Separated From One Another

Chapter Nineteen: Trunks Briefs

A/N: Wattpad was acting high when I was trying to upload this... it took like ten whole minutes to figure itself out (Also peep the art I did a few days ago)

You were pissed at Vegeta, that fucker went and knocked up Bulma then ran off to who knows where. Given no one else could really help Bulma out, since both of her parents were out of the country on safari, you had to partly move in with her. Your only saving grace from Chi-chi was that you had managed to convince her that Bulma was helping you study for your GED. Which was a half truth, Bulma often did not feel like it because of her "morning" sickness that spanned throughout the whole day.

Anytime that you had without needing to tend to Bulma you found yourself training, you did not get much time to train. Mostly because every thirty minutes Bulma would whine about needing some food. She was really into eating bowlfuls of pasta, which was abnormal for her. You chalked it up to having a half-Saiyan growing inside of her; now that you were thinking about it, usually, they were put into tubes for the majority of the pregnancy.

"FOooOd," A painfully familiar voice croaked, it seemed she was in need of more. Bulma had been on bed rest for half a month now, so she had taken to shouting across the house when she wanted something; the pipes on that woman were nothing to sniff at.

Hurrying to Bulma's side you asked her what she wanted to eat.

"Spaghetti, lots of spaghetti and sauce with chunks of meat," Bulma's cravings were not weird—usually. There was that one time she requested a peanut butter and pickle sandwich.

"Okay, it will take a moment," You explained, before running off to start cooking.

You tossed a pound of ground beef into a pan and turned on the water to boil. There was some trouble with draining the liqidized fat, which you quickly solved and put the pan back on the burner. You poured a whole jar of tomato sauce overtop; mixing everything together with a spoon before covering it with a lid. The water came to a boil and you turned down the head, adding in the spaghetti noodles.

A few minutes later you poured all the components into a large bowl together. Moving down the hall you presented the food to a drooling Bulma.

"Fank you," Bulma cried, stuffing her face with the food.

"How are you doing?"

Bulma took a breath from eating, "I've been having braxton hicks for a while now."

"Were you timing them?" You asked, Bulma gestured to a piece of paper on the side table. Picking up the note you blinked, the braxton hicks were getting closer together.

Bulma polished off her bowl of food, you took it and walked back to the kitchen. Quickly you cleaned up the room, so that you would not have to deal with it later when Bulma inevitably wanted more food. Your ears perked at the sound of your name, before you could process what was going on you ran out of the kitchen.

"What's wrong?!" You exclaimed, skidding into Bulma's room.

"My water—my water broke!"

Another braxton hick—contraction washed over her, a pained moan escaping her lips. You hurried to her side, allowing her to squeeze your hand with all her might.

"Please just talk—topics don't matter—just talk," Bulma groaned, still riding out the rather brutal contraction, she writhed on the bed.

"Okay—okay—uhm—I've been having weird dreams lately—I go to this place called HFIL and wander around," You spoke quickly, careful not to mention Frieza, "Sometimes I hear other people, there's these two guys that speak like 'vot is vhis'."

A sharp laugh broke out of Bulma, "What the fuck? What is wrong with your dreams?"

"Everything is wrong with them," You muttered, squeezing her hand in reassurance.

Five long hours dragged on, before she felt ready to push; Bulma rolled over on her side, and started. She did almost everything on her own, all you did was catch him and cut the umbilical cord. You wrapped the baby up in a soft towel, his tail swishing before wrapping around your wrist; he was quiet, staring up at you with wide blue eyes.

"Is he okay?"

"Yeah, he's just looking around," You said, moving so that she could see him.

"Trunks," Bulma panted, exhaustion clear on her face, "His name will be Trunks Briefs."

You smiled, "Look he has your hair."

"He has Vegeta's face though," Bulma pointed out, her expression souring, "That dummy should have been here—guess it's not his fault, I didn't tell him I was pregnant... didn't have the chance."

You made a face and quickly changed the subject, not wanting her to dwell on the past when she had her son to look out for.

||

Trunks was growing up faster than any of the baby books said he should, at three months he was already trying to stand up. He was also a fat, hungry baby; Bulma could not produce enough milk to feed him. Even though it broke her heart she had to switch to formula so that he could get the necessary nutrients. She cried herself to sleep for a week after she made the decision, you did your best to reassure her that the choice was what was best for Trunk's health.

The kid was already almost four months old when he walked up to Bulma, tugging at the edge of her shirt. You watched them through your peripherals as you prepared some sandwiches for lunch (normal ham and cheese ones), Trunks had his favorite orange pacifier in his mouth.

With a loud pop, he pulled the binky from his mouth, "Ma!"

You dropped the towel that you had in your hand and turned around in shock; Bulma stared down at her son with wide eyes. She let out a shrill shriek and picked up Trunks, spinning him around in her arms.

"Did you call me Ma?" She giggled, "Yes, I am!"

A soft smile graced your lips as you watched them together, you wondered if you would ever have something like that.

"Who are they?" Bulma asked Trunks, pointing at you with a grin.

Trunks scrunched up his face for a moment before crying out, "Baba!"

Bulma laughed, "Ooo~ Vegeta is not gonna be happy about that."

Your smile dropped, you did not want to get into an altercation with Vegeta just because his son calls you "Baba."