Earlier: As he was preparing to move out, Vegeta discovered that Bulma had an emerging drinking problem. After a frightening moment of not knowing where she'd gone, he found her drunk and shaken following a terrifying nightmare about him.

"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."

As Vegeta unlatched the shutters on another window, Bulma thought about his protective, comforting care after they returned from the stables. She could barely hold her head straight as he bathed her. A soft brush of a kiss on the edge of temple she felt as he carried her to their bed.

Or even settle with someone else. Fighting her body's instability, Bulma got up. Vegeta turned, his eyebrows creasing into a noiseless scold. Bulma's tremors and other withdrawal symptoms indicated that the alcohol was leaving her system, but she wouldn't be out of the woods for a while. He'd watched more than enough people destroy their health with hard drink when he traveled the cosmos.

Back then he sneered callously about their "weakness." Even his frustration with Yamcha the night before didn't elicit that kind of self-righteous contempt anymore. But Vegeta also felt assured that Yamcha wasn't a borderline addict, unlike the woman he loved. Bulma's abrupt turn toward liquor to douse turbulent nightmares about him carved through his heart. He would accept Bulma's wishes if she still wanted him to move out eventually, but she needed no-strings-attached care to get back on her feet. He believed he was best equipped to provide as much as possible precisely because of his love for her.

He quickly broke Bulma's predictable fall after she lost her balance, holding her underarms as she stared up at him. "Can you not look at me like that, Vegeta? I think the rug is uneven where I tripped."

"However you think I'm looking at you is what you deserve for that stunt," he grunted, leading her back to bed. "And don't bother saying you're OK. I suggest getting you out of this environment so it's less convenient and tempting to drink. Now is not the time for shame either."

"You know I can't tell my parents about this. One question will lead to ten thousand of them - and what about Trunks?"

"Your parents seem to be taking more of a hands-off approach as of late. With Trunks, he asked me why we've acted like everything is OK for so long."

"Really?"

Vegeta nodded yes. "I told him part of the truth, saying you and I aren't OK, but that we have been focused on helping him to feel safe."

Bulma anxiously balled up the top of the bedsheet in her hands. "I'm not sure if I want to discuss the drinking."

"That is your decision. I only held back with him because I needed to see where your mind is. Telling Trunks that you haven't felt well in some time is probably all he should know now. We can discuss our thoughts about separating later."

"Thoughts about," not "plans to" separate. They both reconsidered whether talking with Trunks was worthwhile until they understood their own feelings.

"I suppose so." Bulma pressed on her queasy stomach, glancing at the food warmer. "You know, I just don't feel up to eating yet. Give me a few hours?"

Vegeta capsulized the meal, leaving the teapot on the tray. "Just continue with the tea and water. I'll return later and bring Trunks with me."

"Vegeta…"

"Mm?"

"Thank you."

"I am only doing what I should be. I… want to do more. Will you let me help?"

"You mean to keep me from drinking?"

"That, and the suffering that's caused it. You and our son need to heal."

"What about you?"

Vegeta's fighter's hands unfurled, palms up. "What about me, Bulma? That's how all this began, right? Some people are destined to struggle throughout their lives. It is fitting that I happen to be one. The turmoil that ate at me inside was purged and won't return. That is… my promise to myself and you."

He left the room without further comment, closing the door.

A few hours later, Trunks came with freshly picked wildflowers for his mother. He jumped onto the bed, cuddling beside Bulma, who kissed his rosy face. "I'm glad you're feeling better mom."

"Thank you, dearest. Your father's nursing skills aren't that bad, you think?"

"Yeah. You've taught him a lot, though I think he sets broken bones better."

Vegeta laid against the other side of the bedroom door, listening to them laugh. For a moment, that too felt normal.

Bulma insisted on traveling alone to a mini-village of secluded cottages four-thousand miles away, asking Vegeta to bring Trunks there in three weeks. A striking older woman with plaited, snowy hair and elegant gray eyes managed the site. The place catered to visitors seeking solitude to deal with their emotional troubles, among others suffering other ailments. The woman didn't smile a lot, but she took a liking to Bulma, fetching her for a grand tour of the surrounding forest's stately redwood trees as well as a neighboring valley. She did chuckle when Bulma showed her a picture of Vegeta and Trunks.

"Ah, your husband isn't a big smiler either. My oldest sister says I should work on that part of myself, but I also see why you're so comfortable with me. It takes a while with some visitors. I mean no harm. This is just my face, you know?"

"We're not married, Rontana, but we co-parent our son." Bulma's fingers spread on the communal dining table where they were having a midafternoon coffee. "It takes time for Vegeta to warm up to others."

"Is he shy?"

"He can be. He'll never own up to that in a million years."

Rontana cut a piece of apple cake, pushing it onto Bulma's plate. "He looks tough, though."

Bulma laughed, digging her fork deep into the dessert. "Oh, he's very tough."

"Reminds me of my husband in a way, especially the eyes. He died a few years ago."

Bulma reached across the table, sympathetically holding the woman's hands. "Oh, I'm so sorry for your loss."

"I miss him, Bulma, but we had a lot of fun together. He took pride in how we managed this settlement together, and that we could help people."

"Staying here has been good medicine for me," Bulma replied. "You've been good to me."

"I am pleased to hear that from you."

Bulma glanced at her watch as a couple guests filtered into the room, looking for pre-dinner snacks and beverages. "I haven't decided whether to eat in my cottage or with the other guests in here tonight. I'll let the kitchen know. Vegeta and our son are coming this weekend. Three more days before they get here!"

Rontana picked up her coffee pot, tottering into the kitchen. As the picture-covered door swung shut, she nudged Vegeta's taut bicep like he was another one of her grandchildren. "Don't keep her waiting. I normally do not abide by snooping on these premises, but I do enjoy witnessing joyful surprises."

"You should know that I am not shy." Vegeta arms crossed as Rontana's cocked head suggested doubt. "I am cautious. Have more than enough reasons to be."

"I reckon," she replied, handing him two wrapped slices of cake. "I hope you're not calling that lovely woman a liar, Mister Vegeta. Now skedaddle and give your son this to enjoy."

Vegeta returned the encampment where he and Trunks were staying overnight. The boy said he liked "roughing it in the wild," knowing his father would laugh, which the boy enjoyed seeing. They'd already spent several nights together to train in less friendly terrain on Earth.

"Would you like more lessons on what roughing it really means, Trunks? There are plenty of remote planets where you could broaden your definition."

Time to change the subject before he picks one and leaves me there alone. "This cake is so good! I can't wait to see mom in the morning!"

"She'll be pleased to see you."

"And you too, papa."

Vegeta turned down the tent lights, setting up a privacy partition between them. "Have some of that tea to stop Rontana's cake from giving you a sugar headache."

Ignoring him, Trunks took a gulp of water. "Yes, sir. Good night."

Vegeta put on shorts and a comfortable T-shirt after removing his jeans, listening to nocturnal animals' hoots and howls. The boy fell asleep smoothly. Since Bulma's departure, Vegeta had been forcing himself to wake in the middle of the night to watch Trunks sleep. If any disturbing or strange dreams were to happen, it would be then. Wanting the focus to be less on him, Vegeta had taken a rear seat so Bulma could discuss her struggle with nightmares, anger and sadness more openly with Trunks. The boy bravely told his parents how hurt and angry he was after Vegeta knocked him and Goten unconscious before "the bad thing that happened with Buu." But Trunks also said his father's pre-battle embrace gave him the courage to fight harder after Vegeta was thought to be dead.

Neither parent elaborated on Vegeta's complex motives that day – driving himself to suicide while also demonstrating incredible courageousness and honor. In Trunks's eyes, his father tried to win a lone battle but lost, not chosen a gruesome death to pay for his sins and triumph.

Bulma's gloved hands burrowed through deep soil in a garden patch not far from her cottage. She hadn't communed with the land with such harmony in some time. Each potato she dug up felt like she'd struck gold. She'd laugh when her border spade hit a rock or two along the way, grateful that her mechanical engineer's strength didn't send the stones flying into her skull. Her ears detected a crackle of twigs on the ground, drawing her attention.

Trunks vaulted, picking up his mom and spinning around. "Mom!"

Bulma squealed with happiness, though she preferred being on solid ground. "You surprised me perfectly, Mister Universe. Now you can land this plane and put me down. I need to finish digging up these potatoes. I plan to roast them at the cottage for dinner."

"So you're actually cooking for real?"

"I am! Feeling adventurous?"

"I guess you could call it that." Trunks slid backward protectively so his mother couldn't swipe him. "Some would call it scared."

"You little goblin!" Bulma whipped off her gardener's hat as Trunks escaped to a high tree branch. "Come back down here and fight me like a warrior, you coward!"

"No way!" Trunks held his stomach, stooping over with laughter. "Papa fights fairly with me. You never do!"

Bulma was a little jealous that her son could keep his balance in a way she probably never could. She walked in a circle, hands on her sides. "Where is your father?"

Trunks dropped down, swinging on another branch. "Oh, um, he left."

"He left?"

"Yeah. He said it's more important for me to stay here now. Rontana told us how well you're doing. You do look much better."

Bulma concealed her disappointment. For weeks, Vegeta had walked a fine line between being present and giving her space, keeping his promise. Well, he's been so wonderful. I can't blame him for needing a breather. I'll call him tomorrow.

"OK, honey! I have missed you. This land around here is mind-blowing. I can't wait for you to see it all."

"Hey, mom, would it be OK to build a fire in that pit tonight? We could roast everything there."

Bulma handed him a pail and spade. "I don't see why not. I have several cornish hens in the freezer, so we can add those to the pre-roast list."

"And s'mores."

"Ah, yes. I suspected you had sweets on your mind. We'll see if the lodge's kitchen has the ingredients. I'm surprised you didn't ask your dad to pick up anything on your way here."

"You know how papa is, mom. Since you've been gone, I haven't even been able to get a peppermint out of him. Grandma won't let me eat as many desserts either."

"Hah! You mean my dear mother denied sugar to her only grandson? We must sound the alarm."

"I think dad is doing some kind of mind-control thing. I'm just waiting for her to grow fangs and her eyes to turn green."

As the boy chuckled at the thought, Bulma's face almost blanched. Her right hand trembled enough for the boy to notice. "Don't….don't say that, Trunks. It's not funny. Not… funny."

"Mom?" Concerned, Trunks dropped his tools as his mother's nomadic gaze extended. Bulma seemed to see something that he hadn't, mechanically following its trail. "Hey, I didn't mean anything by it with grandma. Are you OK?"

Trunks's squeeze on her legs tensed, battling his mother's increasing catatonia. Bulma's mind didn't break free from its disturbing preoccupation until he stopped calling her mom and, instead, used her name.

"Hm, what?" Bulma touched her jaw, eyes lowering to her confused son. "Are you all right?"

Trunks's grasp on her legs eased. "That's what I was asking you."

"Honey, I think I've been out here too long without a break," Bulma replied distantly. "You don't have to keep digging if you don't want to. I need some water... need to lie down for a while. Getting a nap before cooking will get my energy back. Walk with me back to the cottage then have some fun in the woods. Just don't go too far."

"Uh, OK. Do you need help with something else?"

Bulma's fingers sifted through his hair. "No, no. Run along. I'm all right."

Vegeta had been regally seated on the ground a couple of miles away with his legs crossed, thinking about whether he would return home without seeing Bulma. He'd sought Trunks's permission to lurk for a while without Bulma's knowledge. Trunks agreed to let him know if he wanted more privacy. The boy wanted to gauge his mother's state of mind as much as his father.

"Dad, can you hear me?"

'Yeah,' Vegeta's closed eyelids ascended. 'What is it?'

"There's something wrong with mom. She's not feeling well, I think."

Vegeta brushed a dusting of dirt off his jeans, standing. He first had to combat the guilt in Trunks's voice. "I'm sure it's nothing you did, Trunks, so get that out of your head."

"I don't know what happened, dad. I just made a joke about you and grandma, that you were doing mind control on her because she hasn't given you a hard time lately. Mom told me not to joke about that, and then she didn't seem to hear me at first when I asked if she was OK."

Damn it.

Tension wrinkles gathered on Vegeta's forehead. "I'm on my way."

Trunks touched door's rounded frame, thinking as his hands skimmed across its chiseled grooves. "Are you sure I didn't do something wrong?"

"I'm sure. Just go inside quietly and wait for me."

Vegeta waited a few minutes to unwind the sternness on his face and consider what to do. His dash through the trees took seconds. The cottage's exterior had a welcoming, bucolic facade and feel more than he had anticipated. A zig-zagged walking path through low-cut grass led to its partially opened arched door. A hound-dog faced Trunks had thrown wood into the fireplace to warm the surroundings.

"No time for sulking, boy."

"I'm not, papa."

Vegeta eyed the flames licking between the fireplace logs. The roomy cottage smelled like fresh cedar all throughout - earthy and smooth and calming. Wreaths of dried floral arrangements with spicy, fruity aromas complemented. "Good work not burning the place down, kid."

Trunks smiled, returning to his seat in the living room. "Thanks."

"What's that pail over there, eh?"

"Potatoes. Mom picked most of them. Said she wanted to roast them with me. I checked the fridge and then the freezer in the basement. We have cornish hens ground buffalo too."

"Buffalo?" Vegeta rubbed his chin. "Hm. Sounds like a suitable meal plan. I'll see about your mother. You scrub the potatoes. We can get the meat cooked quickly afterward."

"Yes, sir. I'm glad you're here. I lied and said you left. I was hoping she…"

Vegeta responded with an affirmative, steady nod. "I know, son. Now get to work." And Bulma says Trunks has no romance in him. At least he's not too mushy.

This place has been… good for her. He knew it as soon as he and Trunks arrived and met Rontana at the main lodge. Visitors were held to an expectation for confidentiality. The few guests Vegeta saw kept to themselves. Despite having his guard up, he didn't sense others' unease even from afar. Formalities and keeping up appearances seemed foreign. No machines to build, lives to save, or people to entertain – or psychotic enemies to war and rage against. The difference between their lives in West City and these surroundings seemed vast. No explanations to anyone or adherence to expectations beyond one's own – all-too-familiar enticements, but in completely different and less emotionally destructive circumstances.

All this Vegeta took in, in less than three days. And yet, this would never be the idyllic life he, Bulma, and Trunks or anyone else in their circle on Earth were destined to lead. But in that moment, the mighty prince of a departed realm could dream of a better life without shame or confusion or self-loathing.

His hand laid on the bedroom door, closing into a relaxed fist, and rapped lightly on the wood. A shadowy light appeared under the door's bottom edge.

"Just give me another hour to rest, Trunks," Bulma asked softly. She laid on her side into a semi-fetal position. "Best if you use one of the capsules to get a hot meal. I'm sorry. You can eat in here, watch a movie with me. Then you can call your dad."

"Bulma, it's me. Trunks is up front, scrubbing those purple potatoes you dug up. May I come in?"

Bulma picked up a mirror on the nightstand, swiping a few fingers through her hair. "Of course. Can you give me a minute?"

"I'm sure you look fine," Vegeta said, jostling the door latch to encourage her. "It's just me after all."

Bulma had been crying, evidenced by small mass of tissues in a mostly empty see-through rubbish bin near the bed. That didn't alarm Vegeta. He paid attention to her tone of voice. She didn't sound dull or hollow – or artificially "strong." That was good enough for him.

"So you and Trunks plotted to surprise me."

"I didn't tell him to lie, if that's what you're implying."

"So what did you expect him to say? You knew I'd ask where you were."

Vegeta sat on the bed. "It appears you are feeling better. Less than five minutes I've been in this room and you're already griping at me."

He slouched forward as Bulma walloped him with a pillow, defensively hugging his arms around his head. He peeped over his shoulder, getting a face full of cotton pillowcase. Bulma's lips clamped as he responded with a victorious wink. His lack of a smile made the reaction even more humorous.

Vegeta gripped his jaw, responding with an arched eyebrow. "You been working out?"

Bulma appraised her toned arm muscles. "A little."

"I felt it."

"Such a pedestrian attempt to flatter me, Vegeta."

"You don't need my flattery. I'm merely stating what I just experienced. Besides, call my observation pedestrian all you want, but you still liked the compliment. Truth or fiction?"

"I'm not answering that."

"Of course you wouldn't, because you'd have to acknowledge that I am right."

"Even a broken clock is right twice a day."

He held her gaze before lowering his head to think and speak. "I believe you should stay here longer, for as long as it takes, until you feel healed. There is no hurry."

"What?"

"Trunks told me what upset you."

"He made a joke, Vegeta. He wasn't aware. I'm not angry with him."

"Neither am I, Bulma. Just hear me out. You've traveled almost the entirety of this planet, and yet this place – one undemanding place – has become the sanctuary you've sought all your life. It's as clear as day. So, as I said, there is no rush."

"I… I can't just run away altogether from my existence, my life – our son, my parents, my friends, my life's work," Bulma stuttered, twisting the bedsheet in her hands. "Or… you. Or you either."

"That's not what I'm suggesting."

"Then what are you suggesting?"

"Six more months here, just the three of us."

"Through December?"

"Yes."

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