Recap: Bulma finally told Vegeta about her pregnancy, resulting in an emotional discussion about his preparedness for fatherhood. Bulma's sister Tights wants them apart because of Vegeta's alcoholism - though he is in recovery - and her fears about his country's future. She's also wary of Queen Danae's influence over Bulma, considering it "manipulative."


Cerinthe, Hegemone: 4:45 p.m. CET, July 30, Monday

"The Royal Hydra"

Vegeta had been mired in paperwork the entire day. He tried to be patient – never his strong suit with duties such as these – and simultaneously considered firing the family's entire administrative staff. Having highly paid assistants who weren't managing the minutiae occupying him seemed foolish and inefficient. Weariness hung like a shroud, and yet he managed to reject drinking alcohol. His winning streak on consistent sobriety heartened him. Nappa, as well, though the general knew better than to encourage celebrating each milestone with him. Vegeta needed the general's fatherly support more than ever, but overcoming his shame required patience.

Fortunately, the general had plenty of experience and understood the long game. But he also worried more about Vegeta and Raditz' toxic, irreparable hostility. When the prince was a child, Nappa occasionally asked what happened that made them hate each other so. Vegeta's sullen, angry eyes fixed on Nappa's until the boy changed the subject – or demanded to. The general's soul ached knowing that King Vegeta's pedophile brother Basil widened the cousins' rift.

That said, no one could afford having Raditz possibly derail Vegeta's recovery. The duke didn't hide his penchant for treachery. His personality flaws were ripe for exploitation, too. Though distasteful, the general also considered whether Raditz represented a lethal threat. He would be remiss if he didn't – and he would blow holes through the duke's chest if Vegeta were conspired against and murdered. In theory Nappa hated vigilantism, but he also didn't give a fuck about being jailed because of Vegeta. No one was above the law – and he could accept being a hypocrite.

Vegeta had felt a tiny, serene light of hope within him since Bulma disclosed her pregnancy. He also hoped she wouldn't reject a future request to hold their child, just once, after giving birth. She wasn't cruel, and no doubt she would be a dynamic mother. His promise to support them on her terms, without further interference, was less heart-wrenching now. He consoled himself believing that his otherwise turbulent existence had brought another genuine joy - despite his inability to share in it.

Still, the prince was very much in love and likely would be for a long time, as Nappa prophesied. Not having Bulma near him hurt, but he couldn't be consumed by the loss. Each horrendously painful therapy session and, separately, private testimony to his fellow alcoholics were crucial supports. He hadn't decided on telling anyone yet, his mother especially, though not from embarrassment. For all he cared, Bulma could tell the entire fashion industry that a space alien impregnated her. She had to feel safe, not pressured.

He rubbed his eyes to shake off fatigue. Soft footsteps behind him went ignored, because he knew to whom they belonged.

"Do you have a few minutes to talk, cousin?"

"That all depends on what you want," Vegeta replied. "I am busy right now." Forever the scamp, he stared hard to make Turles squirm. The young man needed some fire in his belly.

Feeling dejected, Turles shoved his hands into his pockets. "OK. I won't bother you."

Rolling his eyes, Vegeta pushed a chair over to him. "You have accomplished that, so speak your mind. You give up too easily. I would have said 'return later' if I wanted you to leave, which I seldom do with you or my brother. Moreover, if you're not feeling confident, have some pride and fake it until you do."

Turles's face beamed now that he had Vegeta's undivided attention.

"I have two subjects to discuss!"

Leaning back, Vegeta eyed him. "So I have a fifty-fifty chance of saying 'no' to one request?"

"Well, I suppose so," Turles said nervously. "Just hear me out, please. I want time off from university."

"No." Vegeta said, laughing. "Next."

"Oh come on, Vegeta!"

"Do you think I'm a fool, Turles? You want to quit - and I am not thrilled being tested before you tell the queen. I will not protect you. Also, dawdling across continents without money is unwise."

Turles lifted his chin defiantly. "Aunt Danae wouldn't cut me off financially."

Amused by his cousin's naiveté, Vegeta snorted. "Try her, kid. I was good practice before her sister birthed you. Now stop wasting my time."

Turles removed a catalogue from his shoulder bag, throwing it to Vegeta. "Actually, I want to transfer to design school and staff runway shows…in New York City."

Vegeta's teasing ended abruptly, followed by uneasy silence.

"Turles, some of the best fashion houses are in Europe." Pausing, he stared at wall map of Hegemone. "Look, I know our country is having a rough time, but…"

"Then you understand," Turles interrupted. "I need to be far away, to be my own person – to feel safe. I guess you could call that dishonorable, but I'll never be like you and Danae, or my mother and father. Besides that, you were almost killed. Maybe you were the target, Vegeta. Is what you're doing worth it?"

He touched the wrong nerve.

Vegeta's face darkened. "First, be your own man and don't use my decisions to justify yours. Second, perhaps you should reflect on the benefits you have as a member this family - and as a fellow countryman. Maybe then you will understand the sacrifices all of us have made. Now get out."

The prince returned to his paperwork while Turles stayed seated. Their stand-off lasted all of five minutes before Vegeta threw the catalogue over his shoulder, smacking Turles's head.

"Ow! Damn it, man! You don't know your own strength sometimes. That book is thick."

"Oh, I sure do know," Vegeta replied. "What part of leave do you not understand, brat?"

Turles grinned. "So you will support me?"

"What choice do I have?!" Vegeta snapped. "Now what else do you want?" Turles hesitated, then looked up, focusing on the prince's custom-made, monogrammed turtleneck shirt – a gift from Bulma.

Vegeta shut his eyes and counted backward from ten. "If there is a god, this boy might see him soon after I murder him," he thought.

He detonated.

"Absolutely not! Hell, no!"

"But Ms. Brief likes me!" Turles protested. "I made her laugh, too. I'd love to be her apprentice. Why can't you smooth the way? You have feelings for each other anyway, obviously - and I know Danae won't agree unless you do."

Vegeta tapped his chin and calmly replied, "Do you know it takes less than fifteen seconds before strangulation causes unconsciousness?"

Turles's face paled. "I...I… know."

"Good," Vegeta said. "Your combat training has paid off. Bulma is off limits – and trust me, she wouldn't accept your appeal. Her hands were full with mother's requests before - whatever the hell they were - to my irritation. Now leave here while you still have an uncrushed windpipe."

"You can be such an asshole. You know that, cousin?"

"Better to see me as I am," Vegeta said, pushing Turles into the hallway. "Then you will be less disappointed. I can support you in other ways."

After locking the door Vegeta sank back into his desk chair and covered his eyes. The royal family had become a hydra in Bulma's life – minus the lethal poison.

"Less than three months until I am a long-distance, invisible father," he sighed. "Maybe I should find religion myself."


Brooklyn, New York: 3:30 p.m. ET, August 1, Wednesday

"A Little Piece of Heaven"

Bulma toddled through her studio pushing a cart of fabric skeins for weaving. Crystal, her peripatetic apprentice, would arrive soon to use a back-strap loom that had been gathering dust. Bulma hadn't felt mentally or physically energetic enough that week to juggle complex design work, blaming her condition on "nerves." Approaching the final weeks before giving birth was exciting and daunting. Fortunately her pregnancy's second trimester had been complication-free, despite more weight gain than she expected.

Zeus had been on her mind, too. He would've thrown himself enthusiastically into helping with the baby, she told her sister through tears the previous evening. Her pain over his death ran deep. She didn't mention that Vegeta was in her thoughts more, as if her sister didn't know already.

Tights silently tolerated Bulma's intermittent contact with him about the pregnancy, which was enough. She was content as long as the prince didn't pressure her baby sister in any way. Vegeta hadn't told his relatives, obviously, which Bulma knew. Tights had mixed feelings about that but ultimately put them aside. Someone else in the prince's overbearing family would learn eventually.

Within days Crystal called to cheer Bulma, suggesting they plan a day to cook and gossip about the latest fashion rivalries. She arrived with grocery bags and wide-eyed amazement over Bulma's appearance.

"Wow, Ms. Brief. Wow. Are you having a boy?"

Bulma laughed. She was well past neuroticism over her body. "Oh, stop gawking, Crystal. Remember, you'll get eye wrinkles. I know I'm huge and, yes, I am having a boy."

After a warm hug, the women joked and chatted for hours until hunger assaulted them. Crystal carried the loom to the kitchen, tying it to a pole. Bulma had felt soreness under her right shoulder, so Crystal demanded to cook alone while they continued talking.

"So, uh, you and the pint-sized prince of darkness are having a kid?"

Bulma interlaced her fingers. "What makes you say that? You and I haven't seen each other in months. There are other ways to become pregnant these days, in case you've forgotten."

"Ms. Brief, I may be scatter-brained, but I'm not an idiot. You returned from Hegemone so… different. Prince Vegeta sheltered you and stayed with your dying friend at the hospital until you arrived. Powerful men like him don't do that freely until they care deeply for someone. Anyway, I have no interest in being the town crier about whatever kind of relationship you two have. I really had no idea. None. People can think whatever they want, but are you ready to be in the spotlight like this?"

"I don't plan to be," Bulma said, handing her a bag of onions. "Vegeta and I are private people, as you know - so as much as I adore you, we're changing the subject."

Crystal nodded. "I understand. Hey, look, maybe you should lie down for a while. We've had a good time so far. It will take about an hour to finish cooking, and you seem more drained than earlier – and you're rubbing your temples."

Crystal was right, of course, but Bulma refused to concede. "I'm just having a baby," she said, staring at her swollen legs and feet. "But I could use some Tylenol before this becomes a full-fledged headache. The bottle is in my room. I'll be right back."

At first the hallway looked cavernous as Bulma left the kitchen. She leaned on the brick wall briefly to steady her gait. This wasn't the first time and unlikely the last. The next prenatal visit was in a couple days anyway. Her blood pressure was slightly elevated during a checkup a month earlier, drawing more scrutiny from her doctor, but within a day all vital signs were perfect and remained so.

Feeling dizzy, Bulma stopped to sit on her bed. She was used to this, too. Not a big deal. Didn't happen a lot.

Then her eyesight blurred, replacing the visual aura accompanying her headache. She shook her head a few times. "I need some water," she thought. "I'm just dehydrated. Shame on me for ignoring it."

She clutched the bed's footboard to stand, shaking her head a few more times, but the dizziness worsened. "Oh god, something is wrong." A sharper pain took hold beneath her shoulder. She touched her right side, trying to catch her breath. Anxiety flooded her mind after realizing she couldn't yell for help. "No, god, please. I want my baby."

Crystal swilled a mouthful of wine hoping that her mentor had decided to rest. Barefooted, she slid down the hall to the master bedroom. She dropped her glass and raced inside after seeing Bulma passed out on the floor.

Bulma awoke briefly while Crystal elevated her head and dialed for an ambulance.

"You're going to be just fine, Ms. Brief," Crystal said with a firm, soothing voice. "Do you hear me? Stay awake with me here, OK? What am I going to do without your advice? I can barely tie my shoes correctly. I'm sure this baby's papa wants you around, too. You have yourselves a little prince now, Cinderella – a little piece of heaven. Don't forget that."

Bulma smiled.

Her full awareness didn't return until two days later at the hospital, on Friday. She licked her lips until her sister swabbed them with cold water.

"You fondness for drama is amazing," Tights said, looking relieved. "Don't ever scare me or Crystal shitless like that again - and don't say anything. Just listen. You have preeclampsia, meaning your blood pressure and protein levels in your urine were high."

"I…know…what it is," Bulma said weakly. "What…about the baby?"

"Bulma, though you are relatively stable, inducing labor or having surgery may be necessary soon. You will need long-term monitoring, so we're transferring you to New York-Presbyterian Hospital today. Cousin Olivier and I think it's better. The obstetrics staff is well-regarded and the amenities there will lift your spirits, I hope."

Tights looked down while her sister cried. Bulma was furious with herself for not paying closer attention. Neither she nor her doctors pressed each other hard enough. Now her child could be born premature or die outright. Her living through this wasn't guaranteed either, even if she were home on bed rest.

"Vegeta…"

Tights rubbed her arm. "Bulma, honey, maybe we should wait. You both agreed to keep some distance."

Angry, Bulma snatched her hand back. "Damn it, Tights," she gasped. "Call."

"Fine," Tights said, retrieving her sister's phone. "My watch says it's 2 p.m. there."

Bulma wanted to sleep but held out until Vegeta answered.

"Hello? Hello? Bulma, are you there?"

Satisfied, Vegeta's tiger lily closed her eyes and nodded. At last.

"Yes," Tights answered curtly, "but she's in the hospital, Prince Vegeta. This is her sister."

Surprised, Vegeta wisely ignored her hostile attitude. They would address that problem later.

"How bad is it?" he asked, adjusting his tone. "Can she speak at all?"

Tights gnawed her fingernails as Bulma dozed. "She's exhausted right now – and I know I'll regret saying this later, but you might want to travel here soon if possible. She's been through a scare and asked me to call."

Vegeta hated when people linguistically substituted "might" when they actually meant "should." He looked at his watch. "I will be there as soon as I can."

"We'll be at Mount Sinai Hospital, in Manhattan," Tights said. "If you can't reach us quickly, call Olivier. He'll be here tomorrow. I have to go. Goodbye."

"Goodbye indeed," Vegeta grumbled irritably.

A ruddy-skinned attendant he paged entered looking confused. Why was the prince home cleaning a gun?

Vegeta closed his tool kit and faced him. "Finally, a new one – and you are fast. I like that. What is your name? You look no older than - what - seventeen?"

Though anxious, the young man bowed with impeccable poise. "My name is Dante, sire. How may I assist you?"

Vegeta pointed at his notepad. "I want enough clothing packed for a week, equal parts business and casual. Have them ready within two hours… or less, with toiletries, shoes, and appropriate accessories. Make sure the travel concierge books a private jet cabin to New York City tonight, plus accommodations for me and security near New York-Presbyterian Hospital. I might have several more requests, so do not disappoint me. I will make your life harder, eventually, until you return to the academy - and enjoy every minute of it."

Dante looked delighted. "Yes, Prince Vegeta."

"Another thing," Vegeta said with a solemn gaze. "Have two vases of tiger lilies delivered to the hospital. I will retrieve them."

Dante scurried past a baffled Nappa, who just finished a late lunch with the queen. Emotionally shaken over Bulma's condition, Vegeta tried to regain focus.

The general glanced at the gun, then back to Vegeta. "What's wrong?"

The prince looked up. "Bulma is ill, and you might have a grandchild shortly - or we could lose them both."

Before the general could respond, a voice echoed behind them.

"Well," Danae said, "when are we leaving, son?"


Notes: Thanks for reading, as always. Glad to get more stuff out when I can. Let me know what you think.