Chapter Text
They both noticed when Trunks began to become withdrawn. He'd always been very outgoing - definitely a trait from his mother - but lately, he'd become quieter and seemed to hold back around them. In particular around his father.
Bulma immediately put it down to puberty. She'd been the loud, rebellious type (although it was hard to be a rebel with parents who let her do whatever she wanted), but Trunks did have a part of Vegeta in him, not to mention that he'd had him as a role model. It was more than likely that Trunks was becoming more like his father; silent, moody, sullen.
Vegeta didn't agree. While they certainly had experienced a few episodes of pure teenage angst, as Bulma called it, Trunks’ recent retreat into himself was more concerning than that. And Vegeta feared that he was responsible.
Therefore, as any loving parent would do, Vegeta forced Trunks into the gravity room and locked the door, disabling all six different overwrites Bulma had installed; she thought he didn't know about the last two and he'd kept his knowledge a secret for a special occasion such as this. Nothing was getting in the way of this long overdue father-son talk.
“Listen up, boy,” Vegeta said, then realized how aggressive he sounded. He tried to soften his voice, like when he was speaking to Bulla. “Hear me out, Trunks. I know something is wrong and we're not leaving this room until we've talked it over.” Trunks just shrugged and crossed his arms, looking too much like his father as he turned away. He definitely looked the part of a sullen teenager, but Vegeta still wasn't fooled and this once let him get away with the blatant act of disrespect.
He turned the gravity to 200 times the Earth’s, an easy level for both of them, but enough to put Trunks on alert. Almost as if the teen was conditioned to it (perhaps he was), his back straightened and he unknowingly took on a fighter's pose. “Let's fight, Trunks,” not quite an order, but close enough and the boy responded. As much heat Vegeta gave him about being too human, the truth was that Trunks had more Saiyan in him than any of the other halflings; especially the lust for a good fight. It was something he loved almost as much as his father did.
Shrugging off the hoodie, Trunks turned with a jump forward, trying to get a hit right away. His fist was easily blocked by Vegeta’s lower arm, but he had expected that and pirouetted, nearly landing a kick at his father. They continued to spar, neither of them getting a direct strike, except a few grazes here and there. While Trunks’ strength was still far from his father's, his technique was just as flawless. As long as they didn't change forms, they were close to equally matched; it was impressive considering his young age.
“So, tell me,” Vegeta spoke casually as though they were sitting on a couch together, “what's bothering you? What's got you suddenly so quiet and, frankly, surprisingly well behaved.” It wasn't often he tried to joke, but this situation required unorthodox methods.
“It doesn't matter,” Trunks murmured, throwing a particularly hard punch, “it doesn't affect you, so it doesn't matter.” Vegeta didn't like the way it was phrased. Trunks was as sly as his parents and always chose his words wisely.
“If you're insinuating that I only care about things that directly affect me, you're wrong. Besides, I see you every day and it affects me that you clearly aren't yourself. It matters to me that my son isn't happy.” Vegeta barely dodged a fist.
“Maybe I'm happier when you're not here! Have you thought about that, huh? How about you forget about me and just go off on adventures with Future Trunks or spar with Cappa instead of me? I bet you'd prefer that! I know I would!”
The series of rapid throws from Trunks that Vegeta let land on him did nothing to make the pain of those words any less. He finally knew what was plaguing his son and, as he feared, he was the cause of it.
He pressed the off button on the console, unsure of what to say; he just knew he didn't want the hum of the machine getting in the way. Taking a deep breath, he tried to imagine what Bulma would say or do, but all he could picture at that moment was her saying, “You're on your own, jackass.” Perhaps he was hearing her yell precisely that on the other side of the door to the chamber after trying to get inside. But he had blocked the peephole and disabled the cameras, so he didn't actually know if she really was out there right then.
Trunks walked past him and grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge. He likely knew how hard this was for his father. Maybe he even thought that the Saiyan Prince would chicken out; it wouldn't be the first time when it came to matters of the heart. The memory of his sex talk with Trunks still haunted him, particularly how he'd rushed out when the boy had asked him about romantic feelings.
“This is about Future Trunks then. And Cabba. You think they matter more to me than you?”
Trunks scoffed. “And Bulla. And mom. And Goten's dad. Heck, who isn't more important than me?” He wasn't looking at his father, just staring at the floor.
“The rest of them have never bothered you in the past,” Vegeta pointed out.
“Well, they aren't exactly a replacement for me.”
“Neither are Cabba or Future Trunks. No one can replace you - my son.”
“Future Trunks is your son too,” Trunks said angrily, finally daring to glance at his dad.
“He isn't. He's the son of another me, one that failed to protect him and Future Bulma!” Vegeta didn't want to be reminded of the him from the other timeline, likely because it made him recall what a horrible person he himself was back then. It wasn't him anymore, but it had been and Trunks and Bulma had suffered because of him in both timelines.
Trunks leaned against the console, back to burning a hole into the steel floor with his angry eyes. “I'm not as good as him. I couldn't even stop Majin Buu when fused with Goten.”
“You were eight years old. It was too much responsibility for you.”
“You had a lot more responsibility at that age,” the boy sighed. It was obvious that he felt like a failure. Vegeta knew the feeling all too well.
“I'm not a good example of a mentally stable person and you know it. I want a better life for you.”
“That's probably why I'm not as good a warrior. Cabba and Future Trunks, they have persevered when the stakes were impossibly high. I've never been on my own, fighting for everything I hold dear.”
“And that's a good thing! It means I've actually done something right!” Vegeta shouted, his head lowered and his hands pulling at his hair. He didn't like this conversation, didn't want to imagine his son in situations like those Future Trunks had faced. What Cabba had dealt with was unknown to them, but the young Saiyan had mental scars of his own. Vegeta never wanted that for his son.
“It's clear that you prefer them to me. Bowing down to Cabba? You'd never do that to me. You respect them for their deeds. Me? Mom probably never gave you a choice but to act respectfully and even just barely. I know the truth, I know I wasn't wanted.”
“Who said you weren't wanted?” Vegeta still hadn't lifted his head, feeling defeated by his son's words. None of them were true, but it was clear that the boy thoroughly believed them. What could a father possibly say that would prove him wrong?
“Uhm, everyone!” Trunks threw his hands up in the air. “I've heard how you were when you were fighting the androids and Cell, how you didn't even try to save me and mom. You didn't want any of us back then. And I remember the way you treated me when I was younger. You didn't show me any affection, not like you do with Bulla. I was unwanted, a nuisance you had to deal with. You never wanted to be a father. I was an accident who got in your w-”
“Shut your mouth right now, young man!” Vegeta slammed his fist into the console which shattered under his strength. He didn't care, not at all, even if Bulma wasn't willing to fix it. He couldn't stand to hear more of Trunks’ words. “You were never unwanted! I know I was a terrible father to you - I had no idea how to be one - but I did want you! Both your mother and I did.”
“Oh yeah?” Even his father's anger didn't stop the half Saiyan from retorting. “You just sat down and planned to have a child together?”
Vegeta huffed out a small laugh. “Not exactly, but…”
During the three year gap…
“Pfft,” Vegeta scoffed with disgust as Bulma returned from the bathroom. He walked past her, carrying the broken condom between two fingertips as though it had actually been used and by someone a lot less hot than either of them. “One would think they would make these things more durable,” he complained, dumping it into the waste bin.
“They're not made with Saiyan strength in mind, Vegeta,” she yelled back at him from the bed, even though she logically knew that he could easily hear her speak at normal volume. “Usually, they don't break unless there's a fabrication error which is rare. Besides, it's fine. The condom was an extra precaution. My IUD should be more than enough to beat back your alien spunk.”
“Do you have to sound so vulgar?” He picked up his training shorts from the floor, pulling them on. “Don't those contraception devices have to be changed once in a while?”
Bulma had dropped down on the bed and was stretching, the sight almost making Vegeta take off his shorts again and join her. Alas, he did have to train. “Mine lasts 12 years. I've had it for four, back before Raditz came to Earth, so no worries. I'll probably be too old for children when it runs out anyway. If everyone's not dead by then.”
“You don't plan to have children?”
“Well, I did. Yamcha,” Vegeta automatically rolled his eyes at the mention of the weakling, “wanted a bunch of them, but I never really felt ready. And I certainly don't want to get back together with him now. But I have thought about having a child before… you know. If the androids…”
“You know I'm going to destroy them easily once I achieve the Legend,” he growled, not likin that she was insinuating he wouldn't succeed.
“I know! But still. I shouldn't wait till I'm too old.” Her eyes turned distant for a moment as she seemed to contemplate something. “Maybe I could get Yamcha to donate-”
“You want that weakling to father your children?!” Vegeta had, without realizing it, crawled onto the bed and was leaning over her. His blood was suddenly racing through his veins, his heart beating furiously. He did not like the idea of Bulma with another person, even if it was a medical insemination. Why he so vehemently disliked it should've concerned him, but he could lie to himself by arguing that he simply didn't want to lose his sexual partner.
“I mean, he's a decent option,” she shrugged, although looking a little shocked at his sudden and unexpected reaction. “He's nice, good looking, strong and doesn't have any hereditary conditions. He wouldn't be such a bad choice.” She stared at Vegeta with annoyance. “Not that it's any of your business.”
He pulled back and rolled over to lie next to her, scoffing at her. For some reason, he didn't feel like training anymore. He wanted to object to her statement, but he didn’t actually have any business commenting on the candidate she might choose to provide biological material for her hypothetical child. They sat in silence, both with arms crossed.
Eventually, she sighed. “Yamcha would probably want to hang around all the time though and I don't want that, so don't worry, I'm not planning to bear his child any time soon. I'd much rather raise the kid myself. Agreeing on how to raise a child seems like a hassle.” He hummed, not surprised. She was very independent and any partner would likely be in her way. Besides, her parents could babysit the child if needed; she wasn't entirely alone.
She reached for her pack of the foul nicotine sticks. “Have you thought about having children?” she asked casually. They rarely conversed about trival matters, but he didn't think much of it. Before she could tap out a stick from its packaging, he snatched the whole pack from her hand and incinerated it with his ki. “What the fuck's wrong with you!”
She slapped at him, but he ignored it since it didn't hurt and answered her question instead; not the retorical one. “I've always wanted an heir. Of course, I didn't think it was a possibility. Until I saw Kakarot’s hybrid brat…”
His earnest reply made her settle down. “So, you would be okay with settling down and raising a half human child like Goku, along with all that comes with it?” The atmosphere between them felt loaded all of a sudden, though he wasn't quite sure why.
“I do not want to settle down nor raise a child. I want to sire an heir to ensure that Kakarot’s third class blood won't be the only thing left of the Saiyan race once I die. I could possibly consider training my heir if I found it worthy of my time, but I wouldn't have any other interest in it beyond that.”
Several moments passed. He could practically hear the cogs turning in her head. Usually, that meant she would soon suggest something brilliant or completely idiotic.
“So, I want a child with good genes and no father in the way and you want an heir you don't have to raise?”
He knew where she was going with this, but he asked anyway, “Your point being?”
Faster than he'd ever seen her move, she was straddling him to claim his full attention. And she certainly had it because she was still very much naked.
“Why don't we just make a child? We're both intelligent, good-looking people and we're already fucking on a regular basis.” He couldn't argue with any of that. “I can provide a stable, secure upbringing and I don't expect you to be here or do anything. In fact, I would prefer it if you didn't, except training if you want. Otherwise, I know people who can do it for you.”
If he was to be honest, he was quick to deem Bulma an acceptable mother to his spawn. Was he to be completely honest, he knew that she was the best woman he would ever find. She was worthy to be Queen of All Saiyans if he ever chose to wed (although he doubted she wanted something serious with him). But he would never tell her any of this; her ego was big enough and he had no interest in being bound to anyone or any place, least of all Earth, anyway.
Nevertheless, he knew for sure that he did want an heir. And he wanted one with her.
“How fast can you remove the device from your womb?” he asked with a smirk and she, as perfect as she was, simply smirked back.
Present day...
Trunks said nothing for a few minutes after Vegeta ended his story of how he came to be. He was thinking hard, his mouth a flat line as the cogs turned in his head. Just like his mother, Vegeta thought with fondness.
Finally, his son spoke. “So, you planned to have an heir. So what?” He pushed away from the remainder of the console he'd been leaning his backside against. “I didn't matter to you, besides passing on the royal line. I could've died and you wouldn't have cared. You could always make another.”
“That's not the whole story, kiddo. Let me tell the rest. Maybe then you'll understand how important you were to me, even then.”