Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Decoding the Saiyan ❯ Taste ( Chapter 19 )

Disclaimer: I don't own Dragonball Z.

A/N: The prompt used for this chapter was `taste' from the Senses Challenge.

Taste

Bulma sat on her bed as the sun rose behind a blanket of grey clouds, her hand resting gently on her sleeping son. He seemed fine now; apart from the lack of a tail- and the bandage that now sat in its place- he looked no different from how he had the day before.

But his unexpected transformation the night before had brought with it a shift in the air that marked change. To Bulma, the foretold future was now as inevitable as it was close; the Androids would arrive soon, and with them would come bloodshed, and possibly death.

With a shudder she remembered flashes of her own near-death experience - the sound of her child's deep, throaty growl as he changed before her eyes, his monstrous jaw and glistening white teeth as his lips pulled back in an instinctual sneer so much like the expression Vegeta constantly wore.

Her own injuries had been substantial, though thankfully all she remembered of it was a cloud of pain before she slipped into a numbed darkness. Strangely, though, she could recall clearly the taste of iron in her mouth, and then the tang of something different as she was pulled back into the world of the living; a bitter wet glob of something forced down her throat with prodding fingers as she fought for consciousness, her child's screams the only thing keeping her tethered to the living plane.

The unpleasant taste had been a senzu bean, pre-chewed by Yamcha so that she could swallow it easily. By chance he had been carrying one on him, and after quickly realising that she had numerous internal injuries, he'd wasted no time in giving her the life-saving bean. She'd healed and woken with a start to find Yamcha leaning worriedly over her, and her parents standing anxiously in the doorway, Trunks screaming and writhing in her mother's arms.

In the light of the morning, the whole thing felt like a dream- or a nightmare. Watching Trunks sprawled on her bed in a contented sleep, it was hard to imagine that he was the same great monster that had very nearly crushed her to death.

She was reluctant to wake him, but suddenly felt the urge to check that he was healing. Very gently, she pulled back the edge of the bandage on his back and peered at the perfectly round wound.

It was already healing well, which was testament to his Saiyan heritage. She'd seen enough of Vegeta's wounds to know that it would heal quickly, but although it should have pleased her, the realisation only made her feel a little more ill.

How many more characteristics, she suddenly wondered, had he inherited from Vegeta? She chewed on her lip, and stroked the back of his near-bald head. Would he crave violence, like his alien father?

The question led onto further disturbing thoughts. If Trunks was old enough, would he want to fight the coming Androids, too? The memory of a five-year-old Gohan, lying naked, bloody and bruised on the battlefield after Vegeta's defeat flitted through her head, and she flinched at the thought of her son ever going through such a thing. Suddenly, Chi Chi's irrational, overbearing behaviour regarding the kid no longer seemed that irrational at all; in fact, as Bulma tried to visualise her son in five, ten years' time, she shrank away from the images in her mind, images of a Saiyan boy who wanted nothing but to fight. How could she live, if her baby went out onto a battlefield? How could she live, if it was her son that had to fight the coming Androids?

Ever so gently, she picked her baby up, cradling him against her chest. He grunted in his sleep, nuzzling into her, and she felt as if her heart would burst. She would keep him this way forever, if she could.

If only it would keep him safe.