Bulma sat with him as he slept, sweeping hair off of his forehead as his head rested in her lap. He’d cried himself to sleep hours ago, and had been sleeping peacefully ever since. She had gotten up around dinner time to see if Bra was back from shopping with Pan, and to make Vegeta his dinner. Bra had told her that Pan was smiling again, that she’d have made a full recovery by the time her birthday party came around the following Friday, that if they started breaking the two in to each other again starting the next day, Pan wouldn’t try to bite his head off again.
Vegeta had simply stated that he’d take his dinner in the gravity room, and stormed off in his usually moody way.
“Mom? Is something wrong?”
Bulma looked over at her daughter as she piled her husband’s meal onto two platters.
“No, why do you ask?”
“You’re quiet, and your face is streaked.”
Bulma shook her head, indicating for her daughter to take one of the platters as she herself scooped up the second.
“It’s just been a long day, that’s all.”
“Did you and Trunks ever make peace?”
She nodded, and hurried down the hall.
Bulma looked at the clock. That had been about 5 hours ago, about 6 hours after Trunks had gotten home.
She gingerly pushed a lock of lavender hair away from his face. When she’d come back upstairs, carrying a small bowl of soup, small even for her standards, for Trunks, he’d been sitting up in bed, looking pitifully at the door, weaving the orange bandana between his fingers, his face blank. She’d given him the soup and sat up with him as he’d eaten. It’d been disturbing for her to see him regurgitate the soup back up, even after only a few bites, but she’d stayed, rubbing his back, coaxing him back to sleep.
She sighed, wishing that she could just slap the girl and slap her son, and make everything better. All either needed right now was a bit of sense, and all would be better again. But that was her opinion…Gohan wouldn’t think to kindly of anyone slapping his little girl, and she didn’t want to see anymore pain come to her little boy.
She rubbed his shoulder. Now that she knew what had happened, she could see why Pan was so shattered, why her own little boy was crying himself to death. But she didn’t know what to do…the only thing she could think of was to lock them up in a room somewhere, and not let them out until they either duked it out or worked it out. But that was kinda illegal and—
Bulma sat up, disturbing her son, who was too emotionally drained to completely wake up, and quickly settled back against the headboard, rubbing his head.
Who ever thought I’d be sitting up watching over my 34 year old son’s sleep? she asked herself. She smiled to herself. Even though the circumstances sucked, she had to admit, it was nice reestablishing the mother-son bond they’d lost when he’d taken over the company.
She scratched the top of his head again.
At least now she knew how to fix him.
She looked back down at her sleeping son, and could very easily believe that he’d just broken up with a girlfriend at the end of high school, or had had a bad day at school that had nearly cost his history teacher his life. It really was hard to believe that he was in his thirties, he looked no older then he had when he’d graduated high school…same height, same build. No grey hairs sprang from his scalp, his face was as flawless as it had been when she’d forced him to take over the company.
Dende, how he hated that office.
She lovingly brushed a strand of purple hair from his face. But, hopefully, she knew how to make it easier for him to tolerate.
“Don’t worry, Sweetheart,” she whispered to his sleeping form. “Mommy’ll make it better, just like she always has.” She kissed his forehead and settled back against the headboard, her face turning to the dawn pouring in through the window.