his current condition. And Bulma knew hacking into the system to shut it down remotely would only drive him away at a time when he and she desperately needed him to come closer.
She would confront him about it tomorrow, for her own peace of mind, since she knew it would ultimately achieve nothing.
Vegeta's form throbbed dully as he took his morning meal, gulping down the burnt limb of yet another dinosaur, this time a flying one. He had trained well past midnight, although he had not activated the application which would tell the time, so had easily lost track. By the time he had been willing to take a break, he had been unable to move at all, even to reach the control panel. He was ashamed to admit he had been forced to use the emergency voice-control function to shut down operations, before passing out then and there on the hot tiles amongst a pool of sweat and blood.
Fortunately, by the time he had roused himself some hours later, the internal bleeding had healed, as had the sharp pain in his ribs. His muscles were still quite sore, but Vegeta had pushed through such things before and would do so without hesitation again. It had possibly not been his smartest move to consume solids so soon after coughing up blood, but a saiyan could not survive long without food, and they certainly could not get stronger.
Finishing up his breakfast, and determinedly not missing the taste of Panchy's wonders, Vegeta allowed himself a few moments to stretch out his tender muscles, forcing himself to breathe deeply in spite of the pain. He had suffered worse under Frieza's thumb, and would need to persevere if he was to have any chance of catching up to Kakarot. His training schedule would need to be even more severe than the one he had undertaken in preparation for the androids, with no unnecessary breaks or other pursuits. He had fallen so far behind the other saiyan because of his own pointless sense of duty, something he was deeply regretting now, and Kakarot would surely still be improving himself.
Vegeta stretched his arms up high above his head, letting out a long breath as he contemplated just what he was striving for. The sheer impossibility of it. But impossibility had never stopped Vegeta before, and it certainly wouldn't now.
Ignoring the weakness he felt just summoning his ki, Vegeta took to the air to return to his favourite training arena. He followed the signal of Bulma's weak ki, and noticed that Trunks was still nearby. In fact, Vegeta noted to his annoyance the boy was standing outside of the gravity chamber when he arrived.
"Dad!" he called out, checking the door with his body to prevent Vegeta's escape. Dressed in casuals, he certainly did not look ready to begin training, not that Vegeta would consider letting the boy into his domain. He would be ensuring exclusive use until he reached his previous strength levels.
"Dad, I need to talk to you!"
This wasn't what he needed, Vegeta thought, looking to the heavens as though they could provide him with the patience not to harm his child as he so desperately wanted to.
"What do you want, brat? And make it quick, I have work to do!"
"I was wondering if you wanted to play –"
"Play?! Play?!" a day's worth of frustrations at failing to get noticeably stronger burst from Vegeta's mouth, "A true saiyan has no use for such activities! Is this what you have been doing instead of training? Playing games? Disgusting!" he spat, advancing on the boy with no attempt to hide his malice.
"You should be spending every spare moment building your strength and physical skills, not loafing before the television! It's a wonder to me that I even consider you my son! Your grandfather would disown us both for the shame!"
"Besides," he trailed off, realising something, "shouldn't you be in class?" Gosh he almost sounded like a parent, discouraging truancy. What madness. He did not conform to such ideals of parenthood. They were for Earthlings, not aliens like himself.
"Why should I?" Trunks challenged, rearing the ugly head of teenage rebellion that he had been warned continuously about. Saiyans did not experience such changes. Well, except for in the area of something expressly forbidden to Trunks at the present, and of no interest to Vegeta.
"Goten doesn't –"
A Vegeta of weeks ago might have pointed out that Goten was home-schooled by a very determined mother. This one simply roared.
"And that's another thing! Fraternising with a lower class at all hours of the day! Preferring to prance around on adventures with that terrible influence than train as you ought! Were we on planet Vegeta I would be ridiculed, my authority questioned at every turn for begetting such a wayward brat with no respect for social norms. You are a disgrace to the royal line!"
Of course, Trunks would have been erased from said line for being part-human, and his father exiled along with him, but Vegeta thought that rule could be ignored considering the lack of saiyan females available. Besides, as heir apparent with the king deceased, Vegeta's word was now law, even if he could not control expectations.
It wasn't something that had given Vegeta any comfort in the past or now, considering he had no people to rule over.
Trunks looked as if he had been slapped, eyes reddening as salt-water began to well in them. Utterly despicable. Vegeta continued to his original destination, ignoring the emerging mess before him and shoving its instigator out of the way none too gently. Upon hearing a repressed sniffle behind him, he slammed the door closed with as much force as he could muster, straining his throbbing shoulder in the process.
Saiyans weren't supposed to raise children, the army was. And Vegeta was born to be the head of that army, not to perform lowly duties like training new recruits.
It would be better for them both, although Vegeta resolutely did not care about the boy's welfare, to having nothing to do with each other.
Why did humans have to mature so slowly?
Shaking the thoughts of his ill-begotten son from his mind, Vegeta began with another round of stretching, before a series of slow katas to warm himself up. His limbs were wailing at him like a powerful wind through a forest, but he ignored them with practiced ease. Rolling his shoulders, Vegeta has started making his way over to the gravity controls when the communications screen appeared.
Unsurprisingly, the intruder was Bulma, still unaccountably dressed in her nightie and absent any of the make-up which had so effectively masked her features. He could see bruises the colour of sunset under her eyes, which were slightly bloodshot, and spidery lines trekked across her face.
"Well, someone clearly woke up on the wrong side of bed this morning." He commented, deciding to stretch a little more while she unloaded whatever inanity she had called him for. It was well past their usual breakfast time, although it looked like she had slept through that.
"You're not referring to me are you?" she repasted, flint clear in her voice, "because I've just had a word with Trunks."
Oh great, the little cry-baby had fled to his mother for comfort, had he? If Vegeta's father hadn't been reincarnated, he would never have heard the end of it in hell.
"That was nasty, Vegeta. I expected better of you."
Was she going to tell him she was disappointed, because really, he didn't give a dime about her feelings or those of the boy. Emotions were only useful as fuel for battle. Apart from that, they should be repressed at every opportunity.
Although Vegeta was having a lot of trouble doing that with his rage. The only thing that seemed to calm it was a woman who drove him to madness every time she yelled anyway. Just opening her mouth tended to disturb the calming spell her eyes had on him.
"How could you say that about your own son? You used to be so proud of him!"
For the first time in weeks, Vegeta found himself laughing, a malicious concoction of huffs as a smile broke onto his features.
"Proud? How could I be proud of that? The boy is a poor excuse for a saiyan! An embarrassment to a long line of warrior kings!"
"He's part human, Vegeta! And you didn't complain earlier about the strength boost that gave him!"
"What use is strength if it lays dormant? I am wondering whether your genetics are in fact a detriment to him, after all. He has no ambition! No drive to grow stronger and break his limits! He is content to bask on his laurels and have fun!"
The boy had no concept of danger, survival, or of saiyan instincts.
"He's a child, Vegeta!"
"I was a hardened soldier at his age, capable of subduing galaxies!"
How dare the boy be so carefree, when he had been bowing to a tormentor in exchange for a continued existence, straining his very being to grow powerful enough to overthrow him? Losing his own mind in the process.
"I thought you didn't want your upbringing for your son," Bulma commented, her face paling.
No, he didn't. Hadn't since he had started to care for the lump as a baby, and still didn't, even when he could barely tolerate to look at that innocent face. The thought of Frieza, thick tail around the throat of his son, idly reprimanding him for a delay in his mission, made Vegeta's strained stomach roil.
"He should still be training." Vegeta diverted, clenching his hands into fists as another round of anger at the sheltered nature of his child hit him.
"You're hogging the gravity room," Bulma said, an argument to which Vegeta scoffed.
"He can practice his forms on the lawn, he can perform target practice with ki blasts, he can hunt and learn to survive in the wild, heck, he can even spar with that waste of space he calls a friend!"
He could see Bulma breathing deeply, gathering her thoughts as she tucked a stray strand behind her ear.
"Don't you want to be there? To make sure he trains correctly?"
"Of course not! The boy is old enough to train without an adult hovering over his shoulder!"
"Listen, I'll talk to him, see if I can convince him to spend more time training and less on his games if that will satisfy you?"
"Marginally."
By this point Vegeta was done with the pointless distraction, and resumed his walk to the controls, wondering at what level to begin his training with today. He would need to choose carefully, because safety be damned he refused to turn it down after setting it for at least an hour.
"I'll see you at lunch, then?"
Why did she keep asking him that? Of course she wouldn't, and he told her so in no uncertain terms before tuning the whining sound of her voice out completely.
He thought he would go with 450Gs.
It didn't take long for him to regret that decision.