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XV.
Sleep
The sound of her alarm roused the sleeping genius, who moaned and begrudgingly clicked the clock off. She sat up, stretched and rubbed her eyes, then glanced down at her empty bed. It was not unusual for her husband to be gone before she awoke; in fact, Vegeta was rarely in the room when her alarm went off, his daily training beginning before dawn each day. What was unusual, however, was that this was the first time she had been awoken since getting in the bed early last night. Vegeta, with his complete lack of tact or sensitivity, always made a racket when preparing for his day at 5 in the a.m. He would, for example, forcefully sit on the bed when tying his shoes, slam drawers (although this was usually credited to his super-human strength), curse under his breath if the weather was unsatisfactory, and curse loudly if Bulma had not washed his favored shorts. However, there had been no such disturbances this morning. Stranger still was that Bra, a fairly fussy baby, had not cried for her mother through the duration of the night. Uneased by this realization, Bulma pulled on her robe and crept to the nursery.
In her crib, the infant dozed, tiny fists curled in front of her; the image was serenely picturesque. Lying on the couch across from the crib (also picture worthy) was a sleeping Saiyan. Grinning, her heart beyond melted, Bulma studied her snoozing husband. Vegeta's left arm rested across his white t-shirted torso, while the right acted as a pillow, sandwiched between his head and the arm rest.
It was not often that the scientist saw her mate sleep. On average, he slept much less than her, sharing her bed time only to share evening intimacies, rising before her every day, and rarely being one for naps. There were of course the times she would roll over to him sweating, tossing and turning, indicating a nightmare of great severity. She hated these times—she preferred him knocked unconscious (perhaps the most common of resting states) than in his tormented dream world. When he awoke from unconsciousness, he always seemed to feel validated, like he had truly gone beyond a personal limit; when waking from a nightmare, he would appear embarrassed, and never wished to discuss it, despite Bulma's constant prying. Now, however, he looked neither plagued, nor concussed…just asleep. Peacefully, asleep.
As if his senses were so keen that he knew, even in slumber, that his wife was thinking about him, the Saiyan stirred and opened an eye. He blinked, orienting to his surroundings, then sat up stiffly, rubbing his neck. "What are you looking at?" he muttered, crossing his arms and turning his gaze to the wall.
"You," Bulma answered truthfully, voice hushed as not to wake the baby. She sat down beside Vegeta, curling her legs under her and resting her head on his shoulder. "Did you stay up with her all night?" she inquired, surprised by the idea.
Vegeta nodded, the tips of his ears tinting red. "You did not wake when she cried," he informed his wife. "You usually do. I knew your body must require more rest. I saw to it."
The scientist blinked. "Wow, I guess so." She was so stunned by both his consideration of her well-being, and willingness to tend to their infant that she struggled with what to say to the Saiyan. "Thanks," she settled on finally, smiling and placing a hand on his arm.
Vegeta nodded a second time, his closest swing at "you're welcome."
The pair sat in silence for several moments, eyes fixed on the crib and the sleeping child inside of it. Bulma thought again about how peaceful her husband had looked, and how different and wonderful it was to see it. "Hey, Vegeta?" She said softly,
"Hn?" The Saiyan responded reluctantly, sensing that the woman was about to be sentimental.
"You're a good father," Bulma said simply, squeezing his arm. As long as he was around, Bra would never grow up to have the nightmares he suffered every night. She would never have the physical scars that he bore, nor the heart-hole left by a cruel upbringing and dark life. Bra would be safe. Trunks would be safe. They would all be safe, always, because he would make damn sure of it. And he was a force—no, the force, to be reckoned with.
Vegeta snorted, but Bulma could tell the affirmation was understood and appreciated. "Just wanted to let you know" she added, kissing him on the cheek and standing up.
"Where are you going?" The Saiyan asked, eyeing his mate, her bathrobe loose and threatening to come undone.
"Work," the scientist replied, adjusting her robe and pulling the draw tight. "Can't take off forever, this whole company would go up in flames. Mom's gonna watch Bra, so you and Trunks can train whenever. Just make yourself useful if she needs..."
Bulma trailed off as Vegeta stood, coming dangerously close to her. "I do not think you should go back to work yet," he breathed, almost menacingly. His hand coiled around the tie of her bathrobe and pulled it loose once more.
"Well, maybe I could go in late…" she leaned in, her arms slinking around his strong shoulders, lips brushing his.
However, as Vegeta grabbed his mate and moved for the door, the baby began to scream. Eye twitching, the Saiyan released his hold on Bulma. "Your turn," he stated, then headed to the kitchen to find himself breakfast.
