Earlier: Following a night of intense lovemaking, Bulma and Vegeta found themselves at a crossroads. Bulma later discussed her feelings during a therapy session.

After walking in the woods and grabbing a sandwich at the lodge, Bulma trekked back to the cottage feeling less troubled about her troubles, but a separate, intuitive uneasiness filtered through her mind. She powered up her phone, switching on the GPS locator to check on Trunks and Vegeta's locations. The two weren't together. Trunks was still at the cottage. Vegeta had left before she did that day, but she found it curious that he hadn't picked up the boy to do something together. Her preoccupation caused her to miss a sealed letter to her that was placed on the fireplace's mantel.

Well, we did let him sleep late – maybe too late. She had briefly looked in on their son before leaving the cottage earlier, taking care not to wake him. He had moved to the attic bedroom after cleaning up the night before. Everything seemed fine. She hung her headscarf and jacket on a coat stand near the front door, going to the kitchen. Rontana insisted on sending her favored guest away with another half-slab of cake, which would go straight into the fridge. A large pitcher of juice had been emptied. She checked a tin of food and beverage capsules, noticing that another one marked "juice" had gone missing. T.B. the robot spun into the kitchen just as she prepared to take another step.

"Hi, little guy. How are you today? I see Trunks has been putting you to good use. I'll be up to see him in a few. I'm gathering that he's found a way to play video games?"

"I am OK, Doctor Brief, but Trunks is not."

"What?" Bulma took off for her son's room, closely followed by T.B. "Why didn't you contact me or Vegeta?"

"I am sorry," the robot said as rose to fly behind her. "Trunks told me he would be fine until you arrived. He's only wanted juice and water since you've been out."

Apparently, this machine is too trusting. Gotta fix that quickly. Bulma inhaled, shutting her eyes to calm herself. Trunks was still in bed, lethargic and red-eyed, with his nightclothes on. Bulma felt his head. "Oh no. Tell me what's wrong."

"Nothing, mom," the boy said, sounding marginally embarrassed. "I'll be OK."

"Trunks, you're feverish and you've been sleeping all day. Have you spoken with your dad?"

The boy sat up, rubbing his cloudy eyes. "I texted him when I woke up. Said I wanted to stay here. Told him I'm fine."

"So you lied to your father?" A guttural, unhappy growl crept into Bulma's concerned voice. "Vegeta didn't find it odd that you didn't jump at the chance to play explorer today?"

"No, mom, and I didn't lie to him…exactly. Dad said that as long as we're staying here, if I wanted to be alone, he wouldn't make a big deal out of it."

Of all the moments Vegeta decides to tell him this! Bulma's hands enveloped Trunks's cheeks, getting a better sense of his fever. "T.B., go to the kitchen and get a small bag of ice and water, please." |The boy smiled dimly. Like most children, he accepted and felt calmer being mothered, even as he tried to appear unconcerned like he thought his father would.

The robot's arms left their hidden sockets. "Yes, ma'am. Is there anything else?"

"Um, there are a few cans of chicken broth in the cupboard. Heat up a big mug, but not too hot."

Bulma sat on the bed. "Now what's this about being alone? Since when? Is something else wrong?"

"No. I guess not. I got up for a while after papa went away and saw you outside with the chickens. You looked sad. I wondered if… you argued. You guys seemed happy last night."

Bulma exhaled. "That's because we were happy - but look, Trunks, papa and I will have our ups and downs. Sometimes the downs happen even when you have happy moments. I think you're aware that."

"Yeah, I do."

Bulma's palms folded over Trunks's hands, her mind taking stock of his feelings. "The truth is… Vegeta and I didn't get along when you were a baby, but we eventually agreed on doing what had to be done to raise you. We knew that being part-Saiyan and having our intelligence – the kind that would show up earlier than other kids - would be a challenge requiring special care."

"So you're saying that you didn't love each other like you do now?"

Like we do now. Bulma pondered those first years after Vegeta came to Earth. She realized this moment would come with Trunks but had hoped the boy would be older. "No, we didn't."

Tears rose in Trunks's now-mournful eyes. "At all?"

"Oh, baby, it's OK." Bulma blanketed the boy between her arms, smoothing his hair to console him. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to hurt you. At the time, your papa and I had feelings for each other, but it's not easy to make love work in the right way if both people can't align their purposes in life. Ours weren't then."

"So do your purposes still line up now, or are you and papa keeping more stuff from me?" Anger sparked on the boy's face. "Is that part of why you've been depressed and wanted to come here too?"

Trunks's sickness outweighed furthering their talk, so Bulma moved on. "Trunks, I've said what's necessary. Your father is a private man, and though I can be more unguarded with others, I need my privacy too –- just as much as you'll need yours at times, especially as you grow older. But, presently, your mom needs to get a little food into your stomach."

Trunks sneezed as his nose began to run. "I'm not hungry."

"I expected that. We should get your fever down first, and then you can drink broth. T.B. has a compartment to keep it warm." The robot rolled inside just as Bulma mentioned it, followed by Vegeta.

Vegeta's scolding, knotted frown fell on Trunks. "Appears to me you're not as fine as your text said."

"Papa…"

Vegeta glanced at Bulma. "You all right?"

"Yes," Bulma said, handing water to their son. "But I'm concerned that he's slept most of the day. Did you sense anything?"

"I didn't feel the need to be that fixed on him while I was out. He was up late, and he's had a lot on his mind."

Trunks sniffed, picking up more tissues to cover his bursts of sneezing. Vegeta's frown deepened, appearing more disturbed as Trunks regained his breath. His sensitive hearing caught a subtle raspy rattle from the boy's chest. Ruddy, blotchy spots also were spreading on Trunks's arms and hands too.

The situation felt familiar and uncomfortable, which Vegeta wasn't ready discuss in front of Trunks yet. It may be less than an hour before the coughing begins. We need to get on top of this.

"He's wheezing, Bulma. I can hear it."

"Mom, I'm kind of achy too."

"We're going to step out." Bulma replaced her worried look with a gentle smile. "I'll bring back some honey mixed with medicine to help. It will make you sleepy again."

Vegeta touched her wrist, mutely suggesting that Bulma should wait to speak until reaching the kitchen. "Any idea of what it could be?" he asked.

Bulma's back rested on the counter's edge. "It looks like measles, which really concerns me because the disease spreads quickly –- and Trunks has been vaccinated, which bothers me just as much. We'll have to tell Rontana. Damn it! I hope no one else gets sick because of us."

"He's only met Rontana up close at the lodge when no one else was around. She can't run this place without being vaccinated herself. Other people we've barely seen from a distance."

"Doesn't matter, Vegeta. Trunks's rash is here, along with other symptoms, so no doubt he's quite infectious. That's faster than normal. It usually takes a few days before it appears on regular human children if they're unvaccinated."

Rontana was practical and sympathetic as Bulma apologized on the phone. "You and Vegeta stay focused on your delightful little boy. If it is measles, he will feel low for a while. The village must be prepared for the unexpected. My late husband and I tried our best to prepare for these scenarios. All guests will be informed and assisted. The physically ill ones can't get around extensively outside their cottages anyway without help. No one will be told, however, who came down with measles first."

"But you know who I am, Rontana, so do not object when I say this. I'll have money transferred into your business account to cover expenses until we're clear that everyone is safe - and I'll have anonymous checks sent to their families."

"That is generous of you," Rontana said. "I accept. Now put Vegeta on with me."

Bulma blinked as her hand covered the wall phone's mouthpiece. The curly-cue wire swung from the receiver. The phone's clunky style, including a rotary dialer, gave it an old-world feel, but it also had buttons on the base to contact Rontana and her staff rapidly during emergencies.

"Why does she want to speak with me?" Vegeta's eyebrows rose as Bulma tried to give him the receiver. "I don't have anything to say."

"I don't know," she whispered. "Maybe 'Thank you again, Rontana'?" She likes you, remember?"

"You want to speak to me?" Vegeta muttered, not understanding why they had to talk. Bulma had taken care of that. Her elbow struck him anyway as their scrunched eyes and lips engaged in mid-level warfare. "Thank you again, Rontana."

Rontana laughed warmly. "Hello, man of fewer words than most people. You are welcome. I asked to speak with you strictly to annoy you. Have I have succeeded?"

"How thoughtful," Vegeta replied in his clearest monotone, drawing another admonishing glare from Bulma. "I could say no, but I'll just think it instead. Anything else?"

"Yes, Mister Vegeta. I see how carefully you watch Trunks –- like he has left your sight before. But as long as his father has breath to draw and strength to give, the boy will never leave your sight –- and you will never leave his. Do you understand my words?"

The tension lines gradually relaxed on Vegeta's face. "I… know my son will be fine."

"Good," Rontana said, promptly hanging up.

How a woman he barely knew could see through him like this would be mulled over later. Vegeta put the phone receiver on its base. "I'll take Trunks's medicine back there. He's coughing."

"Already?" Bulma asked, mixing up the concoction. "You can hear it?"

"I can sense it. Make something to eat for yourself. I'll keep the boy comfortable."

An hour and a half later, the doctor Rontana summoned had arrived. Bulma felt sheepish being so judgmental, but she hadn't expected the middle-aged physician to show up in a striped shirt and overalls, carrying a scratched brown leather bag whose usefulness was fading soon. A lanky country veterinarian out of a children's book came to mind instead. The man's shoulder-length gray hair, tied in a ponytail, revealed another connection as he lumbered toward the fireplace.

"So Aunt Rontana says you have sick eight-year-old superkid?" His confident, merry laugh put her more at ease. "Maybe the measles, eh?"

"You live in the village?" Bulma inquired.

"Nah," the doctor said, removing higher-tech medical-examination tools from his bag –- a few bearing Capsule Corporation's logo. "My office is down in the valley, in Lennox Town on Main Street. I round at the hospital about five miles from there. Aerial tram gets me to the village quickly in case I'm needed. I also have a truck on the premises. We try to keep it simple around here. Now where is our patient?"

"In the attic bedroom with his dad. We've given Trunks medicine to bring his fever down, so I'm not sure what kind of reading you'll get with that thermometer."

"Is he coughing?"

"It's started," Bulma replied. "It's come on very strong, too, even with the medicine. The rash as well."

The doctor stopped digging in his bag, resting his broad hand its handle. "It takes seven to fourteen days for measles symptoms to show up after exposure to someone infected. Rash usually doesn't appear until at least three days into an active infection. Trunks wasn't showing any signs yesterday or the day before?"

"No, he wasn't," Vegeta said, arriving in the room. "Are you going to chew the cud any longer or actually get to work?"

Bulma's fingers touched the ridges over her eyes. She wasn't about to apologize for Vegeta being himself. Besides, the pitch of his voice also sounded more relieved despite the gruff words spoken. "Doctor Laso. This is…"

"I've figured that out, ma'am," the physician replied. "Rontana said you remind her of my uncle, sir. I can see that already. He used to say, 'If you came to fight, you better be well-prepared.'"

"Mm." Vegeta's traditional stance – arms crossed like an ancient pharaoh, head held tall – indicated his guarded acceptance.

"Doctor, please do not encourage him." Bulma exhorted, eyes narrowing at Vegeta as they walked to Trunks's room. "He doesn't need it."

Dr. Laso chuckled, opening the door. His hulking figure sank on his knees beside Trunks's bed. His behavior appeared unorthodox, but it was just as effective at lessening the boy's discomfort. He glanced up at Bulma and Vegeta. "Real handsome lad you got right here. Hey, Trunks, can you stay awake for a stretch while I examine you? I'm Doctor Laso, but you can call me Bear."

Trunks smiled. "Weird nickmame, but I can do that."

"Yeah, but you'll remember me when you're old and gray like I am now." The physician, handily checked the boy's vitals – blood pressure, heart, lungs. He strapped a loupe over his right eye, using the magnifier to examine the splotchy rash. "I haven't always been a country doctor, you know, Doctor Brief. Still not one completely, I suppose. You don't have to worry about me keeping things private. Rontana would crush my kneecaps if I didn't."

"She wouldn't need to," Vegeta said. The not-so-indirect threat induced another mellow chuckle from the doctor.

Dr. Laso's chunky thumb pointed left at Vegeta. "Tarnation! Is your dad always like this this, Trunks?"

"Mostly, but papa can be really cool." The boy bent over, covering his mouth to cough. His grayish-red eyes were glossier, while his eyelids had a vermillion tint. "He's just antsier more than he should be about me."

My son, the forever comic. "Let the doctor work," Vegeta scolded in a low, protective tone – one from a catalogue of "dad voices," as Trunks called them, conveying a range of emotions with scant words.

Trunks brought his fist to his chest, sitting up. "I'm sorry about coughing so much."

"No apologies here, young man!" Dr. Laso said, placing a cold compress on the boy's head. "You're not feeling up to snuff. That fever is stubborn. Just lie back and rest. I'm ordering another drug to be delivered by drone. Should help with that cough better so the congestion won't lead to other problems. I want you to drink some more water now, and then mom and dad and I will leave."

The doctor made himself comfortable on the sofa after returning to the living room - but not excessively. His giraffe-like legs stretched wide as his arms spread on his thighs. "I am an infectious-disease specialist by training. Seen a lot of things. Family medicine fits my temperament better now."

Vegeta stood behind Bulma, who was seated. His thumb caressed the back of her hand after she gripped his palm. "It's not measles, then," he said. "Is it going to kill our boy or others or what?"

"Vegeta!" Bulma hissed, turning back to look at him. "What are you thinking?!"

"No, no." Dr. Laso's hand waved at Bulma to stay down. "I prefer his bluntness. People like him - and you with your company – roll up their sleeves and act. That's what this crazy world needs. Trunks should recover well if you follow my treatment plan to the letter. He will need lots of rest."

"But what's caused this?" Bulma asked.

Dr. Laso opened a bottle of water, downing a mouthful. "You don't see this often, but kids who live around areas with simian populations have caught measles-type diseases. That's what this looks like. The presentation is different from other versions. Strange, but these infections have never affected adults. The wave burns out as quickly as it begins, but kids can become very sick. A few have died. There's a vaccine for children and the animals now, thank goodness."

"Simians?" Bulma's eyes rose as Vegeta remained above her, inexpressive. His fingers faintly jerked on her shoulder. "You're saying monkeys or apes?"

"Both," Dr. Laso replied. "Mostly confined to three families of primates. I'm not scared yet, but we should trace where Trunks may have contracted this infection. That eye magnifier I used sent images of his rash to a lab in West City for further examination. The drone on its way here can scan the saliva samples I have and compare against genotypes to confirm. Where was Trunks fourteen days ago?"

"With his grandfather," Vegeta said. "They traveled to Northern Plate territories for a week."

"Good to know." Dr. Laso threw on his beat-up boonie hat, resembling a fishboat captain. "I'll reach out to research buddies there to do the hard work and start tracking. Of course, you all should avoid contact with others until I give the word. Drone should be here shortly. I own a shack not far away, so I'll be by here midmorning. Call immediately you need anything."

"Thank you, doctor." Bulma leaned tiredly on the front door's border before stepping outside. Dirt plumes followed the man's spluttering, box-shaped truck. "I need some air, Vegeta."

"Tell me about it." He handed her a jacket. "I need some too."

"What'd you think of Laso?"

"Good enough. He has some skill at applying the element of surprise. An infectious-disease specialist masquerading as a country doctor. Interesting."

Bulma faced him. "I'm… sorry about earlier today. Forgive me."

"Did that hours ago." Vegeta thought about the letter he'd left for her, realizing that she'd overlooked it. He'd deal with that issue later. "I'll stay with Trunks tonight."

"Then you'll likely be up all night with him," Bulma said. "You see how unwell he is. You'll be on edge until he's recovered. Let's switch places every other night."

"I won't be on edge."

"Vegeta, this one issue we aren't arguing about tonight. The decision has been unilaterally made by me. The possible simian connection to this illness also disturbs me. Doesn't it bother you?"

"Yes, but other human children have come down with the virus. If Trunks had been the only one, we might have been confronted with a graver situation. I wanted the doctor to examine Trunks first, but I already suspected that this came from or monkeys or ape clan."

Bulma frowned. "You mean you've seen something like this before?"

"Saiyans' physiological links to our primate progenitors are closer than humans are to theirs. That's no secret to you. My planet had outbreaks of an illness like Trunks's almost every five to seven years."

"And what happened?"

"Clusters of clans and their comrades –- adults and children –- became very ill. Suffering and death were accepted stoically if curatives couldn't help the sick. The lower classes usually caught the worst of it."

"That doesn't surprise me. Not so much different from the way others have treated the poor on Earth for too many years."

"No, it doesn't compare with that, Bulma, but I am not in the mood to explain more."

"You said Saiyan adults and children?" Bulma inspected Vegeta's face for slight changes. His eyes look glassier, but I could be overreacting. He already thinks I am.

Vegeta sighed. "There's nothing off-center with me, Bulma."

"That's what our son said." Bulma fingered his temple - a fever check disguised as sensual attention. "Now look at him. What if you catch it and it's worse for you?"