Disclaimer: I don't own DBZ, nor do I own the Brief's family. I can only dream....le sigh....

A/N: Hey guyz, just a one shot from Panabelle. Nothing to do with my 3-sie, just a little something that I wanted to write. Review and tell me whatcha think!
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Momma's Boy


"Momma!"

He watched as his wife comforted their son, as she cooed into his ear, trying to assure him that just because he had broken his new toy within seconds, that didn't mean it couldn't be fixed.

She was a good mother, he'd admit that, but sometimes he couldn't help but think she was smothering the boy. The boy didn't need as many toys as he had...shouldn't have as much time for them as he did.

But she was a woman, and a good woman at that, and didn't know any better.

"There there," she cooed. She glanced at him, and smiled. He panicked, but tried to keep his face its usual stoic mask. "Here, let Mommy have that, and you go play with Daddy. I'll fix it while you play."

She gathered the pieces into her arms and pushed their boy towards him, then ran towards the house.

Damn her.

"Daddy!" The little boy threw his arms around his father's legs, but the moment that his mother was in the door, he stepped back and mirrored his father: cold yet curious eyes, impassive face, back straight, arms crossed over his chest.

It was everything Vegeta could do to keep from laughing. The boy wasn't mocking him, just merely idolizing him. Wanting to be strong like him, wise like him...wanting his father to be proud of him.

It was amazing what the boy did to please his parents-it was quiet obvious that he had inherited Bulma's brains. Around his mother, he was the needy son, the boy that needed mommy's love. But the moment she left, he was his father's boy, in every manner aside from purple hair.

Vegeta nodded to the boy and turned, walking into the gardens of Capsule Corps, letting the boy walk by his side. Trunks stumbled a few times-he was only three, agile and strong as he was, he was still quite graceless. The boy would throw his arms out to his sides to catch his balance, teeter a bit, then regain his balance. Every time, Vegeta slowed his pace, both so that the boy wouldn't have to run to catch up, and so that the boy wouldn't know that his father was aware of his awkwardness.

Vegeta knew without saying that pride would mean more to the brat throughout his life then even fighting...he had Bulma for a mother, and was the son of a prince to boot.

They didn't say anything to each other as they walked, and Vegeta couldn't help but quietly marvel at and admire his son, this fragile and yet sturdy creature of flesh and blood with his face and Bulma's hair, this thing that he had created.

*Did my father ever think this about me?* Vegeta wondered, slowing as the boy started to trip over a tree root. *No, I doubt he did, he never had human women around to screw with his emotions.* Trunks fell down completely, and Vegeta pretended not to notice, walking slowly ahead, so as not to get too far ahead of him.

"Vegeta!" he heard Bulma cry from the doorway. She had fixed the boy's toy and had come to return it, only to see her husband walking away from their child when he fell. Vegeta froze, turned to look back, seeing his son stagger to his feet, obviously struggling with which parent to favor in this situation, and to keep his pride at the same time. The boy looked at him, then took off running towards his mother, stumbling all the way, leaping up and grabbing the toy, grinning. He ran off under a tree and began to play with it again, gentler this time.

Stalemate. Favor neither parent, and the situation is conquered.

Smart boy.

Bulma glared at him, and he turned his back to her, continuing his walk.

*But what about my mother?*

That question he couldn't answer. He had no memories of his mother at all. He had once asked about her, before he had learned what was expected of him.

What the guards had told him, he preferred not to think about.

*"Your mother? Your mother was a whore."*

Vegeta shook his head, leaning his back against a tree, turning his head to watch Bulma cuddle with their son.

He had taken special care to make sure that the guard who said that met a slow and agonistic demise once he had mastered the art of killing.

Vegeta sighed softly and imperceptibly, watching as Bulma fretted over the boy, mussing his hair, holding his hands out to inspect them, noticing small scuffs on them from his fall. She freaked out, throwing angry glares back at her husband as she tried to get the boy to come inside so that she could tend to the wounds which would have closed up by suppertime. The boy, for his part, was sticking to the original plan of ignoring both parents, using the excuse of the toy. He ducked his mother's hands as she tousled his hair, pulled away from her as she tried to hug him, yanking back his hands ever-so-gently as she tried to fuss over them. He kept his attention locked on the toy, but eventually started to look up at her and laugh childishly, grinning, treating this as a game.

Vegeta shook his head and closed his eyes.

*Would I have ever acted like this with my own mother?*

He had no memories of his own mother, she was an enigma to him and nothing more. Saiyan females were rare, but not as rare as he had led Kakarot and his brats to believe. Yes, they were scarce in the populace, but genocide tends to leave things scarce.

As a rule of thumb, saiyan children were shipped off to other planets, shipped away to learn to be the warrior race they were. Mother's were hardly accepting of that...oh, many learned to accept it, die shamefully or give up the kid was what it inevitably ran down to.

He watched as Bulma gave up and sat next to the boy, draping a protective arm around his shoulders, showing him all the splendors of the new toy.

Human women would go to the ends of the Earth to protect their children, would fight and scratch and bit and do anything within their power to keep them, and Vegeta admitted to himself that it was this quality that drew him to Bulma; the child didn't even have to be her own, or even a child at all-a loved one, a friend, that imbecile Yamcha, people she had never met, and yet she would fight to protect them. She was as much a warrior as anyone else he knew, but she didn't fight with fists. She fought with brains, in every way she could.

Saiyan women were just the same-touch their child and expect to lose an arm. They'd rip limbs from intruders, turn threats into mere blood splatters on the pavement if they came too close. Most women had to be killed in order for their children to be taken away and trained. Some understood tradition, and were willing to live with it. Others refused to be reasoned with.

Vegeta could only assume that his mother wouldn't settle for tradition. And even if she would have, they couldn't have an unbonded saiyan female, mother to the crown prince, wandering the street.

They couldn't allow the king to bond, either.

Too many princes would kill the planet faster then an actual war. Too many saiyans would try to kidnap the woman...it was bad enough, how many people tried to kidnap him.

None had succeeded, of course.

Vegeta turned his eyes back to the woman and the child.

*Could I have had this kind of relationship with my mother?*

He would never know, he knew that. All saiyans were gone...and even if they were, his mother surely was.

He sighed and turned, walking towards his gravity room.

This damned planet was making him soft.

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A/N: I just love Vegeta! He's so arrogant and cocky, he's got to be the biggest softy under all of it! I've got to get back to Petrified Tears, otherwise you guyz might get mad at me, so, tell me what you think! C'mon! Review!

-Panabelle ;P