Bra is born. Vegeta doesn't react the way Bulma thought he would.
Bulma looked down at her brand new baby girl, and felt sorry for her. Trunks had it bad enough; she could only imagine how Vegeta was going to be with a daughter. So when the man himself came stalking into the room, his face unreadable, she was understandably nervous.
"Her name is Bra," she said softly, not offering her to him, knowing he wouldn't be interested. Her husband stared down impassively at the child, already with a tuft of blue hair on her head, fast asleep. He held his hands out and for almost a full minute she stared at them, trying to remember what hands meant.
"I wish to hold her," he said in a voice that was almost gentle under the gravel, when she'd been staring too long. She blinked at him, but held Bra out for him to take. He held her like spun glass, supporting her head as you were supposed to do with babies, and she wondered when he'd learned that. Not with Trunks, of course. Goten maybe? Not that he'd ever held Kakarot's child.
"Both my children look like you," he gruffed, but his tone was still gentle and he was speaking so softly she could barely hear him.
"Trunks has your face," she said, amused. But it was true; Bra was the spitting image of her mother.
He stood in silence for a long time, just studying the tiny face of his daughter, as though searching for something, and Bulma felt her spirits lag again. She was too tired from labor to go through this discussion right now, but she heard herself asking anyway,
"What's her power level?"
His eyes snapped up to her face, and it was clear he'd forgotten she was there. He glanced back down at Bra and studied her with more focused eyes, and Bulma wondered what he'd been thinking about before she'd interrupted him.
"It is adequate," he said, as though it didn't even matter, and she frowned. He caught that, and added, "I didn't think you would care."
"I thought you would," she said almost angrily. He studied her now, and she lay there and let him, exhausted but not sleepy.
Eventually he seemed to come to some conclusion, because he finally sat down, still holding the tiny person in his arms with over-exaggerated care, and began speaking.
"Females born into the royal house were either destined to be married off or, if their power levels were high enough, to join the ranks of the Elite. Rarely, a daughter might become Queen, if she was strong enough to defend her title and there was no other to claim the throne." He lapsed into silence again, contemplating his daughter, who would occasionally mewl in her sleep, or squirm against fingers that could be as unyielding as rock when they needed to be.
"This one will be queen of a different empire, I think," he said, looking up at Bulma, a rare ghost of a smile on his lips, his voice still soft. She blinked, blaming the way her eyes stung on exhaustion. Dammit, why didn't she feel sleepy? This hadn't happened with Trunks. She'd been out like a light as soon as the doctor had held him up. She shifted her position on the bed and tried to think of something to say.
"I already have my eye on Trunks, actually. He's pretty smart."
He merely nodded, and looked down at his daughter again as though he couldn't look at her enough. "Then she will be queen of whatever empire she wants," he murmured, and then she did cry.