Work Text:
Bulma Brief casually wandered from the lively gathering at her friend's lavish mansion next to the West City Commons, an expansive public estate where citizens could play, exercise, meditate and enjoy nature’s wonders just as much as the philanthropists who gladly financed the park’s upkeep. Although local socialites tried to figure out which of their city’s wealthiest individuals contributed, neither Bulma nor retired martial artist Mark Satan revealed their involvement.
The stylish snappiness of Mr. Satan’s manse almost matched that of Bulma’s own vacation home. Built on a mountain promontory overlooking rustic valleys with bustling streams, the renowned scientist resided there almost three months a year since her fiftieth birthday, mostly during the summer. Sometimes her nine-year-old daughter Bulla and adult son Trunks joined her for several weeks at a time. When she wasn’t there, the location served as a retreat for her company’s employees to relax with their families and brainstorm research ideas. Like every other property she owned, the grounds had enhanced security protections, though they weren’t visibly intimidating.
Thinking over her forthcoming travel plans, Bulma finished off a glass of wine and retied her sandals. A mini servant drone swiftly sailed toward her. Bulma smiled reservedly. Being watched a little too closely annoyed her, given how far she’d moved from the broadening crowd of partygoers.
“Would you like another glass, ma’am?” the bot exuberantly inquired, angling its mechanized fingers with ease. “Mr. Satan requested more wine from his private cellar for today’s event.”
Bulma languidly surrendered her crystal Montrachet glass. She had planned to store it in a capsule for safekeeping. “No, thank you -- and before you speak again, I want nothing else, especially those fattening hors d'oeuvres, even if Mark insists. Did he send you to find me?”
“Yes, ma’am. He specifically directed me to express his concern about your well-being.”
“Here.” Bulma forced a grin and deepened her voice.” She crouched, dropping her hands on her thighs. The diamond solitaire ring on her left hand gleamed. “Take a picture. Tell him… I’m OK.”
“My pleasure.” The drone’s single eye clicked, capturing the photo. “Please be safe, ma’am. Farewell.”
“I’ll likely leave altogether after walking closer to the commons.” Bulma looked up, guesstimating how far she could get around the area before sunset. “You can tell Mark that too.” She could have easily asked the bot or checked her watch, but even for a scientist, sometimes it felt liberating to reject the regimentation of technology.
She half-heartedly acknowledged her loneliness while strolling on a trail toward the fenced border that separated Mr. Satan’s estate from the commons. She missed her husband’s mighty arms around her chest at night, soothing her body and soul. For all her inborn, blistering independence, she allowed her vulnerability to display completely with him – and now more than ever, Vegeta did with her too. He could be a giant pain when they disagreed, but her faith in him had not wavered. Their hearts were firmly in each other’s hands now. The headstrong Saiyan warrior wasn’t the kind of enchanting “prince” Bulma had once fantasized about as a girl. But as a woman who had battled living nightmares, she needed a life partner well-versed in reality, not fairy tales.
It had become routine for Vegeta to leave Earth on the week of his birthday to train. Each year without multiple threats to anyone’s existence – namely his own, given his chosen, arduous path in life – was worthy of a carnival. But this longtime ritual wasn’t meant to be festive. He loved his family. They were resilient, caring, intelligent people who all strived for joy daily, right down to his youngest child. Yet he desired to be alone with his thoughts.
Vegeta did not want them to see him struggle with his weightiest reflections, and now he was the same age as his father when the man had died: fifty-five. For Saiyan at that stage, like a human, many would have considered it far too young to be deceased. For others it would have been expected, even praised, depending on how that person served in Planet Vegeta’s societal pyramid.
Bulma, of course, knew his reasons for departing. From the earliest days of their relationship, Vegeta said that under no circumstances would he celebrate his birthday. “It’s not what Saiyans do,” he said flatly to her, seemingly indifferent. It took years before he would tell Bulma the date, until she finally demanded it on their wedding day. He conceded.
Still, his wife and their kids could revel in their own birthdays as much as they wanted. Vegeta supported whatever they chose to do, even as he stayed in the background. They gave each other the gifts of uninterrupted time and undivided attention. No talk of exercise routines or expected schoolwork demands or running a busy corporation. Mom shared fun tales about her teenage capers with Son Goku and Krillin. Dad and mom dueled over who had encountered the strangest, most dangerous creatures during their travels.
The children challenged themselves to determine which parent took more “liberties” with their storytelling. Usually Bulla could pick out when Bulma or Vegeta included details that might not have been the most accurate, though never outright lies.
Vegeta carried these happier recollections with him, too, as he set out on this year’s voyage. Before leaving, without explaining himself too much, he reassured his wife of that. After kissing her, he always retrieved the pearl earrings given to his wife when they married. He hated seeing her cry when he did such things, but he understood why as he lovingly put the jewelry on her.
Yet Bulma had recognized that this year was different for him. He might not ever discuss what he did on that ascetic, uninhabited world – more rock than planet – for days on end. After reaching the commons that late afternoon, she raised her hands to the sky, wishing him peace.
“Happy, happy birthday, my love. Maybe… you’ll be ready to do this together one day.”
“Yo! Who are you talking to, Bulma?”
Bulma nearly shrieked. “Goku?” Her fingers dug into her palms. “What are you doing here? And how many times do I have to tell you not to sneak up on me like that?! Just because I don’t have rockets shooting out of my fingernails doesn’t mean I still can’t murder you!”
“Get over it!” Goku laughed, brushing off her anger like he often did. “I asked you years ago to learn how to sense ki. Even my daughter-in-law does OK with it! It’s never too late. Helps a lot too.”
Bulma sighed. “What does it look like I’m doing out here, buffoon?”
Goku shoved his chronically chaotic hair back, more so out of habit than discomfort. “Being like Vegeta, I guess?”
The angry creases around Bulma’s eyes sharpened. “And just what are you trying to say?”
“I don’t understand why you’re upset,” Goku replied, appearing genuinely bewildered. “It’s unlike you to ditch a kick-ass party -- especially with oceans of expensive wine -- without dragging a captive along to keep yourself entertained. Vegeta just goes solo most of the time.”
He was right, and Bulma was peeved about how right he was. But that was Goku: remarkably talented at benign plainspokenness. Even if his words thumped you, he never intended any harm.
Bulma shoved him, though not too forcefully. “There’s lots to love about you, pal, but I still wonder sometimes.” Relieved that she wasn’t cross anymore, Goku gave her a hug. Her grip felt off to him, which was his greenlight to ask more questions regardless of how she might respond.
He breathed slowly, bringing her hands into his. “Will you tell me what’s wrong? It will be dark soon, and we know Vegeta would go super nuts if anything bad happened to you out here.”
“Out here?” Bulma faced the fence with an inflated groan. “I’m fully capable of caring for myself out here. It’s galling that you’ve forgotten how I was left to fend for myself on Namek while the Ginyu Force pranced around that planet like homicidal ballet dancers. Not to mention, do you really believe Vegeta and I would be partnered all this time without him showing me a few tricks?”
“Yeah, OK.” Goku imagined how Vegeta would react if he had said that – an incredulous, dyspeptic scowl, followed by an obscenity-laced battle, albeit a fun one. “What I do know is your husband would never, ever use the word ‘tricks’ to describe his training.”
“I’m all right,” Bulma said, taking a gentler tone. “I just miss Vegeta a little more than usual today, honey. Wondering how he is. I accept who you both are – and your missions – but that doesn’t mean I don’t have hard days too. I’m human, I love you dearly and I want you here – alive and happy, minus King Yemma’s tarnished halos – for as long as universe allows.”
“But… there’s something about today, related to Vegeta, that’s troubling you, right? I mean, we’ve been dealing with crazy stuff since we were young, Bulma.”
“Yes, Goku, but I don’t want to discuss the reason. What you can do is fly me around outside the city before dropping me off at home. The moist wind on my face will calm me – and do wonders for my skin texture!”
“Certainly!” Goku took a giant leap, grinning from ear to ear. Bulma whooped excitedly as they soared toward the cottony clouds above, just like old times. “Hold on tight, big sis! Vegeta can’t boss me around since he’s not here!”
Bulma journeyed to her alpine chateau the following day by plane. Trunks and Bulla would visit in a few weeks after helping their grandfather with a design project. It was the perfect occasion for Bulla to think more about her interests and future goals, but Bulma also wanted her “little sunbeam” to have as much fun as possible while doing it. Trunks had his own bustling life, but like his father, when he had an opportunity, he took immense pleasure in spoiling his sister rotten.
Bulma arrived to find a well-lit, cozy retreat. Cherry wood logs crackled in the fireplace, offsetting the nippy mountain air outside. She withdrew a new variety of Semillon white wine from a cooler beside the kitchen sink, another flavorsome gift from one of Mr. Satan’s vineyards, and prepared a small plate of green olives and buttery marcona almonds to snack on before dinner. A few fingertip strokes on the counter’s touchscreen later and a feast fit for a queen would be ready to devour.
But first, she chose to relax on chaise lounge facing the fireplace, pondering her plans. I suppose I’ll go jogging after breakfast tomorrow and then tour the granary. It should be spotless – or else someone at the office won’t be pleased to hear personally from me.
“The granary” was a secluded warehouse lab where she labored during longer holidays. It was far enough from the villa to get a fair amount of physical exercise on the surrounding premises, including use of a first-class obstacle course, before diving headfirst into work. Vegeta had exclusive access to a force-field concealed, closely guarded training facility. Goku, Gohan, Krillin and Piccolo were also welcome to use it too, though only one of them had.
“Krillin!”
“How’s my friend, the belle of West City?”
Bulma smacked on a few almonds, licking her fingertips. “Oh, I’m just trying to make a living, you know?” She transferred their conversation to the house intercom from her smartphone to continue talking. “I’m a woman of the people.”
“You’re also setting yourself up for an enormous joke at your expense, Bulma. But I’m nicer than Goku and Vegeta, so I’ll keep my pettiness to myself.”
“I don’t know about that nicer part. Your wife just keeps you on a shorter leash to stay out of danger. And lest you forget, Vegeta sleeps with me. Kind of likes it too, occasionally.” Bulma stretched her toes. Sounds like the wind is kicking up more trouble out there. Maybe I'll inspect the garage later.
“He would be a fool of the century if he didn’t like it!” Krillin took a spooked glance around his backyard. “Ah, and don’t tell my wife I said that, OK? She’s not at home now, but it’s scary when she knows I’ve been naughty before I even realize I’ve done something wrong.”
“And Eighteen knows you only have eyes for her, just like Vegeta is my one and only.”
“How is Vegeta doing, by the way? It’s been a few days since he left.”
“He was his usual self when we said goodbye.”
Krillin walked beneath an apple tree, admiring its pale pink blossoms. “You’re lying -- horribly. I’d rather hear you say you’re not in the mood to discuss whatever is happening between you two. We can’t stop being honest with each other. You, me, Goku, we’re family… until the end of our days.”
“You know, Krillin, it’s touching to hear how devoted you are to preventing hostile spousal divorces.”
“Don’t get all sentimental, Bulma. I’m self-interested. Consider my efforts a multi-decade payoff to you for seducing Vegeta out of galactic piracy and into boring dad clothes like mine.”
Bulma topped off her wine glass, contemplating where their conversation would go next. “This is most you’ve discussed Vegeta with me in a while.”
“I know him better than you both think I do. You want me to talk with him after he returns?”
“No offense, Krillin, but I can’t see him willing to have his state of mind scrutinized by you.”
“Ouch.” Krillin chuckled a bit as a curious bird plucked seeds from his hand. “You really know how to punch a guy in the nuts. Seriously, though, the thing is, I’m no threat. Whatever he can’t share in confidence with Goku -- for reasons of pride, of course -- he might be willing to tell me.”
“And I am his wife, OK? I don’t need to outsource my responsibilities to you -- or anyone else. It's complicated.”
Krillin matched Bulma’s resistance with serene firmness. “And I am one who’s watched Vegeta die, twice, in front of me. I’ve fought beside him, for him and against him – and nearly killed him, had Goku not stopped me. You don’t have to like it, but I have earned the privilege of being heard.”
“Why are you saying all this?” Krillin rarely spoke this bluntly, so Bulma eased her defensiveness.
“Because, like Goku, regardless of my differences with Vegeta, I too am a warrior. Goku and I came from nothing and fought hard to be the men we are today -- and as you realize all too well, we have plenty of faults. Vegeta has battled his entire life to understand himself… his purpose.”
“Yes, he has, Krillin.”
“Hon, what I’m trying to say is our paths to enlightenment aren’t so different. After the transformations I’ve seen, it is my responsibility to lift my fellow travelers if they stumble. And Bulma, to love you, as I do so very much, is to love him. Your happiness together is part of that.”
“Wrap it up, Krillin,” a gruff voice commanded. “I have not stumbled. Happy now?”
“Vegeta?” Bulma touched her lips as her husband emerged from a dim alcove. “You’re… you’re here?” Smelling of cologne, he had on blue denim jeans and a freshly ironed T-shirt, confirming that his arrival at the villa wasn’t sudden.
“Krillin is a goofball, Bulma, not stupid,” he replied, “as well as one-time monk who fell off his training wheels. I seem to recall you saying he had social-adjustment difficulties in his youth.”
“Social adjustment?!”Krillin’s laughter startled the bird perched on his arm. “You’re talking about me?! I’ve heard it all! You could still learn a thing or two about manners from me especially!”
“And there’s no use in beating a dead horse, wouldn’t you say?” Vegeta countered. “The sole reason I’m tolerating the length of this speakerphone reunion is out of respect for… for a fellow warrior. Neither Bulma nor I take your solicitude for granted.”
“How could I have not known you were here?” Bulma said. Her eyes closed. “I’m practically a walking satellite system. I got no warning from Capsule’s aerospace unit -- or apparently anything else that’s supposed to be working properly.”
“Krillin and Kakarot knew from the moment I set foot on Earth this morning that I would come here, Bulma. Considering their concern about you, I did not bother to conceal my ki from them.”
With his daughter running straight toward him, Krillin found an exit ramp to end the call. “Welcome back, chief. Stay strong because we know what’s coming next. Can’t say I feel too sorry for you, though, Vegeta. Bye, guys!”
Irked by her husband’s enigmatic behavior, Bulma ripped her cocktail napkin. “Are our children aware of this too?”
“They were the first ones I contacted,” Vegeta said.
“Oh that’s marvelous! Thanks a lot for ranking the woman who birthed those two hell-raisers at the bottom of your priority call list!”
Vegeta may have been the emperor of apathetic glances, but keeping a grin off his face was almost unbearable. He only wanted to kiss her. “So you’re not happy to see me?”
“Do I sound merry to you? How dare you play hide-and-go-seek like this, Vegeta! You’re damn right I’m not happy!”
“Liar.”
“This isn’t a joke.” Bulma yanked up her ice bucket and wine bottle, flinging water droplets far and wide. “And I have had enough of men on this planet calling me a liar! Thirty years of that shit gets real old!”
“But you're fifty-three...”
"WHATEVER!" The floor lamps rocked with each harsh footstep Bulma took to get away from him. “The dinner menu has been programmed. Eat whatever the hell you want and go back to West City.”
Vegeta pointed at the kitchen bar. “I know it’s programmed because I prearranged the meals with everything you like before I left last week. So you best believe I’m not going anywhere before or after we eat together.”
Bulma’s appetizer dish clattered in the sink. “You’ve forgotten basic math, Vegeta. There is no ‘together’ tonight. I’m the one who needs to be alone this time. Maybe make your entrance again in two weeks, after our kids show up.”
“Woman, just listen to me, please. Please. I returned early to apologize. Now I realize how distracted – and hurt -- you’ve been, which is never good.”
Bulma sloppily wiped off her runny mascara, refusing to look at him as she cried. “You’ve done these trips for years, Vegeta, so I wasn’t hurt. Just more anxious.”
Vegeta reached for her hand from behind. “Your beautiful eyes, the ones I fell in love with, tell no untruths. Your words, however, do.”
Oh good god. What did this man just say to me?! Bulma’s spluttering laughter abruptly ended their conflict. “You’re laying the charm on thick today! Did Trunks give you a beginner's poetry lesson this morning?”
Vegeta didn’t answer. Trunks wouldn't snitch on him.
“No wonder your son can’t keep a girlfriend,” Bulma said. “At this rate, we may never get a grandchild out of him. But I must commend his father for being an adaptive learner, though, when you put your mind to it.”
“Have you noticed that Trunks is always my son when you’re angry with either of us?”
“And rightly so.”
Vegeta sidled closer as Bulma’s finger circled his chin. “May I kiss you now?”
“No.”
“Whaaa… but… argh!” Vegeta drew back as his wife giggled. “Then stop doing whatever it is you’re doing with your hand!”
“Now, now. We have plenty of time for recreation later.” Bulma retrieved two sets of dinner plates, placemats and flatware. “Would you put these on the table, please? You made record speed getting to Earth. It’s fortunate, I suppose, that the dismal chunk of rock you settled on this year is closer than those other oxygen-starved shitholes you’ve chosen.”
Vegeta picked up the ice bucket, placing it on the table’s center. “I’ve never shied from self-imposed austerity. Should have taken about one second to understand that after I met you.”
“Far less than that.” Bulma sauntered to his table seat, offering a sip of freshly decanted wine. “I’m long accustomed to extreme personalities. So in that respect, you weren’t that unique.”
“Oh, I’m not? Heh, says the dragon lady who had the audacity to become my mate.”
“Dragon lady? I like that. Use it more often! It’s more empowering than tiger mom.’”
The couple fell silent, staring at the windows as wind gusts kicked up outside.
“Rain will be here soon.” Vegeta carried Bulma’s glass to the scene, observing the landscape below. A flock of birds swirled in unison from their roosts as the skies greyed, just as he finished the last drop of her wine. He wasn’t much of a drinker, but the warming sensation relaxed him.
“Tastes fantastic, doesn’t it?” Bulma said. “Want more?”
“It will do -- and no. Not unless you want me to fall asleep on my plate.”
“Have you slept, Vegeta?”
“Not the first night. I got about four hours on the second and third.”
“Honey…”
Vegeta lifted the glass, gazing at the firelight’s reflection. “It’s strange. I’ve slept more soundly in those vile space pods while I was with the Frieza Force. I’ve always found the luxuriousness of Capsule Corporation ships distracting when I’ve used them.”
“You have a bizarre notion of what luxury is.” Bulma clutched his belt, luring his lips to hers. “All right. Let’s deal with the elephant in the room. Tell me what you did up there on Magna Centauri.”
“I fasted. I meditated. But when I finally broke the fast, I found myself unmotivated to train.”
“That’s rare. Do you know why?”
“Because my mental and bodily conditioning have apparently established a do-not-pass-go tripwire. But it’s separate from the barriers I’ve broken as a Saiyan. I can call on those resources whenever I need to.”
“So what am I missing here, Vegeta?”
“Bulma, I could not train then because… I cannot run anymore. I have my pride. I have my honor. I have proved repeatedly that I can break through ever-higher limits. I have embraced the grace of redemption. Even love found me when I once revolted against the thought of it.”
“You don’t live in your father’s shadow anymore.”
“Exactly, and if he were alive, he would likely spit on the life you and I have built together. Hell, he’d probably challenge me to fight him on the spot.”
Bulma smiled. “I would expect it. Fighting for Saiyans is the equivalent of conversation – a first language. Talking comes second. You can learn a lot about someone by the way they kick your ass.”
“Attempt to kick my ass,” Vegeta said. “Attempt. Father wouldn’t win. I’ve spent all these years alone on my birthday, willingly, telling myself that he wasn’t the dominating force in my life. But I fully believe that now. I could not save father from being killed by Frieza, but the truth is there was no salvation for him. I paid the price, many times over, and so did he.”
“You were only a boy when he died, Vegeta. What more could you have done?”
Vegeta escorted her to the table as rain and hail pummeled the exterior windows. “Saiyan children, because of their inborn abilities, are treated as adults-in-training. Always. I’ve never deviated from that belief. You watched me teach Trunks almost everything I know.”
“He also had the benefit of enjoying much of his boyhood with two parents who love him deeply.”
“Yes, he did,” Vegeta said, touching her face. “Unlike me. I am grateful that he knows all sides.”
“So… you’ve finally said goodbye to your father.”
Trying to restrain the emotion in his voice, Vegeta looked away. “And when my life ends – for good – I can only hope Trunks and Bulla can do the same with the best memories I’ve left for them.”
“They will.” Bulma embraced his hands as the rain’s tempo slowed outdoors. “Let’s get some food in us. Oh drat. Sounds like we have a call coming in. Give me a kiss before I answer, handsome.”
“Ignore that, whoever it is,” Vegeta grumbled. “It can wait. There’s a reason we call this a vacation home.”
“Not this time.” Bulma aimed at the fridge. “Look at the display screen, Vegeta. It’s the kids.”
Bulla’s face filled the viewer. “You look so pretty, mama!”
“Thank you, darling! That’s always nice to hear. Did you get your eyebrows threaded?”
“Yes. Grandma took me to the salon with her. We had our nails painted too. Where’s papa?”
“I’m right here, princess. Your mother and I are preparing dinner.”
“Stop hiding back there, papa! I want to see you. Trunks and I have something to show you.”
Bulma moved aside as Vegeta glanced -- and then did a double take. Trunks and Bulla were dressed in identical No. 5 birthday-candle costumes. Even the family kitten wore a festive tiara.
Vegeta bent over laughing.
“This wasn’t my idea, guys,” Trunks said, blowing lazily on a pink paper whistle. “Nevertheless, I put my faith in Bulla’s guess that dad wouldn’t be grumpy about a remote observance of his birthday. Great work, sis.”
Bulla jumped up, giving her brother a high-five. “Yeah! We did it!”
“Altogether now, troops!” Bulma shouted, clapping her hands. “One, two, three, four!”
“No, no, no!” Vegeta tried to cover her mouth. “Don’t you dare!!!”
“Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday, dear Vegetaaaa, happy birthday to you!!! AND MANY MORE!!!! YAY!!!”
Trunks blew on his rumpled whistle again, while Bulla pounded on a snare drum with Vegeta’s picture on it. “So how does it feel to be as old as volcanic ash, pop?”
“At least I have a permanent girlfriend, boy,” Vegeta said. He switched off the screen to kiss Bulma, leaving the sound on. “Jealous?”
“So that’s the thanks I get for coaching you earlier?” Trunks whined. “Don’t ever ask me to help you woo mom again!”
“I knew it!” Bulma squealed. "I knew it! I knew it! I knew it!"
Meanwhile, Vegeta plotted revenge. "Sleep with one eye open, Trunks -- for the rest of your life."
A/N - I hope this brightened your day. Thank you for reading.