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.

The next few days passed in a flurry of raised voices, mostly between Bulma and Trunks. The boy appeared to be finished with his father, and refused to share in Bulma's hope or attempts to make Vegeta more…Vegeta-like. He was taking all his fury at the situation out on the victim himself, and Bulma, defending her husband, was collateral damage.

There had been no getting through to him, and in the end Bulma had grounded him for a week for cursing and disrespect. Not that the boy had cared. And really, she had no way to enforce it with Vegeta uninterested by the situation.

She was just discussing things with her parasite, thinking herself a madwoman but not bothered about it, when the doorbell rang.

Grunting with effort, she was up and heading for the door, not wondering who it could be because she assumed it was Krillen. He visited at least once a week, often with cupcakes, biscuits or other delights prepared by his daughter. Perhaps she was going to become a chef?

Sure enough, she opened the door to reveal her diminutive friend, baring more culinary goods to distract her from her worries.

"Hey Bulma," he greeted as she stepped back, allowing him to enter, "Biscuits today."

"Oohh…what flavour?"

"Chocolate chip," he chirped, setting them down on the kitchen table as she prepared the coffee maker. All a practiced routine by now. Krillen had been her support through this whole crisis, weathering the emotions and tears she had been unwilling to subject her parents to. They were older now, and she really didn't want to make them worry.

"So, how are you?" Krillen brokered the usual question, safe behind a mug of steaming coffee.

"Big," Bulma responded, trying for humour even though her lips felt stretched when she attempted a smile. It made him laugh though, quite heartily, commenting, "You said it, not me!"

"But seriously, Bulma. How are you really?"

"I…I'm just…" how could she put this? How could she tell him all of her fears? She needed to, but it was a struggle to find the words, "Things aren't good right now. I'm out of my depth here, and I don't know what to do."

"So, what's happened between this week and last week to make you this worried?"

"I should have noticed," she conceded, rubbing her forehead, "Should have realised, but everything just boiled over this week and I was helpless to stop it. I feel useless, Krillen, absolutely useless."

"Boiled over? What happened?" Krillen leaned forward in his seat, making her wonder if this was all entertainment for him. But no, that was genuine concern in his eyes. He was eager to hear more for her sake, that was all.

"Trunks."

"Trunks?" Krillen questioned, obviously thinking Vegeta was the main issue, but really, he was no different from the weeks before, although he was, she was happy to admit, now that she was looking, better than the months before.

"Yes, Trunks. I can't control him, Krillen. He takes angsty teenager to a whole new level. Seriously, he threw a plate at Vegeta last night, and swore!"

"Well, it was bound to happen sooner or later. Children learn those words eventually, you know."

"That's not the issue here. He's…I don't know how to describe it. The anger, the resentment. It shocked me. It frightened me. I thought I only had to deal with one problem family member. Now Trunks has thrown his hat into the ring, Vegeta won't deal with it because he's not interested in being a father, and I have another baby on the way and I haven't even organised a baby shower!"

"Is the baby shower really a big problem?" Krillen looked at her oddly.

She sighed, "I really regret not having one for Trunks. And no one else actually knows I'm pregnant."

"You could just tell them," he pointed out, "I don't know that holding a party is the best idea for your family at the moment. Like you said, your boys are both being troublesome and you have enough on your plate."

"But I want to have a party, Krillen," she whined, pouting at him as she snagged a biscuit, "I've got to have a party. Nothing better to take my mind off things. And it might help with Trunks, too. I doubt Vegeta will care, but Trunks might settle down for the baby's sake."

"Maybe," he conceded, "It might work. Or it might blow up in your face. If you haven't told anyone about the baby, I'll wager you haven't let anyone but me know about Vegeta, either. If they come here, you won't be able to keep it a secret. Vegeta's changed from how he used to be, Bulma. They'll notice if he isn't there for his baby's big day."

"He skimped out on my birthday party."

"Bulma, do you really, honestly, need him at your parties?"

"You have a point. I see him everyday. He'd already given me my present and we were going to have a nice dinner together. He didn't actually need to come. But I wanted to nag him. I like nagging him, you know? I miss it. It doesn't work now. Besides," she quirked her lips, "I was hoping for some embarrassing pictures."

"Bulma, you sly dog! But what I mean to say is, has he ever missed one of Trunks' birthday parties?"

"Well, no…" she considered. Not until two months ago, at least. Before, she hadn't even had to nag him into being present, although he had lurked in the shadows like a serial killer planning his next strike.

"Exactly. They'll notice, Bulma. You'll have to tell them. Are you prepared to do that?"

Was she? Was she ready to admit that she had lost her husband? That he had vanished and been replaced by a past version he had long grown out of. Was she prepared for the looks of undisguised pity on their faces, the way they would sneer and mutter to themselves out of earshot about how he never had been good for her? They would judge him, they wouldn't understand him, not if Trunks couldn't. And they would judge her, too, for putting up with it, for continuing to persevere.

For failing him first, because if they realised it was all her fault…

"I don't…I don't know. I don't think they'd understand. A lot of our friends have never really liked Vegeta. They wouldn't be kind to him, or our relationship. I can just imagine what Yamcha would say…They would condemn him, Krillen. I don't want anyone else blaming my husband. Trunks is enough. And if he can't forgive his own father, then how can I expect anyone else to understand?"

"Maybe just a small gathering, then?" Krillen suggested, "Just a small group of people you feel wouldn't judge you, or him."

"That doesn't sound too bad," Bulma considered, "but who would you suggest?"

"Oh, Gohan's a shoe-in. That kid (although I suppose he's not a kid anymore is he?) is super forgiving. And he likes Vegeta, liked him even when he was being his stubborn, hostile self. He might even spend some time with him. Vegeta hasn't had much of a social life lately, has he?"

Bulma barked out a laugh, "Krillen, Vegeta has never had a social life! I've tried to get him out of the house over the years but he adamantly refuses. But if Gohan can get him to talk, break him out of his shell a little, that'd be good. Okay, who else?"

Krillen scratched his head, trying to think. Who else was kind, thoughtful and forgiving, but also close to Bulma? She didn't really know Dende well, and Krillen wasn't sure about Piccolo. Tien and Chiaotsu were probably out as well. He didn't think they would do well with a reverted Vegeta. Yamcha was a definite 'no', not with his history. Who did that leave? Not Chichi, certainly not Chichi. Goten should probably be invited, though, if only to keep Trunks occupied. But other adults? Krillen had to admit he was stumped.

"All I can think of is Goten. He won't be bothered by Vegeta's attitude, and he could help with Trunks."

"He came to see me last time he visited, it must have been last fortnight. He asked me what was wrong with Trunks, but…I couldn't tell him what had happened to his Uncle Vegeta. Not to that adorable face. But yes, I'll invite him as well, for Trunks if nothing else."

"Have you got any girlfriends that I haven't met or…?"

Bulma gave him a pitying smile, "No, Krillen. It's just you guys."

"Well, that's…three I guess. Gohan, Goten and I, plus your family. Not a big party but under the circumstances…"

"It's all right. Sometimes less is more, you know? You get to really catch up with people, instead of walking the room. I think it's just what I need."

Krillen nodded decisively, taking out the calendar on his phone.

"Okay, dates…"

Vegeta wasn't sure why the boy's, and the woman's, feelings were affecting him so. Even days after the boy's disrespectful spat, Trunks' words were echoing through Vegeta's mind as he trained, spurring him towards harsher training conditions, and greater heights.

He supposed it was useful for that, but the mere concept bothered him. Why did he care? He should not care. Saiyans weren't parental. Vegeta was a saiyan. Now that he had his priorities straight, he should be focused on training and fighting alone, nothing familial. And yet…

And yet, there was a pain in his chest that wasn't from his struggling diaphragm whenever he remembered Trunks' words. Whenever he remembered that Trunks' didn't consider him as a father, that he didn't want him as a father.

Vegeta shouldn't have wanted to be a father, in turn. So why did his thoughts keep turning to his son?

He wishes you weren't his father!

Vegeta shook himself, preferring the voices calling him weak, Kakarot's voice when he had said he was stronger. For some reason, that declaration was more painful.

He punched up the gravity by 20Gs, kissing the floor for a moment before managing to raise himself. Performing yet another 100 push-ups, Vegeta considered his predicament, letting his mind wander in a way he was not able to when practicing with the drones.

In a way he really shouldn't be allowing. Suck distraction, such weakness.

But he needed to solve this.

Trunks…why did he care what Trunks thought? Why did he care what Bulma thought, too, come to think of it? He had been quick to defend himself from her when her face had twisted in accusation. He had meant what he said, though. He hadn't appreciated her suspicion, or her contempt, even though it shouldn't matter to him. And the property conversation was an old wound, a scab that both of them kept picking at even though they knew it would bleed.

Why did Bulma matter? She shouldn't. She had served her purpose to him, borne him a child with another on the way. The heir and the spare. His need to interact with her was over, so why had he felt…elated…when she had taken the time out of her day to visit him?

Why did he enjoy just seeing her face on that large screen, even before they started arguing? It was perfectly acceptable for a saiyan to enjoy a good fight, verbal or physical, but to take pleasure in her features alone? That was not normal. It stank of bonds, of feelings. Feelings a saiyan, from a species built on violence and war, could ill afford. Death was a constant companion for saiyans – a race of soldiers they could not afford to grow too close to others and therefore be compromised in the event of a death. They also had to be prepared to sacrifice other saiyans, other saiyan units, for the sake of victory. That would not be possible if saiyans cared about others more than the cause, more than the fight.

So distance was instituted as a social policy, closeness discouraged with a few select executions and saiyans who bonded or expressed feelings for others were ostracised.

Vegeta was the saiyan prince. He should be exhibiting the saiyan culture, preserving it, passing it down intact to his children. And he did want to do that. But this specific aspect of saiyan culture, the coldness, he suddenly felt as if that was okay to leave behind.

That he didn't need to follow it anymore.

But he did, he insisted to himself, argued with himself that he did, because a saiyan didn't care about family.

A saiyan didn't care.

Emotions, apart from rage and hatred, did not belong in a saiyan.

They should be eradicated.

But there had been no success on that front, even though he had been trying for months.

Maybe it was time to give in.

Maybe it was okay to feel things.

…

Maybe he should focus on his training.