3
Hope Springs Paternal
Waiting to die. This was insanity. Her entire life, all she had ever known, would be gone eventually. Just like that. Without warning. No Other World. No nothing. The thought chilled Bulma to her core. She'd been sitting by the gravity room for hours now, listening to Vegeta pounding away his own turmoil. This force wasn't one that could be beaten away and even he had realized the cold fact. She hugged her knees and dug her bare toes into the grass. To her left, her daughter, Bulla, barely four years old, played with Capsule Corp's newest bubble blower. Completely content. Completely clueless. Bulma felt a sting in her eyes and a pain in her throat. She sniffed and allowed herself to cry against her knees, still watching her daughter through a crack near her elbow. Poor Bulla. She'd never grow up. She'd never experience the thrill of adventure or love.
Weeping still, Bulma shut her eyes and drifted back into buried memories of her younger years. She stopped to mull over small things she should have done differently. She collected herself and stood. So lost in her own thoughts, she failed to notice the gravity room shut off as the door lowered open.
Vegeta stepped out, towel around his neck, skin stinking of three day old sweat. His eyes went immediately to the child coming up behind him, trail of soap bubbles floating by her.
"Daddy!" Bulla called, her frail arms all ready up, begging. She was much more affectionate than Trunks had ever been at this young age. Probably due to Vegeta's treatment of Trunks. One of the many life choices he had been thinking over during his three day stay inside the gravity room. It was something he wished he'd handled better.
The constant training starting as soon as the boy had crawled. Vegeta had also been far more stern with his son. Less involved. That's what he truly regretted. With the girl, he'd by then grown soft. Not to mention Bulma's rage at the mere mention of training her only daughter to fight. It had been easier to pat the girl's head and allow her to braid his hair in ridiculous manners.
"Where's your mother?" Vegeta asked, picking up his child. He'd felt Bulma outside the gravity room, only to have her drift away. She'd cut him off from their link. He might try to feel out her pitiful excuse for an aura, but Vegeta saw more fit to just ask the child than waste his time.
"In the greenhouse," Bulla said, both hands against Vegeta's dirty face. "You smell!"
Growling softly, he rolled his eyes and sat her down, still holding her small hand. Her skin was satin against his calloused fingers. Together they walked across the complex.
It was unlike his wife to leave Bulla unattended.
Vegeta didn't bother knocking. The smell of flowers and tomatoes was enough to plug up his sinuses for the remaining day, yet he walked through, toward his wife's figure by the Tulips. He lifted Bulla into a chair beside of her mother. It was then he noticed Bulma's red-rimmed eyes and stained cheeks. She'd hidden herself away to cry. Hadn't wanted to worry the girl.
"Mama?" Bulla asked, reaching up, her young face scared. She resembled her mother so much.
Vegeta patted her arms down. "Go inside," he told her. "Your mother isn't feeling well." He was shocked at how well she listened. Typically she was stubborn and loud mouthed. Also like her mother. And, though he would never admit aloud, Bulla's streak of pigheadedness was much like himself.
Once the door to the greenhouse slid shut, Vegeta leaned against the wooden crate holding a variety of Tulip. He crossed his arms and his eyes lingered on Bulma's mournful face. "Hey," he said, face as hard as the day he stepped foot on this planet. But his voice held no harshness.
"Vegeta," Bulma breathed, wiping at her face and staring still into the flower bed, "we can't prevent this, can we? It's all over."
He was silent. He couldn't tell her yes. But certainly he couldn't tell her no. He'd had a thought inside the gravity room; granted it hadn't been built on more than legend long forgotten. Which was why he chose not to tell his wife anything. Bulma didn't deserve to have her hopes brought up only to be possibly, and more than likely, crushed later. Therefore, he chose to keep the thought to himself. He'd tell only his son and the small Namekian. Knowing this, Vegeta had no idea what to say. He sighed and relaxed his face. Reached out and placed his ungloved hand on Bulma's shaking shoulder. This stilled her. "Don't waste time on tears," he said and lifted her face as far as she would allow without resistance. Which wasn't much. She hated showing tears. But he saw no use in her secrecy. "We could have years or days. Seconds," he said, "yet you would waste it?"
"Well," she sniffed hard and pulled away from him, crossing her arms, "you're in there beating up droids because you're upset. Aren't I allowed to be upset too?"
"If you so choose," Vegeta shrugged. "But perhaps we're both being wasteful and should stop."
She looked at him, shocked then calm. He knew she agreed with him. He also knew it was a rare occurrence for him to admit fault to even her. Hence her shock. He wiped her cheek and placed his lips against her forehead. Before he could stop her, though he'd have chosen not to, Bulma wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face into his collar bones. She held him tightly. They stayed like that until Vegeta felt his wife relax and kiss his filthy chest.
When the two emerged from the greenhouse, Bulma found their daughter and assured the girl everything was fine. Bulla had of course ran immediately to her brother, concerned. Trunks's idea of settling his sister down had been to sit her in front of the girl's favorite cartoon and feed her sugar treats. Vegeta looked upon his family and smiled warmly to himself. Despite their weaknesses and flaws, he cared deeply for each of them. Felt pride for his son and the boy's accomplishments. Pride for his wife's beauty and intelligence. And pride for his daughter's untapped potential, be it in a lab or battle field. He wanted nothing more than to see this life continue. And felt it odd now, thinking back, that he'd ever wished his love for them to stop.
"Son," Vegeta said, his voice seeming startling to even himself.
Trunks looked over at his father. The boy was dressed in his ridiculous shorts and hoodie, a headphone hanging from one ear as he sat in Bulma's recliner. He had been hacking lazily around the house since, as he so brashly put it, the world was ending soon anyway. Though it was nice to see he had cut his hair in a more suitable manner for the festivities. Short and spiky against his head, save his thin bangs. Vegeta could tell that Bulma wasn't pleased with the look.
"Come into the gravity room," Vegeta instructed, already turning and headed that way.
"What?" Bulma piped, covering Bulla's ears as she cussed him, her voice fading as Vegeta moved about the house, headed for the back door. "Vegeta! You said we'd relax! You big fat liar," she bitched, "you promised me!" Her anger only grew as Trunks followed suite.
When they'd gone into the gravity room, Vegeta cut off all connection to Bulma's laboratory. Trunks watched his father unhooking everything, head cocked to the side.
"What's up?" Trunks asked as Vegeta stopped his assault on the wiring.
"What I'm about to say," Vegeta said, "could be false. But it has to be checked into regardless."
Surprised at this, Trunks listened intently.
"I could never forgive myself if there had been anything at all worth trying and I'd overlooked it," Vegeta said quietly as he stared into his hand.
Trunks sighed. "Father," he started, "everything eventually dies. You can't stop natural causes. We've lost this fight against nature."
"No we haven't!" Vegeta snapped at his son. "How dare you quit so easily! You're my son! Heir to a warrior race of valiant men who never gave up! When have your mother and I taught you to do less than everything you can, boy?"
"You said yourself that this is crazy and pointless!" Trunks countered. Before he could blink, his father had appeared in his bubble and slapped him swiftly and hard across his cheek. Trunks staggered back to composure, glaring vehemently at Vegeta.
"Legend on my planet," Vegeta continued, turning away from his son as if the squabble hadn't occurred, "told of a jewel much like Earth's Dragon Balls. Only there were no limits to the stone's ability. Sadly, Planet Vegeta lost ownership years before my father's reign. Back when Saiyans wore fur instead of armor. Before we knew what we possessed, it was taken."
Struggling to calm down, Trunks sat and crossed his legs, eyebrow twitching, just itching to hit his father back. But he listened. And slowly he felt his chest flutter with hope.
