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1
He loved October.
The days were cooler, and the nights chilly enough to climb under the fine goose-down comforters, naked. He loved the feel of their Egyptian cotton sheets against the roughness of his bare skin. He especially loved the idea that he could possibly entice his wife to love him while in that state. Who was he kidding. He definitely could entice Bulma. She loved making love, almost as much as he did.
He was lucky, and he knew it. Aside from farting through watered silk, Vegeta knew how lucky he was regarding how much trouble he could cause to Chikyuu and its inhabitants. No matter what idiocy he could muster up during his day-to-day, she found it in herself to forgive him. He’d never admit it aloud, but Vegeta loved her for that. He knew how frightfully stupid he could be sometimes.
Sighing, Vegeta walked to their boudoir’s French doors, and glanced outside at the riot of color in his expansive backyard. He curled his fingers around the door handles and pushed the doors open. He smiled, and took a deep breath. He reveled in the smells of fallen leaves and the hint of coming winter. He was certain if he told Bulma how much he loved the smell of Autum – the smell of death – she would probably look at him as if daisies were growing out of his ears.
It was the kind of day where you wanted to go for a walk for an hour or two. The sun, bright as it was that morning, slid behind a cloud bank, and caused the temperature to drop dramatically. The clouds didn’t look like they were going anywhere soon. Vegeta supposed his kids would have to don jackets over their Halloween costumes, come noontime when they went out to…
Vegeta rolled his eyes shut. He had nearly forgotten about today. Today was Halloween, and the brats would walk door-to-door to beg for candy. If their neighbors wouldn’t give the begged-for sweets, the kids could spray shaving cream graffiti on their car and decorate the trees with bathroom tissue. Eggs sometimes joined in the fun; if the kid saved his allowance for a few weeks – not very bloody likely – he’d have a pocket-full of stink bombs ready to lob at his poor defenseless neighbors.
He smirked. That was a holiday tradition he could get behind, he thought. He opened their walk-in closet to hook his favorite scarf from its hanger. He wrapped the handmade, lumpy woolen thing around his neck. He could feel the love wafting from it…that same love he felt woven into the fabric when Bulma first made it for him.
Scratching at his coarse, towering mane, Vegeta blew air through pursed lips. He promised Onna he’d bring the kids out for an hour or two, but far be it from him to not play the part. If he didn’t grouse about the afternoon with the kids, Bulma would think something was amiss.
He wouldn’t tell a soul that he enjoyed being with his children for a short while alone.
But for fun, he’d play the woman’s game today. He liked it when she was spicy, anyway.
2
When he left their bedroom and found his family in the kitchen, he made another wry face. Bulma knelt before their toddler daughter. She held Bura’s hands in hers, and swung her little pudgy arms to and fro. Bura shrieked laughter at her Mama.
She wore a puffy strawberry costume. Vegeta inwardly rolled his eyes. Trunks wore the same costume when he was little. He wondered… “Woman, it’s not like we couldn’t afford a new costume for the brat.”
Bulma turned her head, and leveled a cool gaze at her husband. “Funny you think this is the same costume Trunks wore when he was a baby.” She shuddered. “Don’t be stupid. This is a new costume. Bura deserved new; I just wanted their first costumes to match. Besides, I’m pretty sure Trunks peed in his strawberry a few times, anyway.” She pinched Bura’s puffy tush, and the baby squealed and danced on her toes. “You really can’t wash these things, you know?”
“Gross!” Trunks stomped into the kitchen, dragging his candy pillowcase on the floor behind him. “I did not!”
“I’m quite sure you did, Boy,” said Vegeta, frowning. He looked at Trunks’ costume, and wanted very much to be insulted by it. “You were in my lap both times you let loose, and I wore it when it sieved through that stupid costume.”
Trunks looked down at himself, when he realized his father disapproved of the Saiya-jin battle armor he wore. “You don’t like it?”
“It’s part of your heritage, Trunks,” said Vegeta. He touched the shoulder of Trunks’ Battle Jacket. “It’s not the same as the original, but the Planetary Trade Company’s design had its pros.” He looked down at Trunks, and gently squeezed his son’s shoulder. “You think I’m angry because you’re wearing a suit from your heritage as a costume?”
Trunks shrugged, then nodded; might as well tell the truth and shame Old Split-foot. “Yeah.”
Vegeta’s mouth twisted. “There was a time – and not too long ago – that it might have insulted me.” He walked to the refrigerator and pulled out a fresh crate of eighteen eggs. “I almost want to be, if that makes sense.”
Trunks looked down at the armor’s accompanying boots, wondering if it did. After a few seconds of thought, he realized he did not. “It doesn’t.”
Nodding, expecting his kid’s answer, Vegeta plucked Trunks’ pillowcase from his hand and slipped the egg crate into it. He handed it back to the boy. “I was a different man when you were a baby...I was even more alien before I came to Chikyuu. Everyone evolves, Trunks. For better or for worse.”
“I guess so.” Trunks opened their linen closet, and Vegeta reached over his boy’s head to grab three rolls of toilet paper. “So, what did you mean, when you said you wanted to be mad?”
“Mmm.” Vegeta scratched at the side of his nose. “Maybe I wanted to feel that indignance about my heritage. Maybe I wanted to know it was still there, that indignance.” He knelt, and shoved the toilet paper rolls into one of the hidey-holes underneath Bura’s stroller. Vegeta turned to the owner of the proper black pram, and stuck his tongue out at the toddler. When she giggled at her Papa, Vegeta looked up at Bulma and took four water balloons filled with shaving cream from his wife. “I’ve realized, Trunks…that indignance is no longer there.”
When Trunks blinked in incomprehension at his father, Vegeta stood, and handed Trunks the shaving cream bombs. He rolled his hand into a fist and bumped his son’s shoulder. “I’m still proud to be Saiya-jin, never forget that. I’m also very proud of you.” He motioned to the Battle Jacket. “I’m proud that you are willing to wear the Jacket, even if it’s simply to dress up.” He hooked his son’s hair from his eyes. “I’m glad that the disapproval is no longer there. I’m glad I’ve evolved past that, at least.”
“Me too, Papa,” said Trunks. He plonked each one of the balloons in a cup holder on Bura’s stroller handles. “Ready to go?”
Bura took a flying leap at her stroller, and stayed still for a miraculous few seconds, as Vegeta buckled her in. He closed the splash-guard, and zipped it up. “Yes. Let’s go have some fun and get a lot of candy.”
Trunks glanced at Bura’s rolling mayhem stroller, marveling at the sheer amount of Halloween chaos stowed in it. Anyone unwilling to give them candy was going to have a miserable night cleaning up after the mess they planned to make. “Papa…do you really think we’re gonna get a lot of candy?”
Vegeta glanced at their Halloween artillery. He smiled wolfishly at his son. “I hope not.”