A/N: Hey, guys! Gonna try my hand for the first time at writing a multi-chapter fic... and posting it before I actually have it done. Yikes! And I also wanted to do something a little less... heavy. Something more humor-oriented. So, if you're still interested, great! Read on...

The woman was on a tirade again. Here they were, almost forty-five minutes later, and the only time she had shut her mouth was to take a breath. Well, that could easily be remedied, Vegeta thought dryly. He took a breath of his own to ebb his rising irritation. He closed his eyes, focusing on the sound of his own heartbeat to steady himself. It was no use; the woman's voice was an unstoppable force that wreaked havoc on his concentration.

"… I mean, I'm not asking you to be 'Daddy of the Year,' Vegeta, but if you're going to stay here, is a little help too much to ask?"

Vegeta rolled his eyes. "Woman, have you completely lost your mind? Maternal duties are your responsibility. Women have borne and raised children since the dawning of the ages, and that is not about to change now."

"I'm just asking you to watch him while I get some work done! I am so behind on my project, and I need to do some last minute checks on Trunks' Time Machine, and my crew needs some firm guidance, to be honest… I swear, if you don't follow behind these people every step of the way…"

The Prince pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. Never mind that the world had almost ended merely hours ago; never mind that he had just watched Cell slaughter his son right in front of him; never mind that he had exhausted nearly every bit of energy he'd had when he'd lost control at the sight of his son's body; and never mind that all he wanted to do now was rest—the woman had work to do, and Kami forbid it be done any other time but now.

"…but I really think once I get that lined out, then I can work on the project and get a huge chunk of it knocked out in a few hours, if I can do it Trunks-free—"

"For the last time, I am not caring for the brat in your stead. I am not the boy's keeper. If you want time alone, then find someone else," Vegeta snarled, starting to walk away. He caught the flash of fury in her eyes as he turned.

"Well, fine! It's not as if any of this is important or anything! It's not as if…" she trailed off as the Prince walked away. "Excuse me? Where in the hell do you think you're going? I'm talking to you!"

"No, you are screeching at me. 'Talking' denotes a much calmer tone of voice that leaves room for civil response," he retorted, not even bothering to turn and look at her. He sighed; so much for going to rest. At this rate, the woman wouldn't stop harping until next Thursday. "I'm going to train," he said flatly.

"Oh no you don't," Bulma said huffily, grabbing his arm. "I don't think so. If I'm not getting any work done, then neither are you."

Vegeta's eyes widened in response. "Ridiculous wench. You think you can stop me?"

"Don't test me, buddy."

He grit his teeth, infuriated by her insolence. "Woman, I will do what I want, when I want. A pathetic female like yourself will hardly get in my way." He shook his arm free and took off walking at a quick pace toward the Gravity Chamber, leaving Bulma to run in order to catch up to him. He heard her nagging behind him the whole way there.

"Dammit, Vegeta, if you would just watch him for a couple of hours—" her voice instantly became muffled as the door slid closed behind him. On the other side of the door, Bulma's temper rose from irritated to downright pissed off. "Vegeta, you rude, arrogant son of a bitch! Open this door right now!" She pounded on the door for good measure, but it was no use. She watched through the window as the lights dimmed inside and the Prince began his warm-up routine. "Vegeta! If you don't open this door right now, so help me—"

Said Prince continued his pushups uninterrupted, as if she weren't even there. Bulma huffed indignantly, crossing her arms as she all but stomped over to the override pad. "Well, fine then. Have it your way…" she heard the simulator whirring to a halt as she entered the last of the digits and snapped the lid back over the keys. A moment later, an irate Saiyan was inches from her face.

"What the fuck, woman?! I told you I was going to train and I damn well meant it. Leave me alone!" he fumed.

"And I told you if I wasn't getting work done, then neither were you."

Vegeta scowled. "I am not watching the boy, and that's final. Now leave. Me. Alone!" he began to walk back inside the chamber.

"God, Vegeta! He's your son, too, and you never even look at him! It's like you don't even give a damn if he lives or dies!"

That struck a chord, and it struck deep. The Prince froze, eyes wide, before turning back to face her. He strode back up to her, his nose nearly touching hers.

"Don't presume that you know a damned thing about how I think or feel," he breathed, his tone deadly. "You have no idea what happened today—none at all. So before you open your ridiculous fucking mouth and let whatever asinine thought that crosses your mind spill out of it, you may want to learn all of your facts first." For a fleeting moment, Bulma could swear she saw a flash of pain in his eyes behind all of that rage and deadly anger. He turned and walked briskly away.

"Vegeta… wait. I—"

Before she could finish, the Prince took to the sky; she lost sight of him within moments. Bulma sighed, rubbing at her eyes. Why did she have to go and say that that way? True, she'd never really seen Vegeta give Trunks so much as a second glance, but obviously something had happened today that had changed the Saiyan's perspective. He obviously did care, whether he showed it or not; that much was apparent by his reaction. The heiress shook her head, sucking at her teeth; if he did, then, what was the big deal with him watching their son for a couple of hours? Surely after today, he would want to spend more time with their son. Maybe he's afraid to, a voice sounded in her head. She rolled her eyes. Men—they were all the same, no matter what planet they were from. Give them any opponent or opportunity to look death in the eye, and they'll meet it head-on—but make them responsible for a child, and they turn into a nervous wreck.

"Is everything ready to go for tomorrow?" a male voice asked from behind her.

Bulma spun around quickly. "Trunks! You scared me half to death!" She placed her hand over her racing heart.

Trunks chuckled lightly. "Sorry. I didn't mean to startle you. I was just checking to see how the preparations were coming. I know how you are about wanting to check everything for yourself."

She sighed exasperatedly. "Well, if your father would stop being such a stubborn ass, I would be working on it right now. I need someone to watch baby Trunks while I get some work done."

Trunks' demeanor changed instantly. The smile faltered and was replaced by one more nervous and hesitant. He began to back away. "Oh, well… in that case…"

Bulma rolled her eyes. Really? "Trunks, could you please watch him for me until I get finished? Who knows when your father will come back, and I have to get this done."

The young man's shoulders slumped in defeat—there was really no room for argument in her tone. "Yes, mother," he replied dully.

"Great," she said, already taking off in the infant's direction, Trunks obediently following behind her. "I've already fed him and put him down for a nap, so all you'll have to do is be here for when he wakes up." She walked over to the door, checked that her infant son was indeed still sleeping, then turned back to his future counterpart. "If you need anything, you know my cell number," she said briskly, starting to walk back to the front door. "Have fun!"

"Wait—is everything alright between the two of you?" Trunks asked hesitantly. His parents' affairs were none of his business, that much he knew, but as he never knew his father in his own timeline, he couldn't help but wonder how their relationship would fair here. He wanted this reality's version of himself to grow up with two parents constantly in his life.

Bulma paused, slowly turning back to the door. "Fine," she said evenly. "Why?"

"Well… I couldn't help but notice Father's energy level during your discussion," he admitted awkwardly. "It was rising pretty rapidly like it normally does when he gets angry, but then, all of the sudden… it just plummeted." Trunks faltered, shifting his feet. "I tried not to listen… It's none of my business, but I mean…"

Bulma smiled slightly. Some children's worries were the same everywhere, no matter how old they were or what timeline they were from. "Your Dad and I are fine. Fighting is what we do. We just have a lot of trouble understanding where each other comes from sometimes, so we fight. But it doesn't mean we don't care about each other. Even if that stubborn Saiyan won't let himself admit it," she finished with a wink.

Trunks stood there for a moment, letting what she said sink in. "Yeah, I guess," he said finally.

"Look. Don't worry about us. We'll be just fine. Now, if you need anything with the baby, give me a call, okay?" Bulma opened the door and stepped out.

"Sure thing. Good luck," he said, but his tone lacked its usual conviction; it was flat and empty, his mind focused on other things.

Trunks walked into the infant's room, sitting in the rocking chair in the corner. How much did he believe of what his mother told him? He wasn't sure he knew. The words she said seemed genuine enough, but her tone had that false high-pitched tone she got when she was trying to convince herself of something. Maybe his parents weren't as well off as his mother would like to think. Maybe the fighting had reached a point beyond what was normal, and it was reaching irreparable territory. And maybe, if that was indeed the case, his father wouldn't stick around after all; he'd head back into space to claim what was his, and Trunks would once again grow up knowing what it was like to be without a father. Only this time, it would be much worse. Sure, it was painful knowing his father had fallen in battle, but that would be nothing compared to the bitter resentment of knowing his father had abandoned him and his mother. No—he wouldn't let that happen. He couldn't. But what could he do? He was going to leave this timeline within a few hours to go back home. He would have no way of knowing or controlling how things turned out here once he left. The half-Saiyan ran a hand through his hair. He wanted so badly to make sure this timeline's version of himself had two caring parents in his life, but without the Dragon Balls, there was no way possible to make it happen. He leaned back in the rocking chair, closing his eyes. He struggled for any other option to come to mind, but the weighing exhaustion in his mind quickly overwhelmed him. Before he succumbed to it, he thought a silent prayer for something—anything—to help them see eye to eye, and finally fell into an uneasy sleep.

Bulma held her breath as she soldered the last wires into place. She had finished some more notes on her project, and after helping her crew get back on track, she finally had a free moment to inspect Trunks' Time Machine. It had indeed suffered some minor damage upon Trunks' return, and she was glad she managed to acquire the quiet, stress-free time needed to inspect the damage. What kind of mother would she be if she didn't check everything over one last time before sending her son back home? If someone sent her baby home that way, she would be furious. And speaking of furious…

Ugh. That man of hers. It really irked her that she had to ask the future version of her son, a young man that, really, she barely knew, to watch her baby boy. Really, what was so terrifying or uncomfortable about watching your own flesh and blood for a few hours? He needs time, she reminded herself. Yeah, time and maybe a hard smack upside the head, she thought bitterly. She knew her more logical thinking was right, but dammit, she was not a patient woman. She'd been with the stubborn Saiyan for three years, now. How long was it going to take?

She drew a breath to calm herself. Yes, Vegeta was the ultimate trial for her patience, but she knew that, deep down, he'd come around in the end. She wouldn't have gotten together with him in the first place if she didn't. No one else believed there were any redeeming qualities about him—in fact, they questioned her sanity for loving the callous Saiyan Prince. But Bulma knew better. She knew there was redemption lurking beneath that rough exterior, redemption the others just simply couldn't see; redemption he couldn't even see in himself.

So, in the end, that was what had kept her with him, and what would continue to keep her there. She knew the stubborn ass would be back as soon as he'd had time to cool off, so she wasn't worried. She just wished she'd done a better job of putting Trunks' mind at ease, too.

Just as she was finishing molding the last wire into place, her cell phone rang, breaking her concentration. Her hand slipped just the slightest bit, causing the wire to spark and smoke. Bulma growled in frustration, snatching her phone up angrily before answering it. "Capsule Corp., Bulma Briefs speaking," she said in a high-pitched tone—one that clearly conveyed her annoyance. "No, I asked for that shipment to go out yesterday…"

As she continued her phone conversation, she didn't even notice as her soldering iron sat just a little too close to the motherboard, the heat causing it to warp ever so slightly. "Yes, please make sure that it's taken care of. I need those parts by tomorrow. Yes. Thank you, have a good day. Bye." Bulma snapped her phone shut, finished soldering the wire in place, and returned the motherboard to its casing, completely unaware of the damage. She then stood up, stretched, and reached for her purse, heading to relieve Trunks of his babysitting duties. After all, she was a woman with many obligations, but being a mother by far ranked as her favorite job, even if it was the most difficult one she had ever tackled. She just wished her Prince was empathetic towards her struggles, too. "He will be, one day," she encouraged herself. "One day, he'll understand completely."

It was dark in the bedroom, no light save for the moonlight spilling into the window and onto the floor. It was after two o'clock in the morning, and Bulma was in bed, having just fallen asleep on her left side. She exhaled, pulling her pillow down closer to her chest as she snuggled her face into it. Behind her, the clicking of a latch broke the stillness, followed by the sliding of the window pane as a man climbed silently through. He closed it noiselessly behind him, and then proceeded to take off his boots in the quiet. After stripping off his armor, he climbed into the bed, settling himself to where he was facing the opposite direction of the heiress. He closed his eyes, already beginning to succumb to his exhaustion.

"I was wondering if you were coming back tonight or not," Bulma mumbled quietly against her pillow.

Vegeta scowled, but gave no response. So much for avoiding conversation.

Bulma turned over, pressing herself against him and placing kisses on the back of his neck, using her hands to lightly massage his shoulders. "Vegeta, what happened today?"

Vegeta exhaled in annoyance. "Woman, I'm tired. I do not wish to discuss this right now." She pushed lightly for him to turn over onto his stomach, and when he obliged, she straddled his legs to work her magic on his back. He moaned a little as she pressed the heel of her hand into the muscle just underneath his shoulder blade.

"…Look, you were right about what I said. I don't know what happened today, but whatever it was, and whatever I said… I'm sorry I upset you."

There was nothing but silence for a long time. Bulma was pretty certain Vegeta had fallen asleep, and was just about to quit working his muscles to lay back down and catch some sleep of her own when the Prince finally spoke.

"Your son was killed in action today."

Bulma's eyes and mouth widened in shock, and she stopped moving her hands. "Oh my god, Trunks! What happened?"

Vegeta scowled again, already regretting saying anything about it. He should've just kept his mouth shut—now the woman would be on a relentless tirade, barraging him with questions, and all he wanted to do was sleep. He decided to offer just enough information that would hopefully pacify her. "Cell slaughtered him. Lethal ki blast to the chest."

After a moment, Bulma resumed massaging his back, now working lower, just above his tail stub. There was a sharp intake of breath from the Prince when she unknowingly pressed into one of his bruises. "Sorry," she replied quickly, moving her hands. "…That's why you're so exhausted," she realized with dawning clarity. "Cell killed Trunks, and you stepped in, didn't you?"

Vegeta gave no response. Bulma smiled to herself: if she knew the Saiyan as well as she thought she did, his "stepping in" was an understatement; he had completely lost it, firing energy blasts right and left until his exhaustion overwhelmed him. That's what the fighters had said would always happen when the Prince lost his temper, when he was desperate to recover from inevitable defeat. But those were all fights that concerned him and him alone. Never, to her knowledge, had he ever reacted that way because of someone else. Well, isn't that something, she thought.

By now, she could see Vegeta's back rising and falling with his deep breathing; his consciousness had finally given out on him. She leaned down to kiss his shoulder blade before climbing off of him, and she settled herself on her right side, facing him. No, he was nowhere near perfect, and a complete pain in the ass who would never fully understand her (or she him), but he was her pain in the ass, and a pain in the ass that, underneath all that exterior of feigned indifference, cared much more than he ever dared to admit. Bulma closed her eyes, yawning as she pulled the blankets up to her chin. With enough time and patience, their understanding of one another would only grow. Maybe, just maybe, they could get to that point of true love that she had so often read about in her novels—a couple that understood one another so well, it was as if parts of their souls dwelled in each other's bodies.

"Goodnight, Vegeta," she mumbled, sighing as she yielded to her own slumber.