Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Don't Ever Let Go ❯ Chapter 3 ( Chapter 3 )

Disclaimer: Dragon Ball Z belongs to its creator, Toriyama Akira

 

Chapter 3

 

Vegeta

 

About a month later...

 

Then sun is shining down warmly, it being what one would call a fine autumn day. The wind rushing through the trees as the clouds dance merrily across the sky, fleeting wisps of whiteness cottony against a blue backdrop. Snorting in my head at how ridiculous my stupid thoughts are, I shift my attention back to the shape of a small figure twitching impatiently, sitting on the front lawn in front of Capsule Corporation.

 

Crossing my arms, I roll my eyes in exasperation as the small body tries in vain to focus their mind on the lesson at task. Is it any wonder that I have little to no patience with my brat? For all that he has the long lineage of powerful Saiya-jin kings in his blood, the human weaknesses he inherited from his mother are shown to me over and over again whenever we have training sessions together. He's like a loose canon with a fleeting attention span and the more time I spend with him, the shorter my patience becomes.

 

We've been working on controlling ki energy, something I was able to do quite successfully at his age, even killing my first Saibaman that year. Yet for all that I can sense the untapped potential my young son has, he doesn't seem to have the ability to focus on anything for more then a few minutes at most and my temper has become shorter and shorter the more time I spend in his hyper-active company.

 

“Trunks!” I bark out harshly, watching as his blue eyes snap to my face.

 

“What the hell are you doing? I didn't come out here with you this morning to watch you act like an idiot. Focus your mind on the task at hand! I don't have all day to waste on you and your rambling thought process.”

 

Watching as his lower lip trembles slightly from the harshness in my voice, it takes all of my self-control to not go over to him and bodily toss him through the air. If there is one thing I cannot stand above almost anything else, it is the whining crying of an upset child. And when my son meets his breaking point, instead of blowing something up, he bawls and sobs just like his mother has the unfortunate habit of doing. Grinding my teeth in total frustration, I take a step closer and shake my fist at the cowering brat in front of me. How he could be my son is still a mystery, but there is no denying the fact that he is mine, no matter how many times I might wish it to be otherwise.

 

Towering over his small frame, I fold my arms across my chest in disgust.

 

“Listen up brat. You have two choices. You can either act like a Saiya-jin Prince or you can go sniveling back into the house like a spoiled baby. It's up to you.”

 

With that said, I turn my back on him and walk a few feet away, waiting for his response. Closing my eyes, I count to ten before I turn around, something the woman taught me as a way to concentrate my anger before letting it boil off in a huge explosion. Amazingly, the trick actually does work, but I'm more interested to see what my son has decided for himself instead of marveling over the growth in my self-restraint.

 

“I'm not a baby!” He shouts out towards me, trying his best to look intimidating.

 

Smirking slightly, I watch as the brat focuses his misery into anger, an emotion I have intimate knowledge of and am better able to deal with then crying and dejection. I want my son to become strong and the only way that can ever occur is if he gets over his foolish propensity to tear up from every harsh word that's uttered towards him. Had he been born on Vegeta-sei, I'm sure he would not have lasted long from the harshness of court life and the competitiveness between high ranking Saiya-jins and their offspring. Even though Bulma objects to the way I treat our son, I would rather treat him with some amount of harshness then have him end up as a pansy. I want him to become like the Trunks from the future timeline. True, he also had the annoying habit of getting on my nerves, trying to vie for my attention and affection. But when push came to shove, he acted like a man, not some weakling sissy. If my son keeps on with his hysterical nature, I shudder to think of what he's going to turn into as an adult.

 

Turning my full attention onto my offspring, I let out an irritated grunt.

 

“Fine, then show me that you aren't a baby by concentrating on pulling up your ki and singeing the grass in front of you. And do it quickly!”

 

I watch as he closes his eyes in concentration. Trunks has the ability to pull up his ki at will, but what I'm trying to drill into him is the importance of controlling the energy, not just letting it out in a willy-nilly fashion. Yet for some reason, he has had an extremely difficult time figuring out how to minutely control the output of ki energy he has naturally occurring in his body. I know that my mate thinks I'm trying too push things too far and too quickly with him, but the fact remains that when I was his age, I was already doing much more advanced techniques, already having learned the basics of ki manipulation at a much younger age. I know she thinks that I shouldn't compare his progress with my own, but I have no other reference point to go from and I'm certainly not going to look at Kakarrot's spawn as an example of how hybrid Saiya-jins learn instinctual techniques. That is where I draw the line.

 

Turning my attention once again back onto my concentrating son, I can feel the energy starting to pulse throughout his body. While it is true that he has many years before he will reach his true potential, he already is on par with a Super Elite Saiya-jin, much like I was at his age. Bulma is correct in thinking that he's the equivalent of a weapon and for that reason and that reason alone, I have finally decided it's worth my while to begin training my brat. I'm not doing it to prove anything to her, but deep down inside, I know that isn't quite true either. For some reason I don't understand fully, I want her to have the trust in me that she used to have not that long ago. Before she decided to start hiding things on me. Before I started spiraling down the path of confusion again: the path that's been hounding me since my rival died and I was left here without a tangible purpose beyond taking care of the family I never wanted in the first place.

 

Trying to shake off my self-directed thoughts, I narrow my eyes at Trunks.

 

“What is taking you so long brat? Do it now! I have more important things to be doing then babysitting you.”

 

Quirking my lips in a subtle smirk, I watch as his body trembles, either from the force of manipulating his ki or from anger over my insult. Taking a step towards his small body, I stop when I notice the grass directly in front of us is waving slightly, although there is no noticeable breeze. Swallowing slightly, I still my movements, waiting to see the results of my taunting working on Trunks' need for approval. It doesn't take long for the effects of my unorthodox training to reveal themselves.

 

In less then a second, Trunks' cowering stance suddenly asserts itself. Snapping his eyes open and screaming at the top of his small lungs, I watch as my brat throws his arms out wide and lets out the full force of his anger, directing it towards the source: me. In an instant, I pull up my guard, blocking my untransformed state from the sudden explosion of ki. It feels like my body is being pummeled by a windstorm and then the feeling changes to one of intense heat. Although I'm much stronger then my untrained offspring, his attack caught my by surprise, never having faced the full wrath of his temper that taps into what makes a Saiya-jin a Saiya-jin: the animal inside each of us. I try to cancel out his attack before he ends up flattening part of our home and the surrounding area, but almost as soon as it has started, it ends abruptly, leaving me slightly shaky from the encounter. Straightening up, I glance over at my son, who is sitting in a slouched position, crying again like the baby that he is. Growling in disgust but relieved that he hasn't accidentally hurt himself, I brush the dirt and grass off my sweatpants.

 

Straightening up, that's when I notice it. The grass in front of our home is alight, a small blazing inferno. I don't even realize what I'm doing until after the fact. Jumping over the flames that separate me from my son, I grab him around the waist and toss him over my shoulder. Floating a few meters above the scorching lawn, I use my own ki to cool off and extinguish the flames before I land and drop my son back onto the ground in front of me. Surveying the damage, I know that both Trunks and myself are going to be in for an earful from my harpy mate. But at the moment, I'm too angry with myself to care. For once, I regret my harshness and foul temperament, realizing that I somehow goaded Trunks into releasing the full extent of his power without thinking of the effects that would have on someone as green as he is. He could have been hurt, or worse, Bulma could have been killed had his ki moved in the direction of the house, leveling it in an instant.

 

Easing the shaking in my hands, I push myself away from Trunks, trying to assert the old part of me that would have laughed at the disaster I had just averted. However, my uneasiness does not dissipate. Instead, it hovers over me, sinking deeper into my subconscious. I should have known better then to try to teach my son in such a manner, but that's all I know how to do. The thought of actually treating him in a kinder way has crossed my mind, but that isn't part of my nature. Moreover, I'm not going to lower myself by acting in a way contrary to my personality. Growling under my breath, I do the only thing I can think of at the moment to reassert myself in my moment of weakness. I lash out at my brat.

 

“Trunks! Look at this! Is that how a Saiya-jin Prince behaves, letting his emotions get the better of his reasoning?”

 

I watch as he shakes his head in misery, feeling guilty because I know that there have been more times then I can count where I have let my pride get the better of me in a tough situation. Images of Kakarrot and that creep Cell flash in front of my eyes as if to mock me. Pushing those inconvenient pictures to the back of my mind's eye, I step in closer to my son.

 

“When I tell you to do something, I expect you to do it within a millimeter of perfection. You are a powerful Prince, not some sissy human. So start acting like one instead of an emotional baboon.”

 

Gesturing towards the scorched yard, I growl out at him, even more disgusted by the fact that instead of taking my lecture stoically, he's back to whimpering and crying. I can feel my eyebrow beginning to twitch and I know that I'm at the end of my rope, by patience and temper only being able to take so much.

 

“Look at this brat, and look at it good. Yes, you are strong, but by allowing your enemy to tap into your anger without having the upper hand of it, you have wasted an immense amount of energy. Not only that, but you could have destroyed your allies as well. Had I not been watching your progress, you could have trashed the house, not to mention any weak humans inside the building. So what do you have to say for yourself?”

 

Sniveling and wiping away some of the tears that are splattering down his cheeks, Trunks mumbles something out that sounds suspiciously like an apology. The only problem is, I'm not looking for an apology. I want to see him take responsibility for his inattention and his lack of concentration, resulting in the disaster I had to thwart. Although he is only four years old, I have many expectations riding on his shoulders. No matter that I haven't been a sterling example of a role model, he is only proving to me how stupid I was to lower myself into mating with a human. And to top everything off, I have another brat on the way. Letting out a growl of pent up frustration, I stalk forward towards my son, intent on thrashing some sense into him.

 

In a split second, Trunks is face to face with me. Holding him up by the front of his oversized T-shirt, I look straight into his terrified eyes, feeling revulsion that he looks at me in such a way. I feel conflicted. I want him to act like a Saiya-jin and respect me, but at the same time, I don't want him to fear me. Dropping him back down to the ground as suddenly as I picked him up, I turn my back on him, clenching my jaw as I try to sort out my messed up mind. Letting out a sigh tinged with frustration, hopelessness and guilt, I make my way towards the house, careful to avoid stepping on the scorched lawn.

 

Calling over my shoulder, I let my son know how disappointed I am with his performance and his attitude.

 

“As I thought, you're just a baby. Well, I don't train with babies still attached to their mothers. Until you can prove to me that you're capable of taking what I dish out, then you can forget training with me.”

 

Ignoring Trunks' renewed sobbing; I make my way inside the place where I live. Stopping inside the kitchen, I walk over to the sink and look out the window that shows a full view of the front lawn. Watching Trunks as he sits in a curled up ball, I grip the counter tightly. This planet is turning me into something…something different and I don't care for changes that are occurring within me. Closing my eyes tightly, I try to will away the feeling of somehow failing him, for treating him as though he is nothing more then something I can trample over. It's like a vicious circle. I deal with him in a manner similar to how I was treated as a child, no matter that I hated being viewed as an object to be used and not as an individual. I don't want Trunks to end up that way, but I don't know how to change what I have become. Although I already know that there are cracks in my armor, which are slowly and irrefutably changing what I once was into something different, I can't seem to circumvent the process. It's like a sick, twisted joke being played at my expense, and I'm beginning to hate my existence with great vigor.

 

Pushing myself away from the counter, I turn around and find myself face to face with the woman who has become part of my confusion. Stepping to the side, I ignore her as I move quickly towards the refrigerator to grab a snack before I make my way upstairs to change into something that doesn't smell like smoke and sweat. However, as usual, the woman is not someone to be ignored easily and she knows me better then even I do. Before I have a chance to pull open the door, she's bodily standing in front of it making sure that I can't avoid her no matter how much I might wish to.

 

“Not so fast Vegeta. Where's Trunks? I thought you were training with him this morning.”

 

Letting out a huff of irritation, I motion my head towards the window where I had just been staring.

 

“He's outside. If you're that worried, by all means, check up on him. Now, move out of the way or I'll move you myself.”

 

Not shifting an inch, Bulma stares at me, biting her lower lip as she tries to figure out what to say to me.

 

“I take it training didn't go well again? Look, I know it's none of my business how you train him, but maybe if you tried to treat him like his age and maturity level, things would start improving between the two of you. I mean, you've been going at it with him for a month and all you two have seemed to accomplish is making each other upset.”

 

“Look woman, I don't need a lecture from you about my training methods. He is a Saiya-jin and he should be able to do what I ask him with little to no difficulty. Instead, he balks, cries, and acts like…like a weakling! Well, I don't have patience to deal with his attitude so until he learns to control his emotional states, we will no longer be having any training sessions together except to spar.”

 

With that said, I pick Bulma up carefully and push her out of the way, opening the refrigerator and grabbing a liter of milk and a stack of sandwiches that Bulma's mother made the day before. Closing the door with my foot, I start walking towards the exit when I feel something warm snag around one of my biceps, effectively stopping my movement.

 

“Stop right there Vegeta. Avoidance isn't going to get you anywhere. You of all people should know that. So keeping Trunks at bay because you don't understand how to, I don't know, show him that he means something to you isn't going to work. I mean, he's four for God's sake. All he wants is approval, which means more then just spending a day where you don't insult him. Anyway, he doesn't understand half the things you tell him except that for some reason, you don't like him. And that's a big deal to a kid his age.”

 

Turning around, I carefully lay my food down on the table behind us so I won't be encumbered while we argue over the thing that seems to divide us the most: our son.

 

“Since when did liking someone have to do with anything? I've spent the great majority of my life being hated and despised and feeling sorry for myself over my lack of companionship never got me anywhere. If I could make it into adulthood without being liked by anyone, surely my son can survive feeling disliked by his own father.”

 

With that comment thrown out into the open, I can tell Bulma is starting to become riled up, which concerns me slightly. She's been sick from the brat she's carrying inside her and arguing seems to sap her of what little strength she has. But it can't be avoided when it comes to dealing with Trunks. Ever since I started showing some interest in my offspring, we've quarreled about him. In more ways then one, I wish things were the way they were before he was born, when it was just Bulma, our wits and myself. Had I known what a pain in the ass having a child would be, I never would have…Well, I would have done a better job of using protection. And now, the whole process is about to happen again. I watch as Bulma steps forward, pushing her finger into my sternum, her body inches from my own.

 

“God Vegeta, sometimes I wonder if half of the shit that comes out of your mouth is true or not. I can't believe that not being liked didn't affect you at all. If that were the case, you wouldn't avoid people like the plague in order to keep from allowing others into your life through friendship. Besides, being approved by your father, no matter how disinterested they are, is a completely different ball of wax then being liked by the general population. There's a lot more meaning to a father's love then what other people think.”

 

“Well Woman, that's one thing where I would beg to differ from. My father was a bastard. I never cared one whit whether he liked me or not. That's what made me strong.”

 

Moving away from her because her accusations ring true in my ears and I just don't feel up to screaming at her for the moment, I turn back to my sandwiches and milk and make a grab for them. Sometimes, even though I don't like to do it, retreating from a battle is the wisest option for both parties involved. I don't feel like spilling out half-truths to my mate and I can clearly see that she looks unwell. But she isn't the type to give up on a verbal spar unless she's clearly losing or she's forcefully asked to shut her mouth. Trying to evade her, I make a dash for the door, feeling foolish for fleeing a situation that isn't even remotely dangerous. What a damn fucking pussy I've become to run away from my own mate. I make it to the door when her voice chimes in.

 

“If being neglected and treated like garbage made you strong, why are you running away from me? If you're going to spout a lie, at least try to make it convincing.”

 

Closing my eyes, I stiffen my back, making sure not to turn around and face her.

 

“You don't understand a damn thing Woman. Now fuck off.”

 

With that said, I leave the room at war with myself for being such a bastard to her. I know that she's only trying to make me see things in a different light and in her own way, she's still trying to help me recover from the horror that was my past. She's trying to help me become the opposite of what I once was. And I suppose I want her help, or else I wouldn't have bothered sticking around with her in the first place. I can at least admit this fact to myself, even though it's taken me the better part of four years to realize it. Still, it's one thing to admit one's own feelings about something, and clearly another thing to go from admission to a complete change.

 

Swallowing down my frustration and shame, I hurriedly mount the stairs to the upper level of the home I share with my mate and her family. Making a beeline for our room and praying that Bulma isn't going to follow me up here, I close the door behind me and lock it. I'm just not in the mood to continue arguing with her, mostly because I'm afraid that my anger is going to end up exploding and the last thing I want to do is harm her or the unborn brat in a fit of anger without realizing what I'm doing.

 

Placing the sandwiches and milk down on the table next to the bed we share, I sit down and run my fingers through my hair and then grasp my knees with my hands. Taking a few deep breaths, I feel like screaming or lashing out. For the millionth time, I ask myself why I'm back to being in such a…such depressed state, for lack of a better description. I know that I probably have suffered from this mood disorder, as stupid humans would call it, for the better part of my life. However, in the past, I had other needs to focus on that were much more important then my emotional well being. There was survival for one thing, and then later, an insatiable thirst to best that moron Kakarrot and prove once and for all that I was the strongest this universe has ever known.

 

Now, however, it's a completely different story. I have security I suppose, and if you don't count the fact that Kakarrot's brat bested my strength, I'm the strongest besides him. Bah, I must have way too much time on my hands and I think that, coupled with the fact that things are not really very good between Bulma and myself (not that they ever were and I shouldn't even care anyway), is what has started my second slump. What I really need is a purpose, but I'm too tired to try and think of a good one besides training my brat and protecting my family.

 

Thinking of Trunks, I realize that he's probably still sitting on the front lawn griping. Standing up slowly, I make my way to the balcony door and walk outside. Looking down on the burnt grass, I see that Kakarrot's progeny have arrived and both boys are trying to make my son happy. Realizing that I'm off the hook for the moment, I slip back inside and close the door. Stretching out my arms over my head, I catch a whiff of my odor and I wrinkle my nose at how filthy I reek. Forgetting about my snack for the moment, I enter the bathroom, intent on wiping away the filth on my body and perhaps emptying my mind of some of the filth that has invaded it of late as well.

 

Bulma

 

“Goten, try to keep the food on your plate from feeding the floor. Believe me kid, it's not interested in what you're tossing down to it.”

 

Leaning back in chair, I watch as the little boy nods his head slightly, as if in understanding, and then proceeds to stuff three rice balls into his mouth simultaneously. And, as I would have expected from such piggish eating habits, rice grains spew out of his mouth and end up on the small pile of wasted food that's become a semi-permanent addition around the chair he's sitting on. Shaking my head slightly, I notice that Gohan is blushing slightly and that my son is trying not to giggle at the sight of his best friend, who looks like a chipmunk with his cheeks stuffed full of rice.

 

“Oh Bulma, honey! Give the boy a break, sweetie. He's only three. Besides, I like to see people enjoying the food that I cook.”

 

With that said, I watch as my mom leans over and ruffles Goten's hair before she gets up and clears both her place and my father's.

 

Honestly, I don't really care that Goten is such a sloppy eater, since I don't have to clean up the mess. I'm just trying to be a good, motherly role model, even though he does have Chi-Chi. But I have a hunch that she's sort of slacked off on her strictness with Goten because he reminds her in many ways of the husband that she lost. I mean, he's a carbon copy of Goku, except for the tail. Besides, I don't want Trunks thinking that eating in such a manner is an acceptable practice. Not that that would ever happen. When Vegeta's present for a meal, any unsightly habits are dealt with quickly and brutally. He's an extremely anal retentive person and poor habits are not acceptable in his book. I just wish he'd realize that children are children and that you can't expect them to be perfect. It would certainly help his relationship with our son and Goku's boys if that were the case.

 

“Whatever Mom.” I mumble towards her. Standing up slowly, I ignore a sharp pain that shoots through my abdomen. Swallowing to hide the pain I'm in from the boys and my ever-perceptive mother, I start clearing away the dishes that are empty of food.

 

Walking over towards my mom, I throw the dishes in the sink and then lean against the counter, taking in a deep breath and trying to relax my muscles at the same time. I feel like I have a bad case of cramps from my period and all I want to do is lie down. Straightening up slightly, I realize that both Gohan and my mom haven't missed a beat and they're staring at me with a look of concern. Smiling brightly, even though I don't feel like it, I move away from the counter and then back towards the table.

 

“What?” I ask when the two of them continue to look at me. Busying myself with putting the leftover food in a few containers for Vegeta to eat when he comes back from wherever it is that he went, I try to act like nothing is wrong. I don't want anything to be wrong, so I figure if I keep pretending that things are fine with me, everything will work out in the end. Funny how denial can do strange things to a person's reasoning abilities.

 

“Mama, you look funny.”

 

Glancing up sharply at Trunks, who is holding onto his fork tightly in his chubby fist, I try to give him a reassuring glance.

 

“Honey, Mommy's okay. Finish eating your supper and then you and Goten can play until Gohan wants to leave.”

 

My answer seems to reassure him so he starts eating as fast as he can, the idea of playing with his best friend temporarily helping him to forget why he thought something was wrong with me in the first place.

 

Finishing collecting the leftovers for my absent husband, I stack the containers into a pile and am about to turn around and put them in the fridge when I feel a hand on my shoulder. Turning around, I come face to face with my mother, who grabs the food from me before I have a chance to react.

 

“Here, I've got them. Why don't you go upstairs and take a rest, okay baby? You look like you need one. I'll make sure that Trunks and Goten leave you alone.”

 

“Mom, I'm fine. It's just a little stomachache. Nothing that I can't handle. Besides, I want to wait for Vegeta to get back from wherever it is that he took off to. He's got a lot of explaining to do.”

 

He failed to tell me that Trunks almost leveled the house because of his unorthodox training methods. He also left our son outside by himself. I shudder to think what could have happened had not Goten and Gohan arrived shortly after Vegeta came inside fit to be tied. Besides that, I'm still angry that he told me off and ran away to sulk like a three year old. I'm so frustrated with him. If I thought things would get simpler between the two of us the longer we've been together, I must have been high at the time. The unfortunate thing is that I can't see myself with anyone but him. So I guess I'll just have to keep trying to help him realize what it means to have a family, to be part of something greater than just himself. To finally become comfortable with who he is, that he's a complex individual beyond the tough, emotionless façade he tries to pull over everyone's eyes.

 

Pursing my lips in frustration over Vegeta and my thoughts, I try to focus on something else, walking over to where Goten is still eating sloppily. Picking up the dishrag my mom left on the table, I lean over and try to clean him up before I help him off the chair and shoo him towards where Trunks is waiting for him. Letting out a sigh of relief when the two of them scamper off to pester Gohan, I finish wiping off the table and then sit back down in relief.

 

Trying to forget about the pains in my gut, I glance over to where my mom is standing. She doesn't like my behavior and she's letting me know with the look plastered across her face. Most of the time, she's an airhead, but when it comes to me, she doesn't take no for an answer, especially when she thinks it's something I need to do.

 

“Bulma, this is ridiculous. You know what your doctor told you last week. You have to take it easy and if your body's telling you to go lie down, then you should do it. You're four months pregnant. You should be looking out for the baby.”

 

“Well, that's just it Mom. All I do is lie around. I hate it. It was bad enough being pregnant with Trunks, but at least I didn't feel like shit all the time. I'm not going to let a little stomachache hold me back. I mean, Vegeta wouldn't let something like his stomach hurting keep him from training.”

 

“Well, you aren't Vegeta, are you? And who ever said the stress he puts on his body is healthy? Be reasonable Bulma! Besides, I think you're feeling more then just a little stomachache. You look awful.”

 

Well, she's right. I am feeling more then just a little stomachache. In fact, I woke up with dull stomach pains this morning and they've only gotten worse as the day has progressed. But I'm still in denial. The likelihood that something could be seriously wrong with me has crossed my mind, but I don't want to be a burden to my family and I don't want to think of the possibilities of what this could mean to me and my baby. I want this child, more than anything else at the moment, no matter that it was an accident. So for the time being, ignoring what's wrong is better then facing up to ugliness of the possible situation at hand.

 

“Mom, just trust me on this, okay? I'm fine. It's nothing I can't handle, and I don't feel like lounging upstairs by myself for the rest of the evening. If it gets to be too much to handle, then I'll go upstairs.”

 

With that said, I stand up and make my way into the family room, where my dad and Gohan are watching the news and Trunks and Goten are playing with a Fisher Price farm animal set that he got for Christmas last year. Grabbing my laptop from the desk in the corner, I settle myself into the recliner that Vegeta usually claims for himself when he actually decides to hang out with my family. Most of the time, it sits empty and collects dust, but it also happens to be the most comfortable thing to relax in and my body appreciates the support it gets from the soft and supple cushions. Pulling up the footrest, I lean back into it and turn on my laptop.

 

“Hey Bulma, I think Goten and I are going to be leaving pretty soon. It's starting to get dark and my Mom will get worried if we're gone too long.”

 

Glancing out the French doors that lead to the outside patio, I notice that the sun is starting to sink beneath the horizon, reminding me that summer is finally over with and the days are becoming shorter. It also makes me worry about Vegeta slightly. I know he's a big boy and more then capable of taking care of himself, but ever since Goku's death, he's usually always back from his solitary jaunts before dark. And if he's going to be late, he lets me know, albeit in the nastiest way possible. God forbid that he would ever try to be nice about something.

 

Nodding absently at Gohan to let him know that I heard him, I push the footrest back into the recliner and put my laptop on top of the end table next to my chair. Standing up slowly, I grunt in irritation that Gohan had to make his announcement as soon as I made myself comfortable, even though I know it's not his fault.

 

“Okay boys. I'll walk you out to the front door. Come on Trunks, Goten and Gohan are leaving.”

 

With that, the four of us troop to the door, followed by my parents. Stepping outside into the dwindling sunlight, I look on as Gohan calls Kinto'un. In seconds, the fluffy, yellow cloud appears and comes to a sudden stop in front of both the Son boys. Hopping on to it, Gohan leans down and picks Goten up, holding him securely in his lap.

 

Walking over to the two boys, I give them each a hug and then a kiss on the forehead.

 

“Sorry you had to deal with the mess Vegeta left when you got here. And sorry that he wasn't around again. Just come on over whenever you like. You know you're always welcome here.”

 

With that said, I let my parents and Trunks make their good-byes, backing up a bit to give them space. When everybody is done wishing the boys a goodnight, Gohan tells the little yellow cloud to take him home, and they shoot off into the darkening sky.

 

“Mama, why can't I have a cloud like Goten?”

 

Looking down at my son, I smile slightly and smooth his silky hair away from his face.

 

“Well, Kinto'un was given to Goten's father when he was a boy by on old man. See, Goten's dad found a lost turtle and brought it back to the old man. Because of his help, the old man gave him the cloud because he couldn't use it anymore. It belongs to Goten's family and I don't think there are any other clouds like it. Anyway, you won't need a cloud like that to get around with once you're older. You'll just be able to fly on your own, like your dad.”

 

“Oh.”

 

In an instant, he pulls away from me and runs into the house. I can tell that he's still upset and confused about today and bringing Vegeta up probably wasn't the smartest decision on my part.

 

Rubbing my hands together in frustration, I try to think up a way to stop this ever widening gap that seems to be growing between Vegeta and our son. And as usual, my brain pulls up a blank. I just don't know what to do, short of shackling the two of them together and making them spend some father/son bonding time that doesn't involve training. I know that idea would be a disaster waiting to happen.

 

The only way things are ever going to improve is if Vegeta gets over his fear of showing his feelings and tries harder to accept Trunks for who he is. And no matter how much I might wish it, there isn't anything I can do that will make him come around. I've done all that I can do. And on top of that, our relationship isn't the greatest either.

 

Rolling my eyes and crossing one of my arms over my expanding middle, I pull the door open and walk into the house. Stopping at the foot of the stairs, I try to make my way back to the family room where I can hear the television going, but another sharp cramp stops me in my tracks. This one is the worst so far, making me want to gag and vomit from the pain. Licking my dry lips, I decide that perhaps it would be a smart move on my part to lie down.

 

Not bothering to tell my mom or dad, I slowly creep up the stairs, thankful that the bedroom I share with Vegeta is the first door on the right at the top of the landing. Opening the door, I lie down and let out sigh of relief. Gathering my thoughts, I role over onto my stomach and hope that it's something as insignificant as gas, even though that idea is slightly disgusting.

 

The truth is, I am worried. This pregnancy has been difficult and I've already been ordered by my doctor to take things easy. With Trunks, I was sick for most of the first trimester, but not like this. I'm completely miserable. I had hoped that after the first three months, things would go back to normal, but if anything, they're just getting worse. And I have a deep fear that something is either seriously wrong with me or the baby. I've never felt pains like this before, but again, I'm too afraid to deal with it at the moment, especially since Vegeta isn't here. I want him next to me, comforting me and holding on to me, the opposite of how he was when I was pregnant the first time. But again, not surprisingly, he's made himself scarce. I know it's due to Trunks but I also know that he's still angry with me for trying to keep this pregnancy a secret, even after he had figured out the truth. He doesn't trust me for the moment, and the people Vegeta doesn't trust don't get the time of day from him. What a mess I have made for myself.

 

Lying with my cheek against the pillow, I let out a sob of misery, both from the way my belly feels and the fact that instead of making things better between Vegeta and myself, I've just managed to put a wedge between us as well. Closing my eyes, I weep in the dimness of my room before sleep finally claims me.

 

Vegeta

 

Slipping into the silent house through the patio doors, I make my way inside thanking the Gods that everyone seems to be sleeping. Taking off my boots, I throw them into the corner behind the sofa, not caring that I'm putting them where they don't belong for once. Padding across the carpeting, I slip down the hallway and enter the kitchen, intent on finding myself something to eat before I head upstairs to the bed and the woman who are waiting for me.

 

Not bothering to turn on the light, I pull open the refrigerator and find a stack of leftovers with a note taped onto the top container. It tells me that the food is for me, that both my mate and my son missed me at suppertime as well as Kakarrot's brats. Snorting in disgust, I rip the note off the container and crumple it into a ball, tossing it into the trashcan before throwing the containers onto the table. I'm still angry about earlier in the day, and leaving me a note as a way to placate me only agitates me further. I shouldn't give a damn that I left everyone hanging because I failed to show up at some pre-set time for supper. But I do feel guilty because deep down inside, the only reason I didn't come home until now was because I was avoiding everyone, especially Bulma and my son.

 

Growling under my breath, I walk over to the kitchen island and pull open a drawer. Fishing around for a few seconds, my hand closes around the object I'm looking for. Extracting a fork, I slip back over to the table and settle myself in. Pulling open the containers, I eat the food quickly and mechanically, not bothering to dissect the different flavors that are coming to life on my tongue. In a few minutes, all that is left are the empty containers and a few streaks of sauce plus a few flecks of rice. Standing back up, I pick up my mess and dump it into the sink. Turning on the tap, I stick my head underneath the running water and drink a few gulps to help wash everything down. Pulling away from the tap once I'm finished, I wipe my mouth on the back of my sleeve and then turn the water back off, making my way out of the dark kitchen and into the equally dark hallway.

 

It's much later then when I normally return from an excursion, so I'm not surprised to find that Bulma isn't in bed. Smirking slightly as I close the bedroom door behind me, I figure that she's probably working on one of her stupid projects, worrying herself over me. The bed's rumpled and the covers are messed up, which indicates that she's been up here. I'm about to lean over to turn on the nightstand light when I hear something muffled coming from the bathroom. Stilling my movements, I listen carefully before I decide that my mind is playing tricks on me. Turning on the light, I make my way over to the closet, yanking off my clothes and pushing them into the hamper. Leaning over to pull out a pair of fresh bottoms, I grunt in disgust when I have to pick up Bulma's dirty underwear and clothing. She has gotten better at being neat since we became lovers, especially after I moved into her bedroom, but she still hasn't figured out how to put things in their proper place. At least it isn't strewn across the floor of the room mixed in with garbage and filth like it was when I first moved into Capsule Corporation.

 

Shaking my head at her sloppiness and the fact that I'm picking up after her instead of hauling her ass out of the basement and making her do it, I stumble over to the bed. It's at that exact moment that my nose picks up something that doesn't smell right. Saiya-jins have a much more advanced olfactory system the humans do, so I have the advantage of being able to pick up scents that most humans would miss. Sniffing the air curiously, it takes a few moments for my brain to process the information. Blood.

 

Stepping away from the bed, I sniff again. The smell isn't over powering, which means there isn't a great deal of blood in my room, but it is there and that disturbs me. Looking over at the crumpled sheets, I finally find the evidence that my nose has been pointing towards. Leaning over to inspect my discovery, there is a small patch of semi-dried blood near the center of the sheets where Bulma had been lying down. Swallowing nervously, I try to ease my mind from the countless possibilities that somehow wind up in the forefront of my thoughts. Bulma being attacked. Bulma hurting herself. Bulma…

 

Shaking my head, I try to calm down, telling myself that all those scenarios are far fetched for the miniscule amount of blood that's on the sheets of our bed. Stepping back again, I cross my arms and close my eyes. She probably just had a bloody nose or something stupid like that. Still, I'm worried about her. Letting out a deep breath, I look towards the bathroom again. That's when everything clicks into my head.

 

She's in the bathroom. Slowly walking towards the closed door, I notice a few more drops of blood that lead like tell tale arrows to my destination. How I could have missed them…I shake my head. Coming to a stop, I rest my ear against the door and listen for any sign that she's in there and that everything is under control. But everything is not fine apparently, especially when I hear a muffled moan and then a quiet sob.

 

It's unnerving listening to her. It's like she's trying to hide herself from me. At that moment, I know something is definitely wrong. It's the feeling you get when someone has stepped across your grave. Goose pimply and creepy. I feel panicked at the thought of what's lurking behind the doorway, what horror that I'm going to have to face. All of this only drives me to anger over my cowardice. How could I allow myself to be so weak? Why am I so afraid of what I might find? Stiffening my arms and my resolve, putting on my mask of indifference, I knock slightly and then push the door open. I open to find what would become my worst nightmare, even worse then the ones inflicted upon me during my time under Freeza. My mate, sitting on the floor in a pool of blood, sobbing as she tries to staunch the flow coming from between her legs.

 

What the hell did I do to have to watch something like this? That's all I think before my mind becomes numb to the scene at hand and my instincts take control.

 

What's Vegeta going to do and what's happening to Bulma? I'm sure you've already guessed it and the next chapter will move in towards the meat of the story (I hope). Please read and review and tell me what you think!