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“ONE!”
“TWO!”
He was out there somewhere. Vegeta knew it.
“THREE!”
“FOUR!”
His opponent was talented. But he was better.
“FIVE!”
“SIX!”
“SEVEN!”
The hunt would be a trying contest, but Vegeta knew he would win.
“EIGHT!”
“NINE!”
Almost time.
“TEN!”
“READY OR NOT, HERE I COME!”
Vegeta opened his eyes and turned around, scanning the bushes for movements, his ears attuned to catch the slightest rustling. Nothing.
He opened his senses but as he’d suspected, he felt no presence—his foe was well trained at ki suppression, after all. Vegeta stalked through the territory, his eyes darting every direction to spot any place an enemy could hide, investigating each to make sure it was empty before moving on.
There. The slightest movement caught the corner of his eye; a tremor in a branch without any corresponding wind, and no sound of an animal. Still, it wouldn’t do to underestimate his adversary. He affected a sense of ignorance, as though he’d seen nothing. Carefully, Vegeta meandered toward the hiding place, wandering slowly as if he were still unaware of the hidden location.
Finally, he was within striking distance. In a flash, he struck out with his arm and grabbed his hidden foe. “Got you!”
Trunks wriggled as his father held him above the ground. “No fair, Papa! You cheated!”
“No, boy, you gave yourself away. I saw you shift your weight. Do better next time. Remember—"
“I know, Papa. Hide-and-seek is not for the weak.”
“Good boy.” Vegeta smiled down at his young son as he set Trunks on the ground.
“Can I go on the monkey bars now, Papa?”
“Sure. Remember, no flying.”
The last was spoken to empty air, as Trunks had already run off toward the playground. They nearly had the place to themselves, as few parents had braved the chilly winter air this afternoon. As he watched his son clamber effortlessly up the various climbing apparatuses, Vegeta lounged against a nearby wall and allowed a smile to appear on his face.
The boy’s very existence still amazed him. How could anyone have allowed him, of all the people in the universe, to have created such a fucking miracle? He felt like it must be an enormous mistake on someone’s part. Someday, an agent from some god or another was going to show up and demand Trunks be returned to rectify the error. He pitied that poor cretin.
Trunks had become bored of climbing, apparently, and ran to the swings. “Papa, push me! Push me!”
“You are perfectly capable of pushing yourself, boy,” Vegeta said. Still, he pushed away from the wall and headed to the swing set. He was careful to make sure no one was looking when he gave in to the boy’s demand that he “push higher, high as you can!”
After some time, Vegeta managed to coax and threaten Trunks away from the playground. Together, they walked the few blocks back home. “My hands are cold, Papa,” Trunks said.
“Here.” He put his son’s hands between his own and raised his ki just slightly, warming the air between them. The boy looked up in gratitude, and Vegeta felt his chest clench. “You ought to learn how to do that yourself,” he added roughly.
“Okay, you can teach me,” said Trunks with the air of someone granting a tremendous favor. “Hey, when we get home can we have hot chocolate?”
“Ugh. Fine. I will make you some of that disgustingly sweet brew. If you promise to take a bath afterward, and let your mother wash your hair without fussing.”
Trunks frowned. “Okay, I promise. I won’t fuss…if I can have marshmallows in my chocolate.”
“No bargaining. You’ll do it.” Vegeta frowned at the boy, but inwardly couldn’t help but chuckle at his son’s audacity. “And yes, you can have marshmallows.”
“Yay! I want five marshmallows. Because I’m almost five,” the boy stated, nodding at the correctness of his logic.
“What? Are you really almost five?” Vegeta asked in amazement. The boy nodded in assent, then ran ahead. He was far too excited about marshmallows to notice his father’s face fall into a troubled expression, or the silence that took over the rest of their walk home.
That night, after the chocolate and marshmallows, after the bath and the hair washing that—despite the marshmallows—still somehow included a great deal of fussing, after dinner and tooth brushing and stories recounted from slim books with bright pictures, Bulma found Vegeta sitting at the kitchen table, blindly staring into a warm mug of coffee held in his hands.
She looked at her husband quietly for a moment. She had noticed his state of distraction all night, but she knew better than to ask about it. If he wanted to talk, he’d talk. If he didn’t want to, asking him would just make it worse. So she poured a mug for herself and sat down next to him in silence.
After a minute, he spoke in a soft voice. “Trunks said he was almost five, today.”
Bulma mirrored his softness. “Yeah, his birthday’s in a couple weeks. Did you forget?” She doubted that was the problem. He usually wasn’t bothered by "all that Earth stuff,” as he termed things like birthdays and holidays.
But he shook his head. “No, I remember. November 28th.” He sighed. “I hadn’t really thought about how old he’ll be turning.”
“Yeah, I can’t believe how big he’s getting. Our little boy is already going to be five.”
Five. Suddenly she realized. Oh, Kami. Five. No wonder he’s upset.
Vegeta’s eyes remained glued to his mug as he spoke, his voice rough. “He’s just so small. So—" He swallowed, and Bulma could see wetness gathering at the corners of his eyes. “He’s strong for his age, of course. But compared to a grown warrior…he’s still so helpless. Barely more than a baby.” One hand clenched into a fist, as though trying to keep his emotions from spilling out onto the kitchen table. She reached out and put her own hand on top of his. He didn’t acknowledge it with any word or gesture, but his fingers gently clutched her own.
“I always thought—” he began before breaking off, as though unsure how, or whether, to speak the words he wanted. “I’ve always believed he did what he had to do. I’ve believed he saw that I was strong enough, that I was ready. That I could handle it. He was wrong, of course. But I always assumed he believed I was ready. I've always thought that I was the one who had failed him.”
He brought up his free hand to covered his eyes. Bulma sat and held his hand as the tears he’d been holding back finally spilled over the dam. His body shook quietly, his hand grasping hers like a lifeline. They sat, together, until the wave had passed.
He wiped his eyes, gave his head a soft shake. “I don’t think I ever actually blamed my father before today. But...he must have seen me like that. The way I see Trunks. He must have seen how young I really was, how small. How helpless. And he gave me up anyway.” Vegeta drew in a ragged breath, beating back the tears that threatened to return. “How? How could he do it? I don’t understand. Because—”
His voice turned sharp with anger, and he finally raised his head to look directly into her eyes. “Because I would let the universe burn before I would let anything happen to that boy.”
Bulma stood and moved next to her husband, wrapping her arms around his shaking form and softly stroking his hair. He clutched at her, enclosing himself in her strength, burying his face into her softness. Silently, she held him close and thought about a five-year-old boy.