Royal Namekian Blues

Chapter 18

By Trynia Merin

Disclaimer: I don't own Dragon Ball Z, Toriyama and Funimation have the rights. I don't get paid for this because it's fan fiction, so don't sue me! The only thing that's mine is the planet Idsarsei 7, and some plot bunnies that got this to where it is now. Thanks to Bulma the Babe for beta’ ing this concept, and to my readers who have inspired me to keep this going!

Next thing Bulma remembered was slowly dragging herself out of a stupor. Whatever lovemaking had elapsed had wrung the life out of her, and she couldn't move except to push herself over. Groaning, she put her hand over her mouth and narrowly avoided unloading her dinner into the sweat soaked sheets.

"Bulma aren't you awake yet?" Vegeta bellowed from somewhere in the distance.

"I'm going to puke," she sobbed, hugging her stomach. Instantly she felt hands on her shoulders. There was the warmth of his body, but the barrier of his gloves between their skin.

"What's going on? Trunks was worried that you hadn't awakened, and your idiot mother insisted I let you sleep, but it's almost noon!" Vegeta ranted, swinging her to sit up. She caught hold of his shoulders and buried her face in one, feeling the hard coolness of armor against her cheek.

"I can't move. I'm so tired," she whined. Her stomach heaved, and Vegeta knew that he had little time before his favorite armor and suit would need desperate cleaning.

"Why the hell didn't you say so?" he grumbled, lifting her as if she were a small child. Against his shoulder she laid her cheek, hanging onto him as he walked her into the bathroom. Just as he set her on the side of the tub she offered her dinner to the porcelain god. Gloved hands on either shoulder held her in place as he held his breath from the stench.

"Damn it, you son of a bitch I hate you," she whined.

"You're blaming THIS on me?" he growled.

"It's morning sickness you moronic monkey!" she gasped through dry heaves.

"Crap," he groaned, still holding her in position. "Are you done?"

"C'mon over here and let me see if I can stop from messing up your armor," she joked.

"No thanks. Honestly how bad will this get?" he asked impatiently, moving around to the side of the commode, and bracing her up with one hand against her shoulder.

"The first trimester's always really bad, but it's my first… and… oho I'm so tired."

Grabbing the tip of his glove in his teeth, Vegeta tugged it up and off. She saw the gleam of his gold wedding band on the third finger of his left hand.

He pressed his hand to her cheek, letting his skin touch hers, one of the few rare times he did so without leading to mating. Carefully he probed the level of ki present, judging it to be a low 15. Not satisfied, he opened his own energies, slowly letting them fill her chakras, and travel to where they were most needed.

Bulma suddenly felt her breathing synching to Vegeta's, unable to control her bodily functions as he took over through their bond. Basic autonomic functions deferred to his control as he filled her depleted energies with his own.

"Breathe with me. That’s it, let me take it on," he urged. Carefully he leaned down and picked Bulma up in his arms. He carried her over to a chair that set in front of a vanity containing her trays of makeup. Kneeling between her knees, he resumed the placement of his bare hand on her temple and chin, fixing his onyx eyes into her sapphire ones.

Because the bathroom was a suite, Bulma's private facilities contained a shower, Jacuzzi tub, two commodes, and a large vanity table with two sinks. One place was sparsely populated by Vegeta's old spice shaving cream, and a comb and disposable razors. The other had a small knee hole which accommodated a seated woman, and a swiveling makeup mirror for doing close up work.

"What are you doing?" she panted, resting her forehead against his. Vegeta moved closer, wrapping his other hand still sheathed in a glove around her lower back.

"Synching our ki," he grumbled. "Something I haven't done in a while, and it's high time I did so."

"What will you do when the baby's born?" she asked, reaching up to play with his widow's peak.

"You won't need this as often. Trunks will be able to assist you when I'm gone…" he muttered.

"Why do you have to leave me alone?" Bulma stammered, chin wobbling. Vegeta cupped her face in both hands.

"To train in space. If the Androids come after me, I'll endanger you. Trunks can fight them on his own. He's going to stay and care for you, and his 'little brother'," Vegeta mumbled. "I must take the fight to them and I don't want you and my heir dead."

"All right," she nodded. She leaned forwards and brushed her lips to his.

Vegeta tightened his arm around her lower back, and temporarily deepened it by thrusting his tongue against hers. They stopped a moment later, awkwardly regarding one another. Reaching between them he tugged his glove back on. What a strange contrast they made, Bulma in her silk gown and bathrobe, close to the Prince in his hard modern armor and AE suit.

"Where's Trunks now?" she asked.

Vegeta climbed to his feet, after letting go of her face. "He's downstairs, no wait, I feel him coming up here. Are you sure you can sit up without emptying the contents of your stomach?" he grunted.

"I'll try," she grumbled. Vegeta slung his arm around her waist, pulling her to stand on shaky legs. Strangely she felt like she could dance if she so pleased. Bursting with royal blue ki, she felt her equilibrium returning.

"That's much better, whoa," she gasped.

"You feel up to eating, Bulma?" he asked, steadying her against himself. He let her stand on her own two feet, taking a step back.

"Yes I'll be fine. Thanks. Vegeta… tell Trunks that I'll be down to breakfast and he shouldn't worry so much," Bulma reassured him.

Vegeta pressed his lips together; sure that she wasn't completely over her nasty shock, but was too proud to admit she needed continued help. "Very well," he nodded.

"Vegeta, would you walk me down?" she asked.

"As you wish, Bulma," he nodded, offering his arm. She slid hers through it, and then walked out the door of their bedchamber with this minimal assistance.

"Miss Briefs," she muttered. "The thing that bites is that Vegeta doesn't have a last name.”

"What are you chattering about?" he asked.

"Just what the heck last name I should take?" she glanced up at him. "We are married, right?"

"What need do you have for this ridiculous surname business!"

"Mrs. Bulma Briefs-Vegeta, or would it be Mrs. Bulma Prince? That would be stupid," she glanced up at him.

"Bulma, you're driving me nuts," Vegeta growled. "You'd have my name of course!"

"Um no offense but it seems a little lack luster unless we hyphenate it."

"Do as you wish, Bulma," he groaned, walking her down the stairs.

"Thank you," she said, kissing him on the cheek, then biting his ear.

"Don't mention it," he groaned.

"Mom, are you okay?" Trunks asked, rushing over from the kitchen table.

"Jeez Trunks I'm fine!" Bulma groaned. "Two men fawning over me is more than enough."

"Trunks, get your mother some hot tea," Vegeta said gruffly, pulling out a chair for her. Also clad in blue spandex and armored vest, their future son grabbed the pot to place on the stove. Eerily he seemed to know where everything was as he gathered the tea bags and cups with their saucers.

"What about you Father?" he asked.

"Hot coffee, black with nothing else," Vegeta said. Bulma blinked at him, in shock.

"What?" he asked.

"Since when did YOU drink coffee?" she asked.

"I acquired a taste for the brew shortly before my last trip," said Vegeta. He sat down in the chair next to her, readjusting his gloves on his hands.

Trunks had thrust his gloves into the belt girding his waist, just under the armored vest. Unlike Vegeta, he wore the belt from his future outfit, which carried various capsules and other items he liked to have handy.

"Herbal or something else?" Trunks asked her.

"Just regular tea," she mumbled, still feeling that swimming inside. Despite Vegeta's donation of ki, she still felt sickly.

"This will help, a little ginseng mixed with the rest," Trunks muttered, grabbing loose teas and mixing them together with boiling water. Before long she had a fresh hot cup steaming in a mug that she clenched between her hands. Vegeta was nursing a cup of 100 percent black coffee, pushing away any offers of sugar or sweetener.

"You should be glad I let you sleep in. Your mother fed us breakfast… I suppose there is some left over. Show her, boy,” said Vegeta.

"Right away, Father," Trunks said, getting up to walk over and open the fridge. He dug out a plate of pancakes, then stuck them into the microwave with some scrambled egg.

"Gramps always said it would put hair on my chest. I guess he was wrong," Trunks teased, pouring some for himself. He cut it with some cream and artificial sweetener, then sat down across from his young parents.

"I'm really okay guys. Vegeta here balanced my ki or something."

"Yeah, that needs to happen," Trunks nodded.

"How… what was it like?" she asked, glancing at him.

"I'm too young to remember it," Trunks teased, passing her a spoon so she could stir her sugar and honey into her brew. Vegeta rested his gloved hand across the back of her chair. While not touching her, he seemed to exert his claim over his mate in this manner by being present in her company.

"No kidding, boy. I think she meant to ask if you knew anything about Saiyan/human pregnancies, considering your own experience… through the retrospect of your parents." Vegeta asked warily.

"The ki thing was part of it. You ought to ask Chichi and Goku, really," said Trunks shyly.

"Speaking of, isn't Goku back yet?" asked Bulma.

Trunks got up from the table, and opened the fridge. Reaching in he retrieved a bottle of ketchup, and some fruit cocktail in a small glass bowl. He carried both over, and plunked them down in front of her. Vegeta lifted a brow when he saw Trunks set the bottle upside down, just like Bulma always did.

"Kakkarot's craft landed this morning. Trunks and I were just over there speaking with him," said Vegeta.

"You and Goku spoke without killing each other? I must have been sleeping longer than I thought!" Bulma shivered. She fiddled with the bottle, opening it and letting it pour on top of her scrambled eggs. Overtop the pancakes she dribbled real Vermont maple syrup.

"Didn't I promise to stave my desire for satisfaction till AFTER the androids invaded?" Vegeta grunted. "Woman, how can you forget so easily?"

"Excuse me, but some of us can't just up and fly when we want to, remember?" Bulma growled back. Trunks looked tense, but then relaxed when Vegeta lifted a brow at him. Bulma stabbed into a piece of pancake, dragging it through a mess of butter and syrup.

"Goku is catching up with his family," Trunks said, blushing profusely.

"As he should, the idiot. He needs to pay more attention to his mate, like a true Saiyan," said Vegeta quickly.

"I thought Saiyans didn't express their affections in public," Bulma said. She cut fiercely into a pancake, stabbing a piece violently before popping into her mouth.

"In the privacy of his own quarters that is," Trunks added, before Vegeta could open his mouth.

"How would you know that, boy?" he asked, glaring at him.

"I know more about Saiyan culture than you'd realize, Father," he said politely. "You… there were tapes of Saiyan history left from the pod that Raditz and the others left behind in my mom's… lab… in my time. Several dozen discs with the history of Planet Vegeta.”

"Shit, why… how?" asked Vegeta, almost leaping from his chair. Gloved hands slammed against the table, rattling the dishes and spilling droplets of coffee.

"Vegeta, settle down!" Bulma urged, grabbing his wrist. In and out Vegeta's breath heaved, blinking in shock at Future Trunks sitting there as calmly as he could.

"You'll find them soon enough," Trunks said quickly. "They're not that far away. In fact you both kept overlooking them for years till… well…"

"I get the idea," said Vegeta, blushing profusely. "I had forgotten that I have retrieved them and hidden them in a secure location prior to returning here."

"Say what?" she asked, blinking at him. Now it was Bulma's turn to almost leap out of her seat, and Vegeta's turn to restrain her with a hand resting on top of her shoulder.

"Someplace on Earth's moon," said Trunks, looking at Vegeta. "Right?"

"Yes," Vegeta nodded. He tapped his temple and looked towards Bulma.

"They're telepathically encoded. Only someone with Royal Saiyan blood can access them," Trunks said quickly.

"I should have thought of that, but it proves you are who you say you are," Vegeta muttered.

"Before I put a finger down my throat with this entire father son bonding, could you please explain to me what the HELL you're doing in AE suits and armor?" Bulma demanded, throwing her knife and fork down on her empty plate. Trunks pushed a bowl of the fruit cocktail before her. Grabbing her spoon she dug it into the pile of diced peaches and pears, pushing them around.

"Father was showing me some things in the GR before we found out that Son Goku was landing," said Trunks.

"Does Goku… did he talk to Trunks?" asked Bulma, warily shoving her spoon into her mouth. Vegeta growled in a low purr at the sight of her licking fruit juice off her lips.

"Trunks and I spoke to him together," said Vegeta, sipping his coffee as he settled down. "He was quite amused to realize Trunk's Saiyan blood."

"Does he know that he’s our son?" asked Bulma.

"No," said Vegeta.

"Why not?" Bulma demanded.

"His son Gohan knows enough. Knowing Kakarotto he'd blab it to the wrong person… no offense Kakarotto may be a goody two shoes but he's not the brightest crayon in the box as you human say," Vegeta snorted. "I can't let anything compromise my mate and son's safety."

“I wish you’d trust him, Father,” said Trunks with regret.

Sighing, Bulma dragged her spoon through another bit of fruit before holding it just before her mouth on her spoon. She asked, "What are we going to do about… well… when he's born."

"Just say he’s named after the brat here," said Vegeta.

“You sure?” Bulma asked.

"In all intents and purposes you're a member of the Royal house," said Vegeta.

"You're a stud muffin all right, Trunks," Bulma teased as Vegeta growled warningly.

"Father, admit it, you're irresistible," asked Trunks. "Right Father?"

"Right son," nodded Vegeta.

"Mm hmm," Trunks nodded, shifting in his chair to drag himself closer to the table.

“Are you sure?” Bulma asked with a look of hope.

"Everyone knows that you're carrying my child now," Vegeta said softly. “What difference will it make?” He coughed profusely, letting go of her hand and getting up to pace the floor. Bulma and Trunks exchanged the same look, and then burst out laughing.

"Sorry sir, can't help it!" Trunks spluttered, while Bulma leaned on him.

"If you two are QUITE finished!" Vegeta spluttered, whirling on them.

"I can't help it. You look so cute when you're hot and bothered!" Bulma squealed. Trunks stifled his next laughs behind his hand, slamming the other on the table.

"Pain in the ass, I can see where you got your more obnoxious qualities boy," Vegeta groused. "Now if you two don’t' mind I'm sensing that some uninvited guests are paying a visit."

"Who?" she asked.

"The cue ball and Dim Sum, who else?" snorted Vegeta. "It was Kakkarot's stupid idea that we all have some nauseatingly feel good social gathering to celebrate his return."

"Oh no they didn't! I don't have anything to wear!"

"Don't worry, Nana's got it covered," said Trunks, patting her hand. "And Chichi's helping her with the food. It's at a country club that you guys have some lifetime membership in not here."

"Thank gods, don't give me a heart attack!" Bulma groaned.

"Relax, Bulma. I don't want those losers crawling around my… our home unbidden. Find something suitable to wear from your attire, and be ready by eleven thirty. I shall fly you there in that wretched air car of yours, though gods knows I'd rather fly," Vegeta groused.

"I could drive," Trunks said with a sly grin.

"No thank you! If you inherited your mother's inability to drive."

"Spoil sport," Bulma pouted.

"Worth a shot. I am seventeen," Trunks laughed. "That does make me legal to drive."

"On a license from the future?" Vegeta glared at him. "Do use some common sense, brat!"

"Um, I guess you got a small point there, Father," Trunks groaned.

"I'll have to get Dad to fix you up with a Capsule Corps ID," Bulma said brightly.

"Fine whatever. Now I'm going to put in some more training. Will you be joining me, boy?"

"Yes sir. Once I know Mom's okay," said Trunks.

"Don't take forever," said Vegeta, giving Bulma's shoulder a squeeze before walking out. Trunks leaned over and kissed her cheek.

"Are you mad?"

"No, just trying to keep this all straight."

"I don't want you hurt, Mom," said Trunks. “I’ll do whatever it takes to protect you.”

"I hope so," Bulma said. Trunks leaned down and she hugged him tightly, burying her face in his neck. He kissed her forehead, resting a hand over her belly before breaking away.

She let go of him, giving him a smile before he turned and followed his father's footsteps out of the kitchen. Grabbing the rest of the fruit cocktail, she dumped it onto her plate and began to devour it ravenously.

A feeling of unrest filled her belly, but she pushed it away with the realization that Trunks and Vegeta were taking care of her together, as father and son. While he accepted this future Trunks as his own flesh and blood, he denied her link to the boy. Although it was for the safety of his doppelganger growing inside her, she still couldn't feel slighted.

"Stupid androids," she mumbled, and put her head in her hands. She rubbed her face lightly, feeling the frown lines deepening the longer she sat.

What snapped her out of suddenly feeling sorry for herself was her mother's bright chirping "HELLO!" resounding through the capsule house.

"Mom?" she asked.

"Where's my little angel?" she asked.

"In here," Bulma called. It wasn't long before she smelled pastries, and focused her mind on satisfying the odd cravings that her baby drove her to satiate. Living in the now was all she could fathom, pushing aside the fear of the future while she embraced the present.