Bulma's pants were caked with dirt from hours of tending her flower and vegetable gardens. Wearing thick cloth gloves, she attacked unruly weeds and hungry insects with laser precision and righteous anger. Invaders would be vanquished with scorched-earth fury and determination – without pesticides or industrial weed killers, of course. Her husband Vegeta could smell the tiniest traces of chemicals in almost anything. If he didn't love meat so much, he would be vegan.

Over the years the prince had developed a taste for free-range chickens and grass-fed beef, too. At least Bulma's wealth could provide for these products abundantly. As much as science offered myriad alternatives for proper nutrition, including elegant instant meals that tasted and appeared like they were prepared naturally, Vegeta often said he "could tell the difference."

"He always has been a hard ass," she grumbled. "My mother fed him like true royalty and he never had a problem. Not once – with anything he shoveled into his maw, homemade or otherwise. He couldn't tell the difference between toasted bread and a dishwasher scrubbing pad before arriving on Earth."

"Mom, to whom are you speaking?"

Scowling, Bulma removed her designer butterfly sunglasses and looked up. "My garden, Trunks," she said irritably. "That traitorous cat isn't around to keep me company. Besides, flora such as these respond favorably to human conversation. It doesn't take advanced neuroscience or biology to figure that out. See how lovely they are?"

"Yeah, sounds perfectly scientific, Doctor Brief," Trunks replied sarcastically. Smirking like his father, he sat down to bind Bulma's cut flowers. "So, uh, who else soured your mood today? My baby sister or your cantankerous yet endearing husband?"

Without responding, Bulma shoved a bowl-sized garden spade and scissors into her son's hands. Her head nodded authoritatively toward the tomatoes, cucumbers, and sweet peppers.

"Make yourself useful," she ordered. "Take that batch to your apartment to eat with your girlfriend. Leave the green tomatoes, though. I'm frying those and having fresh corn on the cob, also."

"Thank the universe that I tied up my hair," Trunks thought. "Even I can tell it's hotter than the fifth level of hell, and I'm a Saiyan with internal temperature controls. So grateful I inherited those from dad."

He winced as Bulma strangled the hapless weeds tighter. Did they really deserve her lavender-haired reign of terror? All they wanted was a patch or two of healthy soil to flourish.

He had to stop it. His mother risked bad luck. He didn't want her to reincarnate as a dandelion.

"Mom, mom, mother," he implored with loving tenderness, "let's take a break and get some water. We can finish nursing the gardens before sunset."

Bulma almost teared up from his thoughtfulness. "You'll stay and help?"

"Of course," Trunks said merrily. "I'm pleased dad didn't say anything."

Bulma's disgusted scowl returned. "Vegeta knew you were coming and didn't tell me?"

"No, mom. Have you forgotten about dad's ki-sensing abilities? It boggles my mind that you insist on keeping those god-awful alarms and demonic attack dogs. Especially the dogs. They're terrified of him. It's downright cruel."

Laughing, Bulma slapped his shoulder. "Just so you know, it hurts Vegeta's feelings that he frightens Damien and Thorn. He refuses to tie tiny meat chunks to his legs so they'll come, as I have instructed. Now get up. I can't believe my first born child treats his poor, defenseless mother like this."

Trunks removed Bulma's floppy, sweaty straw hat, dangling it above her head. "You mean like this?"

Briefly forgetting her son's extraordinary reflexes, Bulma jumped around like a wild rabbit. "Go burn in a fire, all of you blasted Saiyans!"

"We already do that well!" said Trunks, who by this time couldn't stop laughing himself. "Oh, god! You're killing me over here. What's wrong with you today? You're almost as grumpy as dad when he can't use the mechanized training chambers."

"No one – and I mean no one in the multiverse – is grumpier than Vegeta when he can't do something, son."

Biting his lip, Trunks considered this. "Yeah, you got me on that one," he said. "Let's go."

They held hands, arms swinging back and forth, while trekking to the main house. After entering the kitchen, Bulma leaned rearward to stretch her lower back.

Trunks opened a fridge and retrieved two beers, tilting one toward her. "Want one, Doctor Brief?"

"Yeah. Leave it in there, Doctor Brief. I'll be back. I'll change into my barbecue-grilling clothes."

Bulma glanced back while Trunks busied himself shucking corn cobs and cutting tomatoes. She and Vegeta agreed that their kids were miracles. "Tough love" notwithstanding, they doted on them. Yet Bulma hoped her extraverted daughter's affections would balance between parents.

Trunks was a mama and papa's boy throughout childhood - but not Bulla Brief.

"Daddy is driving me in the Jaguar today."

"Daddy is taking me fishing! Yay!"

"I need money to buy daddy a new shirt. We should burn that pink one."

"Daddy actually read the romance book I suggested. Isn't that great, mom?"

"I know it's the last minute, but can we postpone shopping? Daddy is sparring and I want to watch."

Daddy, daddy, daddy, daddy.

Damned right Bulma was jealous - and, unlike other mothers, she wasn't ashamed. Damned right she wasn't ashamed. Bulla wouldn't have her precious "daddy" if "mommy" hadn't suggested getting pregnant again. Bulma wasn't the youngest woman when she and Vegeta conceived either. Though she wouldn't trade her youngest for anything in the universe, she had felt lonely and misunderstood lately as Bulla grew older.

Then there was Vegeta and his not-so-subtle encouragement of Bulla's idolization. If their middle-aged married-couple sex wasn't so delectably perfect, Bulma would have kicked the prince of all Saiyan daddies from their bedroom to sleep in their daughter's old nursery room - indefinitely.

"Damned right he would sleep somewhere else," Bulma said as she plodded downstairs. "He needs to train more anyway. His abdominal muscles aren't as tight as they used to be."

Talking aloud to herself had been therapeutic lately - and useful to avoid arguments. But that comment right there was nasty. Ugly nasty.

She had to get ahold of herself.

Trunks handed Bulma tongs and an oversized fork for the vegetables after she reappeared. He had arranged all manner of marinated meats to roast in two tank-sized steel drums outside. It finally dawned on him that Bulma had planned a nice family meal in advance, but Bulla and Vegeta were conspicuously absent – and clearly his mother hadn't heard from them.

He sighed. "Why must those two create trouble? Dad, especially. He knows better. It's like he's having another childhood – a normal one." Now he had to clean up their mess. They probably wouldn't show up at home until after midnight as well, he thought. He considered taking everything with him. It would serve them right being inconsiderate.

Unfortunately, his apartment's three refrigerators weren't large enough to store the food.

The patio chair's soft cushions relaxed Bulma's aching legs and feet. A couple beers helped her mood too. Trunks took over cooking while she admired the hues of sunset.

"There's no way we're gardening anymore today, kid."

Trunks tipped his bottle at her. "I know. That's why I gave you those beers."

Bulma shook her fist at him. "You planned to get me drunk?"

"Well, not completely," he replied, handing her a plate of food. "It's been a few hours now, mom. Tell me what's wrong."

Bulma leaned in, taking another sip of beer. "Trunks, here's a secret. Your father melted like pig's lard in in a frying pan the first time he held Bulla. Even your grandmother wondered if someone had drugged him. Then, when Bulla cooed, Vegeta smiled from ear to ear, as if our daughter had destroyed a planet."

Captivated, Trunks gnawed on his meat bone like a toothpick.

This. This right here.

He had waited years to hear these stories. Vegeta could drink himself drunk under a table and never divulge anything as good as this!

"Dad smiled like that? Holy shit. What else, mom?"

Laughing, Bulma smacked her legs. "He asked to change her diapers first, when we brought her home."

Sadly, Trunks' fascination abruptly ended. "Mom, I watched dad change her diapers many times."

Bulma moved forward for emphasis. "No, Trunks. No. You don't understand. When the hospital released me, no one could tell your father anything – not your grandparents or friends with multiple children. Vegeta imperiously said: 'Only cloth diapers should be used now,' even though regular diapers were one-hundred percent recyclable. I was like, 'You do that on your own, buddy.'

"Son, even now I'm amazed how he thought this would work with his schedule – and mine. I didn't pay for washing to make my point – and make him suffer. Yeah, our family is filthy rich, but it was the principle. Vegeta had to use his allowance or wash them solo, and you know how miserly he is with every Zinni."

"I totally didn't pay attention," Trunks said, wrinkling his nose. "I picked up Bulla and played during the first month, mostly. Not much more."

Bulma pointed her beer bottle at him. "Yeah, and that cloth diaper fiasco lasted a month – and that's when you learned to change regular diapers, yes?"

Trunks shuddered. "Dad locked us in a room together until I did. It was horrible."

Bulma used these stories to reconcile her conflicted feelings. Maybe her mother felt similarly? Bulma and her father were joined at the hip throughout her childhood, happily bonding over science and math and engineering. She didn't recall leaving her mother out, though. She brought excitement wherever she traveled, and her mother seemed to support her wholeheartedly. After Bunny died, Bulma committed to preserving the family gardens, which her mother loved, even when she couldn't tend them directly.

"Mom, what is it?" asked Trunks as she patted his shoulder.

"You know, kid, I am incredibly grateful for your father's efforts to be a great dad, overcoming his ghastly youth to be there for you and Bulla. I love him deeply for that and many other reasons. It's just that I feel left out in ways now that I never thought would happen. I mean, it wasn't this way before you left home. We've always been a close family, but sometimes…"

Bulma blinked. Then she reclined in her chair. No need to burden her son anymore. Not about his little sister – the precious girl mommy loved with all of her heart.

Trunks moved closer to take her hand. "I'm sorry you're hurt. I think I'll leave it there for now."

Bulma kissed his fingers. "Thanks, handsome. You look so much Vegeta sometimes, minus the narrowed-eyed, skeptical disdain for most sentient life forms."

Trunks gestured for her empty bottle. "You're not having any more beer tonight," he said, laughing. "You're done."

He stood to re-enter the kitchen, silently nodding a greeting and shaking hands with his dad as they passed by. The prince had been standing there long enough to hear enough. Trunks felt uncertain at first about exposing Vegeta's felicitous eavesdropping but ultimately thought it was best for them.

The prince walked outside chewing on a mint sprig and carrying his own beer. He radiated confident sexiness in his faded blue jeans and cotton Capsule Corporation undershirt. His calfskin leather sandals fit the ensemble to a "T."

"Did I teach him to dress like this? Bulma mused. "Damn, I am good. He should thank me."

The daytime sun had kissed Vegeta's tanned arms, chest, and face. Oh, and then those eyes: the window into his intelligence and passions that only Bulma had the good fortune to explore and understand freely.

Her striking husband made memorable entrances like none other, and Bulma eyed him suspiciously.

"Have fun today?" she asked, crossing her arms.

"I guess," Vegeta said peering curiously into the meat roasters. "I see you wisely roped Trunks into cooking. He did a damned good job, it appears."

Concerned, Bulma turned toward the door. "Where's princess?"

"With her friends," Vegeta said, sounding relieved. "I practically had to throw them out of my new car. Bulla tricked me into picking up four of them to shop. I thought she planned something else for us alone, but no dice."

"She tricked you?" Bulma said skeptically. "Now you have landed on the isle of absurdity, Vegeta. You rarely do things that you don't want to do. I know you gave her the car key."

"Jealous?"

Without responding, Bulma climbed out her chair. "There's enough food to last all night. Call the girls over to help us finish. They can sleep here. Someone's unfortunate parents should keep watch over them."

Vegeta's fingers brushed her elbow – an intentional act to throw her off guard – but Bulma wasn't having any of his trickeries.

"What if I arranged for that already?" he asked, almost sounding earnest.

Another ruse, Bulma thought.

She sidestepped around him to carve more meat. Vegeta inched closer, his eyes following the beef's path to Bulma's shiny, supple lips. His lips parted slightly as his wife sauntered toward the vegetable platters. Her mood indicated that no plate would be offered – of anything.

He had two hands. Get it himself - along with her.

"So when are they coming, dude?" Bulma asked nonchalantly. "It's dark now."

"They aren't, Bulma. The mother of that Amanda kid is housing them. That nosy woman seemed a little too excited to do it. She doesn't know our princess holy terror dislikes being interrogated as much as I. Anyway, everyone can eat and sleep here tomorrow."

Bulma head moved side to side in protest. "No, no, no. Wait one minute. I am not playing chaperone for those screeching teenagers alone all day and night! I have weekend work and…"

"Please stop," Vegeta said calmly. Can you spare me 'I'm talking to a brick wall' treatment tonight?"

Either he was exceedingly angry or very tired, Bulma thought. Vegeta responded…quietly. No snappiness or bickering? The usually wouldn't quit until one challenged the other to a game of checkers. Whoever won had to creatively please the other spouse despite the original disagreement. The unconventional method brought them closer as a couple because, as partners, they learned to empathize together.

WTF?

Bulma's pique obscured the vibrant nuances of Vegeta's response. Maybe he wanted to make love outside or clean the entire patio because the outcome almost always satisfied him. He approached her again, this time catching her waist within his left arm's slope. Bulma tried wriggling out of his grip, until Vegeta dangled another piece of meat over her lips.

"I know you want some. Bite it."

"You're annoying me, Vegeta."

"Am I now?" Still holding her, he leaned back with false surprise. "And here I thought you were still hungry."

Bulma lowered her head. He would not get the satisfaction of seeing her laugh. Nope. Nope. Nope.

Vegeta lifted his bottle to her lips. "OK then. Maybe you're… thirsty."

"Damn this man!" Bulma laughed out loud at his wickedness. He would pay dearly for shattering her willpower like this.

"Ah, that's more like it," Vegeta purred. "I wondered how long it would take this time. I almost feel shortchanged another nine hours of your futile rejection."

Bulma sighed as he pulled her bare leg on top of his, burying his face in her chest cleavage.

"I like this shirt," he said, giving her a thumbs-up from below. "Easy access."

Bulma had to extract herself before the heating table burned her shorts. "Get off of me, you cad. Off!"

Vegeta fell back, bending over in smoky-voiced laughter. Bulma threw a dinner roll, which he caught.

He extended the reclining patio sofa. Bulma watched until he invited her to sit across his legs. They fed each other bits of food until she dozed.

Vegeta kissed her neck to awaken her. "We should probably go in now, Bulma."

"I like it out here. You just want to get me into bed for sex."

Amused, Vegeta nibbled her ear lobe and whispered, "I could have done that some time ago. You were ready when I dangled that meat in front of you. Now come with me. You're tired."

But she deserved to relax in this way, he thought. He didn't know how to address her frustration at first over feeling left out verbally, but now was the time - however awkward.

"I apologize."

"For what?" Bulma said, looking around. "Did you destroy something?"

Vegeta sighed. "Look, you know I don't always know what to say when you're like this. I heard you talking earlier about feeling left out."

"Yeah, and maybe we should discuss it later."

"No, we can't," Vegeta insisted. "You've been bothered for a while, but I couldn't figure out why. I wanted to ask but…"

"Let's put it like this. I am a working mother and, yes, I have an ego. I want my daughter to like me enough to be interested in the other side of what 'daddy' does sometimes – and have fun with me too. Hell, with Trunks it was like pulling teeth to get you into an amusement park years ago. Now it seems like you're ready to buy a carnival with Bulla."

"See, that's your first problem right there," Vegeta said. "When did you ever give a hot damn about whether Trunks liked you when he grew up? I sure as hell didn't – and look how he turned out."

"What do you mean?"

"Bulla may be my 'little girl,' but you and I both know she doesn't get away with everything. I admit, I relish having her look up to me. She's unburdened by any baggage from my past – from our past, Bulma. You and Trunks went through hell. I want Bulla to enjoy this time, because at any moment life could throw shit back at all of us. That's just how it works. You know that better than anyone."

"OK, you have a point there," Bulma said, "but what's wrong with our daughter liking me? Last time I checked, 'looking up' to someone was synonymous."

"No, Bulma. You are appealing to our daughter. Stop coming from a position of weakness. As much as I trained the hell out of Trunks - and, yes, wanted him to follow in my footsteps – I never appealed to him. He learned skills that we knew he needed. He saw that I wanted the best for him every day we set foot in the training rooms - and to have confidence. He knew you loved him by forcing him to focus and cultivating his curiosity. Now he has a doctorate like yours and enjoys what he does. In many ways, now that he's an adult, we can be friends with son - but the dynamic of our parenthood remains."

Bulma stared at her husband as if he had six heads and a forked tongue. When did he become a psychologist? This, coming from a man who irritably grunted through entire decades.

The prince pinched himself. He couldn't laugh.

"Vegeta, how in the hell did you…"

He winked at her. "I listen to self-help recordings sometimes."

Muttering, Bulma twisted loose from his embrace. "I hate, hate, hate you. You are insufferable!"

He pulled her back, staring into her eyes. "Look at me, Bulma. I have tried. My goals and responsibilities also are tougher than they have ever been. They must be – to protect what's most important to me. I will never stand down from the challenge. Our relationship is solid. When I'm here, I'm present. Maybe Bulla behaves this way because, unlike Trunks, it's much harder on her when I can't be here. Give her time, please?"

Bulma nodded slowly. "Yes. Yes, I will."

Vegeta glanced at his watch as they kissed. "I'll stop taking up so much air with her, too. Deal?"

"Deal," Bulma said, grabbing his shirt. "You are so attractive when we negotiate."

Suddenly, the couple heard what sounded like a stampede of wild elephants dashing to the patio.

"Mom! Daddy!"

Vegeta reclined, arms behind his head, as Bulma sat up. "Right on time," he thought.

Bulla skipped in front of them. Her braided lavender hair whirled energetically.

"Did you do it, daddy?! Did you?"

"Why aren't you with your friends, honey?" Bulma asked, looking confused. "Vegeta?"

Bulla could barely contain herself. "They're here with me! Oh my god! I just had to come back to see." One by one, all giggling, the girls surrounded the door. Trunks stood behind them.

"Girls, be quiet!" Bulla shouted. "This is important!"

Annoyed, Vegeta frowned. "Did you really have to bring them with you?"

"Just do it, daddy. I mean, we spent two weeks working on this together."

"Fine," Vegeta said. "Now stifle it, you meddlesome brats." Then, he whistled. "Scratch!"

Bulma's tiny black cat scurried over to jump on Vegeta's chest. After positioning herself comfortably, she meowed. Her collar bore a rose gold diamond ring.

Bulma smiled at her forever prince, who always had been full of surprises. "What's this about, you jerk?"

"Marry me…again."

The girls jumped and screamed.

END - Thanks so much for reading!