To Be a Saiyan Again

Chapter one - Routine

His eyes snapped open. It was the same every day whether it was rainy, sunny or if he felt like shit or not. Precisely at five in the morning, before the break of dawn, without the assistance of those annoying contraptions, his body automatically rose from its restless slumber.

After a few seconds of allowing the lingering drowsiness to dissipate, he pushed himself to a sitting position and threw his legs off to the side. His body knew exactly what to do without even thinking. He let his feet guide him to the closet not far from the sleeping quarter. He flipped the switch, illuminating the interior of the extravagant room filled with hundreds of shoes and thousands of silhouettes. Those things they called purses were abundant, lining against the wall in an almost compulsive order, color-coded and organized by brands. Of course, those were not his. His items were few, occupying only a small fraction of space in this room. He owned only a few necessities; towels, training attires and maybe a few more proper wears saved for rare occasions, occasions that forced him to leave the compound.

He grabbed a few clean towels and threw them around his neck. Flipping off the switch, he proceeded to leave the room. On the way out, he paused, silently looked at his sleeping blue-haired demon. The bed was huge. It had plenty of room to comfortably fit two to three adults, but some time during the night, she would leave her side and roll to the edge, closing the distance between them. He would often find her arms around him or her head resting against his chest. It did not bother him.

A light snore escaped from her, followed by a light groan. The sleeping figure grabbed one of the many colorful pillows and pulled it against her chests. She rubbed her face against the bright pink pouch. He had long accepted the fact that arguing over her aesthetic choice was a losing battle. He had learned to live with the womanly designs, much to his dislike.

She would not be awake for another two hours. He continued his path, first out the doorway, then down the corridor and then proceeded down the stairs into gravity room. Other than the need to get stronger, training and sparring was a form of outlet to release the excessive energy built up in his full-blooded Saiyan body.

He walked to the controls, without thinking, he programmed it to two hundred above Earth's gravity level. Fifteen minutes later, he turned it up to three hundred. He continued to adjust the gravity at half hour interval until he reached six hundred.

After three hours of mindless training, he re-adjusted the gravity level back to zero. Most of his towels were now soaked, his tank top heavy. It was a cue for him to take a shower. He spread a dry towel on his face and pulled it down until the last drop of sweats was gone. Throwing the towel around his shoulder, he pressed the button to release the lock on the door.

Three hours ago, the house had been engulfed in complete silence, but now, it was filled with screaming and yelling from his brats. Every morning was the same. He had grown used to it and knew exactly how to avoid those needy demons. He had chosen to end his training at this hour since the kids along with his woman were waiting not so patiently for his arrival in the dining area. This would lessen the probability that he would run into one of them.

"Mommy! Trunks stole the pancakes from my plate!"

He ignored them. As much as he needed fuels in his body, he rather avoids the constant bickering and bantering for as long as possible.

Another half hour had passed and now he was clean. Sighing, he headed to the dreaded dining area where his foods await. He braced himself as he stepped in. Sure enough, the little blue-haired, pig-tailed demon ran to him, throwing her arms around his leg. She looked at him, grinning so wide he could see her two front missing teeth.

"Daddy! Morning!"

He grunted as usual. He continued to the dining table with his brat still hanging from his leg. He did not shake her off. He had tried, but the brat was stubborn. Every time he attempted to shake her off, she hung on even more, giggling and laughing the more he tried. He soon realized that she actually enjoyed it, so he had given up, allowing her to do as she wished. Now this had become their morning greeting.

When he reached the dining table, she jumped off, waved her hands and exclaimed, "Thanks, Daddy!"

Again, he grunted. He sat down on the empty seat, his seat. Pancakes, sausages, smoked hams and wild boars piled on his plate. He picked up his fork and stabbed a piece of pancake and popped it in his mouth. The same breakfast.

"Morning, Dad."

"Morning, Vegeta."

As usual, he ignored them, going about his meal. They did not seem to care. They returned to their conversations.

"Mom, I need money to buy that awesome new game system. It has all the latest technology and come with amazing games!"

"Trunks, you're eighteen! Stop being a child and grow up already," his woman said as she picked up the empty dishes. They have cleaning bots, of course, but she had insisted she did not want to lose the fundamental values of a woman. Whatever that meant. Chores and cleaning after her family was something she actually looked forward to, especially after a day of intense battles with her subjects. She had to be on her guard when she was at work. At least that was what she had always told him. Not that he cared. She had always made it a point to share all her glory details with him whether he liked it or not.

"But, Mom! You don't understand! Do you know how cool it is to be the first one to own one of these suckers!"

"Ooohhh. Is that a swear? Bad Trunks!"

"Oh shut up, brat! Suckers is not a swear. Go look it up in a dictionary."

"Don't call your sister a brat! Seriously, Trunks, you're still acting like you're twelve. Maybe I should put you to work and teach you some responsibilities."

"Yeah, Trunks. Stop calling me a brat. I'm five. Me not four anymore. Only four years older are called brats."

He chewed on his foods, expertly drowning the rackets around him. As long as they did not pull him into their useless bickering, he was more than willing to eat his meal in complete silence.

"Dad still called me brat! So I can call you a brat whenever I want."

From the corner of his eyes, he saw his youngest scooped her oatmeal and then pulled the spoon back from the tip. She let go, propelling the substance into the air, over his head and into the stun face of his eldest brat.

"You…you…little witch!" The table shook. His foods flipped off his plate. There was not much left on the plate, but nonetheless, it was still his food. This bickering was seriously testing his patience. He felt a growl ready to escape.

The little one stretched her lips into a wide grin and stuck her tongue out, thus further infuriated her brother, who then started to give chase. He had to admit. His little one was fast. She was also clever, choosing to run under the table, making it difficult for her bigger and taller brother to pursue.

"Dende help me. You two stop this right now!"

He swallowed, finishing the remaining breakfast. He stood up and the room became silent. Trunks stopped. Bra stopped. Bulma stopped. He threw them a glare, grunted and turned to exit the room. The silence remained. He could feel their eyes on him, watching him until he completely disappeared from the room.

Soon the noises returned, but it was no longer his business. He left all these so called parenting to Bulma. He retreated to his bedroom, walked into the closet, grabbed a few clean towels and returned to his training. Sometime around noon, the house was empty. Bulma left for work, Trunks went on about his business, whatever that was, and Bra was in the day care center. Dinner would arrive all too soon and his family was once again in the dining area. This was the time everyone reported what they did during the day. It was all mundane. Bra always talked about her arts and crafts and how good she was at it. Trunks talked about his day with Goten and his other friends that he did not care to meet. Bulma usually saved her report until it was just the two of them.

Night arrived and it was back into the bedroom. He realized it had been awhile since Bulma had made any advances and soon he, too, had made less and less. They went to sleep and the day started over again the same way and ended just the same. So did the next day and the day after. It might vary from time to time, but it never really deviated from the original routine.

He forgot how long it had taken him to realize that something was missing. One day as he began to program the GR to start the gravity at two hundred above Earth's gravity level, he stopped. He stood there with his finger hovering above the button. Who was he now? Where was the old him? Where was the Saiyan who had been feared by many? Where was the prince of all Saiyans, who had once commanded thousands upon thousands of soldiers? He no longer wanted to conquer, but he was still a full-blooded Saiyan. Surely, he had other goals, goals worthy for someone with his status, as one of the most powerful man in the universe. He felt his talent wasted; his drive gone. He had no more aspiration. His life had been training, eating and sleeping, nothing more, nothing less.

His rival, Kakarott, left to train the insignificant brat, claiming that one day the brat's power would far surpass the Saiyans. Then, his rival would eventually have a strong opponent to spar with. Kakarott at least had a goal. What was his?

He crossed his arms, no longer felt like training. He left the GR, breaking his routine for the first time. He returned to his bedroom. He entered quietly, careful not to wake the sleeping Bulma. Perhaps, his woman sensed his mood. She cracked open her eyes, surprised to find him standing in the room.

"What's wrong, Vegeta?"


His woman was not convinced but did not press on. He did not return to training, only silently stood by the window and stared at the sky beyond.

The next day was the same. He did not train. He stayed in the GR without turning it on. He ate in his usual silence. Even though on the surface, his routine did not change, but nonetheless, his woman had caught whiff of his unusual behavior and mood. She grew concern and probably had good reason to be.

He woke up the next day at precisely five o'clock. Unlike his usual routine, he just sat up but did not move. He stayed in that position for more than fifteen minutes. His woman began to stir. He could feel her hand on his thigh, gently rubbing it.

Finally, she asked him. "What's wrong, Vegeta?"

He had made a decision long time ago to stay on this small planet. Today, he was not sure he could continue to do so. He felt this small world, growing smaller, suffocating him. He had to know if he had made the right choice. He would not be able to find the answers here.

"Bulma, do you still have the spaceship?"

His woman popped up, eyes scrutinizing him, reading him as if reading a book. He looked away, fixing his eyes on the window.

"Why do you want a spaceship?"

"I need some time alone," he stated. He did not want her to pry. He did not want to explain. He got out of bed and walked over to the window, raising his head to the skies. It was vast, but paled in comparison against the endless, bottomless and immeasurable universe.

He expected his woman to protest, threw a tantrum or two, maybe even cry, but she did not. Her reaction threw him a little off guard. "What about the kids? What should I tell them?" she asked.

She planned to let him go without asking a single question. He was grateful for he really did not have any answers. He just felt that he needed this trip to find the Saiyan who had faded with the flow of time.

"Tell them whatever. Tell them the truth," he said. He knew his youngest would probably throw a fit and the oldest would be disappointed he was not invited. They probably missed him at first, but they would learn to live without his presence. After all, Kakarott's brat did just fine without their idiotic father around.

"Will you be back?"

Will he? He had not considered this question. Maybe. Maybe not. He guessed it would depend on what he finds. Either way, Bulma deserved the truth. He would not lie to her. "I don't know."

There was a sigh, a heavy one. "I was afraid one day you will leave us."

He felt his chest grew heavy. The thought of leaving her had never crossed his mind until today. He steeled himself. He could not stay. The longer he stayed, the more he felt smothered. Before the prince of the Saiyans completely disappeared from this universe, he had to reclaim him.

He wanted to tell her she was not the reason why he had decided to leave. This was his problem, his selfishness had prompted this decision, but he did not tell her.

"The spaceship is in vault. It's in a capsule on the top shelf," Bulma finally said after a moment of silence.

"Thank you, Bulma," he said. "Thank you for everything."

She cried.

A/N: Vegeta is my favorite character in DBZ. I always thought he was the better father and husband compared to Goku. But seriously, I always wondered if it had ever crossed his mind to leave his family behind. This is my way to explore this question. I admit, Bulma's reaction to Vegeta leaving was a bit calm, but she's a smart woman. She felt it coming. She could force him to stay but she knew the cost is much higher if she did.

Please tell me what you think so far! Do you think Vegeta will not leave his family no matter what? Is this considered out of character?

Thanks for reading!