Bulma Brief sensed her pubescent son's sulking as soon as she heard him lumbering downstairs to the kitchen. She felt like a bad mom for hoping Trunks' mood would improve without extra support, but she was exhausted. There was only so much moodiness she could tolerate in their high-energy household following her daughter's miraculous birth two days earlier. But it was almost Trunks' birthday too. Thankfully, his father thoughtfully toned down his customary verbal sharpness during his wife's pregnancy. Vegeta had been extraordinarily attentive, actually. The experience drew them closer, especially as his concern about Bulma's health increased. They both wondered how long their new baby would take to greet them until Whis, the angel, sped up Bulma's delivery. Vegeta had mixed feelings about the outcome. He looked forward to seeing her give birth naturally. He kept his disappointment to himself, though. They had enough on their minds already.

Vegeta's heart melted faster than ice cream in the summertime when he finally held their little girl. He had hesitated at first. Bulma looked pleased, but she didn't make a big deal observing his quietly affectionate embrace. He grappled with an emotional torrent throughout her pregnancy. He stumbled through the first round of fatherhood with Trunks - most notably, not holding his son after infancy until the boy was eight. But now the two princes were as thick as thieves in their closeness, when they weren't arguing. Vegeta vowed to make fatherhood, part two, different. He never would be the gushiest parent, but his approach with his kids would measure in equal parts of restraint and toughness. He hoped to be their wisest teacher - and, perhaps, the hardest - but he also wanted them to fully experience the fatherly warmth he struggled to provide in the past.

"Hey, mom, I think something's wrong with dad." The comment passed through Bulma's ears like the wind, prompting the boy to step in front of the bleary-eyed woman. "Mom, did you hear me?"

Bulma nodded, directing him to the breakfast table. "I heard you."

She hoped the enormous food platter she ordered would distract him long enough to drop the subject, because there would be little cooking this week. Her mind felt murky, and she was preparing for another marathon round of breastfeeding Bulla. Dissecting the inner workings of her husband's mental obstacle course wasn't the highest priority yet, not before a small cup of coffee and sugared muffins.

Not easily deterred, Trunks followed her instead of taking his place at the table. "Well, have you noticed anything? He seems moody."

At first Bulma wondered if he finally sustained a head injury from playing too long with Goku's son Goten. "Honey, telling me your dad is moody is like saying water is wet. I'm wondering what's happening with you, though - and please sit down. What's this concern about Vegeta really about?"

"I'm fine, and you're not listening to me," Trunks replied, stuffing a heap of scrambled eggs into his mouth. "I thought old married people like you were good at reading each other's emotions and stuff like that. I mean, I know dad isn't the most genial guy, but come on, mom."

Bulma smiled and ruffled his hair. "I see you've been studying your vocabulary. 'Genial' is a great word, and I am listening to you. I know you're unhappy about your father attending the tournament on short notice."

Frustrated, Trunks ripped steak from the bone with his teeth. "It's bad enough that it's on my birthday, mom. I mean, it's my fourteenth birthday too, and dad refuses to even think about letting me go with him. That would be a great gift. Just because he ignores his birthday doesn't mean the rest of us shouldn't celebrate ours."

"Well you can blame me for that last part," Bulma replied. "I need you around to help with your sister."

"Is this how it's going to be now?" Trunks asked resentfully. "I have to let my fighting skills rust to watch Bulla?"

"Stop being dramatic," Vegeta said as he entered the kitchen. "It's improper to whine so much at your age, and if you keep hounding your mother like this, you may not live long enough to see your skills decay."

Bulma quickly hid a grin tugging at her mouth. Her boys were so much alike. Beyond that, Vegeta had made a grand entrance for the ages. His chiseled chest glistened with sweat, and his training shorts fit so well - so very well. Bulma slowly chewed buttered toast watching her black-eyed Adonis drink multiple jugs of orange juice. He could have at least dried himself before sitting in her new kitchen chairs, she thought - but hot damn, she sure couldn't complain about the magnificent view.

Trunks continued eating with his head down. "Fine, as long as you keep your drama in check too, father."

Vegeta blinked, shifting his jaw to one side. "Son, help out dear old dad here. Maybe I'm becoming senile, because I keep hearing smart-ass comments from your direction."

"You heard me," Trunks replied. "I said fine."

Bulma closed her eyes, dreading what might happen next. For all that is good and holy, please spare me from another chest-beating contest.

Some godlike creature must have heard the poor woman's plea, apparently, since Vegeta didn't leap over the table to throttle their son. Instead, he counted backward in his mind from one-hundred to remain patient.

"Trunks, you're welcome to watch me finish my drills for the tournament in the gravity room, after lunch, and then we can spar outside. Drop the obnoxious attitude before you arrive, and don't be late. Got it?"

"Yes," the boy replied, puffing out his chest. "I'll be ready, dad."

"Good," Vegeta said with a bit of relief. "Bulma, doesn't he have summer reading or other tedious work to do?" She winked at him, approving of his deft response to what could have been an ugly situation.

"It's great that you remembered," she said. "Now go get busy, my little prince." Trunks rolled his eyes before heading for the kitchen door. Vegeta threw his drenched, stinky gym towel at the back of his head, which the teenager caught smoothly without turning around. Bulma squeezed her husband's arm. "You did well right there, although the towel was somewhat extreme."

"Whatever," Vegeta grunted, seizing a pan of fried potatoes and a giant bowl of strawberries. "Our first born is still breathing West City's polluted air because his mother is too stubborn to have real humans help while I'm gone - although I largely prefer disobeying child labor laws anyway to teach him a lesson."

"Will you quit?" Laughing, Bulma smacked his shoulder. "We have robots too, remember? My parents are still around and you won't be away long."
She slightly bit her lip - a tell-tale sign of nervousness. Most people didn't notice when she did; only Vegeta and her father.

He observed the dark circles around her eyes. "You're tired, and I want you to rest. It would have been great if Whis helped with that part, too, after delivering our baby like that. Your body still needs time to heal. The aftereffects may be harder, and much happened to our family this past year."

Bulma massaged her stomach. "Yeah, I guess I was rather huge, wasn't I?"

Vegeta averted his eyes and quickly returned to eating. He knew better than to answer that question. The wrong response would cost him dearly.

"Did you hear what I said, Vegeta?"

"Yes, woman," he replied nervously. "Have some more toast."

Vegeta's participation in the Tournament of Power was the elephant in the room, of course. Neither he nor Bulma were idiots. The situation reeked of impending danger. Goku, Gohan, Whis and Beerus, Universe Seven's the God of Destruction, pressed him to compete and moved entirely too fast with their preparations. He considered beating the hell out of the first two to get a confession, but time was of the essence. Goku was busy gathering their family friends, including Krillin and Master Roshi, and other warriors who could rise to the challenge.

In his heart the prince knew the stakes were high, and it infuriated him beyond words that his choices seemed limited. Fighting wasn't the issue per se. He lived and breathed it, but he had other priorities. His son was in a snit, which wasn't that unusual. Trunks was a great kid overall, and his attitude was more than about his birthday. The boy felt uneasy and had difficulty expressing conflicted feelings sometimes, like his father.

Vegeta wasn't inclined to have a long discussion for myriad reasons. Trunks was incredibly strong within his own right and held up well in fights. The teen fully understood that danger was a constant consideration, whether one fought for pleasure or to stay alive. Yet the prince didn't want to sow doubt in his son's mind, despite his own suspicions about the tournament's setup. It would be easier if he knew all terms for the competition. Then he could tell Trunks, who would accept whatever had to be done with no further protest.

Bulma was his other concern. She seemed to be taking the situation as well as expected, or maybe she felt too tired to put up a fight.

I was there with her through Echalotte's delivery. I did the right thing. I... tried.

He did do the right thing. Bulma truly was his life partner. She deserved better than being kept in the dark by Goku, her childhood friend.

Vegeta sat in the alcove near their bedroom for almost an hour before training, trying to purge his anger. He and Goku had fought so long together - learning from each other- that even he felt let down that his fellow Saiyan hadn't been straightforward.

Bulma entered the room with their mildly irritated baby in hand. "Aren't you supposed to be somewhere?"

Vegeta stood for her to take his seat. "You're not putting her down in the crib for a while?"

"For what, Vegeta? It will take all of fifteen seconds before her greedy Saiyan appetite strikes again."

"Hn. On that note, I'm leaving now."

"Oh, stop being such an overgrown child," Bulma replied, pinching his thigh. "I can't have three youngsters running around here."

Vegeta threw a towel over his shoulder. "There are other ways to capture my attention than stoking my constant desire to have hot sex with you."

"Go." Bulma said, playing with a tuft of Bulla's lavender hair. "You have work to do." Then she smiled and began to sing softly to their baby.

Vegeta lingered outside of their room a little longer to listen. Her tune sounded lovely, but he also sensed sadness - or maybe it was his own.

Sparring went better than he expected. There was no getting around Trunks' residual dissatisfaction over his father's imminent departure, but at least the boy took their workout seriously. Discipline bred from anger could be a strong weapon. Vegeta enjoyed nurturing it.

He handed Trunks water after they returned to the ground. "Feel better now?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"Hmm, let's see." Vegeta scratched his head. "You have between now and bedtime to make that a yes."

Trunks sat down and crossed his legs. "Come on, dad. You're hiding something and I'm pissed about it. Something about this tournament just doesn't add up. You stood under the same damned tree in our garden worrying the last four months of mom's pregnancy. It's been two days, and now you're flying out of here? I saw your face when you held Bulla. You don't want to go anywhere yet, do you?"

"Keep the swearing to a minimum if you don't mind," Vegeta said sternly. "I have a hard enough time not cursing myself."

"Whatever." Trunks looked away. "I'm going to find a snack. Thanks for the sparring match. Your new moves were cool, too. I hope you kick some serious ass tomorrow."

Vegeta sighed with resignation. "Boy, look, I don't want to go," he replied, staring at the sky. "Yes, I would prefer staying here. You just have to trust my judgment about this decision. I would… appreciate it."

Trunks examined his father's face. Although the prince tried to hide it, the boy instantly recognized the expression's unique seriousness, which disturbed him. Vegeta had the same look during his epic battle against Majin Buu, inspiring a heartfelt embrace between them. After that special moment, the prince sacrificed himself in a way that his son would never forget.

There would be no more questions.

"I trust you," he said, bumping fists with his dad. "See you at dinner?"

"Of course, you little weasel."

Trunks grinned. "I'm going to be taller than you, dude, in case you haven't figured that out already."

Vegeta jumped to his feet as his son sped off in flight. "Not if you don't get your ass inside of the house right now!"

"I guess your cursing problem won't be cured anytime soon - unless you're already going senile!" Trunks shouted. "It won't matter then!"

"That's it!" Vegeta powered up to chase him down. "When I get my hands on you, we'll see who swears more!"

Vegeta tried not to awaken his wife while dressing for the tournament. It was 2 a.m. They lay in bed the night before not saying much, preferring to keep Bulla entertained. Trunks joined them for a spell, too, pleasing his mother. Vegeta nodded an unspoken "thank you" to the boy.

He entered the alcove to see his daughter. The child wiggled when he picked her up but didn't fuss much. She was a good baby, and he loved how she responded to her Saiyan name already.

He removed his white gloves, tracing an invisible Saiyan crest on her shoulder. "You are so beautiful," he whispered, kissing her cheek. "It will be an honor to teach you, when you come of age. I... love you, Echalotte."

Bulma woke up briefly before he left. "Is everything OK?"

"Yes, woman. Go back to sleep."

His wife promptly propped herself up on a nest of pillows. "You don't have to order me around, you grumpy old lion."

"Well you shouldn't have married me then," Vegeta said in hushed tone. "I was a military commander for fuck's sake. Now lower your voice before you wake our daughter."

The couple smiled. Craving more time together, Vegeta kissed her. He nodded in agreement after Bulma gently touched his chest to stop.

It was time to leave.

"Where are your gloves, Vegeta?"

"I have them," he said, closing the door.

Trunks slept hard - very hard. Vegeta sometimes had to shake the boy awake for early-morning training sessions. They both found the ritual highly unpleasant. Vegeta usually ended these battles with austere lectures on being aware of one's surroundings at all times, even while asleep. Trunks had five of these sermons memorized before reaching the age of ten.

This time, however, Vegeta hoped his son's sleep-induced stupor would save the day. He placed an envelope and dark blue bag on the nightstand.

"Dad, you leaving now?" the boy asked groggily.

Vegeta smirked. "Oh, of course you would wake up now."

"OK, fine." Trunks pulled a blanket over his head, turning over. "I'm going back to sleep. Just wanted you to know that I listen to you."

Vegeta glanced back. "Yeah, I know you do."

Trunks didn't notice what his father left until later that morning. He emptied a white-gold ring from the bag into his palm. Vegeta's royal crest decorated the head. The boy's Saiyan name, Vegeta V, had been engraved inside of the band.

Vegeta had left the parchment envelope half open. The note inside said, "Happy fourteenth birthday, brat. See you when I get back."

A tear ran down Trunks' face. "Can't wait, dad."

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