Disclaimer: I don't own Dragonball Z.

A/N: This is a series of drabbles that were written for the BVDN (Bulma Vegeta Drabble Night) that Mallie-3 hosted today on We're Just Saiyan. Each drabble was written in under half an hour, and all tie together in the same AU universe. Altogether the drabbles span about 15 years in this AU universe. I really recommend getting involved in the next BVDN – it was tons of fun and the short deadlines force you to write before you have a chance to get indecisive about any plot bunnies.

Lean Into the Wind

Crisp

She bit into the fruit, her face immediately screwing up, eyes watering as she spat it back out again. "Ugh!" she shuddered, the fact that she was in the presence of royalty entirely forgotten. "Oh my god, that is so fucking sour. Bleh!" She shook her head, and only after the shivers stopped running down her spine did she remember where she was.

Though the King was unimpressed, Lady Kaiware seemed only to find it amusing. "Aliens do seem to find the gooseberries rather… crisp."

"No fucking shit," she replied. "I don't think I've got any taste buds left. I feel like I've got sandpaper in my mouth."

Finishing the rest of her meal was difficult, but at least it was a distraction from the Prince's burning gaze.

Chilly

The wind whipped her hair into a tangled mess and left her lips dry, and still she remained sitting beside him on the roof. For once he was tolerating her presence without the darkened glare that was so well-worn on his face.

He certainly looked more peaceful now, as if the night had somehow swallowed up all of that angst.

"You can see a lot more stars from the desert," she whispered, filling the silence.

"All the stars you see are only a fraction of what is out there," he replied, and she shivered at the cold truth in his voice.

Harvest

He could tell that she was furious, though she kept it in check, her arms folded tight as they wandered through the breeding centre, listening to the tech drone on. Her lips were pressed into a thin line as they stopped in front of the tank that bore his name, watching the small foetus – his future heir – perform lazy somersaults in the green liquid.

When they were alone she turned on him like a hellcat, her hand striking him flat across the cheek. It hurt her – he could tell – though she brushed the pain aside.

"Who's the mother," she hissed.

"No one here – the egg was harvested over a century ago, but it is the best genetic match. This is how it's done here; do not judge what you don't understand."

Her face drained of colour. "This is how it's done," she whispered, and pressed his hand to her stomach. "I'm pregnant."

Falling leaves

The leaves began to fall on the day that Trunks was born. She remembered, because she hadn't been expecting it at all – with one month to go, she'd taken a short stroll through the park alone, enjoying the cool air, when a gust of wind blew the first orange leaves down to catch in her hair. Within hours she was holed up in hospital, terrified that her baby was coming far too soon.

One year on and the leaves were falling once more. She strolled through the park, not alone this time, laughing as her baby boy raced ahead on pudgy legs, only wishing that Vegeta were here to see this.

Cotton Sweater

The boy was wearing something ridiculous; a cotton sweater, if he remembered the human term correctly.

"He should be in armour by now," he sneered, plucking the child off the floor. It hung limp in his arms, grinning up at him like a fool.

"He's a baby, Vegeta."

"He's a Saiyan," he retorted, "as much as I hate to admit it."

The look she gave him was enough to make the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. "You were the one who stopped me from living on Vegetasei. You have no right to judge, my King."

Pumpkin

She stepped off of the ramp, her head held high, her swollen belly on proud display. She could see the shame and aversion in the Saiyans' eyes as she passed them all; here she was, the King's foreign mistress, suddenly called in to save the day.

Trunks wandered ahead of her, his eyes wide and head bobbing about as he surveyed the palace grounds for the first time, utterly enthralled by the ornate carvings and grotesque murals that adorned the vast gardens.

She stopped briefly by the most ridiculous statue of all; Vegeta, in all his Super Saiyan glory, towered over ten feet high, the pumpkin head of Android Nineteen lying severed at his feet.

Apple

She found Trunks tucked up in the corner of the guest apartment, immersed in a violent game on his tablet. Her heart broke for him all over again, and she gathered his small body in her arms, her pregnant belly only slightly hindering the process.

"You are the apple of my eye," she whispered, kissing the top of his head.

"Vegeta is Dad's favourite," he retorted, pulling away from her and reaching for his tablet once more. "Dad hates me."

"He does not," she whispered.

"He does. They say I'm a freak."

"You're not," she replied, choking back angry tears. "We're just different, and they're afraid of different."

"Vegeta's still his favourite."

"Vegeta is your father's heir, and that's a very different thing. But your father loves both of us. I know it."

Orange

She stood between the two of them, and her skin prickled, almost burning in the heat of their golden ki.

"Don't do this," she pleaded, turning to Vegeta, though his eyes remained locked on Goku, his desire for violence clear on his face.

"Move, Woman. Your King orders you."

"Goku!" she cried, clutching at his orange gi, knowing already that Vegeta was a lost cause. "You have to stop this. You have to leave."

But she had forgotten, once more, of Goku's conviction in the face of evil. "All those innocent people will die if the Saiyans take this planet, Bulma," he spoke, his green eyes full of judgement as they turned on her, "Are you prepared for that?"

She wasn't, and it was with cold apprehension that she knew she had to find the children, and leave.

Hibernation

After so long away, she felt as if she were finally awakening from hibernation. Some things had changed here – a new government, the birth of Goku's first grandchild – and yet so many things had stayed the same.

She fell back into work at Capsule Corp as if she had never left to live as a pseudo-queen on a faraway planet, Trunks went back to school and thrived in Goten's company, and as the days turned cold she found herself looking over her shoulder far less than she had whilst on Vegetasei.

But her daughter cried every night for her daddy, and sometimes the pain was more than Bulma could bear.

Changes

He had wondered, briefly, how she would fare without his presence. Watching her now, it seemed that she had done well.

It was this strength that Bulma possessed above anyone else – she took each change in her stride, never once showing any weakness.

The children had inherited this trait too, throwing their weight behind her. She greeted him with a raised brow and a mild "You're back," as if he'd been gone for only a few hours, and the boy followed suit, offering nothing but a mere nod. The girl just stared, her big blue eyes full of judgement.