Author's Note: Dragon Ball Super doesn't exist for the purposes of this story. It's based on post-Androids and post-Buu relationships between the characters. I will post a chapter every couple of days or so. The story has five chapters and is complete. Questions, head canons and comments are appreciated!

Bulma expected her brooding husband to be exactly where he was - on the roof. Telling Vegeta to come down would have been futile at that time of night, so she picked up a book, reading about ten pages before returning to sleep. Within the hour, Vegeta was snuggled next to her, kissing her shoulder not long before falling asleep himself. He would rest better over the coming days, Bulma believed. He would be prepared to discuss what he had experienced earlier that week eventually.

After breakfast, which Vegeta had eaten by himself, he ambled into Bulma's at-home lab. She had a crisp new roll of drafting paper unfurled on an otherwise untidy table. No shock there.

"Started early, I see."

"No, Vegeta, you slept late – and I'm glad you did." That's where the conversation about the prior night would begin and end. If he wanted to continue, she'd left an understated opening.

"I'm… sorry I kept you awake, Bulma."

"Apology accepted." If she had denied Vegeta the opportunity to save face, he would have shut down. He hadn't wronged her, of course, especially over something this trivial, but if he needed to work through his emotions this way, then so be it. "Are you training today?"

"Yeah. Then I'm seeing a movie in East City with Trunks and Goten."

"You're – you – are seeing a movie with the boys?" Bulma closed her drafting pencil case, turning around. "Teenage boys. Teens. Adolescents. Hungry Saiyan boys."

"Don't look so astonished. I'll have the gold credit card to pay for our entertainment and meals."

"No muscles have moved on my face, Vegeta, other than to express incredulity – not surprise. It's taken years to learn that nifty technique from you."
He huffed, almost kicking himself for entering his wife's domain. Maybe she was irritated that he interrupted her concentration. "Can you stop being a comedienne for a moment, please?"

Bulma laughed, cleaning her dusty fingers. "Oh buddy, you are way too late to change that about me, but I'll tone it down. Now what can I do for you?"
Accepting her invitation, Vegeta closed the distance between them. All he wanted was to touch her, feel her growing belly, to remind himself that this life was real. He inhaled, taking in the sweat from her worn working cap, the pungency of soldered metal and wire, the hormonal aroma of pregnancy.

"Thanks for having the bots prepare my breakfast instead of making it yourself," he said, leaving a tender kiss on her brow. That was enough for now.
Bulma snapped a rag at his butt. "You can see yourself out. By the way, you're always welcome here. I stopped being annoyed with your unannounced disruptions a while ago."

"You may have convinced yourself of that, Bulma, but I know you. We're welcome in each other's spaces because we love each other, but when we're working hard at something, we're still working."

"You OK, honey?" She drew in a tiny breath. Not all baby kicks were pleasant. He's almost at the door. He won't notice. Keep smiling, Bulma. Keeping smiling.

"I'm fine, but you aren't." Sensing his wife's pain, Vegeta walked back to her. "You can't hide things like this from me."

"I'm not hiding anything from you. I'm carrying another half-Saiyan baby. Sometimes her kicks are sharper. I went through the same thing with Trunks."

"But it's not the same this time, Bulma. It's… not. Take five and do nothing."

"Vegeta -"

"Take a break, Bulma."

She smiled as he helped her back into her automated chair. The seat rose, halting at the edge of the drafting table. "How is papa's nervous-breakdown scale today, from one to ten?"

"Fifteen," Vegeta grunted, holding her stomach. "It was twenty yesterday."

"You do realize that we have another three months before she's born. I can have our doctor prescribe anti-anxiety medication for you."

"You're a laugh a minute," Vegeta said sullenly. If looks could kill, Bulma would be wearing a halo. "I realize you're not falling apart, but I wasn't here for these… changes… before Trunks was born."

"And I know your recall isn't that shitty," Bulma replied. "You weren't around all the time, but you most assuredly witnessed changes - and likely sensed ones like this as much as you are now. It's more difficult to distance yourself as you did back then."

Vegeta noticed a barely eaten plate of cheese and crackers. "I can't distance myself. This birth process won't be like our son's. I think you should have more of that cheese, too."

"Well you can't fret yourself into insomnia every night either, Vegeta."

"You said yourself that I slept late today."

Bulma counted backward from one thousand in her mind. He's struggling. Be patient. Be patient. "You can see that I'm in one piece, so minor emergency over. Go get your workout. I don't want the boys disappointed tonight. Whom should I hug first, you or them?"

"For what?"

"Did the boys ask you to come along, or did you volunteer?"

"None of us will tell you," Vegeta said, kissing her crumb-covered mouth. "We made a pact."

"Unbelievable!" Bulma plucked his fingers off her face. "Put those lips back where they came from. The three of you ganged up on me?"

Vegeta snickered. I get the last laugh. "Chi Chi and Kakarot don't know either, so don't try asking them."

"And why isn't Goku going anyway?"

"If the boys want me there, which they do, Kakarot ain't coming with us."

"Now you're being unreasonably mean." Bulma's judgmental frown didn't prompt the apology from Vegeta that she desired. "He's Goten's father, honey."

"He's also the loudest talker among the four of us. We can't spend all evening being shushed inside the theater because he has no impulse control. I will lose my fucking mind, and he knows that."

"As long as his feelings aren't hurt, Vegeta."

"They aren't. Kakarot gets to be himself one hundred percent when we're sparring, or when you have those lawn parties where I can plan my escape from everyone's drunken merrymaking. Can I put my lips on your face now?"

"Maybe later." Scowling, Bulma put her cap back on. "As you said, I'm busy."

Vegeta shrugged, leaving the door partly open. "I'll call you before we leave."

He's seeing whether I want him to call. Bulma touched her belly, looking up. "Sure." She opened a drawer, retrieving a sealed letter and paper knife. Vegeta put it there after returning from the alternate universe where an older Bulma and the woman's adult son resided.

"She asked me to give this to you," her husband's note said. "I promised that I would."

"Guess it's time for you to read this, Bulma. I can't fault Vegeta for not discussing what happened there if I haven't dealt with the other side myself."

"Father, the lab is – "

"It's this one." Vegeta stood in front of one of five metal doors - three on one side of the hallway, two on the other. "I can sense her, Trunks. Her energy doesn't contrast much from my wife's."

He awaited the next obvious question.

"How… does it contrast?"

"You and your mother's experiences are different, and thus your energy manifests differently. My boy's inquisitiveness is a dead ringer for yours, but his boldness can be less shrewd. Your actions are more calculating, which can lead to overthinking. You know that. The other Trunks also doesn't wear his heart on his sleeve as much as you do, but he's a caring person."

"I wish you could have seen his expression before we left. He cares a lot for you."

And that's where our sons are most similar. Vegeta thought of the dead man who didn't have the pleasure of parenting this Trunks. But the young man had a father now - in him. An appreciative one despite his cantankerousness. Vegeta often worried that his sons' sentiment would get them killed too young. It had happened before. Luck can be fickle. The Dragon Balls weren't permanent. Multiple chances to live freely were slim and often dependent on the mercy – or whims - of the deities overseeing the universe.

He nodded at the entryway. "Are you coming, or do you have more questions?"

"Mom knows you're here," Trunks replied, gazing into an optical scanner. Cloudy puffs of steam rolled out as the top chamber unbolted. "Life is full of surprises. I prefer this not to be one of them."

"I…understand." Vegeta stared down an illumined flight of stairs. An elevator was on his left. "Is she working?"

Trunks' lips folded together like a frog. He wanted to laugh so badly. It's rare to see him anxious like this. I must take advantage while I can. "What else would she be doing in her lab, father?"

"You apparently have other activities to occupy your time," Vegeta grumbled. "I'm taking the stairs."

Trunks reached into his pocket. "Use this key fob to unlock the door at the bottom. I'll bring a full-size lunch in about two hours. She usually eats around that time. There are snacks, though."

"I'm sure I can deprive of myself of appetizers for two hours."

"Oh, I don't question that. What you can do is ensure that mom has some while you're talking."

"You're concerned about something, Trunks, and it's not about me seeing your mother." Vegeta had an almost preternatural ability to hear the tiniest vocal changes. His sons, no matter how cheerful, couldn't hide them.

"She's diabetic."

Vegeta's reaction was stronger than even he and Trunks had expected. "What the hell is wrong with you?" He took a swift step in reverse, reducing his voice. "Why have you wasted all this time not telling me? If Bulma is eating snacks to regulate her blood sugar - which means she's injecting insulin - then your treatments are primitive. Surely, they weren't like that before -"

"Before the androids? Father, it's been seventeen years since I've seen you, and mom's condition developed about a year after she fined-tuned the time machine so I could bring you here."

"Precisely." Vegeta's arms crossed over his chest. "Almost two decades. So none of what you're saying explains the lack of proper medical help for your mother. My wife's researchers can do nearly anything. Can't yours? Gene therapy? Insulin pumps? Something?"

Trunks wondered how Vegeta had such detailed knowledge of the disease. He and my other mom are so close now. Her pregnancy shows that. Maybe that's why he seems so protective of my mother without knowing her. It's incredible how much he's changed.

"It's taken a long time to restore operations across the planet. Those who weren't murdered by the androids were driven underground for years. Many remain traumatized. And there are fewer gifted mortals and fighters with abilities that Piccolo, Gohan, Krillin and others had."

Vegeta noted one name Trunks omitted from this list of the defeated comrades. "You were traumatized too, but you're still doing what's necessary now."

Tiring of Vegeta's interrogation, Trunks roughly ran his fingers through his hair. We've been on solid ground for an hour – one fucking hour - and I'm ready to tear him apart again.
"Father, even with the smartest people Capsule Corporation has now, relearning what used to be isn't easy. Scientists from everywhere left a treasure trove of knowledge tools and, fortunately, enough supplies to rebuild, but only a handful of people knew where those resources were. Everyone had to stay hidden. Imagine what would've happened if the androids had discovered that?"

"You're saying a lot but telling me little," Vegeta replied.

The entrance at the foot of the stairs sailed open, revealing a small woman with long blue-and-gray hair shaking her fist. The metal on her baggy denim overalls clanged like body armor. "Boys, knock it off! You're giving me a big fat headache! End this now or you're both getting locked out!"

Hair on the back of Vegeta's neck spiked. That's her all right. "You don't have to yell, Bulma."

"The hell I don't, Vegeta! If that's what it takes to shut you up, then I'm deploying it. Trunks, you know that man is an infuriatingly tireless information seeker. The more you explain without concrete answers, the more opportunities he gets to roast you."

"She's right, you know," Vegeta said smugly. He slapped Trunks' back with enough force to be wickedly aggravating. "Is my roasting hot enough for you, son?"