Disclaimer: don't own these crazy cats! Please R&R :)

VII.

Freak Out Pt. 2

Ducking, Trunks narrowly missed a way-harder-than-necessary blow from his father's stern fist. Now, way-harder-than-necessary attacks were not anything new between the half-Saiyan and his royal patriarch; in fact, they were so common that Trunks had learned to decode their motivations. For instance, there was the you-reached-the-legendary-form-as-a-child-and-I-worked-decades-to-achieve-it-way-harder-than-necessary-attack, the you-are-too-cocky-for-your-own-good-way-harder-than-necessary-attack, and of course, the ever popular, you-let-Kakarot's-son-best-you-therefore-you-have-shamed-the-royal-line-way-harder-than-necessary-attack. This way-harder-than-necessary punch, however, was different from any of the usual timbres. There was no tone of underlying revenge, no calculated pain per shame equation. No, this was different—accidental, a slip of control, a sure sign of some sort of inner turmoil.

"Geeze Dad, watch it!" the lilac haired boy protested, rubbing his scraped knee, a result of his hurried dodge.

"You should be the one watching," the full-blooded Saiyan retorted, although it was a weak retaliation and he knew it; he had come close to hurting the brat.

"Yeah, yeah," Trunks said with a sign, standing up and stretching, grateful that the gravity was at least set at a tolerable level. "What's up your butt?" he changed subjects, unwilling to let the unexplained way-harder-than-necessary factor go.

Vegeta frowned; he wished his son had gotten more language from himself, and less from his wife. "Nothing is up my butt," he replied, the last three words through gritted teeth. "I am simply providing the necessary structure for your development as a Saiyan warrior."

Trunks rolled his eyes. "Uh-huh, whatever. Seems like you're just freaking out about Mom and the baby! Calm down, would ya?" He knew his father was on edge about the pregnancy, especially now that they knew it was a girl, Bulma was supposed to be on bedrest (but was on her own, very much un-bedded rest schedule), and the birth was ever approaching. He knew his parents often overlooked how perceptive he was, and liked it that way, as their expressions when he surprised them with a presentation of omniscient insight never ceased to entertain.

"I am not freaking out. If one more miserable Earthling says that to me, they will be very sorry, and that does not exclude you or your mother, so I wouldn't if I were you," the Saiyan Prince warned, eyes dark and intentions very clear.

"Ok, ok, ha, ha," Trunks put his hands up and backed away, smiling nervously. "Just joking around, Dad, lighten up!"

"Everything is a joke to you," Vegeta muttered, crossing his arms; yet another insufferable trait the boy had acquired from Bulma. "It is ill-fitting of a serious warrior. I see nothing funny enough to merit such constant comedic nonsense."

Frowning, Trunks mulled the comment over. "I guess that's true," he agreed, thoughtfully rubbing his chin with his hand, "but joking around always makes me feel better." He paused, reading the situation and his father's affect before he continued. "I'm kinda worried about Mom, too," he finally admitted, sheepishly putting his hands in his pockets, avoiding any eye contact, lest the moment become too intimate.

Surprised, Vegeta looked down at the boy. "What? Why?" he demanded, noting with great annoyance the effort it took to keep the edge from his voice.

"I mean, she looks so tired. And I hear her talk to Grandma…she's gonna be ok, right Dad?" the half-Saiyan finally looked at his father, cheeks tinged red with the embarrassment of his emotion, lower lip bitten and eyes stinging.

The Saiyan Prince, quite taken aback by the brazen display, froze. He found himself speechless; he did not know what was to become of his wife, nor the unborn child. Therefore, even if he wanted to, he had no consolation to give his son. In fact, he had none to give himself. Several moments elapsed, the silence becoming thick, until finally Vegeta found words that suited him. "We are done for the day. We will continue tomorrow."

With that, the Saiyan turned and left the gravity room and his perplexed heir. Moving with casual- yet-steady momentum, he barged through the house and into his wife's home office, where she sat tinkering with a few small tools. "Hey, Veg-" she began, but was cut off as her husband snatched the tools from her hands, tossed them aside, and hoisted her into his arms. "HEY, watch it, pal, I'll pop! What are you doing!?" the scientist demanded, pounding on the Saiyan's chest, although she had learned many years ago that this served only as an illustration of her own irritation and nothing more.

"What I should have done the first time you disobeyed orders," Vegeta replied darkly.

"I don't take orders from you!" Bulma snapped back, noting the reversal of their usual roles.

"Not my orders," the Prince corrected, "your doctor's. You will stay in the bedroom until that child is born and I will not tolerate any more insolence regarding the matter." He proceeded to carry the protesting genius to their shared bedroom, where he dropped her on the bed (with, perhaps, less delicacy than appropriate).

"Vegeta you big brute, I have work to do! Haven't we been over this!? I make money so you can make explosions, remember that conversation!?" Bulma huffed, crossing her arms indignantly.

"SHUT UP," the Saiyan growled, teeth gritted and face serious. "I don't care about your work or Earth money or any other ridiculous thing you keep prattling on about. YOU are what I care about. Now STAY." Releasing a final growl of exasperation, Vegeta left the room, slamming the door (and breaking the hinges) behind him.

Once he was sure Vegeta had left the building, Trunks crept into the bedroom where his mother sat on the comforter, blinking with shock. The two stared at the broken door in silence. To say the Saiyan Prince was definitely freaking out would have been, at that point, far too redundant.