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.
Dinner had been tense, more so than it had ever been the previous few months. Trunks occupied himself by picking at his food, throwing withering glares at his father the entire time, before finally storming from the room, without a word being spoken, and without finishing his dinner.
Vegeta had yelled after him for the rudeness, and for leaving while there was still food on his plate, but though Trunk's shoulders had tightened, he had not responded in any way. Just continued up the stairs to do who knew what.
For his part, Vegeta had been unsettled, even though he hid it well. He had tells, like the way he tapped his pinky against his fork, or the more obvious one of pausing to examine their son instead of wolfing his meal without a break. His eyes kept finding little Bra, too, in her bassinette, set back from the table so Vegeta could see her. She really was such a good influence on him, even if Trunks didn't appreciate the change. He was jealous. Extremely jealous of the effect Bra had on Vegeta, that much was certain from what he had yelled at his father in the gravity room. Vegeta had clearly, then and now, not known what to make of the outburst.
Tonight, though. Tonight Bulma would put the first step of Operation Reconciliation into action. Starting with convincing Vegeta to hold little Bra. To spend some real, intimate time with her, instead of staring at her with that lost expression. Tonight was the first step in her master plan to reunite Trunks and Vegeta.
"Vegeta," she stalled him as he made to leave, meal polished off much slower than usual.
"What is it, woman?" he asked, dejection clear in his voice. The quarrel between father and son was obviously having a deep effect on him, much more than she would have considered a few weeks before.
"I was wondering if you wouldn't mind coming with me to the nursery," she explained, taking tiny Bra into her arms, making Vegeta's expression soften markedly.
Gosh, it was so cute. How did Trunks fail to find this whole situation unbelievably endearing?
"Fine," he tried to hide his enthusiasm, but Bulma saw right through him, a small smile playing on her face as she led him upstairs.
Both hands occupied with supporting the baby, Vegeta opened the door for her in a gentlemanly fashion, moving away to stand by the window, an easy escape route if necessary. His arms were folded, face wrinkled in a scowl, and demeanour unapproachable.
Not that Bulma cared.
"You should hold her," she said, presenting the baby to him to take.
"What? You brought me all the way up here to hold a baby?"
"Vegeta, your room is just down the hall. It isn't far. And yes, you are going to hold Bra. I've seen the way you keep staring at her, so forlorn and desperate."
"I am not forlorn nor desperate!" he shouted, causing Bra to make a small whimper. Vegeta relaxed, a small spasm of guilt awakening on his face.
"Go on, take her," Bulma urged, "You know you want to!"
He grumbled but did not dispute the fact, stalking over to take his baby for the very first time.
"Hey, not so fast!" she cautioned, moving Vegeta's arms into the appropriate position, commenting, "Like this, see?" He merely grunted in response, eyes fixed on the child in his arms.
Bulma smiled, fighting the urge to whip out her mobile to capture the adorable moment – she didn't want to scare Vegeta off. Not when he was looking so terribly loveable, holding their tiny baby in his powerful arms.
"Aww…" she cooed, moving to stroke her baby's thin head of hair.
"Shut up, woman," Vegeta groused, turning away and hunching his shoulders around his prize. She couldn't take her eyes away from the pair of them. Her husband, who had been absent so long, and her new, miniature child, so small and vulnerable. Vegeta's stout, muscular arms merely accentuated Bra's size.
They were quite the picture.
Vegeta made his way over to the easy chair, seating himself gently onto it, gaze not leaving his daughter's face. They remained like that for several moments, Bra's little eyes open and watchful, more alert than usual as she regarded her father.
"That's your daddy, Bra," Bulma whispered, voice taking on that high-pitched tone everyone used when talking to babies. Everyone apart from Vegeta, that is, who introduced himself in a normal voice.
"Yes, Bra. I am your father."
The baby closed her eyes in response, turning her head into Vegeta's chest and bumping him with her forehead. Bulma laughed.
"She likes me," Vegeta commented.
"She clearly does," Bulma agreed, sitting down on the arm of the chair, one hand on her husband's shoulder. "But what's not to like?"
Because, despite all the recent upheavals, Bulma was in a good mood. Her husband was acting almost normal, he was cradling their newborn daughter and gazing at her with undisguised adoration. The issue with Trunks could…well, it couldn't wait, not really.
"Vegeta," she broke the silence which had arisen between them, reaching out to stroke his cheek, "As lovely as this is, we need to talk."
"About what?" he asked, voice level, turning to look at her gesturing with his eyes to leave his face alone. So they weren't ready for that either then? But she wasn't sure how much of that reticence was the Darkness, and how much was just plain old Vegeta.
"Trunks," she said heavily.
"Hmph," Vegeta looked away, gazing out the window at the early night sky, "What's there to talk about?"
"Things aren't good between you."
"Perhaps," he conceded, "But he'll come around."
"I'm not so sure about that, Vegeta. I have an idea—"
"No," Vegeta interrupted shortly, "I can handle my own son. I don't need your help."
"But Vegeta-"
"No, I said." He rose, taking a few silent steps to the crib, where he gently deposited his baby.
Bulma sighed, cursing his stubbornness, "Fine. Just don't come crying to me when whatever you have planned doesn't work out."
Vegeta snorted, exiting the room swiftly, without looking back at either wife or child. As expected, he headed straight for his son's room, bellowing for him to open the door as Bulma closed the way into the nursery.
Bra did not need to hear that, she considered, raised voices reverberating about the room but too muffled to be heard clearly. Whatever Vegeta had thought, she considered, gazing down at her baby, it didn't appear to be working. She would have to find some way to convince him to follow her plan.
A blood-curdling scream wrenched Bulma from the depths of sleep at 6:30 the next morning, sending her hurtling out the door and into the hall, pulling on her robe. She was certain the voice was Vegeta's. Vegeta, screaming in fear? The noise had definitely originated in his room, and she could see light under the door, because of course he was up already.
Vegeta wasn't one to lie around in bed when there was training to be done.
But why would he have been screaming? Surely no one would think to attack him in his own bedroom at 6:30 in the morning.
Finding the door unlocked, an old habit of Vegeta's, being accustomed to automatically-locking doors, Bulma eased it open enough to poke her head in-
And she very nearly screamed as well.
"What are you doing?!" she shrieked upon catching sight of Vegeta, sitting on the floor with a powerful aura coating his hand. There was a giant scorch mark in front of him, ashes littering the place. But most concerning was the fact that he was currently concentrating all of that fire on his foot, which was flushed red in the heat.
"Stop that!" she cried, catapulting herself into the room and to his side, trying to extricate his arm from his foot. Not that her strength was any match for his, but apparently it wrenched him from his stupor, and he turned to face her, lowering his foot back to the ground.
She was finally able to get a good look at him. Breathing heavily, short gasps reaching her ears. Pale as moonlight, lips thin. Shaking, jolts running up and down his form even as he remained seated on the floor.
She had never seen him in such a state of terror.
"Vegeta?" she enquired, lowering herself down beside him, "Are you okay, honey?"
He spread his hands out before him, watching them tremble for a moment, taking a few deep, audible breaths.
"Vegeta?"
"I'm fine," he whispered, looking the exact opposite.
"Honey, you are far from fine. You woke me up with your shouting, there's a huge burn mark on the floor, and you were trying to incinerate your foot."
"I was not!" he protested, staring at the appendage as if seeing it for the first time. Blisters were beginning to form on the surface.
"You need to run that under the tap," she informed him, helping him to his feet and over to his adjoining bathroom. It hadn't changed much since she had last poked her head in, Bulma realised as Vegeta stood on one leg, burned foot submerged in a stream of cold water.
"So…mind telling me what that was about?"
Vegeta dropped his still crimson foot back onto the bathmat, wiping it dry.
"It was just a prank," he said calmly, continuing to look shaken. His fists clenched and unclenched, spasms running through his limbs as he considered the scorch-mark on his carpet. Even as she watched, he grew paler still, breath starting to come in short gasps again.
"A prank?" her eyes found where he was looking, honing in on something wriggling on the floor.
An earth worm.
She let out a bark of laughter before she could stop herself, gripping her stomach and leaning over with the force of her mirth. Trust Vegeta to overreact so terribly to a bunch of harmless grubs, obviously cremating them in a fit of panic.
"Shut up, woman," Vegeta urged in a tight voice, aiming his palm at the squirming invader, ki forming into a ball.
"Wait! Stop! You'll blow a hole in the floor! I'll deal with it," she waited for his ki to dissipate, before striding forward to lob the innocent critter out the window.
"I gather you found a bunch of worms, then?" she tried to stifle her giggles at his overreaction. His phobia. It was ridiculous for such a battle-hardened warrior to be so frightened of a bunch of harmless creatures.
"They were in my boots," he replied in a small voice, making his way to his bed and sitting down heavily on the mattress.
"…your…boots…?" Bulma questioned, looking around the room but finding no indication of footwear. Until her eyes landed on the stain.
"Vegeta," she groaned, "Do you have any idea how much effort it takes to make your boots?"
He shrugged, refusing to meet her eyes, cheeks still scarlet.
"Why are worms such a problem, anyway?" she asked, taking a seat beside him, feeling the heat of his body next to her. The closest they had been in so very long, his warmth inebriating her.
"They just are!" he snapped, clueless of the less than pure thoughts running through his wife's mind, "You wouldn't understand, woman." Arms folded tightly, he turned his head away.
"Oh come on, try me."
"No."
"I'm your wife, Vegeta. You can tell me." She urged.
"I said no. Just because we are married doesn't mean I am obliged to share all of my secrets."
"Well, I think you should. You need to get it off your chest. I won't judge."
"It's just…" he fell silent, staring down at his hands, fingers folding around each other, "Worms eat people, when they decompose. They ate Celer. He was my personal attendant. We were…closer than a pair of saiyans ought to be."
"Oh. I'm so sorry, Vegeta. It's no wonder you don't like worms."
"And then Frieza found out how they scared me, how I couldn't stop seeing his sightless eyes whenever I encountered one. So he imprisoned me in a tiny chamber filled with them for three days. No food, no water, no escape. Just hundreds of worms, crawling all over me. Titan Worms. They're the ones which ate Celer. They were about the size of an eyeball."
She didn't want to know why he had chosen that as the comparison.
"They had an enormous mouth, with rows upon rows of sharp teeth. I wasn't strong enough, back then, to kill them. But I soon found out they didn't eat living tissue, just crawled all over it. Of all the things Frieza did to me, that was probably the worst. It was before Planet Vegeta was destroyed. I must have been about eight."
Bulma gulped, her eyes filling with tears she didn't dare let Vegeta see as she contemplated the depths of that monster's depravity. As she realised how terrible it had been of her to laugh at Vegeta's fears, caused as they were by such a tragic, traumatic event in his childhood. To watch his decomposing friend eaten by worms, then being left in a cell filled with them for three whole days. It must have been torture to the poor boy's psyche. And just made his association with worms even worse.
"I'm sorry, honey."
Because she was. So sorry for all the pain he had been through, alone in a harsh universe while she had lived a life of luxury on earth. Sorry that his excruciating past had been reawakened by her own offspring's foolishness.
"This was Trunks' doing, wasn't it?" she asked, already knowing the answer. He had sported a plotting look the previous night, but she had hoped to launch her plan before he had the opportunity to implement his.
"Yes," Vegeta replied shortly.
"I'm sorry."
"Stop apologising!" Vegeta yelled, jerking to his feet and rummaging under the bed for his spare shoes. He was obviously ready to begin training again, having lost enough time to this episode, but Bulma wasn't finished.
"He didn't mean it, Vegeta," she tried, "He doesn't know about your past, about what they mean to you."
Vegeta paused, and began to reply, head still under the bed so she could not see his expression.
"Actually, he does."
What? Even Bulma did not know, despite their years of a healthy marriage. How could Trunks, of all people, know? Surely Vegeta would not have told him. Vegeta hated the thought of revealing his past to their children. He had voiced his hesitation to her one night, intent on keeping the boy in the dark for fear of his righteous fury, his bitter disappointment.
"I told him."
Bulma couldn't believe it.
"You told him? But Vegeta, I thought you wanted to keep your history a secret from him?"
"Most of it, yes. But Trunks has an irrational fear of spiders, even though no species native to this country is capable of penetrating his skin. I told him about my own scoleciphobia, to make him feel better."
"But does he know the whole story?" Bulma couldn't believe her son could do that, scratch raw her husband's deepest fears, his terrifying history, if he had truly known. She couldn't believe he could be so callous, no matter how strained the relationship between father and son was at the moment.
"I told him that it related to the death of someone close to me."
"Bastard!" Bulma swore, on her feet in an instant, mind set on finding her son and giving him the biggest scolding of his life. How dare he?! The utter gall!
"No!" Vegeta darted in front of her, preventing her hasty exit, "No, do not confront him. I don't want him to know how affected I was."
"Vegeta…surely he would have heard you screaming," like someone being tortured she did not add.
"Perhaps, but…I want to fight my own battles, woman."
"This has got to stop. This tension between you, all this yelling, this…trying to hurt each other—"
"I didn't—"
"You have so hurt him! Maybe not recently," but he was looking down at his hand as if it had betrayed him, "Or maybe recently," she considered, "The point is, you're both hurting. You're both harming each other, and it has to stop."
"It was an accident," he whispered, as if he hadn't heard what she said, lost in his own little world, "I didn't mean to…"
"I'm sure you didn't, honey, but it ends now. Whatever you had planned, forget it. We're going with my strategy. And it begins tonight."
He waited a moment, eyes raking her, assessing her sincerity.
"Fine," he sighed, "What do you want me to do?"
"Oh, that's simple. Just go to the nursery, pick Bra up and read to her. I'll handle the rest."