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 been at work when he received the news. Bulma in hospital, rushed there the night before in agony. Trunks wasn't sure what the problem was, but it seemed to have been sort out. Now Bulma was resting peacefully beside her new baby girl, who was unaware of all the drama she had caused. Trunks had seemed calmer than he had been in weeks as he spoke, even asking him if he wouldn't mind bringing a little something to decorate the room. Hospital rooms always looked empty, lacking personality and charm. Bulma would need some bright colours and décor to cheer her up after such a crisis.

Krillen hadn't been able to get away until his lunch break, and he decided that he would buy a little something at the hospital gift shop. Making sure he had a pen in his pocket, Krillen made his way to the hospital, downing his homemade sandwich as he flew.

He had hoped they would have more time to work with Vegeta, to make him better before the baby arrived. Bulma didn't deserve to have to raise another child on her own. And Vegeta, who'd come so far, become a whole new person, started a new life, would not get to enjoy the fruits of it. It was grossly unfair. It wasn't supposed to be like this, he though. They were supposed to win the tournament, to make Vegeta better, to restore Bulma's family to normal.

How could they have failed?

Upon arriving, Krillen purchased a nice bear with a pink ribbon for the newborn. Probably named Bra, he thought. As if Vegeta would have any say in the name now. And Bulma was naturally stubborn, always determined that her way was right. They would have chosen her suggestion, he was sure of it.

He wondered what the child looked like, if she had developed enough to have features. Saiyans, even half-saiyans, tended to look more distinctive at birth than the average human baby. Would she have her mother's hair, that ocean blue, or a spiky black do? Bulma's features had won the genetics contest for Trunks, except his heavy set brow. Perhaps the girl would look more like Vegeta?

That would be weird.

Krillen reached the room number the polite lady at the front door had indicated, and pulled out the card he had bought, leaning against the wall. He was sure Bulma was still sleeping, but he didn't feel it was appropriate to write on her card at her bed side. It seemed rude to enter not fully prepared.

But what should he write?

Dear Bulma,

He paused, tapping the pen against his lips as he thought. What could you say to a woman in this harrowing situation, a woman who was effectively single, but married, caring for two children, now, while battling with a distant husband?

Congratulations!

What more could he say?

May your new bundle of joy shine a light in the darkness and bring you profound happiness in this difficult time.

Gosh, it sounded as if someone had died.

It must have felt like that to Bulma, some days.

Love, Krillen.

It was the best he could think of; not much, but he wasn't a poet.

He tucked the card back in its envelop and turned to the door, reaching out with his senses. No one inside. Not that he had expected anyone to be. It was the middle of the day, and Bulma's parents had already been up. Anyone else would probably be over later, after they had finished work.

But he had hoped…

He had, honestly and stupidly, hoped to sense Vegeta in there. Because there was nothing like his wife being in trouble to bring about changes in him. He just couldn't imagine Vegeta turning his back on a hospitalised Bulma, no matter his attitude over the past nine months.

He had thought, like some kind of fairy-tale, the whole situation, Bulma's crisis, the birth of his second child, would awaken something dormant within the saiyan, driving him to his ailing wife's bedside.

That would have been a better ending. But life didn't work like that.

Sighing softly, Krillen let himself into the room, noting an odd, bright lamp in the cor—

That wasn't a lamp.

"H—hi Vegeta!" he stuttered, raising one hand, realising the other was wrapped around an adorable stuffed bear. Fantastic.

"Krillen," he acknowledged, eyes not leaving the prone figure on the bed.

"Bulma," Krillen whispered, following her husband's gaze, taking in the exhausted face, the oily hair, the various tubes and instruments.

The tiny bundle of blankets beside her, breathing softly.

"Oh, hello, little one," he commented, moving forward, "Aren't you sweet? I brought a gift for you." He placed the bear and card on the bedside table, next to a vase of fresh flowers. Another vase stood on the window sill, shining a dazzling pink in the noon sun.

Krillen pulled over the only chair, sitting down on the squeaking, hard plastic. These things were never comfortable; it was almost as if the hospital didn't want visitors.

"So…" he began, looking uncertainly at the sentinel by the window.

Vegeta was standing in his usual position, arms folded and muscles tensed, as if waiting for a strike. He was dressed in training clothes, which wasn't unexpected really, although they did look out of place in the hospital room.

But the most noticeable thing about him was the blazing blue aura around him, like he had captured the daytime sky. His hair was a brilliant cerulean, similar to his sleeping wife's, and, Krillen noted, his new daughter's.

It seemed she hadn't inherited much from her father, after all, which was a real shame, Krillen thought. There weren't many saiyans left.

"…why are you in super saiyan blue form?"

Because that was just odd. Was he really that desperate to avoid detection?

"What do you know about this form?" Vegeta asked instead, sounding almost reasonable. There was something off here, Krillen could tell. Had his fairy-tale ending come through after all?

"Erm…your hair is blue."

"Well spotted," Vegeta replied sarcastically, "This form, unlike the super saiyan transformation, incites feelings of calmness and tranquillity."

"…And?"

Vegeta frowned at him, "Do I need to spell it out for you? This transformation calms the rage within me, restoring my thoughts and feelings to how they should be. The Darkness is overwhelmed in this form."

Krillen's eyes bugged, "You mean you're…normal?"

"For the moment. This is only temporary. Soon I will run out of energy and revert back to my usual coldness. But for now, I am here."

"Huh." Krillen wasn't sure what to say, "So, you can just go back to normal now, for a while?"

"I doubt it," Vegeta replied, "My whole intent on making this transformation was to control these feelings. I viewed them as a weakness. I abandoned my training to come here, something my…other self would not tolerate. I am not sure he will try to form again, outside of battle."

"Oh." Well, that wasn't good. There had been a spark of hope, for a moment. For just a few short seconds, Krillen had thought they might get somewhere, might help Bulma out, might sort out the problem with Trunks.

"Still, you have right now, at least," Krillen said, "Have you held the baby? Bulma would love a photo of that. I can take one, if you'd like?"

"I cannot." He replied shortly, looking out of the window, almost…embarrassed.

"Oh, come on, Vegeta. It's not that bad. Give it a go, I can show you how."

"It's not that!" he protested, "I…cannot control my aura. I might burn her."

"Ah," That was a problem. A good thing Vegeta had thought of that, too.

"Say…does she have a name yet?" Krillen asked.

"Nothing will be official until Bulma wakes. But I was hoping…" he trailed off, staring out at the sky, as if searching for something far away, "On my planet, it was customary for a saiyan to have three names."

"Oh, some places here do that too," Krillen commented, "So, you want to give her a middle name?"

"Yes…I thought it would be a good compromise. Bulma wants to name her 'Bra'. I would like to give her the name Parsnyppe. What do you think of Bra Parsnyppe Briefs?"

"Me? It's fine, I guess," It had to be one of the weirdest names he had ever heard, the poor tyke, but he wasn't about to say that to Vegeta, even if he was calmer than he had been.

"Bra Parsnyppe Briefs," Krillen muttered, staring down at the ray of sunshine sleeping beside Bulma. It reminded him of Marron at that early age, so small, so precious. Gosh, how fondly he remembered those days, with his beautiful wife, his wonderful new child. Unable to believe his luck. He smiled as recalled those days, so filled with happiness. And crying. Lots of crying.

"Well, there's one positive, I suppose," Krillen commented.

"What positive?"

"Bulma won't be expecting you to change the baby," he laughed.

"How can you joke at a time like this?" Vegeta yelled back, "Have you not seen her? She has been crying! Crying! I have made her cry!"

"Hey, hey, just trying to add a little humour to the situation."

"Besides," Vegeta grumbled, voice a little hesitant, "Why would I want to change the baby? She's fine as she is."

Krillen blinked at him, silent for a moment, before letting out a roar of laughter. It wasn't proper, laughing at something like that. Vegeta was an alien, after all, he must struggle with some Earth phrases, but the tension had just been so much lately and Krillen needed a good laugh.

"What?!"

"Nappies, Vegeta," Krillen gasped, "You won't need to change her nappies."

"Nappies..." Vegeta considered, scratching his chin, "I heard about those…I just don't understand why you humans need them. Aren't children born toilet-trained?"

"…no, Vegeta," Krillen was suddenly jealous of the saiyans, whose children seemed to develop much faster than humans. It would have been good to skip that hurdle.

The two fell into a companionable silence after that, both pairs of eyes gravitating to the figure on the bed, and her tiny gift to the world.

Until Vegeta spoke up.

"Krillen, I…" he struggled to find the words, sweat beading at his brow and a blush drifting over his cheeks. Krillen's ears perked up, thinking this should be good. "Thank you…for all your help. For taking care of her."

"Hey, no problem. That's what friends do."

"Friends…" he muttered, "I do appreciate it." The saiyan picked at his gloves, frowning. There was something else, then.

"I have a favour to ask."

"A favour?" Krillen questioned, brows raised, "What do you need?"

The prince gestured to Krillen's pockets.

"Your phone. Does it have a recording function?"

"Yes…?"

"I would like to use it. To record something. For Bulma. And Trunks as well. A message." Broken sentences conveyed just how often Vegeta did this sort of thing.

"You don't think you can hold out until she wakes up?"

"No." Vegeta said, voice laden with sadness, and fatigue, "I won't last much longer. It drains more energy than it used to, probably because it is such an effort to be calm, now."

"Okay…just let me…" Krillen pulled out his phone, fiddling with the buttons to find the right setting, "Yep. All ready. Start in three. Three, two, one…"

"Wait! I want it to be private."

"Vegeta…you were worried about burning your child."

Vegeta just snorted. "I know that model of phone. My wife designed it. It will be fine, trust me."

Bulma sighed deeply, breathing in musty smells as she woke in an unfamiliar bed. The pain which had enveloped her until she had mercifully lost consciousness, under the influence of sedation, had left, a feeling of numbness in its wake. Her whole body felt heavy, sluggish as she tried to make it respond.

Opening her leaden eyelids, Bulma took in a bright room, afternoon sunlight filtering through an open window, a vase of bright pink flowers fluttering in the breeze.

Pink.

Looking around, Bulma noticed an assortment of pink flowers, cards with pink motifs, a box of chocolates and a stuffed bear. All in various shades of pink.

It must be a girl, then. And she must have pulled through, despite the pain Bulma had felt at the time, telling her that something was terribly wrong with her. With her pregnancy.

Looking down at her arm, Bulma finally caught sight of the little treasure. Bundled up in small, white blankets, the same as Bulma's sheets, she almost missed her.

Little Bra. That would be her name. It suited her, so tiny, so priceless, a vulnerable, pale face beneath a crest of blue hair, just like her mother's.

Bulma was disappointed not to see a hint of Vegeta in their shared creation. She wanted a reminder of him, of the person he had been. She wanted something that would tell the girl, as she grew, that yes, Vegeta was definitely her daddy.

Because Bulma wasn't sure how long it would take for him to come back to her, or if he ever would.

How he had looked at her, so dispassionate, so distant, so apathetic. As if he did not care at all about her, or about their child. He had demonstrated that multiple times with Trunks, and yet she had still hoped an emergency might awaken feelings within him, pulling her husband to the fore.

But he wasn't there when she woke, like she had hoped in the secret depths of her heart. And she knew that none of the gifts would be from him – presents were something alien to him, and he had taken a while to adjust to the usual gift-giving occasions. He wouldn't know that it was expected at a birth.

So there was no sign of the father in her room, on her baby's first day (she thought it must have only been the next day) of life. Not his presence, not in the gifts, not in her Bra's little face.

Nowhere.

Bulma let out another sigh, cursing the wires and cords still plugged into her arms as she brushed her baby's hair.

"Hello, Bra Briefs," she whispered, careful not to wake the sleeping dragon, "Welcome to the world. Your Daddy might not be here right now, but your Mummy is, and she's going to take care of you. She's going to give you all the love of both parents to make up for missing your Daddy. Your Daddy's sick, little one…and I don't know," she sniffled inelegantly, "I don't know if he'll ever get better. But that's…that's okay. I'll tell you all about how he used to be. And you'll still see him. You'll never know him as he was so maybe it will be easier for you."

She wasn't sure whether she should be happy or sad for that little fact. You couldn't miss what you have never had, could you?

You could, actually.

Leaning down, she gave her new ray of sunshine a light kiss on the forehead, and reached for her phone, resting on the bedside table. She knew there would be no good programming on the hospital televisions, and her baby needed her rest anyway. Or, at least, Bulma needed her baby to rest, because she didn't think she could take the shrieking at that moment. There was a slight pressure building behind her eyelids.

Congratulatory messages from her friends filled her message bank. Chichi, Gohan, Master Roshi, Tien, Yamcha, Krillen.

Krillen's was odd.

There was a video attached to it.

Hi Bulma. I came around earlier to see you, but you were sleeping. Congratulations on the tiny beauty. She was sleeping soundly when I arrived. Not a peep from her, but I'm sure she'll be a little terror on your ear drums soon.

You weren't alone with the baby when I came to see you, though. Your other visitor wanted to leave you a message, which I recorded for you.

I hope it makes you happy, rather than sad. It was a bit of a gamble, but he wanted to speak to you. I haven't watched it, I swear so…good luck.

Hmm…that was odd. Trunks, maybe? It couldn't be

She tapped on the video, a frozen image appearing as it loaded.

Vegeta.

Hair looking like a cooking stove with its flame shape and blue colour, power wrapped around him in a comforting embrace. It was obviously filmed in front of the wall of the hospital room, just next to the window.

He had been here. He had visited her and her child. But he hadn't remained for her to wake.

"Bulma," the video started, Vegeta's powerful voice sending shivers down her spine, "I want you to know that I'm sorry. For all the pain I have caused you, for not being there when you needed me. I wish that things could have been different, that this had never happened.

I wish I had been strong enough to come through for you, both in terms of my mental state, and in terms of the tournament. I wanted to use the super dragon balls to fix things, to come back to you, but I was too weak, like always.

But Bulma, you have never blamed me for my weakness, never accused me as was your right whenever I lost. You have forgiven all of my many mistakes. Please. It's disheartening to see you failing to extend the same courtesy to yourself. This isn't your fault, Bulma. No matter what happens, no matter if I am never the same again. This. Is. Not. Your. Fault," his irises were on fire, "No one blames you, I especially do not blame you. Please, drop the guilt from your eyes."

She hiccupped, wondering that he had noticed her remorse even as he remained aloof from them.

"Bulma, I'm sorry that I don't have long, that I must tell you everything I want to say, even though there are surely things I will forget, in a recording."

He looked so downcast, so beaten.

"Bulma, I am only speaking to you like this now because of the transformation. It calms the rage within me, restores my usual thought patterns and feelings. Once it runs out things will return to how they were, no matter how much I wish it were not so. I doubt my other self will consent to such behaviour, so he will probably avoid this form.

This may be my only opportunity to say this, perhaps for eternity.

I love you, Bulma. More than anything else in the universe."

He had vocalised those feelings so very rarely. In fact, she couldn't remember another time that was not their wedding.

"This whole situation has not, cannot, quench that love. My other self still feels it, though he wishes he didn't. He doesn't know what to do about it, tries to avoid it but it is still there.

There is a saying on this planet, though, and I hope you take no offence to it, but, 'if you love something, you must be prepared to let it go' is a common phrase, is it not? Bulma, I love you, and I will let you go if that is what you wish. You have my permission to find someone else to fill your home, if you so desire."

"How dare you even suggest it!" Bulma screamed at the image, knowing he couldn't hear her, that these words had been spoken hours before, but not caring in the slightest. Her new baby whimpered, but thankfully didn't wake. Bulma settled the little bundle on her thighs and continued to watch, idly stroking the miniature tuft of hair.

"There is one thing I wanted to ask you, about the child. It is entirely your decision, given how absent I am likely to be in her life but…I was hoping you might consider giving her the name 'Parsnyppe' as a middle name. Having three names was traditional among my people, even if the middle was predetermined by ritual. It would mean a lot to me, if you were to agree to name her that.

And speaking of little Bra, which I am sure will be her first name,"

Bulma was tempted to give her Parsnyppe as a first name just to spite him, but no, she would go with the original plan.

"I wanted to leave her with a message, in case I am never in a fit state to say anything pleasant to her ever again."

He had to be. He just had to be. Bulma's hope waxed and waned like the moon but she couldn't give up, not entirely. Vegeta had said that his other self still cared for her. There had to be a chance.

"Bra, I love you too, even though I have only just set eyes on you for the first time. I have loved you since you were just an idea in your parent's heads. I am sorry that I won't be able to be the father you deserve. I'm sorry in advance if I ever hurt you. I'm so sorry, and I wish things could be different, but you will learn, as you walk upon the path of life, that you will not always have a happy ending. That tragedy happens. It is unfortunate, but we must keep going. I wish you the best of luck, and all sorts of bliss, on your journey through life."

He paused, taking a deep breath. Looking down at his hands, as if unable to look at the camera. For shame.

"Trunks." He said softly, but she had been expecting it, "My son, I must apologise to you too. Please know that, while I do not regret my decision to sacrifice myself for all of your sakes, I do regret the outcome. I am sorry for snapping at you, for dismissing you, for insulting you. I hope you can find it within yourself to forgive me, but if not, I understand."

He might understand, but Bulma wouldn't tolerate the continued hostility. Especially not after her husband had apologised. It had to end. They were a family. They had more important things to worry about than the ongoing antagonism between father and son. Like a new baby.

"Thank you for putting aside your feelings to help your mother. I appreciate the assistance and care you have rendered to her over the last few months. If you have any respect for me left, then I must ask you to continue. Your mother will need a lot of help recovering from her pregnancy with another baby to care for. Please don't let her down.

That is all.

Goodbye."