Earlier: Bulma, Trunks and Vegeta reunite, with both father and son hoping to provide more support. Recognizing Bulma's improvement, Vegeta makes a proposition.

"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."

"This cottage may already be reserved for someone who needs to be here later. What if they're very ill and want their family close too?"

"Everyone residing here is affected by illness, and you don't have to worry about staying if that's what you ultimately want. No one cares here about our – your – life back in the city."

A quizzical frown emerged on Bulma's face. "Vegeta, don't tell me you asked already. I mean -"

"I didn't. Rontana hinted at the possibility without prodding from me."

Bulma's head rested on the bed's headboard. "You've made quite an impression on that little old lady."

"No, you have. Anyone who's brave enough to get someone like me to trust their intentions, given that I'm not the most approachable person whatsoever, is worthy of consideration. But the choice is, in the end, yours."

"Maybe I primed the pump with her by showing those pictures. She thinks you're handsome."

"After everything that's happened since I've lived on Earth, I don't think I'll ever view myself in that respect. I hadn't before we met - and, in fact, it's safer that I don't. There's still enough arrogance in my character to go around and make sufficient trouble - and I ain't ready to give that up."

"Golly. Ain't that the truth!"

Vegeta's deadpan yet deliberately amusing self-awareness coaxed a crystalline smile and winsome laughter out Bulma, the brightest he'd seen in weeks. His gaze followed the curves of her lips and cheeks, the softness in her eyes directed at him. He wanted to propose marriage on the spot, but despite Bulma's testament that she didn't want to run from him, he remained unsure. The potential of another withdrawal out of uncertainty – or worse, a relapse of her drinking - would have been crushing. He hated feeling afraid of being brave with her.

After their Majin Buu ordeal, even Goku told Gohan and Krillin that Vegeta was "ninety-nine percent fearless" - and quite loudly, to Vegeta's immense irritation. Sure enough, Goku teasingly didn't disclose what he believed the one percent of Vegeta's "fear" consisted of: worms. Not even Bulma and Trunks had that knowledge, and Goku wanted to remain on speaking terms with Vegeta.

But more importantly, Goku never voiced an iota of doubt about whether Vegeta and Bulma would stay together.

Vegeta sighed. Why should I be surprised by anything with him? Of all people, he's also elected himself the patron saint of my relationship with her, meddlesome fool that he is. Tsch. He needs prayers for his own marriage!

Bulma's head inclined like an inquisitive puppy. "Penny for your thoughts?"

"Hm?" Vegeta's hand pressed on the mattress as he stood. "It's… good to see you laugh so comfortably. I'll be back. I have a feeling that Trunks has abandoned our homemade-meal plans."

"Me too."

Bulma slept through dinner, not awakening until past midnight. Though it was too late for a full meal, she wouldn't forego dessert. Vegeta was asleep in a reclining chair with his feet up in a dark corner. Trunks had the sofa bed, snoring like a badger. She bent down, moving a few fingers through his hair bangs.

Trunks's eyelids creaked open. "Hey, mom. You're awake."

Bulma's fingertip gently poked his chin. "Lower your voice, honey. Let's not wake your papa. He's in a heavy sleep over there."

Trunks glanced at his father's slackened body with skepticism. "Yeah, guess so. Are you feeling better?"

"Yeah, I am. I know it's late, but would you like some cake with me?"

"Nah." Trunks patted his stomach with a sleepy grin. "I think I ate more than dad this time."

Bulma pulled on her son's earlobe, followed by a cheek kiss. "That's impossible for me to believe. I'll see you in when the sun comes up, sport, or when that rooster crows out back."

"Night, mom."

Bulma adjusted the tie knot on her dressing gown, walking into the kitchen. A piece of cake gracefully wrapped in wax paper had been placed on the counter, along with a note: "Thought you might want this, mama. Love you."

She touched her chest, slowly veering as Vegeta slogged inside, yawning and snorting. Bulma snorted herself and grinned. Every inch of Vegeta looked rumpled. "Sorry we woke you."

"Maybe Trunks will be sorry, but it's impossible for me to believe that you are," Vegeta grouched, guzzling a jug of water. "Are you going to stand there annoying me or eat that dressed-up dessert?"

"Not my fault you chose to sleep in that chair," Bulma replied, inviting him to join in her indulgence. She lifted the glass cover on the cake stand. "Trunks would have made room for you on his bed, or either of you could have slept in the attic bedroom."

Vegeta moved next to her, taking the knife. "Nonsense on that first suggestion," he declared, chomping on a thick slice, scattering crumbs on the counter. "Let me tell you, I embrace hearing those animals and bugs screech outside when Trunks and I are in a tent. That boy's snoring is an assault weapon."

Oh god. I wonder what he'll say after hearing Goku snore! Bulma almost couldn't restrain her laughter, imagining that situation. Her shoulders rose and fell as she sniffed. Anything louder would have awoken Trunks. Vegeta shrugged, appearing ignorant, which he most certainly was not.

Still giggling, Bulma laid her hand on his shoulder. "You're getting really good at this."

He broke off a smaller piece of cake, feeding it to her. "Good at what?"

"Being Vegeta," Bulma said, resting her silken fingers over his. "Just…being the entirety of you."

Then they shoved cake onto each other's faces, sputtering through their laughter together as Vegeta switched off the ceiling lights. Mellow moonlight from the side windows glowed the in shadows. Buttercream icing and yellow cake specks dribbled everywhere as they kissed.

"We can't leave this stuff here, Vegeta. Look at these utensils."

Vegeta licked a few crumbs off her neck. "Yeah, we can."

Bulma reared back, putting him at arm's length. "No, we can't."

"Yes, you can!" Trunks chirped from behind the kitchen door.

"Told you we could," Vegeta said as he and Bulma smooched. "Now get in here, Trunks!"

The boy confidently swaggered inside, only to lose eagerness after seeing the utter mess his parents had made of themselves and the kitchen. Desperate eyes locked with Bulma's. "Please, don't do this."

"She can't guard you, son," Vegeta said with a jolly darkness that fathers relish. "Bucket and mop for the floor. I want that countertop and sink to shine like knew money, too, before that decrepit rooster skreiches outside. Cracks and crevices between the appliances as well. You're barred from using any of your powers."

"But you did this, not me!" Trunks moaned. "Mom! This is… this is unjust!"

Unjust? Amused, Bulma and Vegeta grinned.

"Did you hear what the boy said?" Vegeta asked, picking icing off his face and eyebrows.

Bulma brushed crumbs from her shoulders. "Sure did. I believe it was… unjust. Robust word right there! I am impressed by the boy's choice."

"Unjust indeed," Vegeta said, sniffing like a haughty noble – to needle his son, as one would expect.

Seething, Trunks plodded to the utility closet in the basement for cleaning tools as his parents strolled out of the kitchen together. When the boy returned, a multi-function robot rolled in front of his knees, extending its spindly metal arm for a handshake.

"Hi there! Doctor Brief said you will tell me what to do?"

I thought she didn't bring any bots with her! "So mom and dad tricked me."

"I do not understand," the robot replied. "How can I help?"

"Ignore that." Trunks patted the machine's head. "Hm. I've never seen you before. What is your name?"

"I am T.B.! Your mother had me created just for you, Trunks. I can do a lot more than clean."

The boy smiled. "I'm sure, but let's do that first."

Vegeta's taste was most sweet. Bulma was the honeybee, drawn to his lips, dancing across their fleshiness with her tongue. His raven hair flowed over his shoulders as they showered off the stickiest bits from their cake-shoving contest in the kitchen. Her short locks smoothed on the sides and back, with tufts curving neatly behind her ears. Vegeta's legs stood stalwart, like the forest's oldest trees. Bulma, his redoubtable, bonny goddess, rooted them further with her bewitching touch.

His eyes could – would not – turn away from her. He was no longer the wanderer in desolation, neither in thought nor deed. Bulma had led him to the oasis before he knew one existed – before he knew one could exist beyond the unfinished groundwork. Before their son. Before her. Before Goku. Before Frieza's influence. Before his mother and father. Before the rancor – but that, perhaps, had always been.

Vegeta's gaze feasted on the abundant banquet before him – her smile, her sky-blue eyes, her toes, the arcs of her breasts, hips and bottom. He brought her to his chest, giving kisses and exulting in hers. Bulma's wet fingers voyaged between his legs, anticipating and welcoming his shudder of desire. Vegeta's thumb and lips cleared salty tears from her cheekbones, reaffirming his devotion. He laid her on their downy bed, radiating warmth and longing, crossing into her lush valley. Bulma's supple back rounded in his palms, accepting his entry. Her arms held his sacrum, tightening as his immersive breaths quickened with each thrust inside her. The arches of his spine felt like gemstones on her fingertips.

Vegeta's right hand glided underneath Bulma's back, raising her higher as his cock drove farther, quenching their thirst. Viscid juices and streams of sweat from their intercourse dampened the sheets. The Saiyan prince had become a blacksmith and Bulma his royal forge. She was as fine as the clouds gathered during the eastern sunrise. She took hold of his loins, almost chanting through heady breaths. His eyes shone like black sand on the beach, flecked with metal. Her sparkling seawater washed along his shores. Their apertures in their hearts - hammered in by pain and sadness - sealed.

He said he loved her, head lowering to her breasts. She hadn't thought he would cry. The sound of his weeping registered barely above a whisper. There, in the darkness, Bulma did not have to read his mind to know Vegeta had considered time's finitude. They only had so much time. Neither wanted to confront that reality without having the other's love by their side, or so they thought in that moment.

The rooster's caw at sunrise surprisingly didn't wake Vegeta or Trunks. Content with letting them sleep, Bulma made her way to the kitchen, finding it spotless. With a smile, she languidly swayed her now-full coffee mug under her nose. He must have loved my gift. Lucky little brat.

A spoonful of cream, dashes of cinnamon and nutmeg and a few lumps of sugar transformed her dawn beverage into yet another indulgence. The cottage's screened porch had been decorated with assorted bric-à-brac – a few straw dolls, a couple of picture frames with pressed, dried flowers, a vase. The ornamentation wasn't overdone, making the space a comfortable location to think and enjoy nature. Bulma brought the coffee pot and a bowl of fruit with her, setting them on a tree stump that had been polished and converted into a side table.

About an hour later, Vegeta came in, sitting beside her. He whiffed, turning an eye on Bulma's cup. "Spices in your coffee – and cream? What's the occasion?"

Bulma hugged the mug, taking a long sip. "Want some?"

"Answer my question first, please."

"If you're searching for a compliment, Vegeta, don't hold your breath. This is just my second cup."

"Hn." Vegeta's arms crossed. "I suppose that this is what our son means by normality. What a delight."

"Are you going to share this with me or sit there and pout?"

Vegeta leaned over, slipping his arms around Bulma's waist. "I'd rather do this."

Bulma put the mug aside, readily accepting his kiss. Her nipples hardened as Vegeta partially unbound the top of her dressing gown to kiss and suckle her breasts. "Let's hope Trunks doesn't run out here while we're like this," she said.

"Door is locked. I put a temporary bolt on… with a code."

"He could run around from the front, you know," Bulma replied with a laugh, "and why are you carrying that kind of security tech with you?"

Vegeta looked up. "Bulma, believe me, he's not coming out. I give the boy another four hours before he can speak intelligibly. Being out here in the wilderness is like giving him an elephant tranquilizer at night."

Bulma took her mug, walking to the left side of the porch, and observed a path into the forest. Vegeta stretched his legs out on the garden sofa, watching her.

"There's something I haven't told you." She turned to look at him, sipping more coffee. "Our little group of combatants, you know, we've seen a lot of things. That's part of what I've tried to do across these past several months, to straighten things in my mind."

"Which group are you talking about?"

"The people who've fought by your side and mine. Years ago when you left Earth to search for Goku, after Frieza's death, we were attacked by a descendant of the Makyans. He aggressively came after us first first because of our connection with Goku, intending to take more earthlings down with us."

"Garlick's son and his henchmen, you mean."

Bulma turned. "You… you know?"

"Not everyone's memories got erased after you and the others were infected and healed."

"We were possessed."

"You were infected. Piccolo told me this might occur with you – flashbacks of what happened then. He didn't have to volunteer the information. Everything else started to make sense for me after that. You may be the only person on Earth who can remember, outside those who weren't affected. I'd say Piccolo, Krillin and Gohan got lucky that they weren't zombified."

"Only you would use lucky to describe escaping global domination by another bunch of power-hungry, infection-spreading crazies."

"Earth is still here, Bulma. I don't call that luck. People are going about their lives in peace. I don't call that luck."

"You're not angry that the guys didn't tell you then, let alone until recently?"

Vegeta stood beside her, extending his arms around her waist. "To what end? What was I going to do after the fact back then? I had my own axes to grind, especially after Kakarot disappeared. And you know I had zero sympathy for much else around me, but I damn sure would have tried to save myself. Those three only did what they were called to do, just like on Namek before that. They rose to the challenge."

"Zero sympathy?"

Vegeta sighed, facing her. "Oh you know what I mean, Bulma. You and I weren't together either. That said, imagine how much more dire the situation would have been if I had been infected too."

"I don't have to imagine, Vegeta."

"No, you don't." Another cut through emotional muscle. Silence would have rebuilt a stronger wall between them, so Vegeta chose to leave for a while.

Bulma tried to stop him. "Wait, that's not how I meant it."

"I would reconsider that statement if I were you," he replied quietly. "I believe you did mean it."

"I'm trying here too, Vegeta! I'm trying, after what happened with us yesterday, last night… "

"I know you're trying, Bulma, and I meant what I said about making things right – and not wanting to put pressure on you. I also cannot rewrite history and take back what happened, though I wish I could. But there's a lot more about me that came before you – and you know more than most others ever will. You must reconcile all that with the person standing here. I won't beg for your acceptance. I have received another chance to live – and do my best – and I intend to make the most of it, with or without you. But I'd rather do that with you."

He made sure to leave another warm coffee pot and porridge on the stove for Bulma to find whenever she decided return inside. He hadn't expected her to follow. He didn't want her to. Instead, he made plans to explore more of the land, expecting to bring Trunks along if the boy wanted. Bulma needed time alone to think over his suggestion to lengthen their stay at the settlement.

The misty, light fog hovering between the trees had completely disappeared, having fully handed its morning reign over to the sun. Bulma meandered over to the chickens, jerking their necks as they scurried to the edge of their open-air pen, both out of curiosity and likely hope for extra food.

"You rascals only love me for the chow," she said, entering the birds' realm. A strongly sealed barrel of seed had been placed near the coop, making it easy to access and keep safe from other animals. The rooster usually took the greatest interest in her. "I think you'll have me around much longer, big guy, along with those pesky Saiyans."

She'd felt shame ever since her body and brain were almost snatched forever. Nothing but evil, pain and a sickening hunger governed her actions. The Makyans would have eventually used her scientific talents, she believed, after retraining her to act less on instinct. That would have been calamitous. She, too, had become several times more physically powerful – something she'd never experienced. It enlivened her, much like Vegeta's boost of strength and agility from Babadi.

Not long after she arrived at the settlement, she concluded that the trauma over Vegeta's incident exhumed those suppressed feelings. She couldn't do traditional person-to-person therapy to examine her emotions, but Rontana and her deceased husband had intelligently sought out virtual technology in prior years to help the two human counselors who lived in the village. That was the only major tech the couple wanted there.

Later that morning, Bulma used the program, selecting a computer-generated man to be her therapist. The room had been plain looking, so she chose another visual – almost a mirror image of the road where she as a teenager first met Goku… and shot at him. At the time, she was a hot-tempered, intrepid girl who thought her soon-to-be friend was an attacker. Still, this selection of background set the tone for an interesting discussion as her talk with the therapist continued.

"Both poignant and hilarious, doctor, don't you think?"

"Tell me why you believe it is, Bulma, and just call me Frank."

"Because, had I not met Goku that day or built the dragon-ball radar, I might have been a bystander like so many others who've been attacked and murdered – and many brought back to life – on Earth."

"So, after many years, you're carrying great responsibility on your shoulders. That's why you started drinking more?"

Bulma's hands fidgeted. "Others carry a lot of responsibility too. My friends. Parents. Goku. They haven't drowned their troubles in vodka."

"But we're not talking about them. It's all right to feel ambivalent now, Bulma, especially as you've seen so many terrible things happen – and, in many cases, either helped to alleviate or fix them. Don't judge yourself too harshly about the resentment you've felt. All helpers - caregivers - feel it at some point. Burnout."

"But I'm supposed to be better than this, Frank! I've worked hard to be less self-centered and more forgiving."

"But first you must forgive yourself."

Bulma crossed her legs at the knee, staring down at her folded hands. "For what?"

"For being angry over feeling out of control. Being angry about the state of the world. Being angry with Vegeta. Being angry with Goku."

"What? I'm not angry with Goku."

"Then why did you choose this background where you both met to talk with me?"

Bulma cast an eye across the image-filled room – the birds, the trees, the dusty road she once excitedly traveled. "My definition of adventure has a different meaning now than it did then. Bad things have always happened in the world, but when I met Goku, I still had innocence left. Thankfully, I can see that hopefulness in my son. Even Goku has it. He's not as simple as others make him out to be."

Frank stood up, beckoning Bulma to walk around with him. "Tell me more."

"Vegeta, I believe, has been jealous of Goku not only because of their Saiyan connection, but because Goku has managed not to become embittered – and to be honest, Goku perpetually has a target on his back because of his strength and natural skill – and good heart."

"And perhaps you have felt the same as Vegeta, but because you and Goku have been friends longer, it causes more guilt?"

"We all became adults at young ages in different ways, Frank, with Vegeta and Goku's son Gohan the earliest, I suppose. Luckily, many of Earth's kids start out smart and precocious, but overall they get to be kids, whereas the four of us are prodigies. Our responsibilities were distinctive, we all knew that early, and we learned to cope in healthy and not-so-healthy ways. Maturity in every instance wasn't assured."

"If you define innocence as hope, Bulma, then give yourself more praise. If you didn't have hope, you wouldn't be here trying to restore order in your life. You haven't cut yourself off from love either."

"You mean Vegeta."

"Generally, I mean all those who're important to you. But, yes, Vegeta tops my list."

Bulma laughed reflectively. "Some people we know will never understand."

"Understand what?"

"How we started piecing our lives together into a relationship. It's a patchwork quilt. We've torn it off and on. Some splits have been harder to mend. Other rends have come from past lives…memories."

"And now?"

"Vegeta says he's prepared to help sew us back together in a manner that almost feels too good to be true, at least to me. That's what scary. God, I love that man so much! But I also feel like he needs to be in therapy as much as I do."

"If not more so?" Frank prodded. "That's what you're holding back from telling me, isn't it?"

"I guess. Thing is, I wish other people could really see all of him, but he doesn't make it easy."

"Sounds like he has many reasons not to be as outgoing, though you haven't said a lot about his past."

"Let's just say he has infinite reasons to be reticent, Frank. But no one sees how much we can make each other laugh – when we're not quarreling – or how patiently he's trained our son. He is by far the hardest teacher that Trunks will likely ever have - and I know that Vegeta could be much harder - but I wish you could witness how Trunks beams with excitement when his father is around. It's remarkable."

A soft-toned bell sounded, retuning the room to its natural state. "Bulma, our session together has come to an end. Would you like to schedule another this week?"

Bulma checked her watch. "Maybe. This has been helpful. Thank you."

"The pleasure is mine," Frank said, his image fading as Bulma unlocked the door.

Thanks to my new readers for the encouragement and saying what you think! I'm glad to have you here!