debbiechan fanfiction

Always A First Time

by debbiechan

Disclaimer: I can make no claim to owning DBZ, yet I have a masochistic compulsion to tell this damn story.


A/N: Thank you all for your amazing feedback; it’s more valuable to me than you know. And thanks again to LisaB for beta-reading that goes far beyond catching all my dropped commas.

Chapter Twenty-five: Long Time No See

“You think I’d live with that jerk?”—Bulma about Vegeta, episode 126

The baby in her arms was breathing a soft snoring sound, but Bulma couldn’t sleep.

She rocked, briskly, in the new rocking chair that had been delivered to her bedroom that very evening. Some homecoming today. I come to my room and discover the bloody chair! Can you believe no one replaced it! I had to encapsulate it myself! Do I have to do EVERYTHING? Her gaze kept leaping to the shuttered window, to the speckled soundproof tiles on the ceiling, to the pristine bedsheets, and back to the baby.

She was exhausted. Her body had been running on excitement alone since Trunks’ birth. “Sleep when the baby does,” her mother had said, but who could have calculated the Vegeta factor upon the return from the hospital?

Papa said he told Vegeta about the baby. Sooooo …where is Vegeta?

Dr. Briefs had finished repairing the spaceship. The family had eaten dinner and opened a few “Welcome to the World” parcels to Trunks from relatives. Trunks had napped, fussed, burped, filled a few diapers and Bulma had changed each one, fussing over the tail removal wound and applying ointment on the gauze. Near nightfall, Bulma had dressed in her new nursing gown with the tiny flower pattern (Damn homely, she had thought but hadn’t wanted to insult her mother’s taste), had fitted Auntie Jane’s gift (a tiny white cap with bunny ears) on Trunks’ head and had settled herself into the rocking chair to just … wait.

Every now and then Yamcha or her mother would peek in and beg her to put the baby in his bassinet. “Aren’t you scared you’re going to drop him if you nod off?” Yamcha had asked. He had made some comment about how it was weird for the one of the richest women in the world to be refusing nurse or nanny help, and Bulma had snapped at him about the world being full of incompetents.

I can take care of my baby BY MYSELF.

She didn’t believe that, not really. In her many adventures with Son, Yamcha, Krillen and others, she had learned all about the miracles of team effort. She knew that it was sometimes a sorry incompetent who saved the day (like when Yajirobe managed to cut off Vegeta’s tail and save Son-kun’s life). But the world’s population seemed to have been reduced to two the moment the doctor lay a wet, writhing newborn on her chest. Love and trust encompassed only two--herself and Trunks.

I can do fine BY MYSELF without--Bulma looked towards the shut balcony doors--without Vegeta.

Bulma wished she could sense ki. She even affected Son-kun’s look of kung fu concentration and tried to extend all her womanly intuition into the night air. Seems like I should be able to tell if the father of my own baby is nearby! Damn it, Vegeta--you’re in one of the trees outside just waiting and watching, aren’t you?


Yamcha held up a baby-sized pink sweater by the sleeves. “She wouldn’t make the kid wear this, would she?”

Mrs. Briefs was folding baby clothes. “Oh that’s from the adjunct staff at Schroedinger Industries. They sent a whole winter ensemble in blue too.” She gestured to the largest box in a mess of wrapping paper on living room floor. “You know, Yamcha-chan, you don’t have to dawdle around here. You were so good to never leave Bulma’s side in the hospital, but aren’t you tired? Just go to bed. I can take care of her.”

Yamcha leaned against the couch cushions and looked at the ceiling. “I’m sticking close until Vegeta takes off in that space capsule again.”

Mrs. Briefs threw up her hands. “Bah! No wonder Bulma-chan doesn’t want a nurse. She’s got us to spoil her! Ah well, I’ll give her a few sleepless nights with a little one, and she’ll change her tune about nurse help. Maybe I can convince her to let me hire Robin or someone nice she knows from the CC Infirmary.”

“I doubt it, Mrs. B.” Yamcha was rubbing his eyes. He hadn’t slept much on the roller cot in Bulma’s hospital room. “When Bulma starts pulling that ‘I am a genius’ routine, she’s crazy to do things her way and only her way.”

Mrs. Briefs smiled. “Oh yes. ‘I am a genius.’ That’s her favorite line when she’s really all insecure inside. Reminds me of Vegeta-chan’s ‘I am the Saiyan Prince.’ ”

“Huh?” Yamcha sat up straight. “Vegeta insecure?”

“Oh yes,” said Mrs. Briefs. “They’re so alike. All spitfire and boasting. They need each other.”

“For what?” Yamcha folded his arms and frowned. “To take each other down a peg? That’s kind of a sick relationship.”

“It will be alright. Babies have a way of bringing out the best in people.”

“I tell you, I don’t see Vegeta sticking around to be the nurturing daddy.”

Mrs. Briefs folded a crocheted blanket into a palm-sized triangle and placed this last item on top of the baby clothes pile. “We’ll see,” she murmured. She was smiling one of those knowing smiles that Yamcha didn’t associate with her at all. “Those two have a good ways to go before they figure each other out.”


Gingerly, with painstakingly slow-motion movements and trying not to breathe too loudly, Bulma placed Trunks in his bassinet. There.

The baby didn’t stir. His fisted hands were raised above his head. His lips were parted, moving as if still nursing. Bulma could see a tiny pink tongue suckling at an imaginary breast. What else would newborn babies dream about?

Bulma stood, bent over this amazing vision. She could not pull herself away from him quite yet. She tucked strands of her hair behind her ears so they wouldn’t tickle the baby’s face. This is your best invention yet, Bulma Briefs. How in the world did you manage to make something so perfect?

The bravado of the thought stopped her. Of course she didn’t make him. Her heart filled with gratitude to whatever Powers That Be, and that emotion allowed her to surrender to her exhaustion. Just go to bed--Trunks will be fine.

Bulma managed to walk away from the bassinet and lie on the bed without even pulling the covers back. Her bare feet felt cold, but she was too tired to get up and put on some socks.

Vegeta isn’t coming. When I wake up, the space capsule will be gone.

No sooner had that gentle and resigned thought formed in her mind than the doors to the balcony flew open.

Bulma raised herself up on her elbows. The whoosh of night air across her gown reminded her of only one thing: Vegeta descending upon her body in the middle of the night for some soul-stopping sex.

“I woke you,” said Vegeta.

It sounded like … an apology? He was standing there wearing, of all things, a white terrycloth bathrobe.

“I--I--” Bulma couldn’t find her voice. “You didn’t wake me. I hadn’t gone to sleep yet.”

His arms were crossed, and his face was severe.

Bulma spoke again. “So… how was outer space?”

He looked at the ground and spoke through clenched teeth. “The spaceship is ready. I will require a few things before I return to space to train. Armor for one thing.”

Why is he so angry?

“I noticed that you took my Saiyan armor prototype when you left.” Bulma attempted to sound blasé, but the arms that propped her up in bed began to shiver. “Hey, didn’t you take some other clothes? Don’t tell me you were running around in space in that.” Her chin poked out, gesturing towards the bathrobe.

He was walking towards her. He was standing over the bed. He had been light-years away for so long, and now his face was only inches away from hers. His expression, as he leaned even closer towards her, was threatening. Had he always had such deep black eyebrows?

Bulma felt herself backing away. “What do you want?”

“Why didn’t you tell me about the child?”

“I tried. It was never the right time. I didn’t--” Bulma willed her voice not to quaver. She had planned this speech for months ago and seemed to have forgotten it. “I didn’t plan it. The birth control wasn’t working. The pregnancy was--it was a surprise to me too, Vegeta.”

He sat on the bed and turned his gaze away. It was obvious that he noticed the bassinet but he seemed to be uninterested in its occupant.

“He’s your son, Vegeta,” Bulma whispered. “I don’t know what else to say.”

“There was a tail?”

“Yes. Papa said he told you that part. We had to remove it because--”

“You are telling the truth?” Vegeta’s eyes snapped to meet hers. “You realize that if you made this child with someone else, that business is of no interest to me. I don’t care who you fuck. But if you are lying to me, I will snap your neck right now.”

Bulma felt her anger surge. “Oh stop it. You’re so full of shit, Vegeta. And keep your voice down. You don’t know what kind of trouble it is to get Trunks back to sleep if--”

“It has no hair!” Vegeta was staring, openly, at the sleeping infant now.

“Yes, he does have hair!” Bulma hissed. “There’s not enough light in here to see, but he’s got this downy purple fuzz all over his head. See that lock of hair on his brow? My dad says that he had a purple lock just like that as a baby.”

Vegeta’s lip curled, as if the sight of the baby repulsed him. “That does not look like a Saiyan.”

“What do you know what a Saiyan baby looks like? Weren’t you cloned in a factory or something?”

“I wasn’t cloned.” Vegeta turned his face away from the bassinet and began to scan the room with a less ferocious look than when he’d first entered. Bulma figured that he believed her about the baby’s parentage.

Neither Vegeta nor Bulma spoke again for a while. Bulma could hear their breathing; they were huffing agitatedly in sync with one another. The night air was cooling the room; Bulma considered getting up to put another blanket on Trunks but remembered what her mother had said about not over-heating a newborn.

“I know,” she said in a resolute voice. “You’re not staying. You need armor.” Bulma decided not to tell him about the many encapsulated suits that she had recently made because she wanted all her friends to face the androids in Saiyan armor. “I can configure some more suits for you in the morning, but I’m going to have to rest a good bit. I just had a baby, Vegeta. That’s a strenuous thing for a woman.”

He was looking at her with a softer, more curious expression. “What happened to your body?”

Before Bulma could even wonder at the strangeness of such a remark, Vegeta placed his hands on her breasts. It was not the intimacy of the gesture that shocked her--it was that his hands felt like they belonged there.

“You are… rounder,” he said. His fingers found the nursing openings in the gown and parted the fabric there. Bulma’s large dark nipples emerged, and Vegeta stared at them.

“They’re full of milk for the baby,” Bulma said softly. “The nipples stay dark like that for a while. I’ll be feeding him this way for … maybe a year.”

He thumbed the nipples, and his nostrils flared. His eyes lit up with lust.

Bulma herself didn’t feel aroused in the slightest, but the sight of Vegeta’s sudden interest in her body was exhilarating somehow. She put her hands over his hands--whether to stop their movements or to urge them, she wasn’t sure.

One of Vegeta’s hands left her breasts to cup the base of her skull. He pulled her head back gently, and his eyes met hers. His intent was clear.

“Vegeta,” she whispered. His hands in her hair again--why does this feel so natural and right? “We can’t do this.”

“Why not?” He was leaning closer. His breath warmed her face.

“Because the doctors say that a woman can’t have relations for six weeks after giving birth." Bulma was looking directly into his black eyes. “Think about it, Vegeta. I’m all tender and prone to infection there.”

“There?” His nose was in her hair. Was he even listening to her? Had she ever refused him--ever?

“Vegeta!” Bulma felt a little afraid as his lips began to brush against her ear. “The baby came out the same way you put him in! Don’t you know about these things?”

He chuckled softly. “I’m not a fool, Bulma.” He licked her cheek.

“Stop,” Bulma said. Her voice was quiet but firm. “It’s not good for me. Stop.”

If he cares about me at all, he will stop right now.

Vegeta took Bulma’s hand and thrust it between his legs. Bulma gasped at the familiar heat and insistence of his arousal. The… bastard! If he thinks he can fly down here from outer space without so much as a long time no see and get me to jerk him off or blow him off or--

Bulma’s fingers moved of their own accord around a single purpose. They grasped firmly and started to indulge Vegeta’s demand.

He waited as her hand pumped once, twice, three times. Then he kissed her.

A rush of raw feeling. She loved him. She loved his face against hers and his tongue in her mouth. Bulma forgot all the months that had separated them until she heard a weird little mewing sound.


“He’s awake!” Bulma dropped Vegeta, somehow pushed past his body, and leapt out of the bed to pick up the baby.

Trunks was crying at full intensity now; his face was contorted into baby agony.

“What in the name of all the gods is that sound?” Vegeta was staring at Bulma as if he had never seen a crying baby before.

He had never seen a crying baby before.

Bulma didn’t have the patience to explain anything to him at the moment. She was struggling to get Trunks to latch onto her breast. It wasn’t the easiest thing in the world; she had only begun to learn how to do it, and the crying added to the degree of difficulty. “Here, sweetie, here it is.”

Vegeta watched, eyes widening, as Bulma grabbed a pillow off the bed, sat in the rocking chair, and continued with her efforts to quiet the child. Bulma kept poking the squirming baby in the eye with her darkened nipple, but the instant Trunks lips managed to latch onto his mother’s breast, the crying stopped.

Bulma let out a huge sigh of relief.

Vegeta could only stare at the sight of the feeding infant.

“It’s human,” Vegeta finally said. “A Saiyan infant would already have teeth.”

“Ssssh! I need to get him back to sleep!”

“Why? It’s going fall sleep when it needs to. You’re over-estimating your influence over the matter.”

Bulma tossed her head back and felt hair sticking to her sweaty forehead. “Who died and made you King of all Pediatricians?” Bulma felt warm. She felt shaky. “Just leave now, Vegeta. I’m a little busy here.”

“Very well.” Vegeta crossed his arms. “I will need a new suit of armor.”

“I already told you. I’ll get something for you in the morning.”

He left through the bedroom door, not the balcony, presumably to go to his old room, and as soon as he was gone, Bulma lowered her head over her baby and cried quiet tears.

Life is just too hard with him around. I’m glad he’s going back to space tomorrow. Goodbye, Vegeta. At least you got to look at our son. I know you think he’s ugly, but he looks just like you…you jerk.

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