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Vegeta’s excursions and retreats outside Earth ended six months into his wife’s pregnancy. To their friends as well as Vegeta’s celestial trainers, Beerus and Whis, this change appeared to be abrupt, but it wasn’t. He and Bulma had quarreled soon after they learned of her pregnancy. Bulma assured him she felt happy and well. Though she loved having her dutiful husband dote on her, she didn’t want him guarding each step like a restive army general from dawn until dusk. They finally agreed that he would come home every other month until hanging up his battle suit and gloves to await their child’s birth.
Between all this, Bulma revamped her demanding schedule, reserving more time for relaxing dinners or no-distraction lunches with Vegeta and their son, Trunks. But she consistently reminded them that, bar any complications, her energetic pace at work would continue until at least a week before the baby’s due date. But Vegeta saw the writing on the wall early, knowing that his adamant wife would have to stop sooner than that.
Bulma had that kind of stamina before Trunks’s birth, but her body chemistry had changed, mostly due to a severe virus she contracted after a research trip two years prior, putting her in the hospital. Not resting appropriately led to a second hospital stay. As his wife struggled to breathe, an upset Vegeta soberly vowed never to leave Earth – for anything – if her behavior continued. But accepting that would have been like asking Bulma to abandon science. She wouldn’t bear that guilt.
Although modern medicine had made pregnant humans’ lives even easier, Bulma was still carrying a Saiyan baby. After giving birth to Trunks, it took weeks before she could walk without significant pain. By the time Vegeta arrived to support his wife’s current pregnancy, Bulma was using a mechanical chair regularly to navigate Capsule Corporation’s corridors, hovering above the floors, and parts of their home. Vegeta didn’t pitch a fit because Bulma kept her promise to acknowledge the increasing pressure on her body.
He couldn’t help but grin, though, as she waddled into the kitchen to kiss a few mornings later. Her belly dwarfed the rest of her. Trunks said she looked like a bowling pin, severely narrowing Vegeta's options to keep the boy alive. Bulma had the capacity to murder them all in the most frightening and devious ways. Everyone she cared for, friends included, seemed to overlook this fact about her -- except Vegeta. Luckily for them, her occasional capriciousness never extended that far. She left the dirty work to her husband.
“Stop shutting off the alarm, Vegeta.”
“Stop blaming me for not hearing when it turns on, Bulma.” Vegeta held her face in his hands, kissing each side. “I’d like to sleep longer too sometimes.”
“It’s always about you, isn’t it, badman?”
“Hn.” Vegeta untied his black cooking apron, laying it over a chair. He had finished feeding their son, who was leaving for two-week field trip with his tutor, along with best friend Son Goten. “Eggs and oatmeal or applesauce and toast?”
“Maybe the applesauce.” Bulma said, leaning back to stretch. “My tummy is a little queasy. Our little one is restless. Feels different than usual.”
“I noticed,” Vegeta said, unfolding his hands on Bulma’s stomach. “May I?”
“Go ahead.” Her eyes closed as Vegeta’s fingers jolted lightly, warming her abdomen and lower back. Her nausea receded. “God, that is amazing, but it always leaves me so sleepy afterward.”
“Our baby is sleeping now too,” Vegeta said, flexing his fingers. “I recommend using this interlude to sleep yourself. I’ll bring breakfast later. Is two hours enough time?”
Recognizing Vegeta’s modest happiness, Bulma didn't object. He enjoyed relieving her discomfort, and she loved seeing him so satisfied. “I think so. I’ll catch up on paperwork in my lab with Breena later on. Thank you, honey.”
“Breena?” Vegeta’s shoulders tensed, which Bulma immediately noticed. "OK."
“It’s easier for me to focus on duller tasks when she’s here.”
“Video conferencing is useful too,” Vegeta said, helping Bulma onto her automated chair. “Classical music or recordings of rainstorms also help with one’s focus, I’ve been told. I don't intend to try either, of course.”
Yeah, right. He's definitely considering it. Bulma giggled thinking about the sight of her husband pulverizing training bots with string-quartet music in the background. “Oh Breena isn't that bad. She's plenty smart and thus far the most efficient assistant among her peers. My entire management team adores her.”
“Yet you began this explanation by saying that she’s not that bad,” Vegeta replied. “That implies she’s not all picture perfect.” He tried not to sound too disdainful, mostly to bypass aggravating Bulma, but he had earned his reputation for cautiousness. That would never change.
Bulma tickled the back of his hand. “Breena can be brash sometimes, Vegeta, but she’s young and ambitious! Surely we can’t judge, considering the, um, zeal we showed in our youth.”
“Are you joking?" Vegeta typed grumpily on the chair’s touchscreen until the motor purred. "That’s exactly why we should judge. Zeal my ass. We were both a little nuts back then too, not to mention extremely horny.”
“Well, yeah, but look at how far we’ve come together,” Bulma said, happily patting her stomach, “and let’s be honest, you were more than a little nuts.”
“You’re punching me below the belt,” Vegeta said, kneeling for a kiss. “Have you lost all integrity?”
This time, Bulma held his face between her hands. “I want you to remember this. I feel safe and very loved. Do not question that. The past is in the past. I apologize for the joke.”
Vegeta felt her hopes and dreams. “I… never thought I could laugh the way I do with you. Don’t apologize. We have good memories too.”
Two hours later, Vegeta checked on his wife as promised. A serene, deep sleep had absorbed Bulma, which he had hoped for. Now he felt entirely confident about how much energy he could use to relax her. He estimated that she would be knocked out another couple of hours. He wouldn't let her sleep longer than that, knowing she would be cranky if she didn't get some time in the lab.
Bulma turned off all electronic devices before getting in bed, messaging other managers not to disturb her or Vegeta unless an emergency happened. Breena’s scheduled visit, however, wasn’t canceled. The young woman took a detour, parking her sportscar near the front of the house instead of closer to the lab's above-ground entrance. The guards around the complex had been expecting her -- some quite eagerly, given her enchanting lavender eyes, creamy skin and glossy lips. Lustrous blackberry tresses covered her shoulders. Her stride bespoke the tenacity of a twenty-five-year-old social climber intent on conquest, though one could sense her vulnerability.
Because of the more casual environment at Bulma’s home laboratory, Breena sported a chic pair of blue jeans and Capsule Corporation T-shirt. Both suited her prominent shapeliness. Even Trunks had a crush on the woman, who often made time to chitchat about the latest video games or his school studies.
Breena’s high extraversion sometimes fueled extra efforts to make others like her. Though Vegeta didn’t consider this attribute “bad,” he kept his distance nonetheless.
Naturally, Bulma saw some of herself in this woman. Vegeta understood why, but he also recalled how opportunistic vultures inside and outside Capsule Corporation vied for attention when his wife was ill. Hence he had no appetite for kiss-ass bullshit. Everyone at the company knew not to test his patience or pry when they were instructed not to. Bulma granted that authority to Vegeta with the understanding that he wouldn’t abuse it. Her largely stayed out of her business affairs but was prepared to "teach lessons" at any time -- minus any conspicuous violence. Playing mind games with gross offenders could be more entertaining, and Vegeta was particularly sklled at it.
He opened the front door as Breena strutted around the cul-de-sac’s concrete walkway. She waved perkily, swinging her midsized briefcase bag.
“Breena.”
“Hello, sir!" Breena placed her bag on the doorstep, assuming Vegeta would pick it up. He didn't. "How are you today?”
“I’m well,” he replied. “You?”
“Oh I am chock full of energy! Did some jogging early this morning, before sunrise. Great stuff. Great stuff. Doctor Brief talks about how disciplined you are about exercise as well.”
Vegeta wished Bulma hadn’t said anything. Though Breena had been inside the house before, he blocked her view. “My wife said you would be in her lab today.”
“Oh, I will be! I just stopped by to say hello. Since Bulma and I have bonded a lot during her pregnancy, I thought it would be a great idea to get to know you better too.”
Like a guarded tiger, Vegeta lay in wait for the trap. Get to know him better? No one at Capsule had ever said that before, even the scientists who interacted with him more often. “Unless my wife needs assistance or advice, I prudently stay in the background. That includes limited contact with your colleagues.”
“Oh, I totally understand,” Breena agreed, tossing her hair. She realized Vegeta would be difficult to charm but also sensed a potential willingness for more informal conversation -- maybe? Collecting details was her specialty after all. “Would you mind if I came in?”
“Now isn’t a good time,” Vegeta said with no further explanation. “Should you require assistance beyond your assignments from Bulma, the helper bots are ready to provide food and other support.”
Breena’s face ignited with a sweeping smile, her self-protective fallback. “Thank you, sir.”
Finally, she got the hint. Vegeta nodded civilly, shutting the door. His interest in whatever Breena thought ended there. His watch pulsed. A red tint extended across the screen, summoning him.
He walked briskly to the bedroom, sitting beside his yawning wife. “Talk to me.”
Bulma's wrist fell sluggishly on his thigh like a rock. “Those magic hands of yours really did a number on me and our little princess. I don’t think I can do any lab work. I just want to sleep.”
“Doesn’t sound like a problem to me,” Vegeta said, sliding a pillow between her legs. “The work will be there, and you have no imminent deadlines to meet.”
“Honey, that’s not true. Breena –”
“I’m sure Breena will probably accomplish more without your riveting accounts of my exercise schedules.”
Bulma’s eyelids rose as Vegeta's narrowed at her. “Oops.”
“Yeah, oops,” Vegeta said as they laughed together. “You only get one of those, OK?”
In reality, Vegeta didn't expect Bulma to make that kind of wide-ranging promise. It would have been a huge ask, given her personality. He merely preferred not to be effused over too much. Bulma had long contemplated this contrast this between her husband's swaggering-warrior's audaciousness and his almost monastic desire to shun attention while not fighting or training. Vegeta took great pride in their growing family, not embarrassment, and all could attest to that.
“So Breena is here?”
“Yes, and I’ll rescue you before the lab explodes.”
“Be nice, Vegeta.”
“Asking for nice is venturing into ‘no’ territory. I wasn’t mean to her.”
“Breena will continue working closely with me. I mostly don’t push people on you, but you’ve barely tried to know her. What is it that you dislike?”
"You wear your heart on your collar," Vegeta sighed, "particularly when you've taken a strong liking for people. You're one of the shrewdest women I’ve ever known, and --"
“And you mean I wear my heart on my sleeve,” Bulma said. “At times, I guess, but you do too.”
“Not hardly,” Vegeta huffed. "I prefer keeping mine where it is. Not a good history with, um, organ transplants."
“The difference is, I don’t literally put my foot up someone’s ass while training them," Bulma said. "But we both have keen eyes for a young person’s potential, and we act accordingly.”
"Yes, we do." Vegeta unfolded a blanket over her stomach, tabling their discussion. “I’m going to the training rooms.”
“Will you check on Breena between your fun-filled activities, handsome?”
“Yes.” Vegeta’s nostrils flared as he walked away. As if I have the option of saying no.
“Thank you, honey.”
Vegeta glanced at her before leaving. “She is not staying for dinner. That’s my red line.”
“I will respect your illogical boundary,” Bulma said with a pixie’s grin. Her eyes closed as the baby kicked lightly. “I’ll buzz if I need anything else.”
“I expect you to," he said. "Our child is content. I feel her.”
"I'll probably become an afterthought after she meets her daddy for the first time."
Vegeta grinned. "I trust your judgment. Prepare yourself."
Vegeta didn’t bother with drying his hair after showering. The gravity room’s battle simulation proved more difficult this time. He fought against self-replicas. Their moves were culled from recollections of some of his toughest fights, which Vegeta programmed using a memory-imaging device. No one besides Bulma and her father knew of this tool, which Doctor Brief created. They planned to keep that secret locked away.
He checked the security log on his watch, which indicated that Breena hadn’t left the lab. He grudgingly fulfilled his promise to Bulma, contacting the woman.
“Hello, sir!”
“Just call me Vegeta.” Even Trunks didn't call him sir, he thought. Strangely, Breena’s use of it briefly made him feel old. Shit, I just boosted her air supply. Bulma would probably think this is cute. Yeah, she definitely would.
Breena didn’t need much encouragement, of course. Having regained her poise, she didn't consider Vegeta’s not-so-subtle curtness an impediment. “Oh, I’d be happy to. Thank you, Vegeta!”
Vegeta’s teeth gnashed. At least she couldn't see him. “My wife asked me to check in. Sounds like you’re getting on well. That's good. I have other obligations now, so --”
“Yes, I think I’ve done enough for Bulma to take over,” Breena interjected. “By the way, how is she feeling?”
“The relaxation has been good for her." Vegeta’s thumb hovered over his watch to end the call. Expecting a syrupy goodbye asked too much of him. "You can discuss the rest with Bulma tomorrow.”
“Wait, I wanted to say... to say... oh.” Smarting from Vegeta’s rushed cutoff, Breena shut down the lab’s speakers. She collapsed into a chair, twisting a lock of hair with her fingers. "Let's move on, girlie. You've got this! You haven't done anything wrong."
Ending that call felt like the soothing afterglow of a yoga class. Vegeta stretched his arms, snickering as he ransacked the kitchen refrigerators. If that wasn’t enough, Bulma’s mother had left two weeks’ worth of capsulized meals, prepared to help if no one felt like cooking or ordering takeout. As Vegeta chewed on a barbecued piece of meat, old memories resurfaced. Instead of finding humor in the absurd circumstances, which he and his wife usually could, his thoughts generated discomfort. He recalled Bulma’s crafty flirtation years ago, post-Namek, after he was left stranded on Earth. No amount of the Saiyan prince’s displeased sullenness threw her off course initially. She was the first woman ever to call Vegeta “cute,” bewildering him and everyone else. His defensive assholery and her resolve encouraged more inexplicable and unforgettable antics between them.
Bulma was beautiful, funny and compassionate – when she wasn’t being obnoxious, infuriatingly demanding or dead set on ripping him apart verbally for being ridiculous. Vegeta tried his best not to care, other than using her and Doctor Brief’s research to advance his ambitions. He didn’t conceal his selfishness or single-mindedness, take them or leave them. Bulma did an exceptional job of overcoming whatever residual fears she had about him. She had goals too, damn it, and wouldn’t be ignored -- and expected Vegeta to respect them. Then, uninhibted passion surmounted their mutual loneliness, which eventually drove them apart for a time. But the providence of second and third chances brought understanding and a vibrant love worth envying.
Disturbingly, Vegeta figured out that Breena reminded him of all the qualities that first drew him to Bulma. The bone in his hand dropped, rattling his plate. His eyes darted, searching the room as if he had a reason to look. Of course he didn’t have one, but he couldn’t help it. Until then, nothing like that had happened. Even when he and Bulma were each other’s throats as young adults, almost near hatred, he never thought of anyone else. Was this an emerging attraction? How was this possible?
What would Bulma say? This was his problem – and to be honest, Breena probably wasn't at fault either. Maybe the young woman was just being herself: bubbly and fun but without devious intentions. Nausea didn’t happen often to Vegeta, but he rummaged through the pantry for something to relieve his indigestion.
A giant 'B' appeared on a monitor in the kitchen while he downed a jar of antacid powder and two pitchers of water. “Screen on.”
“Hey, babe." Bulma smiled and sat up higher in bed. "What are you up to?”
“Just finished a few snacks,” Vegeta said, pounding twice on his chest. “Are you OK?”
That's weird. Why is he out of breath? Bulma lips shifted around. “Tell me how you are first.” In his rush to compose himself, Vegeta had forgotten to toss the empty antacid bottle out of sight, or just torch the shit out of the evidence.
“I think I ate too quickly,” he said hoarsely.
“You, a Saiyan vacuum cleaner, ate too quickly?” Bulma exploded with laughter, throwing her hands over her mouth. “What in the fresh hell did you just say to me?!”
“It seems the sleep has helped you,” Vegeta replied, feeling dejected, though he believed Bulma wouldn’t notice. He preferred for her to remain cheerful. “Are you hungry?"
Why does this silly man still believe I can’t tell when he’s worried about whether he's done something stupid? Bulma zoomed in. “What is bothering you? Talk with me.”
Vegeta took a seat, thinking over her questions. He had to wrestle with his lingering sadness side-by-side with her. “I can never make up for what happened when you were pregnant with Trunks and after his birth. I know you have reassured me, but I… am not feeling good about myself right now.”
Bulma inhaled, eyes ascending. His admission didn’t scare her. “Come up here with me, honey. This isn’t a conversation we should have apart.” She was proud of him. There was more complexity to this, but she believed Vegeta in time would disclose once he understood everything that could be said.
He didn’t find Bulma any less exciting, vivacious, smart or all else that he loved about her. And he would never be unfaithful as her husband. Yet those early memories of her intensely reminded him how much he had taken from Bulma and how much she'd given to him, sacrificed even. Now they were having another child, another lucent gift.
“What would you like to eat?” he asked, propping his elbows on his lap.
“Stuffing me with mom’s cooking won’t get you out of this,” Bulma said, laughing. “We’re still going to talk, at least until our unborn child glows in the dark.”
Vegeta scowled. “How dare you liken a Saiyan to an insect – a common one at that. What a disgrace.” He almost found impossible not to laugh but succeeded.
“Fireflies are beautiful creatures,” Bulma cooed. “Remember when a few spun around us that one night we had sex outside in the gazebo? Their flickering means they’re in the mood for mating. We got lucky.”
Vegeta raised a softly glowing finger. “I remember.”
Breena bopped into her boss’s lab a few days later. After her awkward encounters with Vegeta earlier that week, she believed that staying closer to Bulma at all times would reduce the tension. The young woman found convenient reasons to work remotely from Capsule Corporation until Bulma became more curious about the behavior.
“It’s about time you showed your face." Bulma’s yes were planted on the lab’s optical microscope as Breena stood next to her. "I’m not on my deathbed, kiddo.”
Breena’s hands twisted nervously. “Oh please, please don’t talk like that, Doctor Brief. That’s bad luck.”
“Sorry.” Bulma chuckled, bumping her assistant's elbow. “Vegeta and I can be creepy with our jokes. Marriage and kids broil your neurons after a while.” Not to mention the galactic maniacs who can't stop using Saiyans for target practice. If I didn't like my work so much, I'd retire to that island planet Jaco and my sister rave about, but I'll keep that to myself.
Breena's feet shuffled as she flipped through a notebook. "So how are you today?”
“I’m as big as Mount Paozu and tottering around in these shoe slippers because I can’t see my feet. Otherwise, I’m much better than when you were last here. So tell me, what did my darling husband do to you?”
Breena dredged her purse for a piece of gum, avoiding Bulma’s intrigued gaze. “Would you like some of this? Actually, give me a few minutes to get my lab gear on properly.”
“That can wait,” Bulma said, removing her hands from the machinery. Her voice was neither terse nor uneasy, but she expected an answer.
“Vegeta didn’t do anything mean to me, I swear,” Breena said. “I just wanted to learn more since everyone else at the office has been so tight-lipped. I mean he’s your husband, and I really hoped to make a great impression. And, you know, I'm worried about you too.”
Bulma resumed her microscope analysis. “First, be more concerned about your impression on me. Whatever Vegeta thinks about you is his business, not yours. I am responsible for supporting you, and he answers to me. So far, I’m pleased with your diligence all round. My husband has an extremely high bar for achievements. That’s good for him, but we try not to meddle with each other’s decisions about mentoring. Have I made myself clear?”
“I understand, ma’am. Thank you.”
“Second, though I sincerely appreciate your concern, unless my physical condition takes a turn, you have my permission to worry less. And learn to live in the moment. You’ll gain the strength to be innovative and confront what others would consider insurmountable challenges.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Also, if you call me ma'am again, I will choke you. Let's wait until my age reaches the century mark.”
Breena giggled. “OK.”
Bulma’s chair detached from the lab table, directed to another machine. “You remind Vegeta of when we were younger."
Breena’s knees locked. “What… what do you mean?” She swallowed uncomfortably. Vegeta is attractive and all, but does Bulma suspect that something else happened? That’s kind of shitty. He didn’t come on to me, and even if he did, committing career suicide isn’t on my to-do list.
“Oh, don’t fret,” Bulma said, waving at Breena to walk with her. “I’m not implying that you’ve done anything – or want to do something with my husband. Vegeta hasn’t insinuated anything either -- or opened his mouth much at all. All I can say is, he’s an imperfect soul who thinks in about ten dimensions. My love includes helping disentangle the knots, as I’m imperfect too. Also, I stick to five dimensions to manage the rest of my wacky life.”
“I’ll stay at three if you don’t mind, Doctor Brief.”
“I don’t mind at all.” Bulma caught hold of Breena’s hand, bringing it close. She spoke with empathy. “I have been where you are. The time will come when the stress you put on yourself to be considered worthy matters less. Now, that’s different from demonstrating your best efforts to grow, which I expect. That said, I'm seeing more of your natural personality as we learn from each other, and I am proud of you.”
“May I hug you?” Breena asked.
“Certainly!" Bulma's arms opened. "The baby is moving around too, though she’s not as fussy. I haven't burped like a tugboat for hours. Would you like to feel her?"
“Are you sure about that?”
“Absolutely.”
Breena’s careful fingers alighted like a small bird. Her eyes rose, checking on Bulma. “It’s the first time I’ve done this.”
“I can tell,” Bulma said. “Cool stuff, isn’t it?”
“Very cool. Have you chosen her name?”
Bulma led Breena’s hand down. “My husband and I are debating about that.” That was her most diplomatic answer. Despite their excitement, she and Vegeta nipped at each other like peeved chihuahuas about naming their child. “I think we’re close, though.”
“No, we are not close,” Vegeta said. His gravelly voice boomed from the room's speakers. “Is this why you paged me? Don’t you think it’s unethical to force someone who depends on a Capsule Corporation paycheck to take your side?”
“Helloooo, snookums!” Laughing, Bulma winked at Breena after Vegeta’s lack of response. “He hates it when I call him that, but it’s so fun for me. Sounds like he hasn’t had enough to eat today either.”
“Stop talking like I’m a simpleton,” Vegeta said, kicking the lab’s exterior door. “I’m coming in there.”
Breena quietly tried to wiggle behind Bulma, who primly pursed her lips in disapproval. Her boss’s implicit message: Don’t move. Always stand your ground.
Vegeta broke a capsule open, presenting a table platter table with shumai and other tasty dishes, along with tea. Breena noticed foods she enjoyed most. She then remembered a similar meal she shared with Bulma months earlier. Vegeta stepped away, noticeably not crossing his arms like an intimidating nightclub guard.
“Looks like you made this,” Bulma said, inspecting the feast. “I’ll give you my review later.”
“You’re being rude,” Vegeta told his misbehaving wife. His eyes centered on Breena. “I hope this meets your standards.”
“Yes, it does,” Breena said as he marched out the room. “Thank you, Vegeta.”
Bulma’s smacking lips attacked a piece of shumai. “Damn, this is remarkable! He’s becoming almost as talented as my mother at making these. He’s a quick learner, you know. Don’t be shy. Eat up!”
Feeling heartened, Breena untied their napkins. “Did you ask him to make this for me?”
“No,” Bulma replied, knowing that Vegeta was more pleased than he appeared. “I just said he’s a quick learner, Breena, and his actions speak louder than words. It’s a large part of why I love him. Oh, and when we discuss meals, no matter how long it’s been, Vegeta never forgets.”