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 couldn't look Bulma in the eye when they returned. Couldn't admit their failure. She looked so hopeful, regarding them with an open expression as they returned. He supposed his face must have said it all, and if that didn't tip her off, then Vegeta disappearing the moment they touched down would have.
Poor Bulma.
"Bulma, we're really sorry…" Krillen began, not able to voice it. To tell her the truth she must have realised in seconds.
"Really, really sorry," Goku continued, rubbing the back of his head in that infuriating way.
They were all downcast, solemn as they looked at that crashing face, the light fading from her brilliant blue eyes.
And she wept.
Krillen was by her side in an instant, shepherding her into the comfort of her own home as the tears kept falling. She tried to wipe them away, tried to speak to him but the words wouldn't come, choked back in her throat.
"Hey, hey!" Goku tried, "We can always try again when the dragon balls re-charge."
"If you can beat Lord Champa to them," Whis commented, making Krillen pale. He did not want to have to go up against a God of Destruction. He shivered as he opened the door for Bulma, like a gentleman.
Gohan and Goku followed them inside, the rest heading home, not really knowing what to do with a distraught Bulma. 18 wished him luck before departing, and said something about a debt still outstanding.
He was going to get that story out of her one day. But for now, Bulma was his priority.
She hadn't given birth while they were gone, which was a big plus in Krillen's mind. But she was still crying, which was not good. Gohan, quick-thinking and intelligent Gohan hurried in from the kitchen with a glass of water as Krillen had the sobbing woman settled on her couch.
The couch which faced a prominent photo of her wedding day.
Okay, maybe not the best move, but it was too late now.
"Bulma?" he asked, rubbing gentle circles on her back as the sniffles subsided.
"I'm sorry," she whimpered, "I just…lost it, I guess."
"It's okay. We understand."
"Vegeta…" she whispered, "He's gone off to train, hasn't he?"
Krillen nodded, not sure what she was getting at.
"He didn't even make sure I was all right."
Oh. No, he hadn't, but had she really expected him to? This Vegeta didn't care.
"Oh, Bulma," Goku broke in, and with his typical insensitivity continued, "You should have seen Vegeta fight! He was brilliant! Got super saiyan blue back!"
Bulma smiled weakly. "That's wonderful, Goku. I'm sure he'll be very pleased."
"Hey!"
Krillen looked up, startled that he had missed Trunks coming into the room. The boy was dressed in typical teenage attire, looking rather intimidating with the inherited scowl on his face. Hands shoved in his pockets, he confronted them.
"What have you done to Mum?"
"We haven't done anything," Krillen protested, hands up in a pacifying gesture.
"Oh really? Then why is she crying?"
"I'm sorry, Trunks," Bulma apologised, "Goku and the others were in a tournament, where the winner got to wish on the super dragon balls. We were going to fix your father."
"Hmph," Trunks sneered, "You need to get over worrying about Dad. Leave him be."
"Trunks! How can you say that?"
"Because he chose this! He chose to be like this! To give us up again! I can't forgive him for that."
"This is different, Trunks," Bulma objected, "If you want to blame anyone for this situation, then blame me. Not your father."
"What? How is any of this your fault?"
Bulma looked down at her folded hands, obviously unable to disclose to Trunks what she had to Krillen. He was worried that she was still thinking like this, though.
"Because it just is…" she whispered.
"All right, you three." Trunks growled, "You've done enough. I'll handle this."
"But Trunks-"
"You failed my mother. And if I cared about Dad, then I'd say you failed him too. Now get out."
It was a sharp, slicing pain which woke Bulma in the middle of the night. A torrential pain which swept through her abdomen, creating a deep sense of nausea in her throat. Clutching at her stomach, she rolled out of bed, cursing the early hour and the small amount of light her sleeping devices gave off. Tripping over a lead, she toppled to the floor, swearing loudly as she landed heavily. Fumbling for her phone on the bedside table, she eventually managed to find it and turned on the torch application.
The pain worsened suddenly, sending Bulma to the floor again, a moaning heap rubbing her aching belly. Something was wrong, she knew it. Something was terribly wrong.
They shouldn't have tried for another, not at her age.
She shouldn't have listened to him, should have followed her head rather than her heart.
"Trunks!" she bellowed, the action causing her to dry heave as another wave of agony wrenched through her.
As she tried to find a more comfortable position, writhing on the floor like a worm, the door slammed open and her son rushed in.
Her hero.
Because her usual hero wasn't really there. Although he had probably woken up from all the noise.
"Please", she gasped, moaning all the way, "Ambulance."
He didn't need to be told twice, snatching up the fallen phone and dialling urgently.
She didn't really notice what he was saying to the person on the other end. Explaining their address or some such, telling them about her condition.
It didn't matter because she was in too much pain to notice, too much pain to do anything, too much pain to think. Hands wrapped tightly around herself, Bulma's legs moved as if she was riding a bicycle while horizontal, trying to distract her from the all-consuming agony.
"They'll be here soon, Mum. Just try to relax."
As if she could possibly relax, when she felt as if her insides had been sliced open with a knife. As if she could relax, when she didn't know what was going on with the baby.
It was supposed to be idyllic. A new baby for a new chapter in their lives. Where had everything gone so wrong?
"Wrraaaagh!"
Eyes squeezed shut, she heard the door opening, wondering for a moment how the ambulance had arrived so quickly, before a familiar voice asked
"What's wrong with the woman?"
Trunks, oh wonderful, supportive Trunks, did not unleash any of the anger he had been exhibiting these past few months. Just told Vegeta, quite politely considering, to leave them alone.
She was disappointed when he did just that.
"Everything will be okay, Mum. Everything's going to be fine."
"The…the baby!" she gasped, before letting out a scream. She had been so looking forward to it. Their second, and definitely last, child. It would be her new project, to distract her from Vegeta's intransience.
The pain kept getting worse, until Bulma struggled to even breathe, her exhalations a string of moans as she writhed in Trunk's arms. Thoughts were clouded by the pain, distancing her from everything, from reality.
Trunks was strong, secure, offering her a place to let the pain take her. But he wasn't who she wanted. Who she needed. She needed her husband, was desperate for his voice, his hands, the gentle caresses she knew he was capable of.
"Vegeta!" she sobbed, "Help me!"
"Vegeta-a-a-a!"
He appeared once more in the room, in answer to her desperate summons as the paramedics entered. But he merely looked down on her, dispassionate face set, no hint of interest, of concern. Nothing. Just a stubborn, set jaw and solid, black eyes.
Tears ran down her cheeks with abandon as the paramedics helped her onto a stretcher. But even as they wheeled her from the room she couldn't look away from him.
Those apathetic eyes haunted her as she lost herself to the pain.
Trunk's leg jigged up and down as he sat in the waiting room, well, waiting. Waiting for news on his mother, who had been taken into theatre and had not returned. Nurses and doctors bustled around, other visitors meandered in, and patients shuffled by as Trunks took in his surroundings. Walls half blue, half white reminded him of the woman he was here for. His poor mother, who had been through so much, from her husband, from the pregnancy, and from Trunks himself.
He regretted how he had behaved with her, taking his anger out on his innocent mother. And she was innocent, no matter what she said. All this was most definitely his father's fault. Trunks didn't want anything more to do with the man, especially not with the way he had looked at his suffering mother.
No, he thought determinedly, that ship had sailed.
He wondered what had gone wrong, how the operation was going, how his mother was doing. How the baby was doing.
Gosh, if everything went well, he was going to be a big brother. He hadn't really thought about that. Only now, when they could lose the baby, did he truly realise the magnitude of what was happening. Another life was going to be added to their family, almost a replacement for the one they had lost. Girl, or boy? He wondered. He wasn't sure which would be preferable. He used to think girls were disgusting, unhygienic, and to be avoided. Now, though. Now he wouldn't mind a little sister.
A doctor was coming towards him, eyes fixed on his seated form, definitely seeking him out. He sat up straighter, trying to look more mature than his years as the doctor approached.
"Hello, you are Ms Bulma Brief's son, correct?"
"Yes, sir," he replied, wiping his sweating palms on his shirt. What was the doctor going to say?
"No need to be worried, my boy," he said affably, "Your mother and your little sister are going to be fine."
"Little sister?"
"That's right. A healthy baby girl of 5 pounds 11 ounces."
The weight meant nothing to Trunks, but he was relieved to hear she was healthy.
"They are both sleeping, but you can visit for a little while if you want. Don't touch either of them, though. Just a precaution." He added, as the worry rang clear on Trunk's face.
He followed the doctor down a long corridor, passing room upon room, most of them with their doors shut, but occasionally one was open, showing Trunks scenes he wasn't used to. Scenes of injury, of illness, of a long recovery. Pictures of people hooked up to machines, some more than others.
It reminded him painfully of his father, back in the days where he had cared about the man. When he had been bedridden, and similarly attached to various instruments monitoring his condition and feeding him fluids.
But his father was a sore point for Trunks, and he skirted around that thought, pushing it aside with effort. No more thinking about him. This was his mother's moment. His little sister's first day of life.
And her father would miss it.
No! He told himself firmly, pulling himself back to the present, where the doctor was gesturing inside a room.
A room in which his mother lay among pristine white sheets. She looked almost as pale as her surroundings, hair splayed out on the pillow. He could hear her quiet, regular breathing as he approached, noting with a jolt that she had a tube plugged into her nose, supplying her with oxygen. A few more wires and tubes disappeared amongst the blankets, which hid whatever had happened to her. A couple of machines waited patiently by her bedside, displaying information which meant nothing to Trunks. Whatever it was must have been fine, though, because the doctor didn't look worried. Just gave him a small smile and left him alone with his resting mother.
"Hey Mum," he whispered.
Then he noticed a small bundle at her side, so small he had almost missed it. Just a roll of white material and…
A wisp of blue hair.
His baby sister.
Gosh, she was so tiny. So vulnerable. And with a face like a bruised potato, she did not look in the least bit cute.
Still, he could hardly take his eyes off her, this little miracle, this new life.
He wondered what his mother wanted to name her.
"Hey there, kid," he said, stopping himself short as he reached out to touch her. That wasn't allowed. But he could look, and look he did, at his mother's sleeping form, at his new baby sister.
Just looked.
It was all he could do as the machine by his mother's bedside occasionally made a musical chime, meaning who knew what.
Early morning sun was peaking in through the window, from which he could see the business district. Hover cars trundled by, people went on with their lives, when unbeknownst to them a massive change had happened to Trunks' family.
A few massive changes.
But these people, who he could see out the window, were strangers. He was fascinated by the thought of their lives, completely separate from his own.
"So, Mum," he said quietly, the silence oppressive and dampening his vocal chords. She probably needed the rest, "Congratulations."
He should have bought a bouquet from the little gift shop, and maybe a small teddy bear. The selection had been impressive, but without knowing if either one would pull through, it seemed inappropriate to purchase one. Now, though, he thought she should wake up to an array of presents lining the window sill. That ought to cheer her up, because he didn't think she would be feeling very well when she woke, not after what she had been through.
Trunks pulled out his mobile, checking through the numbers to amass a wonderful collection of gifts from his mother's friends, when his finger landed on his home phone.
Oh gosh, his grandparents. They lived in a granny flat on the property, and probably hadn't heard a thing. They wouldn't know their daughter was in hospital, would have no idea they had a new granddaughter.
Biting his lip, he dialled the number, tapping idly on his leg as it rung.
"Hello, Panchy speaking!" Always so bright and chirpy, that woman. And she was about to receive some more exciting news.
"Hi Grandma. Um…Mum was taken to the hospital last night." Why hadn't he thought to call earlier?
"Oh, goodness!" He could hear the distress in her voice, and immediately tried to calm her.
"It's okay, Grandma, she's fine! But the baby's been born!"
"Oh, how wonderful."
"It's a girl. 5 pounds 11 ounces, if that means anything to you."
"What room is she in?"
"Um…" he hadn't thought to check. The doctor had probably said but he wasn't really listening to all that medical mumbo jumbo, had just been focusing on seeing his mother.
"It's all right, dear. We'll ask at the front desk. Oh, how exciting! I have to tell your grandfather! Such wonderful news! A granddaughter!"
He hoped that didn't mean she had been disappointed when his gender had been revealed.
"By the way, dear. Shouldn't you be in class? Your mother will never let me hear the end of it if I let you skive off."
"What? Class, at a time like this?"
"Your education is very important, young man. Especially to your mother. You don't want her to be disappointed, do you?"
"Well, no, but…"
"Don't worry about Bulma. Didn't the doctor's say she was fine? And your grandfather and I will be up there in a jiffy. So hop to it!"
Grumbling, he hung up on Panchy, tapping his phone as he considered his options. He couldn't disobey his grandmother. Well, he could, but he didn't want to be in any more trouble with his mother, she was still mad at him for snubbing his father.
He decided he would purchase a gift to leave with her and contact her friends to tell them the news.