A/N – Hello. I finally had the chance to begin writing this, and how happy I am. For those of you who don't know, this is the sequel to TANF, but you don't have to read that one to read this, of course. I'm still not quite sure about the plan, but as TANF took me a while to write, I'm sure in time, it'll fit together nicely.

I'm gunna try and make this story a bit darker, 'cause Vegeta does kind of lose it in the Buu Saga, so there should be some sort of build up to that.

I'll do my best :)

As usual, I hope you enjoy my story and thanks for having a read ;)

Igniting the Fire

Chapter One

The room was familiar, except for the few pictures on the mantelpiece. In fact, there was no mantel piece as far as could recall. He'd always asked for a plain room. Nothing more. Yes, that's where he was – his quarters at Capsule Corp. His room? Not just a place he slept? He looked down at himself: there were no scars or wounds from the battle with cell, instead, his clothing was in pristine condition and it was the kind of formal attire he would wear when he was known for his royal status – or, in the company of his father.

Vegeta stepped further into the darkness. The pictures on the mantelpiece were barely recognisable, but he could see enough. They each represented something in his life, some things that he would rather forget. There was a picture of Bulma holding Trunks, next to that, a picture of Mr and Mrs Briefs, but at the very end, there was a picture of Trunks, lying in the dirt with a wound through his heart, and his eyes were like stones. Dead. Vegeta swiped the picture from the mantelpiece and threw it. Nor the glass, or the impact from the throw made a sound, but a vaguely familiar voice broke through to him instead. As he lifted his head away from the broken picture, he trembled and left his jaw to snap open.

It was him. But it couldn't be ... How?

Standing before him was King Vegeta, and despite the darkness, Vegeta could see the contours of his face and the shimmering blackness in his eyes. Quickly, Vegeta turned, so that his back was facing the Saiyan king, and so that his father couldn't see the tears forming in his eyes. It had never occurred to him as much as it did now that he was a failure, and to be in the company of someone who had disgraced the Saiyan name and abandoned his own blood, was too shameful to endure. He had no idea what was happening to him. Whether he was dead, or dreaming, or if he was having some sort of delusional frenzy, but he knew that hell would be a safer place for him than here.

He rubbed the wetness from his eyes with the back of his hand, and then slowly peeled his gloves away, finger by finger, before tossing them to the floor. He was done.

"Vegeta," King Vegeta said, his voice like tiny needles piercing through Vegeta's brain.

He didn't respond. He had no reason to. Whatever his father had to say, he wasn't interested.

"My son," King Vegeta continued. "You have changed … Yes, I can see that now."

Vegeta brought his shoulder blades together at the sound of his father's voice, and when he heard the foot-steps tapping towards him, the crease in his brow grew deeper; he found that he was unable to move.

"I'm not ashamed, son," King Vegeta said, and placed his hand on Vegeta's shoulder, pressing his gloved fingers into his collar bone.

The contact provoked Vegeta to speak. He couldn't comprehend the situation he was in, but he was obviously there for a reason. "I failed …", was all he could mumble, and his head sunk lower into his neck.

"You fought well."

The sigh from his father felt cold against his neck. Why could he feel? Was he alive?

Vegeta didn't think about it for much longer before he shrugged his father's grip away from his shoulder, and then made his way towards the door. He didn't have time to be listening to the drivel this man had to say. Failure or not, he wouldn't sink that low.

"You have a son," King Vegeta said, instantly cementing Vegeta to the ground and forcing him to swing round and face him. "A chance to redeem yourself." Now, King Vegeta was facing the balcony windows, the same windows that Vegeta had vowed to never stand before again.

He hadn't forgotten that detail in his life. Yes, he did have a child. He knew it now more than ever, and that is why the pain in his heart was growing rapidly at the mention of the child's existence. And to hear that coward mention it, was only intensifying it. "And you would know all about that, now, wouldn't you?" Vegeta said, laughing, and now feeling confident enough to approach the dark silhouette across the room.

King Vegeta's cape wavered, and he shook his shoulders as if to literally shake the words away from him. "Do not make the same mistakes I did, boy. You have a son, an heir, blood of the Saiyan race," he said, his voice low and his words clipped tightly together.

Vegeta stopped his advancements, finding himself beside the picture of Bulma and Trunks, and he exhaled heavily. For once, his father was right. He didn't want to be like him. He wasn't like him. Would it be worth looking after the child, for the sake of his pride, once more? The fight with Cell merely highlighted his incapability of surpassing Kakarot, and becoming the strongest being in the universe. A child had surpassed him, for God's sake. All the training, the blood, the pain, the sleepless nights, and for what? What, exactly, did he gain from all this, other than a serious blow to his pride? He couldn't even save his son.

He could never look after the boy.

"What could that half breed possibly learn from a failed warrior?" said Vegeta, with his eyes shifting between the picture and the man before him, "I should be nowhere near the boy; he doesn't need me." Vegeta sighed and pushed the picture flat down. He didn't need to see it. He had seen Trunks fight during the battle with Cell, and he had something which he could never achieve. Trunks had lived his life without Vegeta in the future and turned out to be a spectacular warrior. Look what good Vegeta did when he was alive. He had shunned the boy constantly, never giving him an ounce of attention, which only depressed the boy. He was better off alone.

King Vegeta sighed, "One day, Vegeta, you too will come to see the foolishness of your decisions. I hope you will not suffer for your mistakes as I have."

Vegeta choked with laughter, "I don't care for you suffering. You got what you deserved, coward."

"I am sorr-"

"Save it," said Vegeta, swiping his arm through the air.

"Do not let Trunks suffer for my mistakes," King Vegeta said, his voice softer.

"I will not take orders from you," Vegeta said, clenching his fists, rolling his shoulders, and preparing for an action he couldn't quite comprehend.

"Do what is right. For your honour and your pride." King Vegeta stepped away from the window and turned to face his son, who was now calm and loosening his shoulders.

Vegeta stared blankly at his father's face, or what was supposed to be his father's face. Instead it was just a black space, or a vortex of nothing. Maybe he was dead. But despite the bizarre situation, Vegeta thought about what his father was saying. It was a message that had been drilled into him since he was a child. Honour and Pride. That was all that mattered in life when he was prince of all Saiyans, but he wasn't that anymore. Could he throw all that away from himself, to step aside for his son?

He closed his eyes, "Fsh … I won't do it." He had already made up his mind. Pride aside for a second, the boy was important to him now ... but his father didn't have to know.

"But whatever you do, boy. Do not forget who you are," said King Vegeta.

Vegeta opened his eyes, but now, his father was no longer in the room, yet, there was another figure standing by the window. A vaguely familiar figure, again. The person was small, but dressed in the same clothing his father had been wearing. Vegeta's heart raced as he crept closer to the strange figure, before the room lit up with a blinding amber glow, causing him to wince and retreat a few steps. The warmth of the glow pulsed against his eyelids, beckoning him to open them; so he slowly managed to do so, and what he saw was astounding.

Grinning beyond the beaming light, was his youth, holding on to the mass of energy in the palm of his hand, as if it were a toy of some sort. The malicious grin on his face was hauntingly familiar and even Vegeta felt himself shaking in fear. "What are you-," Vegeta gasped and launched forward in an attempt to stop the boy before he launched the ki directly between them, but it was futile as the child released the energy along with a deafening shriek of laughter.

Vegeta gasped and hauled himself up-right, while covering his sweaty face with his hands to rub the burning sensation from his eyes. When he opened them again, and took his hands away, it was very apparent that he was no longer in his room at Capsule Corp, and was no longer in the company of his father or his past self. Rather, he was alone, in a wooded area, his clothes had been shredded to pieces, the colour of his skin was unrecognisable beneath all the dirt and blood, and it certainly wasn't night time. As soon as the realisation crept upon him, so did the pain. The mental and the physical. He cradled his left arm and tried to get to his feet, before collapsing back to the ground again. How long had he been here? The last thing he could remember was flying around with no real purpose at all. He must have passed out and landed here. But that still didn't answer his question. The surroundings were completely new to him, and they clearly hadn't been affected by the Cell games, so he must have travelled quite a fair distance to be surrounded by all the untouched earth.

As he tried to formulate his next plan of action, a thought swept through his mind, and his eyes widened dramatically. If he had been passed out for so long, he'd have missed the day that future Trunks departed back to his original timeline. He needed to see the boy before he left. There was no answer as to why, but he knew he had to go back to Capsule Corp.

With his remaining shred of strength, he lifted himself to his feet, grasping on to the nearest branch for stability, while cradling his limp arm. The pain surged through his body, but he stayed determined, "the – boy," he said, spluttering out air from his dry mouth, and gazing beyond the broken canopy at the blue sky.

Bulma and Trunks clinked their beer bottles together; Trunks did so very wearily as he had never drank alcohol before and was still underage. The gleam in his mother's eyes made it hard to say no, so he took the strange bottle and placed it readily to his lips, allowing the waft of yeast into his nasal cavity. It was gross. He pulled it back and grimaced, while Bulma laughed and took a generous swig of her own drink.

"Mom, really," he said, as he pushed the bottle in her direction, "I have to fly my ship, soon."

Bulma wasn't one for condoning underage drinking, but it was a fact that, once again, the world had been near to extinction, and her son had contributed to regain its safety. "One won't hurt. We need to celebrate," she pushed the bottle back into his chest and he frowned, before sighing and shrugging his shoulders.

"Yeah, I guess so." And he clutched the bottle to his chest.

Bulma winked and then ruffled Trunks' freshly cropped hair, letting the little lavender snippets fall to the floor. Trunks blushed and lifted the bottle to his lips again, but then swung it behind his back as soon as he heard a loud crash from the hallway, and then seeing Vegeta appear in the door's archway.

Bulma gently placed her beer on the kitchen counter, and fought the urge to scramble over to Vegeta and help him. She couldn't straighten out the thoughts in her head. It was too sudden and unbelievable, so she exhaled deeply. "I'm just going to check on Trunks," she said, her voice wavering, "Baby Trunks, I mean." Bulma smiled a small smile towards Trunks and then scuttled out the kitchen, leaving father and son alone.

Trunks slid the beer from behind his back and on to the counter, as subtly as he could.

"I'll have that, boy," said Vegeta, while locking his blood shot eyes with Trunks'.

Trunks blinked, shook his head, then nodded quickly, "yeah, sure, here," he said, handing the bottle over as Vegeta hobbled forward.

Vegeta snatched the bottle and downed the contents, immediately slamming it back on to the counter, as well as throwing his entire body weight against the unit.

Trunks watched with wide eyes, half in fear and half in curiosity. All he knew was his father was alive and he was home. But he wasn't going to deny the doubt he had in Vegeta, the nagging thought telling him that his father was gone and wasn't coming back. What Krillin had said to him, though, was so surreal and unexpected, that Trunks didn't want to try and determine his father's character anymore. Turns out he is full of surprises.

"You're leaving ... When?" Vegeta said, abruptly dragging Trunks off his train of thought and throwing him back in to the kitchen.

"Not long, now. In an hour or so, I think." Trunks smiled and rubbed the back of his head because he didn't know what else to do when his father was staring so intensely at him like that.

Vegeta nodded slowly, as any other sudden movements would have wasted too much energy, and he had only a fraction left. Then he looked at Trunks. He saw that the boy had changed dramatically since the fight. How long had he been unconscious for? His hair was shorter, and his clothes looked clean. He guessed Bulma must have had something to do with that. God forbid the boy went back to the future Bulma looking like a real warrior.

Vegeta lifted a palm to his throbbing forehead and lost his balance for a second, until Trunks assisted him.

"Father," said Trunks, throwing Vegeta's arm over his shoulder, and instantly forgetting about the man's pride. "You need to rest-"

With his lasting strength, Vegeta slugged himself away from Trunks and hobbled, heading for the stairs, and his room. But before he made it out the kitchen, he twisted his head back towards Trunks and looked at him with a genuine look of sincerity, "Tell me when you're departing." And he continued out the room and out of Trunks' sight.

Trunks visibly relaxed, loosening his shoulders and propping his elbows on top of the work surface. His father always had a way of making him feel uncomfortable. He shook his head, allowing a grin to grow on his face, and he drifted off into thoughts about the future. Not of his world, but of this world. It was a shame he had to go so soon. It'd be a phenomenon seeing Vegeta settle down, that is if that's what he planned to do.

Maybe he wasn't planning on staying, but Trunks had inkling that his mother would be able to dissuade him from leaving.

As Vegeta headed towards his room (yes, it was his room), he could feel Bulma's ki drifting down the corridor towards him. She was the last person he wanted to see, right now. The time she would spend fussing over him, trying to help by tending to his wounds, and minder him about how stupid he had been, he could be in his room, catching up on some well needed rest. Her footsteps were drawing closer, and Vegeta hadn't decided how he was going to react to her. He could sense the brat's ki, it was settled for the moment, but from what he'd seen, that child was temperamental, alright. Just like his mother.

Bulma strode down the corridor, thinking about what Trunks had told her. Vegeta had defended him. That was one of two thoughts in her mind, along with, he acknowledged his son. His son. She knew it! She could be smug about it, and say 'I told you so' but to be fair, who knew that Vegeta was going to come home. Could she call it his home? Well she did, anyway. But if she was going to be the smart arse that she was, she could also say 'I knew you'd come back', because, even when he spat all of the verbal abuse at her and swore he was leaving for good; she knew otherwise.

She paused when she saw Vegeta looming in the corridor, looking suspiciously like a stray cat. The pause was only momentary, as she soon mentally slapped and warned herself that he was a very temperamental man, and anything could snap him. Judging by his physical state, he was at his worst, and she thought no more about trying to converse with such a volatile alien, Saiyan, father of her child.

Deciding that the opposite wall was far more interesting than the site of Vegeta-lingering down the corridor-she trudged on and went straight past him, which, involuntarily, didn't settle well with Vegeta.

Despite protesting against her company, he didn't expect the woman to breeze past him like she had better things to do. And despite throwing in the towel from his status as prince of all Saiyans, he still despised it when plebs like her acted over him. It just wouldn't fly.

"I need a change of clean clothes, immediately," he said, catching Bulma from her mission.

She stopped and spun around, startled that he would initiate a conversation with her, as trivial as it was. "All the clothes in your closet are still there, Vegeta. Nobody moved them," she said, frowning, but not because she was angry, just because she was disappointed that he would think such a thing.

Feeling a bit embarrassed, Vegeta looked away from her. For several reasons. It was undeniable that her physical appearance sent warmth through his body, but there was also something endearing about the way she said his name-like she actually gave a damn.

He looked back at her. He didn't have the energy or the patience for those thoughts. Not again.

Bulma watched Vegeta, and noticed how unsteady he was. She desperately wanted to help him, to alleviate his pain, but she knew she'd do more harm than help. She bit her lip, but caved. "Vegeta, you look wrecked. Go lie down, and I'll run you a bath," she said, smiling a little, not too much.

Instantly, Vegeta locked eyes with her, frowning deeply, "No. A shower will suffice," he said, and turned around.

Bulma sighed, shrugging off her attempt of compassion, "OK," she said, and headed in the opposite direction.

An hour had passed and Bulma had itched and fidgeted, but now, she was standing in Vegeta's room, pressing a freshly ironed pair of pants and a jumper on his bed, along with a sensu bean because he looked like he was about to knock on death's door. Trunks was leaving soon, and she had hoped that Vegeta would say goodbye to his son beforehand, so she wanted him to recover quickly; regardless of being in the knowledge of his hatred for the sensu bean.

His room was crisp clean, untouched, not a crease in sight, so, understandably, he must have gone straight for a shower. But she couldn't hear any water running. Maybe he took her advice and had a bath. Baths were like genuine therapy. She knew this well, from travelling with Goku all those years ago. All that stress and torment. Nothing a bath and some herbal bubbles couldn't cure.

She smiled, flattened the clothes once more, turned round, and nearly shrieked when she saw Vegeta standing opposite her, towel around his waist, hair dripping wet. Why didn't she hear any of this? She had to stop daydreaming.

Granted, he looked a lot better, although he was covered in fresh cuts, some still weeping and seeping with blood. She thought about the sensu bean again.

She cleared her throat and folded her arms, "here, I brought you a change of clothes," she said, trying to read his expression.

He looked over her shoulder, and was able to see the pile of clothing, but particularly, the bloody sensu bean on top of the pile. He exhaled through his nose, and was grateful when Bulma promptly left the room, shutting the door behind her.

He dropped his towel and stepped over to the bed to examine the garments, tossing the sensu bean on one of the pillows for the time being. When lifting the clothes in front of the glow from the sun light, he gathered that there was nothing unusual about them, and nothing was pink and had disgusting slogans on the back. He was safe to wear these clothes, this time. The last time he'd been given clothes by that woman ...

He snarled and threw the jumper over his head.

He hadn't forgotten why he was here.

Once dressed, he glanced over at the sensu bean, and mumbled something incoherent.

Later that night, after Trunks had returned to his original timeline, and after putting the present Trunks to bed, Bulma retired to the kitchen to 'test' her mom's new recipe for the chocolate cake she had baked, which evidently, Trunks hadn't eaten a bite. And she thought all Saiyans were pigs. Not her boy! She was leaning against the kitchen counter, and had, beside her, a large plate with a huge chunk (that looked like it had been torn away with bare hands) of chocolate cake on it. The cake hadn't been tasted yet, as Bulma felt like she was anticipating something, or someone, to enter the kitchen at any moment. It was sad how much hope Bulma still had, and what she hoped for, exactly. She didn't even know. It was like a whirlwind of events, these past few weeks. One minute the world was going to end, the next, the Earth is safe, her best friend is dead, and the father of her child has returned with no explanation as to why. Not that she needed one. She assumed he had come back for Trunks, but there was always the chance that, maybe, he had come back for her. Most likely not, though.

As if the Saiyan in question had heard her thoughts, he paced into the kitchen, looking like he was searching for something. He looked immaculate, now, not a hair out of place, and his skin was blemish and scar free. Olive and matte. He was dressed in a black t-shirt and sweat pants which she had given him earlier. She didn't have to ask if he'd eaten the sensu bean. It was patently obvious.

Not once, from the entire length of the kitchen, did he cast a glance her way, rather, his gaze had welded itself to the fridge. She should have guessed … Even when she had an entire chocolate cake beside her, Vegeta would go against his carnal instincts and forage for something less delectable instead. Stubborn Jackass.

While thoughts of chopping a certain Saiyan's head off were still fresh in her mind, she yanked a fork out of the draw and stabbed her clump of cake, then slurped the sticky goo that was dripping off the prongs of the fork. Who needed manners, really? It wasn't like she was trying to impress anyone. Slowly, it dawned on her, that she may have been showing the early signs of a midlife crisis; she swallowed, exhaled, and turned towards Vegeta.

Rummaging through the fridge, Vegeta stopped when he sensed Bulma watching him. It was eerie. He stood erect, and looked over in her direction, appalled when he saw the smudge of chocolate (Or, at least, he hoped it was chocolate) going from the corner of her lip to the bottom of her chin. Did she know it was there? Of course not. Should he tell her … Did he even care?

God, the staring was irritating!

Thankfully, Bulma took it upon herself to make some form of conversation. After all, she had lived with this man for a few years now; it wasn't like a first meeting. "You want some," she said, smiling, and directing her fork towards the sludge mountain of gooey chocolate.

Vegeta quickly looked at the cake, then back to her face, hoping that she hadn't been the human who had baked the cake; then it would be a straight no, and get out of there. But if it was so bad, she wouldn't have been eating it herself, so he nodded a 'yes' and strode over.

Bulma hashed out a piece with her fork, and plonked it on a plate, licking her fingers in the most unenticing way possible. Vegeta snarled, and pulled the plate across to him, so he was a safe distance away from this monstrous creature who, somehow, still seemed attractive to him.

He really wanted to take himself and the cake away from wherever Bulma was, but he stayed, and they both ate in silence. He was somewhat comfortable with it. The sensu bean had done the trick, as usual, and he was feeling as fit as he could ever feel, and he had her to thank for that. But he wouldn't. He would eat this cake, go to his room, and think – think about what the fucking hell he was trying to do here. And why his dreams were plaguing his mind with decisions he felt obliged to make. There was a strong sense of awareness in Vegeta at that point, when he looked up at the woman, who still had chocolate on her God damn face.

"Woman, clean your face," he said, clearing his throat as quickly as he clipped his words, without looking at Bulma.

Bulma pressed a palm to her mouth and dragged it down to smear any unwanted chocolaty residue away. As she did so, she felt her face rush with blood, and by impulse, she spun around, plate in hand, and headed for the sink. Still flustered in the company of Vegeta? Get a grip, Bulma.

Scraping away with her back to Vegeta, she raised a question, or statement, which he had to answer. He had to.

"I couldn't help but notice you're back," she said, and then blew a stray tassel of hair from her face, while she viciously started to scrub the plate.

"For now," he said after swallowing the last of his cake. He could just walk away silently, now that she had her back turned, but she had started talking, hadn't she?

"What do you mean?" She turned round, plate and sponge in hand, suds dripping down her arm.

Vegeta paled at the sight, forgetting the question, so he shrugged a response.

"That's not an answer, Vegeta … What do you mean, 'for now'?" Bulma couldn't help but raise her tone a little. She didn't have time for childishness.

Somehow, the answer became clear to Vegeta. He knew what he was going to do. If his presence annoyed her, then he would definitely stay a little longer than planned. Meaning, he would stay until the boy was at least two or three human years. That would be long enough to drive her to insanity.

He frowned.

Wait. Why was he thinking about do something for her? It may not have been for her, but it involved her, indeed. No, he would focus on the child. The woman didn't exist.

"I'll stay while I'm needed," he said, crossing his arms.

Bulma's shoulders dropped, and she turned her back on him again, which Vegeta didn't particularly like. Once someone asks a question, they don't just leave the answer dwindling in the air without a clear explanation … "I will stay to train the boy."

Bulma whipped round again, this time dropping the dish that had been scrubbed vigorously, and walked a few paces closer to Vegeta. "Trunks won't be training for a while, yet. You've got a long wait ahead of you." Bulma grinned, and leaned against the counter again.

Vegeta stepped back from her, "he is capable already," he said, and smirked when he saw her gawk.

"What?"

"In fact, he can begin immediately." Vegeta frowned, taking the matter more seriously now.

"No." Bulma swatted her hand through the air. What gave him that ridiculous idea? The nerve of that man.

"He is a Saiyan. He'll be taught to fight like one," said Vegeta, holding down his temper, and looking into the eyes of the fuming woman next to him. Something about her still made him feel tense. When she was angry like that …

He hissed to himself.

Bulma rolled her eyes. Welcome back, Vegeta, she thought, as she leant over to the fruit bowl and selected an apple. "My baby," she said calmly, "is not fighting. He can barely walk without falling down." She crunched into the apple.

Watching her closely as she chewed, Vegeta continued, "He will learn quickly."

She sighed, "No, Vegeta. It's not happening." Bulma couldn't believe it. This guy had serious personality issues. It was hard to get to grips with a person … Saiyan, who was so persistent with changing his mind. And, more to the point - was he insane? Wanting to train a, nearly, one year old child. Saiyan or not, Trunks wasn't training with anyone, especially not his father, who, at any moment, could change his mind and vanish off to some distant planet; never to return.

No chance.

"I wasn't asking for permission, woman," he said indignantly.

Bulma laughed, "I don't care. It's not happening …" Then she sighed, "you can't come back here, after shoving me and Trunks out, and expect me to let you train him. The last thing I knew was, according to you, he wasn't your son at all. I guess you've changed your mind about that, hm?" She bit into the apple again and held it elegantly, just above her right shoulder. She wanted to hear him say it. But he didn't, did he.

"I wouldn't be here, otherwise," he said, and huffed. What a foolish question. There was a reason he didn't like this woman.

Bulma chewed thoughtfully for a few seconds, allowing Vegeta to cook under the intensity of her decision making. It was up to her after all. If Vegeta really wanted to train Trunks, she supposed, he was right to return. She couldn't help but feel a little disappointed, but seriously, what did she expect? Nothing, of course. She had to remember that. It was still hard to believe he was back at all, so this entire situation seemed like a narcotic haze to Bulma. It was possible that she was sleeping, but then, Vegeta would have swept her up in his arms and flown off into the sun set; she was definitely awake. So, what if she did let him train Trunks? It would be too dangerous, and she didn't know if she could trust and ex-homicidal Saiyan to look after her boy. Even so, she certainly wouldn't allow it while he was still a baby. She guessed she'd have to barter with Vegeta. If no terms were accepted, then, as much as she'd regret it, Vegeta would have to leave. She could cope with that, right?

Finishing her apple, she placed the core on the side, and stared directly at Vegeta. "Fine … You can train him in three years."

Vegeta's jaw loosened, and he scoffed, "don't be absurd!" He uncrossed his arms and stepped closer to Bulma, unaware that her scent was slowly wrapping around his senses. Then he stopped, and flinched.

"He's too young," Bulma shouted, stepping yet another step closer to Vegeta.

"He's a Saiyan!" Vegeta tried to hold his breath.

"He's a baby," Bulma implored.

Vegeta let out a breath of air, and cocked an eyebrow. "He can walk, can't he?" he said, as if it was the simplest question to ask a mother.

"Only just." Bulma blew the same lock of hair, which kept flopping in front of her eyes all day, out of her face and glared at Vegeta.

He gulped, not in fear of her rage, but in fear of his sanity. What was going on? "There's no problem then."

Bulma huffed, "Oh my God," under her breath and searched the ground for an answer. "He's not even one yet," she said, but Vegeta should have already known that, being the fantastic father that he was.

"Irrelevant." He crossed his arms again, showing no room for objections.

"You don't get it," she held back the lock of hair and looked up at Vegeta, "I want him to be a baby and do things that babies do. I don't want him fighting at such a young age, and missing out on growing up like a normal baby should." She instantly remembered that Trunks wasn't a normal baby, due to him being half alien, and all. "It's too dangerous, anyways. He'll get hurt, and I could never forgive myself."

Vegeta rolled his eyes, thinking about strangling this woman until her lips turned blue. Did she seriously think that he would harm his child? Besides, the boy could handle a bit of pain, it would do him the world of good. Instead of being pampered all his life, he could be shown the harsh realities: make him stronger, bolder.

He narrowed his eyes at Bulma, seeing the genuine fear in hers, which only insulted him further. "He won't be in danger."

Bulma placed a hand to her forehead once she felt the strong throbbing of a migraine coming on. Shit. She closed her eyes and waved Vegeta off. "Can we talk about this some other time? I don't think … I'm up for discussing this anymore," she said, sloping away from Vegeta, because nothing else mattered other than pain killers.

Since the announcement of the Cell games, Bulma had been suffering from an intense chain of migraines, which were always triggered by anger; so now that Vegeta was back, she knew that they would only worsen. That was one of the reasons why she wanted him to leave. Really, she needed to see a doctor about it, but she assumed they would pass after so long. So would grit her teeth and bear it.

Vegeta watched as she swayed from side to side, and he sensed the distress in her ki, or rather, the lack of ki. He squinted at her figure until it was out of his view. He would bring the matter up with her later. He wouldn't settle with that particular settlement.

He exhaled deeply. What was he doing? He really needed to think this over. But he thought he already did so. Then why was he consistently doubting his own decisions? He had to do this. But why? So that his father, who kept appearing in his dreams, would be proud of him?

"Ch." He rolled his eyes.

What a joke.

He knew who he was – a failure. He couldn't bestow that in front of his own son. Then again, he now had to prove something. To himself, not to that idiot woman. No matter how much he would try and avoid her, she would be actively present while he lived here and trained his son. Well, she wouldn't be there when he trained him. He wouldn't stand for that.

Vegeta raked a hand through his hair, and he muttered something to himself. He had a mentally strenuous future ahead, but first, he would eat the rest of that cake.