Let me start out by saying thank you so much for all the feedback on the last chapter! I truly appreciate it and i am glad to see that people have not lost interest in this fic & are still enjoying it. That really boosted my motivation to keep going. So once again, thank you!
Trunks was almost 7 months old and slept through most of the nights like the amazing baby he turned out to be. He was interested in everything, rarely fussed - unless it was his bottomless hole of a stomach that demanded food - and already had a strong independent streak, wanting to try and accomplish everything by himself.
The long hours of rest at night have done Bulma good, she feels better, less drained and definitely a whole lot more agile now that her stomach no longers gets in the way of everything. Given the exceptional appetite and growth of her son she has even started to do yoga for some more strength and energy, he is, after all, becoming pretty heavy. The scar on her lower abdomen still bothers her, it completely ruins her otherwise flawless skin and she had considered making a trip to Korin's tower for a Senzu bean just a day after Trunks birth, but decided against it. The old cat would most certainly inquire as to why she needed the magical bean and then the gossip would likely spread like wildfire. It was her mother who later pointed out that she could get it lasered at a clinic in town, the medical patient-doctor confidentiality, as well as non-disclosure agreements, would give her the privacy she still desired as well as the results she desperately wanted.
Even her work schedule has returned to normal, well almost to normal, now Bulma takes breaks much more regularly than she used to in the past. Breakfast, Lunch, and Dinner are now important times of the day during which she joins her parents - well at least her mother if her father is too busy - and feeds Trunks, if she has no pending deadlines on her projects she even takes some time to play with him before her mother takes over for the afternoon and takes him to the park. The little boy loves that and Bulma has found herself wondering if this is how things will always be. Just her, her parents and Trunks.
She hasn't heard from Vegeta since his water filter drama almost a year ago and has not attempted to contact him since. Her pride is holding her back, knows she does not need him here because her life truly is going just fine, and her son is a very happy baby. But a small part inside of her often whispers how nice it would be to have Vegeta here. With them. Bulma knows he is not a family man, his reaction to the news of her pregnancy is still vividly ingrained in her mind and she knows he is very likely too emotionally stunned to even properly comprehend the miracle that is their son. Dwelling on that fact she almost feels sorry for him, he is an exceptionally smart man with a sense of - twisted - humor, but it's humor nonetheless yet he is emotionally completely incapable of enjoying all the new opportunities life has gifted him with. Yes, she knows he has lost a lot, everything to be honest, but he also has the tools to start over and rebuild, preserve his people just awhile longer.
She doesn't need him. She knows that, but when looking at her son or returning to her room after a long day of work she has to be honest with herself and concede she still wants him here. And that is a bitter pill to swallow.
It's the middle of the night when he enters earth's atmosphere and observes the tiny specks of light grow into the concrete jungle that is West City. He has achieved his goal, finally. He has ascended and he feels ready to not only beat the Androids but also once and for all beat Kakarot before returning to the stars to rule them like he was always meant to be.
Over the course of the last year, the unexplainable ache for the earth woman has remained the same, but he has managed to compartmentalize, just like he did with Frieza or the death of his people. It will not hold him back in carrying out his plan and wish for domination of the Universe. His return to this planet is just a stop by the side of the road, the androids will allow him to measure his new found strength and then move on to eliminate the third class clown. It will also allow him to finally take a much-needed bath and gorge on some of the delicious foods that are exclusive to earth, having run out of Mrs. Briefs meals a long time ago he had returned to the old ways. Which basically consists of stopping at a suitable planet, hunting and then Ki-frying whatever was available. Not always very tasty.
This time the ship lands smoothly, almost without making a sound, over the last few months he has bothered to learn the landing sequences to avoid another crash landing that would surely announce his presence immediately. Which is precisely what Vegeta wants to avoid, having been re-acquainted with solitude he wants to preserve it for as long as possible. The arrival of the Androids is still a day and a half out, which gives him enough time for nourishment and new armor. He pauses before the sliding glass doors that lead into the kitchen, he has yet to decide if he will see his son. A part of him is curious to see how his genetics have mixed with those of the woman, another part of him is deeply appalled that he is even considering giving some mix-breed mongrel the time of day. Changing tactics last second to avoid a potential late night run in with the woman - even though her Ki is indicating she is asleep - he floats up to his balcony instead and is relieved when he finds the door unlocked. He is inside the bedroom and in his bathroom within the blink of an eye, turning on the water so the large tub can fill before he steps back into the bedroom to look for clean clothes and a towel.
His room is as he left it, clean and neat. All his laundry is washed, no doubt the work of Mrs. Brief and when he inhales deeply he notes that Bulma hasn't been in here -likely since he left. The next thing he distinguishes is the unfamiliar feeling spreading in his chest. It's as if his body has detected by smell alone that he is in a safe and stable environment that is familiar to him. Briefly, he wonders if this is what it feels like to be home before he catches himself, almost scoffing at his own stupid thoughts, and precedes to undress before returning to the bathroom with clean garments and a towel. When Vegeta lowers himself into the steaming hot water he can't help but groan low in his throat, it feels prodigious and his muscles instantly relax. The tub is large enough to allow him to simply float in the hot soothing liquid and he is suddenly reminded of how it feels to be submerged in a Regeneration Tank. Only this time the water is warm and soothing and his bones are not broken.
When he later dries off and re-dresses in a pair of sweatpants his stomach decides that it is worth the risk of running into any of the Briefs - even though it's highly unlikely given their sleeping Ki's. He's padding down the hallway on silent feet when the decision whether or not he wants to see his son is made for him. The door to the child's room is open and Vegeta can see the cage-like contraption that is his bed from his position in the hallway. Since returning to earth not even an hour ago Vegeta has tried his very best to ignore his sons Ki level, but now so close that he can see the outline of the slumbering infant his curiosity wins out. His son is powerful, likely more so than even he was at birth, and before his pride can stop himself he is standing in front of the strange bed staring at the infant inside.
The first thing he notices is the strange hair color and Vegeta has to grapple with the sudden realization that his genetics did not win out in regards to the coloring of his son. His hair is purple, clearly, a trait inherited from his mother, the rest though is all him. The angles of his face are not as sharp and defined yet, still covered by baby fat, but even Vegeta comprehends that his face is reflected in that of the infant. His Ki level is the next similarity, it's pulsing bright, outshining everyone else in the compound but him. It's also eerily similar to his own almost as if they are pulsing on essentially the same wave-length. The Prince witnesses almost helplessly as his own hand reaches down into the crib to brush a finger against a chubby cheek as if to verify that this is real and not another dream that will wake him gasping for air and sweat soaked. The skin underneath his fingers is soft, even softer than that of his mother - if that is even possible - and Vegeta finds himself wondering if his own skin had ever been this soft.
There is an ominous feeling forming in his chest, accompanied by a small voice that is whispering that he can never leave this planet. Not truly. Not like he has done so many countless times before. Now there is a part of him that will forever be tied to this planet and no distance and time would be able to erase the knowledge that he has a son, a powerful one at that, out there. The realization rocks through him like a powerful Ki blast and his emotions stumble over another, most of them he can't accurately name or distinguish. He is familiar with the anger suddenly boiling inside of him, because he now feels unexplainably tied down, something he never wanted for himself, much less by accident. Yet he knows that he is likely even more to blame than Bulma when it comes to the creation of his son. He had smelled her fertility, something pathetic human noses could not even pick up on, and he had kept her in his bed for two straight days anyway. The price is a permanent tie to this world and by extension her. The next emotion is an excruciating dissonance between his pride and the actual pride of having a powerful heir - ridiculous hair aside - because he should not exist, a mix-breed is a disgrace to the throne and yet his obvious power exceeds every expectation placed on any Saiyan infant.
He doesn't get a chance to analyze his feelings further than that because movement from the door-frame catches his attention, and his occupied senses snap back to full control. He knows who is standing behind him before he even turns his head.
Suddenly she understands why she has woken up in the middle of the night - for no good apparent reason - with the inexplicable urge to check on her son. The reason was not her son, it was who was with her son.
His back is even wider, more muscular than she remembers and from the way his shoulders tense she knows he is aware of her presence. This is the moment she has been waiting for, the moment when she takes him aside and tells him where to shove it. But for some reason, she can't. He is here. In their son's room.
On silent feet she comes to stand next to him by the crib, making sure to give him enough space and her eyes are fixed on Trunks. The baby is sleeping peacefully, blissfully unaware of the sudden tension that is filling this room and the two sets of eyes that are staring at him. In an effort to break the tension and the first ice after so many months of silence, she softly speaks,
"His name is Trunks. After my father"
When Vegeta doesn't respond to her words, she adds, voice just above a whisper,
"Trunks Vegeta Briefs"
In the last moment she hopes that he won't be upset because she used his royal monkey name, but when his eyes snap up filled with a mix of curiosity and confusion she knows that she has surprised him. Likely in a positive manner. Bulma doubts that Vegeta would have thought she'd consider his feelings in naming the child. Vegeta Junior would have been too much, but as a second name, it has grown on her. Especially since she was not sure if Trunks was ever going to meet the man that partook in his creation. She doesn't know much about Saiyan customs or heritage, heck she doesn't know much about Vegeta if she honest with herself but she wanted to make sure that she could at least give Trunks a tiny Saiyan part. Just to be sure.
They remain in front of their son's crib in silence for another few minutes, and Bulma can't help but wonder if Vegeta has just stood here and looked or if he has actually reached out and touched the infant. She desperately hopes that this is a step in the right direction, that maybe, just maybe this can all work out and Trunks will grow up with a father.
"I'm glad you are back" she finally breathes into the silence of the night, eyes still fixed on the baby, "we missed you around here."
At that he actually shifts and looks at her, regards her fully, his undivided attention only on her as if he has a hard time grasping the meaning of her words. For a moment she wonders if anyone has ever told him that they missed him. His expression is thoughtful and his dark eyes are studying her as if he is trying to decipher if she speaks the truth. An almost pained expression briefly flutters over his features and Bulma realized that he is trying to make a decision, likely wrestling with his own emotions at this bizarre situation. Under his intense gaze, she now realizes that she is just wearing a tiny shirt and panties, and suddenly feels exposed and naked. Her body has changed and she has not yet fully grown accustomed to all the changes, is not sure if she likes them yet - while the man in front of her is chiseled like a god from marble. His sweatpants are hanging low and his bare chest has her fingers itching to reach out and touch him, make sure he is really here. Somewhere, somehow her brain faintly reminders her that she should be mad at him, that she actually is mad at him, but right now she just can't will herself to dislike him, not with the way the deep, strong V of his abdomen looks so utterly likable.
Realizing that she is obviously staring at his lower regions she tears her eyes away, only to find him still looking at her. Judging by the look in his dark eyes his thoughts have strayed in the same direction as hers but his pride is likely holding him back from acting on them. A traitorous hand timidly comes up, and with her eyes glued to his, she places it on his chest. As their skins make contact with another he exhales, and she watches the tension leave his body. He has likely made a decision. Her assumptions are confirmed when a moment later a large warm hand comes to rest on her hip, his thumb stroking over her hipbone, and his eyes drop to her mouth.
She knows what comes next. Knows that she shouldn't give in so easy, that she shouldn't be so eager. But dammit it has been a long time, and to her shame, she has truly missed him. So she decides that for now, she will throw caution and anger to the wind, after all, she deserves this homecoming.
Have an amazing weekend guys!