Earlier: Bulma has taken to drinking more and more alcohol - in secret - as she and Vegeta prepare to tell Trunks that they're separating. Vegeta is doing what he can to stay grounded and keep more of his restored life from unraveling.

Vegeta had spent most of the day walking through West City. The razzle and dazzle of the sweeping, modern metropolis didn't excite him, of course. He liked being anonymous. He could be a chameleon, depending on how he dressed and styled his mane. But luck wasn't never constant. Even sunglasses and slicked-back hair couldn't save him from being recognized by someone he least wanted to see.

"Hey, man. What are you doing hanging out here? The threads look good on you, though."

Vegeta's jaw clenched. Yamcha's voice annoyed the fuck out of him. The guy sounded like he had a metal plate sewn between his tongue and palate. "Looks like we're doing the same thing, so I'll be on my way."

Yamcha laughed, clapping slowly. "Ahh. I see now. You're in the doghouse with Queen B."

"For the life of me, I cannot understand why you consistently volunteer yourself to be beaten to a pulp, Yamcha," Vegeta replied. "But you know what? I realize it's not worth it. Now get out of my face."

"Sorry, Vegeta, but I can't. I think fate has brought us together."

Vegeta eyes rolled as he impatiently moved past him. Yamcha nabbed his arm, nearly prompting a nasty strike on the side of his neck. He still had enough gumption to challenge Vegeta, knowing the prince had more of an incentive to be secretive in public.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?! Vegeta snarled, storming into a passage off the sidewalk.

"I'm going to give you advice that, frankly, I don't believe you don't deserve. So this is more for Bulma than it is for you, and only because of how much I know she loves you."

"Neither of us need your help with anything," Vegeta replied coldly.

"Oh really?!" Yamcha punched at Vegeta's shoulder, triggering a warning glare from his rival. "Yeah, you're all tough and big and bad, but you're still standing here, I see! Let me tell you something, Vegeta. I watched Bulma scream in agony over you. I'd never heard anything like it before from her, and I never, ever want to hear anything like it again!"

Vegeta's eyes veered from Yamcha's stubborn stare. "Well, let's get the rest of this bile out of your system. It's your lucky day! What else do you have to throw in my face?"

Yamcha's broad shoulders sagged a little as he struggled to make peace with his own feelings. "Don't… back away. I know you probably think it's the right thing to do, which I understand, but you gotta figure something out, Vegeta. She's a rough-rider and independent, but I've known Bulma since she was sixteen. She needs to hear a clear commitment. Give her that."

"I'm not asking for your advice. I'm only granting permission to vent your anger at me since you did help Bulma in my absence. Besides, pressuring her will have the opposite effect."

Yamcha grasped his nose, closing his eyes. Give me the strength to do this. "It's not about pressuring her, man. I know your life growing up was entirely different from ours, and was obviously as hard as hell, but don't keep one foot in the door and the other one out. If it looks like Bulma is holding up really well since all this went down, then you should strongly consider that she may not be."

Vegeta glowered at him. "I think I know a little something about how the woman I'm still raising a son with thinks."

Yamcha sighed, shrugging. "I lost the love of my life to you, so I don't have much else to lose. My dignity may mean nothing in your eyes, Vegeta, but I can sleep comfortably with my deeds – not only as a fighter, but as a man. Tell me, have you been sleeping well lately?"

For a moment, Vegeta felt genuine empathy for Yamcha. Those emotions disturbed and pissed him off. He didn't need more reminders about the breakdown of his relationship, yet here this man was, the embodiment of how it felt to be on the other end of losing Bulma long term. Despite Yamcha's bang-on speculation, Vegeta knew the man had no idea how close he and Bulma were to splitting up.

He took a long look at him from head to toe. "How much have you had to drink, Yamcha? I'm shocked by how well-spoken you are."

Yamcha smiled, proudly stretching the garish yellow suspenders on his chest. "My coordination is pretty good too! All those years of great training."

Vegeta caught Yamcha as he slumped forward, assaulted by the man's breath. "I see." He nearly retched from the stench. This guy must have had about five types of liquor embalming his insides. "All that great training. Impressive."

Yamcha's head bounced up. "I'm notttt… drunk because of youuuu and Bulma."

Vegeta exhaled. Great, now it's really caught up with him. Idiot. His motor skills are giving out. "You really think I care? Now that you've ruined what had been a decent walk for me, I have to take you home. I should kick your ass."

"Youuuuu… don't… need to take mememmee…. Anywhere." Yamcha flapped a finger at the road. "Black cab can take meeee."

Vegeta considered flying but didn't want to risk Yamcha vomiting all over him. He dropped a capsule containing one of Bulma's cars beside a curb. The vehicle was programmed to travel certain places when the driver didn't feel like doing the work. Vegeta didn't want to take Yamcha anywhere near his home, so he called Krillin from the car – minus using video.

"Vegeta? Well, this is a surprise. What's up? How are you and Bulma? I've been meaning to call. Maybe we can do a movie night. I discovered a tasty new snack you guys could try. It's not expensive either."

What the fuck is he talking about? A movie night?! Vegeta accepted the high price he had to pay – Krillin's gibbering - to solve his problem.

"Is Eighteen with you?"

"No. She's taken our daughter to stay at Kame House for a few days while Roshi's on a jungle outing. Why do you ask?"

"I have a special delivery."

Krillin suddenly lost interest in conversation. "Whatever the fuck you did, keep me out of it."

"Movie night. Yeah, right. You humans and your bullshit politeness still baffle me. I haven't done anything, Krillin."

"You have approximately ten seconds to tell me what you want, Vegeta."

"I'm bringing your friend Yamcha to sleep off the liquor store he's consumed. The car we're in is programmed to come to your home."

"Oh come on!" Krillin smacked his bald skull in dismay. "There's no program to go to his house?!"

"I programmed this car!" Vegeta shouted. "So, noooo, it doesn't drive to Yamcha's!" He buried the urge to snicker behind his well-practiced façade of crankiness.

Krilin fumed, suspecting that Vegeta was having a little fun. "I can give you his address if that helps."

"Krillin!"

He put the phone down, still speaking loudly enough for Vegeta to hear. "I am so tired of dealing with Bulma's pirate boyfriends! All of you are nuts. All of you!" At this point, he'd take a bullet for both men in any battle, but he occasionally fantasized about sawing off their toes.

Vegeta met Krillin at the doorstep. He dragged Yamcha inside, delivering him to a rear bedroom. Then he opened his wallet, removing a handful of cash.

"What's that for?" Krillin asked.

Vegeta licked his finger, counting the bills. "The inconvenience. You have to feed and watch over the idiot – and put up with your wife's griping when you tell her what happened, which I know you will."

"You would tell Bulma if I did the same with you."

"Are you taking the money or not, Krillin? I don't have all night to bicker with you."

Krillin trudged to the front door, opening it. "No, I'm not taking it. We're being friends here."

"You're Yamcha's friend, not I."

Krillin scowled, squinting out his frustration. "You think I woke up one day wishing for a space playmate like you?! No! But… I consider you a friend, Vegeta. I don't need the money. Now get the hell out of my house before I call Goku on speed dial."

Vegeta lingered on the porch as the door slammed. After waiting a minute so Krillin wouldn't hear, he jammed the money through a mail slot. So willing to see the best in others, that one is.

Hercule Satan owned a rarely used home in a remote part of West City. The long-winded, big-headed, cotton-haired wrestler was a giant goof but also exceedingly generous – and, when he put his mind to it, could be discreet. He certainly would be where Vegeta was concerned, so Vegeta halfheartedly accepted the man's standing offer "to do something nice" for him. Having a new residence in order gave Vegeta more time before everyone found out about his and Bulma's impending separation.

Hercule gave him spare keyless-entry cards and shared the primary access codes earlier that day. He wasn't the brightest man, but he quickly figured out the reason behind Vegeta's request a week prior. No questions were asked then, but he decided to risk speaking candidly before Vegeta's first night there.

"Um, Vegeta, did you know I'm a divorcee?"

"Hadn't thought about it, Hercule."

"Yeah, well, my wife left me when our daughter turned three. Had enough of my big mouth, I guess."

Vegeta cursed under his breath, staring longingly at the key cards that Hercule deliberately held back from him. "I know where this discussion is headed, and I don't want to discuss it." He allowed the statement to hang in the air, hoping the tense silence would compel the man to back off.

Hercule rubbed his eyebrows. "Yeah, uh, I know asking anyone for help is…it's not easy for you."

"I'm not seeking help. You offered a gift. I'm accepting it. Thank you."

"Which I'm pleased that you are, Vegeta. I just want to say that once you really cross that line more than once - you know, when you leave home - it can be fucking hard to get what you had back. My wife passed away before we could do that – and do it right. Do it right. Yeah. I'm just glad we had a beautiful daughter. Light of my life, she is. Anyway, I hope you like the apartment. If you do, it's all yours."

I can't do this. Damn it. I can't do this anymore. Vegeta let the car drive on its own to his new place, stopping in front. His head laid over his arms on the dashboard. He couldn't endure any more implied discussions about his and Bulma's relationship. Hearing from Goku probably would have thrown his tolerance over the edge.

He had to try harder despite the hurt he caused. He took on Majin Buu alone at first not only to protect his family, but also out of disgrace. He set himself ablaze in the most excruciating way possible to overpower his heart's anguish. He accepted the fate that awaited him after death bravely and dutifully. After all that, how could he turn tail and run? No. He had to fight. Bulma was no quitter either. She had to fight.

He couldn't use the excuse of being a lone, embittered warrior, raging against the world. He had learned to be a father, on his terms, after lacking a consistent role model in his own. During Babadi's possession, his most painful, grimmest memories were used against him with each command the sorcerer tried to impose, including learning about the murder of his mother by his father's concubine. His struggle to entirely embrace his love for Bulma - and hers for him – was no more.

He reset the car's controls, heading to his real home.

Bulma hadn't returned his texts or answered her phone, which Vegeta found odd. They had agreed not to refuse each other's vital communications in the run-up to their talk with Trunks. When he arrived, the night lights leading upstairs and toward the master bedroom were brighter than usual. He discovered a messy bed, crumpled snack wrappers and - to his astonishment - a tall, empty vodka bottle, and Bulma was nowhere to be found.

What the hell is going on here? He closed his eyes to concentrate. If Bulma were in a substantially large crowd, it would be tough trying to find her ki signature. Drunkenness made it difficult for him too. He hated to assume that she was intoxicated. Was this just a one-time thing or had she been hiding it for a while? Anger, fear for Bulma's safety and concern for their son gripped him.

Fortunately, Vegeta's telepathic talents were on par with Goku's, so he sent a mind blast as he dashed through rooms upstairs and downstairs, hoping Bulma could be roused enough for him to locate her. His labored breathing intensified as he scanned the expansive gardens from the balcony. The gazebo lights next to the lake were off. At that time of night, they were usually on. It was all too easy to fall into the water in the darkness.

No…

Bulma, where are you?! Please, help me find you! Hairs spiked on Vegeta's back as he flew past the empty gazebo. He dived into the lake, rocketing to its murky bottom. Drenched, he stumbled out of the water, falling on his knees.

Then, a desperate shriek slammed into his ears.

She's a mile away? Vegeta raced to the stables, nearly tearing off the doors off their hinges. The already upset, bug-eyed horses snorted, rearing backward. Vegeta found the empty stall where Bulma lay between sleep and wakefulness, pale and shivering. A bare glass had been placed neatly on a stool in the furthest corner. Bulma tossed around on the hay, still not waking up fully as Vegeta sat beside her. His arm touch warmed her body into stillness.

"You're alive." Bulma's glassy eyes partly opened, giving way to more tears. "I saw what happened."

"Shh. It's OK." Thankful that fate had spared Bulma's life, Vegeta brought her close, shutting his eyes as his head hurled back. "Don't cry. I'm right here."

Bulma's shaking arms climbed up his back as she embraced him, nails poking across his skin. "You were burning…and…and screaming. Fire all around. I tried to stop you, but I couldn't do anything. Too much fire. Screaming in pain. You didn't hear me. I said that I loved you, and you didn't… hear me."

"You weren't there with me, Bulma, but I heard you." Vegeta's eyes watered as Bulma rocked back and forth between his arms. "I heard you. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

He flew her back to the house, putting her to bed after a bath. She could have killed herself walking around that drunk. Had she wanted to? That terrified him. She'd never been that irresponsible. He could have stayed angry, but Yamcha's own drunken sermon came to mind. Bulma wasn't holding up well, and Vegeta was furious with himself for not realizing the magnitude of her decline. He had to stay by her side no matter what.

Trunks returned home around ten a.m. to a large breakfast ready his father had prepared, thrilling his grandmother Panchy.

"Hey, dad! Wow! This looks amazing – and homemade! Grandma, why don't you stay and eat with us?"

Panchy smiled sweetly, masking her concern from the boy about his parents. "Vegeta, dear, you look a little peaked. Everything all right?"

"I'm fine," Vegeta replied, passing her a piping hot cup of black coffee, just the way she liked it. "Bulma is feeling under the weather, so I stayed up late look to after her."

Panchy blew air over the cup, astutely shunning a stronger reaction to his response. "Should I go see her or wait a few hours?"

Trunks looked up at Vegeta. "Yeah, dad. I should go too."

Panchy kissed her grandson's head and rosy cheeks. "Honey, let your father decide."

"She'll be sleeping a lot through the day, Panchy, I believe," Vegeta replied. "If she feels like eating, I'll have her call you afterward."

"Very well. Sounds like a good plan. I'll take a few muffins for myself and her father, and the mug. I like its design. Do me a favor and get some sleep too, Vegeta. I don't ask for much."

Panchy's library of smiles customarily carried veiled messages. Vegeta knew this one well, so he followed her to the door.

"I don't like being forced to use telepathy, Panchy."

"I'm not forcing you to do anything, Vegeta. Be grateful that I don't have the power to use it on my own. As I said, I don't ask for a lot. I know you think I can be a nuisance, but I'm here for you as much as I am for Bulma and Trunks."

"I said I'm all right, Panchy."

"I'll take you at your word for now. Bulma doesn't have to call me later, but I expect you to."

"As long as you don't interrogate me down the road."

"Keep your promise and I'll keep mine, bucko. Get some sleep."

Trunks stacked several plates of food on each side like mini skyscrapers. "Too bad grandma couldn't hang out with us. Have you eaten yet?"

"Yeah, I had a few plates," Vegeta said, relaxing on a stool.

"You never have a few of anything," Trunks said, laughing.

Vegeta held up a carving knife, sharpening it. "Just eat your grub, brat, before I get hungry again and commandeer it. I didn't cook this much to let go to waste."

"Papa, are you sure you're OK? Do you and mom still want to talk with me? I guess we can wait until she's feeling better."

"You and I can talk."

"About what?"

"Whatever you want. No speeches on training either."

"Yeah?"

"Sure."

Thinking carefully, Trunks put his utensils down. "Why… do you and mom act like nothing happened?"

Vegeta's eye flicked up. "Hm?"

"Papa, you both act like everything is just OK now – but that's it. Don't get me wrong. I don't want you to be weird, but even Goten tells me his parents say they're not OK. His mom cries sometimes but then tells him it's all right if they cry together."

"People react to stress in different ways, Trunks. There's a lot of pressure on our family and those we know. That won't change. We can only hope that peace will continue. Your mother and I… wanted you to feel safe again. But since you asked straightforwardly, the truth is Bulma and I aren't OK."

"Is it because you're worried about me?"

Vegeta left his seat, crouching beside the boy. "You aren't the cause, son. It's complicated. Your mother and I are struggling maybe like… like Kakarot and Chi Chi, it seems." Choking out that admission soured his stomach.

Recalling the hug Vegeta gave him on the battlefield, Trunks laid a hand on his father's shoulder. When Vegeta didn't move back, the boy embraced him. "Are you going to be fine, dad?"

"I'm working on being better than fine." Vegeta bowed further into Trunks's hold, hearing the boy's resilient heart, treasuring his warmness. "That's what we Saiyans do, remember?"

Vegeta vowed to never deny this supportive affection whenever Trunks needed assurance. Strength comes in many varieties, and he wanted the boy to trust his sincerity.

Trunks grinned, holding his arms over his head. "How could I forget? Let's not forget the Briefs, either!"

"You better not forget, boy," Vegeta said, bumping Trunks's nose with his finger. "We have more to talk about, but I need to check on your mother. Do me a favor and see about your grandparents' horses. They're fonder of you than they ever will be of me. I'll text when I'm ready to leave, OK?"

"OK, papa. See you soon. What's mom sick with? Didn't you say you were up all night?"

This is a difficult one, but I can't lie. "I was, but she's not contagious. Your mom isn't a machine, though she tries to act like one. She's exhausted, which is causing her to feel unwell. You are wise by asking us to be less normal. It's time to work on that."

After reading up quickly in the kitchen on how to treat vodka hangovers, Vegeta prepped a plain meal for Bulma: oatmeal, scrambled egg whites, toast and ginger tea with lemon. Some drinkers didn't suffer aftereffects unless the amount of alcohol they normally consumed doubled. But even if Bulma didn't have a hangover, she would still be too fatigued to do much else.

Vegeta set up a tray stand, moving a chair next to it, as the tea's pleasant aroma coaxed Bulma's blurry eyes open. She had kicked off a blanket, leaving only a sheet covering her arms and legs.

Vegeta fluffed her pillows, evaluating her response time. "It's ginger. Take a few sips."

"Give me a few minutes," she replied, looking around. The room was cleaner than she'd left it before her drinking binge. Humiliated, she dragged the bedsheet over her eyes and cried. "I'm sorry. None of this was supposed to happen."

Vegeta seated himself, helping Bulma hold the teacup until her shaking hands calmed. "Have some of this before you eat."

Bulma's eyes retreated from his sober gaze. "I know you're upset with me."

Vegeta opened the window beside their bed to bring in floral perfume from the gardens. His heavy voice was firm but understanding. "You're damned right I am. You could have been seriously injured. I… thought you were. But I'm too tired to quarrel. It's not what either of us need to feel better anyway."

Bulma placed her teacup on the platter. "You were awake all night?"

"Mm."

"Oh, honey."

Bulma's fingers uncomfortably moved over her lips as Vegeta's shoulders stiffened and then relaxed. His hearing followed the wind's melody through the trees as his eyes took in the lush scenery. Receiving an affectionate word from Bulma after not hearing one for a long time raised his spirits, but also hurt.

"I… do not want to leave, Bulma. This is the only real home I've known since my childhood. I will not interfere with how you choose to live your life or… even settle with someone else. I know expecting full forgiveness is a lot to ask, but I will do everything I can to regain your trust if you give me a chance."

Comments and questions are invited!