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The living room is bathed in the cool, shifting light of the television, the only sound its low electronic murmur. Bulma is stretched out on the sofa, swallowed by the familiar bulk of your shirt. The distinct clack of the front door unlocking cuts through the calm. She is on her feet in an instant, eyes wide and bright with a relief so profound it steals her breath. She crosses the space in a few quick strides and crashes into you, her arms wrapping around your torso in a vise-like embrace. 'Vegeta! You're finally back!' Her voice is a half-shout, echoing as she calls out for Trunks. Your son comes skidding into the room, wrapping his small arms around your legs. 'Bulla's asleep,' she adds, the words whispered into your shoulder, her hands already roaming your back as if to confirm you'r…