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.
It was late when Bulma finally managed to drag herself out of bed, still half asleep as she put the wrong foot in each slipper and had to start again. Not even bothering to sort out her surely dreadful bed-head, Bulma donned her robe, taking a quick look at the baby monitor before swiping it up and placing it in the pocket beside her phone.
She should make a baby monitor application. She hadn't thought about doing that before, but she was sure the demand would be there. Her company was involved in all sorts of technological products, including applications. She liked to branch out into new frontiers, just like her husband.
Her husband…he had been acting oddly since their late-night interaction. Giving her strange looks throughout meal-times, piercing eyes landing on and assessing Trunks. She wondered what he was thinking, what he was feeling. She wondered how she could help him, but she didn't want to drive him away. She could easily put a foot wrong, just like in her sleepers, in this uncertain dance they were performing.
Dancing around being a family.
She had seen him a few more times, hanging around in the nursery late at night, or early in the morning rather.
She wondered if he was sleeping there. She hoped not, but she hoped he was at least sleeping, he needed a good amount of rest with all that difficult training he did.
But a selfish part of her would be glad if he was being kept awake just like she was. If she wasn't getting enough rest, then her partner in procreation should be either.
Shuffling into the kitchen, Bulma headed straight for the coffee machine, ignoring the plates of food in the warmer.
Coffee was what she needed, what would re-start her befuddled brain.
Taking a sip of the scolding liquid, Bulma gazed out the window at her husband's gravity chamber, taking in the blood-red glow in the windows. She had to admit she was jealous of him, returning to 'work' so quickly after the birth, while she meandered around the house exhausted and hypnotised by the tiny baby she had produced. Her hormones kept calling to her, urging her to seek out her baby even when the little one was peacefully sleeping. She would have liked to get started on her new idea, but her body had other plans.
Taking out a plate of pancakes and scrambled eggs, Bulma plonked herself at the table, remembering belatedly to retrieve a knife and fork.
Huh, she thought, realising that there was far too much food left in the warmer for her alone. Enough for a saiyan.
Had Vegeta skipped breakfast that morning in favour of training, for whatever reason, or did the fault lie with Trunks. Was he still not up yet?
She decided to leave the matter until after she finished her portion, content to eat and sip at her energy-inducing coffee. That really hit the spot.
Feeling the coffee and food re-vitalise her, Bulma allowed herself a moment to stretch and yawn, trying to exhale the last few days of interrupted nights. Gosh, she was tired, even with the coffee re-starting her system. Babies were exhausting work, made even worse by having to chase after a teenage son and an emotionally affected husband.
She thought he was doing better, though, all things considered. He treated her with more respect, engaged more with a recalcitrant Trunks at meals, and of course he was spending more time with Bra, even if he wasn't interacting with her. Bulma would have to change that. She needed to convince him to actually talk to her, hold her, and maybe even read to her.
As she considered the possibilities, the tired woman made her way upstairs, a re-filled cup of coffee in her hands, warming up her cold fingers.
"Trunks!" she called out, banging on his door and waiting for a response. When none came, she tried the handle, and finding it unlocked, peered inside.
Trunks' room was a pig-sty, piles of clothing heaped everywhere, shoes thrown around the place and books splattered over the carpet. Unfortunately not a trait she could blame her husband for, but even she wasn't this bad, granted though she did struggle to find things in her lab sometimes.
But Trunks wasn't present among the mess, which meant the culprit of the remaining breakfast was her husband.
Growling, Bulma made an about turn, heading for her lab and the computer which could connect to her Vegeta's intercom. She had to admit she was feeling more than slightly vexed at this behaviour. They had an agreement, after all, and she had thought he was doing better. To discover he had relapsed into being a training-addicted maniac was a hard pill to swallow, and she thought it had gone down the wrong way.
She shouldn't have to pester him to take care of himself like she would a child – he was a grown man!
Switching on the computer, she placed her coffee down harder than intended, and took a few spins in her mobile office chair to calm herself. It wouldn't do to start yelling at him right off the bat; she wanted to have a discussion like a civilised married couple.
A moment later the image of Vegeta training popped up before her. He was doing sit-ups, resolutely continuing even though he was facing her, and she knew he could see her.
"Vegeta," she called, voice simmering.
"Hmph. What?" he bit out, clearly uninterested as he repeated his movements.
"I don't appreciate you backing out of our agreement, especially without informing me." She growled, voice sounding a lot like his in his more dangerous moments.
This made him pause, gazing at her with a confused expression, arms still behind his head.
"What are you talking about, woman? I have followed our pact to the letter."
"You didn't eat breakfast this morning," Bulma pointed out, suddenly feeling less certain.
"Yes I did!" Vegeta protested, arms dropping as he placed his hands on either side of his body, "Your accusations have no basis, woman!"
"But…" Bulma floundered, "There was…still food left over in the warmer…"
"Idiot boy," Vegeta mumbled under his breath.
"What was that? Are you referring to Trunks? Did you see him this morning?"
"As a matter of fact I trained with him. But he grew quite obstinate, and words started to fly," Vegeta's eyes found the ceiling, "Mostly from him, since he wouldn't let me speak. He must have left without eating. Such disrespect for food. He has no idea what it's like to go without. He ought to be more grateful."
Bulma was speechless for a moment, because despite all the changes within Vegeta over the past few days, ever since Bra's arrival, in fact, she had not been expecting this. Vegeta, agreeing to train Trunks? To spend time with him again? Bulma should really cover her little baby in kisses, because clearly her presence was a catalyst for major improvements.
"You…trained with Trunks."
"Yes." His reply was short, and forbidding, but she pressed on anyway.
"I take it that it didn't go down well?"
"No, he has deteriorated physically by an unacceptable degree."
"You haven't been training him, honey," she pointed out.
"He is old enough not to need constant supervision, even if I wouldn't leave him alone in the gravity room. He is perfectly capable of basic training outdoors, or even sparring with his outlandish twin."
She figured he must have been referring to Goten, who he had always seen as rather lacking in the brains department, no matter how far he had come as a person since meeting the little Goku-clone.
"But Vegeta, he relies on your approval to continue, that's what encourages him."
"Pah!" Vegeta spat, "he should be intrinsically motivated to push himself higher and further, breaking the boundaries of every physical limitation on his quest to surpass even the greatest warrior. That is what it means to be a saiyan."
"Vegeta…" she began, knowing this was a hazardous subject but pushing forward anyway, "Trunks is only half-saiyan."
He looked away. "I am aware. But some days I wish I could see more of myself in him."
"He has your temper," she tried.
"Ha!" Vegeta laughed, "Hardly! Don't try to pin that one on me, woman. We both know who the supernova is in this household!"
Bulma frowned, contemplating his words. She had never heard that phrase from him before, but she thought she could parse out its meaning.
At least he was considering them all a household.
Though he had probably passed that point months before, so she forced her mind back on the conversation. Back to the interaction between husband and son.
"So, what happened with him?"
Vegeta sighed, returning to his sit-ups as he considered how to answer.
"Like you said…he has quite the temper. He…didn't take too well to my treatment of him—"
"Treatment?" Bulma pressed, wondering what exactly Vegeta had done to the poor boy. He may have been doing better, but Vegeta was by no means nice, hadn't been, really, even before all this had happened.
"It was only basic exercises, but apparently quite strenuous for one who is out of shape. Regardless, he became enraged at the activity." Vegeta paused, letting her soak up the view of his muscular form doing sit-ups in front of her eyes.
She should watch him train more often, even though it did annoy him.
Only…maybe she shouldn't. Because they hadn't coupled in so long, and she was feeling ravenous just watching him move.
Darn.
She realised he had fallen silent for too long, and possibly forgotten he was expected to elaborate.
"So he just left?" she prompted.
"No…not exactly. Not without some parting shots. He seems to think that, since my decision to act more, ahem, 'paternal', coincides with Bra's appearance, I do not care for him."
"Wait, what? How does he figure that?"
"Ask him yourself," Vegeta groused, not willing to admit, though it was obvious, that he had no idea either.
"Can you tell me what he said, exactly?"
"You have a camera. Watch the playback."
Bulma jerked, staring at him without comprehension for a few moments. How did he know she had a recording feature? Not that she ever used it, mind, but since the cameras were connected to the general security system, they did have a recording function.
"Fine, fine. I'll leave you to your training, then."
She switched the communications off, letting out a sigh of relief and twitching her legs. Darn, but even after so many years together she still found his movements utterly tantalising. She had to get him back to being himself, as soon as possible. She had never gone this long before without satisfying her needs, and boy did she ache for him.
He obviously didn't ache for her in return, darn saiyans. She really envied them sometimes.
A sharp collection of musical notes pierced the air as her pocket vibrated, causing her to leap from her seat in shock.
"H-hello?" she asked, trying to cover for her embarrassing surprise and failing miserably as she answered her mobile, "Bulma here."
"Oh, Bulma, excellent. It's Chichi."
Chichi? Bulma wouldn't exactly consider the woman her friend, even though she was married to her other friend, Goku, and mother of both Gohan and her child's playmate (no, her son's, because she had more than one now). Why would she be calling? Surely not to have a mutual complaints session about being married to saiyans. Bulma was categorically not in the mood for anything along those lines. That left-
"Trunks," Bulma realised out loud.
"Oh, you guessed what I was calling about. Yes, Trunks is here, but I must say, did he leave without breakfast this morning? He's cleared my kitchen out. And he seems to be in a bit of a mood. Has something happened on your end? Anything I should know about?"
Oh, gosh. Bulma's face found the comfort of her palms as she plonked herself down on the swivel chair. 'Has something happened?' How could she even begin to explain, especially when she did not, under any circumstances, want the other woman to know what had happened with Vegeta.
Had Trunks let anything slip?
She couldn't imagine he would, not because of any respect for her or his father, but rather because he liked to have his snit in silence, or at least when out of the company of those it was aimed at.
"Bulma?" came a concerned voice from the other end.
"Oh, you know how it is, he's just that age. Having a bit of a tiff with his father."
"Oh, I see. Yes. Gohan was like that when Goku returned, too. I've never seen my sweet boy in such a temper. But I thought Trunks and Vegeta always had such a healthy relationship."
She wouldn't consider it healthy, but considering the competition amongst their acquaintances when it came to fatherhood, Vegeta hadn't done too badly.
"Yeah, well…" What could she say?
"Should I try to speak with him?"
"No!" Bulma shouted before she could stop herself, "Absolutely not! I mean…uh…"
"Oh dear. Is it really that bad?" Chichi asked sympathetically, "Gohan took a long time to come to terms with his father's decisions. He was cold with him for months. These things take time, I'm afraid."
"I suppose," Bulma reflected, "but a lot of time has already passed with no improvement on that front. I'm at the end of my rope with the both of them."
"Are you sure you can't shut them up in a room and throw away the key?"
"Only if I want to have to resurrect my son," she muttered darkly, though she really didn't think Vegeta would go that far, even if provoked.
"Oh my! Has Vegeta gotten violent, Bulma?" Chichi sounded worried, "You know, you can get help for that—"
"What?! No! I was joking! But I wouldn't put it past Trunks to try patricide, though he'd never succeed."
"Ah, well. A pair like that. I'm sure they'll come around, Bulma. You'll see. Just make sure they don't avoid each other. They need to air their grievances, not let them fester. I should have done the same with my boys."
"Thanks for the advice, Chichi," her voice sounded hollow, but she did mean it, and an idea was forming in her mind of how exactly to achieve this airing of grievances without broken crockery and son-shaped holes in walls.
"You're welcome. Oh!" the woman on the other end gasped, "I'm sorry, this whole situation with Trunks drove it completely from my mind! How terrible! I know I sent a card but I can't let you go without telling you congratulations for the birth of your second child! Bra wasn't it? You must send pictures!"
"I will, Chichi. Thanks. I have to go now."
There wasn't any urgency to her hanging up, but she didn't feel like having to continue to interact with a person while the elephant in the room could not be alluded to. It was far easier conversing with Krillen, her social support, who understood all of the emotional rollercoasters happening in her life and could guide her through them.
Maybe she could run her idea passed him. But first, she needed to get Vegeta together with the baby.