Summary: After Future Bulma's crabby introduction, she and Vegeta call their first truce.
Bulma sucked her teeth. "Are you two just going to loaf there? I'm busy, you know."
"I'm leaving." Exhausted already, Trunks reconsidered bringing them lunch. A comatose nap appealed to him. Mom seems OK. Mission accomplished.
The chamber shut with the weight of a jail cell.
Fuck the stairs. She may lock me out before I get there. Vegeta's feet left the floor, landing two steps away from where Bulma was standing. "What's his problem?"
"It must be hormones. I remember Trunks saying you had trouble adjusting to biological changes around his age too." Bulma moved aside, allowing him to enter. My god. So this is what he might have looked like. A goatee too? Eh, not sure about that.
Vegeta swallowed, relaxing his posture. He refused to be provoked further. "I was younger than him back then. Look, this is awkward for me as much as it is for you. So let's try to be civil."
Her workroom wasn't ramshackle, but it also wasn't state-of-the-art. Trunks said modern facilities were reconstructed in additional areas off-campus. Bulma labored in this one by choice, Vegeta surmised.
"This is where you hid while you built the time machine."
Craving a cigarette, she fumbled with a side pocket. "Yes, I did." He'll give me a piece of his mind that I don't want to hear if I smoke. Be disciplined. You can do this.
"You prefer more solitude these days." Vegeta knew the reason behind her fidgeting. She's trying to shed this addiction because she must, not because she wants to.
"After the androids, my world became me, Trunks and… Gohan, before those creatures murdered that phenomenal young man. I didn't have an alternative."
"You have one now, Bulma. They can't hurt you or Trunks anymore."
It was impossible for Vegeta not to empathize. Chronic stress and likely loneliness had etched the creases on her face, not mere aging. (His wife's mother barely had a wrinkle on her.) But like the other Bulma, this one's fortitude and resourcefulness made her radiant. She had guts.
Nevertheless, despite her blustery "greeting," Vegeta perceived her gentleness and vulnerability. Neither attribute showed as prominently in his wife's demeanor. When provoked, his Bulma was typically one step from hurling a jaw-destroying right hook.
"Are you judging me, Vegeta?"
"I'm observing."
"I'm not a lab mouse."
Vegeta bit his lip, hearing that echo of himself. "He said that to you, didn't he?"
Bulma punched a few buttons on the wall, darkening floodlights in the lab's far end. "When your evil twin didn't want to listen, yes - usually when dad and I tried to help him medically."
"Yet he used the tools you gave him to train. He couldn't have done that without you."
"And he still died!" Bulma erupted. Her hand quivered, drawing Vegeta's discreet interest. "Don't tell me that didn't piss you off! I didn't see it, but there's no doubt in my mind that he died fighting as hard as he could! I know that."
"I was furious, but not as much now, compared with you." Indeed, he could relate to her long-withheld anger – the anguished, guilt-ridden fury that Bulma didn't want her son to see.
"You aren't the Vegeta I knew, but that pride of yours - oh man, it's on grand display. It certainly was when Trunks met you."
Vegeta unsealed a tin of roasted chickpeas. "Want some?" He chewed on a few, expecting her to take the hint. "You warned Trunks, and - surprise - I was a first-rate dick. I had many reasons why I didn't want him to get close to me. Not all were selfish. But he made his own choices that helped save my life and that of many others, including the woman who insanely remains married to me."
Bulma dug into the can as he looked on. "Seriously? You two married? She must be a lunatic."
"Best thing that's ever happened to me, though," Vegeta replied, sitting beside her. "I say that quite selfishly. I suspect she's still debating my value to her."
Remarkable how he admitted that to me so… easily. He's truly in love with her. "And I believe you. Trunks said you and she argued or kept your distance then. I couldn't fathom why my son wanted to 'check in' with you now, as he calls it, after so much time has passed."
Vegeta remembered his attitude toward Trunks before, during and after their battle against Cell. I'm sure he didn't lie, but it appears he didn't tell his mother everything.
"You know why, Bulma. He's nosy. Here, have some water. Trunks hoped for this 'happy ending.' Can't say I would have risked more grief – or worse, especially if he had dropped into hell on earth again. But that is your son's - our son's - character."
"So you expressed your displeasure that he risked coming there."
Vegeta didn't conceal his crossness. "Kakarot and Gohan blocked us before the real fight began. Neither of us was pleased that they meddled."
"Trunks socked you first, didn't he?"
"What makes you say that?"
Bulma looked sideways at him. "Because he's Prince Vegeta's son. Provoking him gave you an opportunity to test his strength from the outset. I can't believe Trunks let you to goad him. He should have known better."
As observant as ever. Vegeta snorted, amused by her accuracy. "Oh, I get it. You think this was a one-sided provocation. He's thirty-four years old, Bulma. If he didn't want to brawl, he wouldn't have – and told me to go to hell and stay there."
"Please say he told you to go hell at least."
Vegeta thumped his chest. "A great honor, though saying 'fuck you' would have been just as suitable."
He found it as easy to talk with her as she did with him - no minor achievement on his part. He went above and beyond being frank; he let his guard down – an authentic expression of gratitude for her sacrifices. Her friendly, engaged smile reminded him of the one he left back home.
"How are my friends, Vegeta? How's Goku? Why didn't they come? I'm so happy they're still safe." Bulma had been hesitant to ask upfront, recalling Trunks' account of discord between the fighters.
"Hn." Vegeta smoothed his goatee. "No offense, but that would have been about eight of us stuffed into a ship the size of an elevator carriage. Someone would've died in battle by the time we arrived, and it sure as hell wouldn't have been me."
Disappointed, Bulma broke eye contact with him. "So… Goku didn't want to be here?"
Vegeta unfastened his wrist bracelet, carefully placing a capsule into her palm. "Kakarot insisted that I come instead – neither my wife nor Trunks could convince him otherwise - but he sent these for you." He chose not to touch her again, hoping to leave her with some solace.
Bulma held his arm as she broke the tablet. "Where…where are you going?"
"This is a personal moment that belongs to you, Bulma, not me. I'll find Trunks. Take your time."
She untied a rolled-up picture, laying the satiny red ribbon on her thigh. Though the bright-eyed teenager grinning between young Goku and Krillin wasn't "her," the sight brought her to tears. Within a few minutes, the programmed remote in her hand requested activation. A smiling hologram of Goku appeared.
He waved at first, then perched his arms behind his head. "Yo!"
"Yo!" Laughing, Bulma wiped the wet streaks off her face. "How handsome you look, big guy."
Goku paced around a tree as he spoke. "I hope you aren't having any problems with this recording. My Bulma got kind of angry when I asked about the tech. But I'm used to her doing that."
Heavens, that man never could stand still. "I'm sure you are, Goku. I'm sure you are."
"I hope Vegeta has been on his best behavior," he said with a sprightly gleam in his eye, "but please don't tell him I said that. I still wonder about that guy sometimes."
Bulma crossed her fingers. "I'll keep your secret. I'm good at that, unlike you."
Goku paused, thinking over past events. "I know you've been through hell. When we fought the androids and Cell, I thought not only of my Bulma, but also of you. I wanted Trunks to return safe and sound – and though Vegeta made an ass of himself, in the end, I'm certain he wanted that too."
"He's proved that now, honey. It's… astounding."
"I guess you're wondering why I'm not there. So, like, Trunks told me you got pregnant after a one-night stand with his dad, or something like that."
Bulma cringed. That's my Goku, sticking his feet in his mouth. "It was complicated, jerk."Goku smiled clumsily. "You're probably mad at me for saying that. But what I'm trying to say is, even though Trunks downplayed it, I believed then that there was more between you and your Vegeta. You told your son what he needed to know, but, to protect him, didn't dwell on your feelings. You did a very brave and loving thing. I'm just as grateful for the way you supported Gohan. I'm sure he appreciated how much you loved him too. So I want you to hear me. You did your best."
"Your son did his best too, Goku." Bulma stopped the video, lifting a framed photo of Gohan, Trunks and her. They had their arms around each other at a faraway beach, allowing themselves a respite from the world's tumult and their efforts to stop it. "I'll always be proud of him."
She sobbed, finally freeing her spirit from survivor's guilt and mourning those she lost.
"Vegeta? You're here!"
"I don't have much time, Bulma. The other fighters are dying. We can't sense the source of each other's power, but I've been tracking those humanoid creatures. I will defeat them."
"Piccolo is still alive. Gohan knows. Maybe you can –"
"Don't, Bulma, damn it! Don't… doubt me."
"I don't, Vegeta. I don't."
"I'm coming back. Mark my words."
"You're coming back."
Goku seemed to know what Bulma was thinking. He waited briefly before speaking again in the video.
"I'm sorry your Vegeta didn't have enough time to tell you what he could have, Bulma. If he had the chance now, I think he would. I believe the Vegeta from my world owes you a sincere thank you for setting him on the right path to be the person he is now. I didn't come there to see you because… I'm sure your Son Goku knew how much you cared for him before he died."
With love in his generous heart, he crouched, laying his chest and head on the ground – a bow of the highest respect – before his likeness faded.
Bulma faced her desk, turning on the intercom. "Hi, my dear."
"Hey, mom. How are you feeling? We're in the kitchen."
"Hungry - but give me about a half hour before you come down."
"That might not be the best idea."
"I'm not in diabetic shock yet, Trunks."
"Don't joke like that."
"She's not a toddler," Vegeta scolded, peering over Trunks' shoulder. "You're squandering our time and hers. We need to finish organizing the pushcart."
Trunks' tolerance went up in flames. "I have had it with you! Had it! You're the one who raved like a maniac earlier, and now you have the nerve to nag me?!"
"You have thirty minutes," Bulma said, laughing. "That should be enough space to give yourselves concussions. See you soon. I love you, kid."
Trunks irritably thumped the intercom off-switch. "Your wife is a saint."
Vegeta, wearing an apron, arranged apple slices on a plate. "Alas, I can't make her froth at the mouth as well as I used to, so you're giving me an outlet."
"May I ask you something, father?"
Vegeta continued chopping, thinking about the past. "Hand me those melons. You like these things, right?"
"Wow, you remember that?"
"My memory is one of best and worst parts of my identity."
"How did you become so knowledgeable about diabetes?"
"I had to learn about it. Get that other plate over there, Trunks. My wife was diagnosed with gestational diabetes early in her pregnancy. Until she gives birth to our daughter, she cannot have gene therapy to prevent her from developing full-blown diabetes later. Neither can our child."
Notes: I hope you enjoyed this chapter. What other questions do you think Vegeta could have asked Bulma?
