Bulma stood there, gasping, her eyes wide and stricken. Her hands clenched the air.
No one had ever spoken to her like that, only Vegeta, but there had always been that note underneath it all, that note beneath the harsh words and the angry façade that just said "I need you, need me back," and that only she could hear.
But her son...Trunks just didn't have that. There was only anger. Only anger that had never been there before. He was 34 years old, and never, in all those years, had she heard him snap at her like that. Never, in all those years, had he been so angry, so...so much like his father.
She blinked back the shock, and turned to her husband, her mate.
Normally he'd be tracking the boy down for yelling at her like that...he never had, but Trunks had received terrible beatings just for rolling his eyes. And yet, now, the one time he really needed something knocked into him, Vegeta stood there, arms crossed over his chest, smirking.
"Vegeta," she choked out, shaking still, but now from fear, and not anger.
Fear at what her little boy had become.
Vegeta glanced to the doorway, then nodded to her, dropping his arms to his sides.
Biting her lip, Bulma crossed to him, burrowing her nose into his chest, taking deep soothing breaths, letting his scent wash over her and relax her.
"What's happening to him, Vegeta? What could have changed him so much in so little time?"
Vegeta didn't answer, merely lifted a hand and set it on her back. She lifted her face, looked into his dark and endless eyes. He looked down at her, then looked back up as Bra entered the room.
"Vegeta?" Bulma whimpered, feeling tears coming, but not wanting to have to redo her mascara, they were already late picking up the Sons, and her family's problems didn't need to be advertised with her tardiness.
"Stop whining woman," Vegeta snapped. "Or we'll have to wait another 5 hours while you reapply that ridiculous and unnecessary makeup you wear."
"Mom? Daddy?" Bra asked quietly, dropping her purse onto the table, picking up the chair and looking at her parents. "What's going on?
Bulma turned and sighed, looking out the door that her eldest child, her son, had just passed through.
"I don't know, Bra, but I wish I knew..."
"Mom?"
Bulma turned and placed Trunks' glass in the sink, then left to gather her purse.
"Ask your brother, because he won't tell me."
Out in the hall, Trunks knees went weak, and he silently slumped back against the wall, bringing a hand up to his forehead.
What's happening to me?