I think Vegeta and Bura are adorable together . . . although, it's a little sad that Vegeta all but ignores Trunks after Bura is born. Poor Trunks -- but then, he has enough starry-eyed fans (i.e. my sister) to make up for it, right? ^^
Trunks, her twenty-two-year-old son (Twenty-two? Good heavens, he’s supposed to be my little baby boy!), was in the kitchen, polishing off all the cake and ice cream he could find that had not been ground into the carpet. Bulma laughed as she passed him, and Trunks paused long enough to give her an icing-covered grin. “Pig,” Bulma snickered. Trunks just rolled his eyes and kept inhaling the food.
“If you’re looking for Bura,” Trunks said, rather indistinctly around his enormous mouthful. “She’s in the living room.”
Bulma nodded her acknowledgment and picked her way to the indicated room. When she got there, Bulma had to smile. Sprawled on the couch, head on the armrest and arms and legs akimbo, lay Vegeta, sound asleep and snoring loudly (“What do you mean, I snore?” he had once expostulated, “Princes don’t snore!”). Bura slept beside him, her hands clasped around her father’s neck, one of Vegeta’s arms wrapped protectively around her.
Bulma chuckled softly, and she perched herself on the edge of the sofa. “Vegeta,” she whispered, shaking his shoulder. “Vegeta, you have to put Bura to bed now.”
Vegeta’s coal-black eyes snapped wide open, and he glanced around for a few seconds before remembering where he was. “Not a word, woman,” he warned, though a corner of his mouth quirked upward.
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
Vegeta stood up, cradling Bura, and he carried the slumbering girl to her bedroom, where he changed her into her pajamas and tucked her in.
“Daddy?”
He glanced at her, saw that her blue eyes were open. “What?”
“It was a good birthday, wasn’t it?”
“It was all right,” Vegeta conceded with a fake reluctance he only put on to save face. “The cake was good. Thank heaven that Kakarotto’s mate made it and not your mother.”
“It was funny when Goten-kun hit Trunks instead of the piñata,” Bura giggled, drawing an involuntary smile from her father.
Vegeta snorted at the memory of the two “adults” chasing each other around the house, pelting each other with candy. “That was definitely interesting. Now go to sleep, Princess.”
He was almost to the door when -- “Daddy?”
“Yes?”
“Am I really a princess, or do you just call me that?”
A proud smirk crossed Vegeta’s face, and he came back to sit on the edge of the bed. Bura sat up, grinning with anticipation, and she crawled onto Vegeta’s lap (eliciting a grunted, “Aren’t you too old for that?” which, of course, was ignored).
“I don’t lie, nor do I exaggerate,” Vegeta cocked an eyebrow, as though insulted that Bura would even insinuate such a thing. “Haven’t you ever wondered why your hair and eyes are blue?”
Bura frowned in puzzlement, looking for a second like a carbon copy of her mother. “Because Mom --”
“No, no!” Vegeta interrupted impatiently. “That’s a silly human explanation. It’s because you have royal blood in your veins. Have you not heard the term “blue blood” with reference to royalty? Well, in your case, it’s your hair.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re special.”
“Whoa!” Bura’s eyes bugged out in awe.
Vegeta grinned. “That’s right. You are the Princess of an entire race.”
“Is Trunks a Prince, then?”
“In the loosest sense of the word,” Vegeta snorted, swallowing a laugh at the triumphant look on Bura’s face. “I am a Prince, also.”
A twinkle formed in Bura’s eyes, and she looked at Vegeta mischievously. “Is Mom a Princess, too?”
A familiar shadow outside the bedroom door caught Vegeta’s gaze, indicating this was not an innocent question. He cuffed Bura’s head lightly. “I see her in the hallway -- don’t try to trick me into saying something nice in front of her” -- a chuckle from the hall affirmed his suspicions -- “And no, she is not a Princess. Your mother is a Queen.”
“Darn straight,” Bulma called, laughing proudly.
Bura giggled. “Does that mean I could order Goten-kun around?”
“Goten, Gohan, Kakarotto, and Gohan’s brat daughter. They are all third-class,” Vegeta gave her a stern glare and put her back in bed. “But even Princesses need sleep.”
“Daddy?” Bura stuck out her bottom lip until Vegeta relented and sat down again. “When is your birthday?”
Vegeta shrugged. “I’m not sure. The planet on which I was born has a different calendar system than this one.”
Bura pondered that for a moment, then brightened. “That’s right! ‘Cause you’re a Saiyaman, aren’t you?”
Vegeta almost fell off the bed. “Yaugh!” he croaked. “Saiyajin! The term is Saiyajin! Don’t ever call me that again!”
“Um . . . sorry . . .” Bura raised an eyebrow, but her sputtering father gave no coherent explanation for his unexpected outburst. “You’re Saiyajin. Is that better?”
“Thank you,” Vegeta grunted, regaining his composure, and he chucked her chin in an affectionate rebuke. “Bed for real, this time. Seriously, brat, you’ve coerced me enough.”
Bura nodded obediently like any model child, but she held out her arms and raised her face for a goodnight kiss. Vegeta knew Bulma was watching, but it wasn’t like she didn’t make fun of him every single time, so he ignored her. Bending down, Vegeta kissed Bura on the forehead, and she planted a wet smack on his lips. “’Night, Daddy.”
“’Night, Princess Brat.”
Bura’s giggles followed him all the way out the door.
Bulma joined him in the hallway, grinning. “Aww,” she crooned, slipping an arm around his waist. “That was so cu --”
She didn’t get to finish the sentence, for Vegeta turned sharply and kissed her, cutting her off. Over the years he had found that to be the most effective method for shutting her up. “I hate that word,” Vegeta growled, irked by her amusement.
Bulma just laughed. “Sorry. Come sit outside with me,” she asked, leading him out to the front porch, and Vegeta didn’t argue. The brats were in bed, the guests had gone home long ago . . . no one was watching. They sat together on the step, not speaking; enjoying each other’s company in silence. Vegeta liked these quiet times that he and his mate shared -- it gave him the opportunity to be with her without having to come up with snappy comebacks, or ward off grins from the others. Besides, night was his favourite time of day; quiet, without a bunch of Earthlings nattering on at him, for one thing. For another, night had been the only time on Vegetasei when young Vegeta had been able to spend time with his father.
Vegeta snapped out of his reverie when he noticed Bulma was beginning to shiver, and he couldn’t resist sneering at her. “It’s chilly, all right?” Bulma snapped, rubbing her arms in a pitiful attempt to restore warmth.
“Weakling,” Vegeta scoffed, putting his arm around her and pulling her close to him. He raised his ki slightly, just enough to keep her comfortably warm.
“Jerk,” Bulma shot back as she nestled her head in the space between Vegeta’s shoulder and chest.
Comfortable silence fell between them and Bulma was about to doze off when --
Click
Vegeta stiffened, and he whipped his head around in time to see Trunks, grinning with camera in hand, disappear into the house.
In an instant, Vegeta had leapt to his feet. “Stupid brat!” he gritted through clenched teeth. “I’m going to --”
“Wait,” Bulma whispered. “I think Bura’s got it under control. Just watch.”
Calming himself with visible effort, Vegeta peered through the door . . . and an evil smirk touched his lips.
Bura stood in the doorway, blocking her older brother’s path, glaring in a very Vegeta-esque manner. “Give me the camera, Trunks,” she demanded, and her commanding tone would have made any member of the Saiyajin Elite Force tremble and cower.
Trunks, on the other hand, was too stupid to be afraid, in Vegeta’s opinion. Vegeta could hear the “I’ve got blackmail” singsong in Bura’s voice, but Trunks, apparently, missed that. “Aw, get out of the way, brat. How am I supposed to be intimidated by someone wearing pink pajamas?”
“At least I wear pajamas,” Bura had such a disgusted look on her face that Vegeta had to cover his mouth to stop from laughing aloud. “At least I don’t sleepwalk in my underwear!”
Even with his view from behind, Vegeta could see Trunks’ ears turn an interesting shade of red. “Shut up.”
“Gimme’ the camera,” Bura repeated forcefully. “Daddy’s being nice to Mom, for once, I won’t let you wreck it!”
“I’m not going to wreck it,” Trunks countered, speaking with artificial innocence. “I’m just gonna’ show Goten.”
Bura ground her teeth together in a predatory snarl. “Okay, fine. Blackmail time. If you don’t give me the camera, I’ll tell Daddy that I saw you and Marron kissing at my party. And you know he’ll believe me.”
Trunks collapsed to the floor and lay there, twitching violently, for a good ten seconds. “B-Bura, y-you wouldn’t!” his voice shook with fear, and he tottered uncertainly to his feet. “How did you --”
“You left the door open,” Bura tossed her head haughtily. “Marron’s a nice girl. She plays with me sometimes. I like her. But I don’t know about Daddy.”
Trunks’ jaw was opening and shutting randomly like the mouth of a dying fish. “But . . . but . . . but . . . you wouldn’t tell him we did anything, would you? I-I mean, I only kissed her!”
“Doesn’t matter,” Bura said sweetly. “’Cause once Daddy finds out, he’ll castrate you and you won’t get the chance to ‘do’ anything anyway.”
Bulma had both hands pressed to her face and her eyes were streaming with the effort of controlling her mirth, but a few hysterical giggles escaped. “Shut up,” Vegeta hissed, clapping his hands over Bulma’s mouth. “I want to hear this!”
“And,” Bura added, a fittingly-Saiyajin smirk now on her face. She was enjoying this. “I’ll tell Pan that you have a crush on her.”
Trunks screamed in disgust. “Yeeauugh!! Pan??! She’s eight years old!”
“But she likes youuuuu,” Bura pointed out evilly, and she extended her hand invitingly. “Camera?”
A very defeated demi-Saiyajin dropped the camera into his sister’s hand. Bura smiled innocently, then took the film from the camera and crumpled it up to uselessness in her fist. She kissed Trunks’ cheek, and skipped off to bed.
By this time, Vegeta and Bulma had collapsed with repressed hysterics, leaning against each other for support with tears streaming down their faces, and once Trunks left the room, they both exploded. The bout of laughter lasted a good period of time, after which the two lay next to each other on the ground, Bulma resting her head on Vegeta’s heaving chest.
“Now that,” Vegeta declared, wiping his eyes. “Is a true Saiyajin Princess. I’m going to have to reward that girl . . .”
Bulma chuckled in agreement, and she pinched the bridge of Vegeta’s nose with her thumb and forefinger. “She’s Daddy’s girl, all right.”
Vegeta just laughed, and he rose to a standing position, pulling Bulma up with him. “I don’t know,” he shook his head as they walked to their room, his arm around Bulma’s waist. “Her mother used to resort to childish blackmail at times, as well. Something about somebody sleeping on couches, I think.”
“Mm-hmm, I guess you’re right,” Bulma leaned her head on his shoulder, exhausted from laughing. “But still . . . she may look like me, but her temperament is definitely yours. Like they always say . . . like father, like daughter. Kinda’ cute, in my opinion.”
Predictably, Vegeta kissed her to keep her quiet, but he didn’t disagree.
Ah, I thought I should add a little disclaimer: I'm not a Trunks/Marron advocate . . . though neither do I see the evidence for Trunks/Pan pairings (Saiyajin or no, a 14-year age gap is a lot. Ew). Personally, I'm of the opinion that the Next-Gen kids could grow up as friends without dating each other. But for the point of the story, I needed a girlfriend for Trunks, and Marron was as good as any. ^^
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