Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Don't Ever Let Go ❯ Chapter 8 ( Chapter 8 )

Disclaimer: I don't own DBZ or any of its characters. They all belong to Toriyama Akira

 

Chapter 8

 

Vegeta

 

My temper is frayed beyond recognition and my resolution to see this through to the end is wearing extremely thin. However, when have goals worth reaching ever been easy to attain? I've spent my entire life chasing after dreams of revenge, fantasies of conquests yet to be claimed, and a myriad of other ideals that are what have made me into the man that I am. No matter that I am rapidly losing confidence in my ability to pull this situation between myself and my family back to the pseudo-normalcy of what we once had before everything started to fall apart after Kakarrot decided to frolic in the after-life, I will not give up on this goal. I will not add it to a growing pile of un-fulfilled wishes that makes up the majority of my soul.

 

Sitting underneath a tree in the park that is near to the place where I live, I watch as my son and mini-Kakarrot play some sort of game. It reminds me of a predator tracking after prey in order to make it into a quick meal. At the current moment, Trunks is slyly slipping around playground equipment, trying to slowly sneak up on Kakarrot's youngest spawn, who is hiding sloppily behind a nearby tree. I've seen this interaction between the two of them countless times and it always ends in with the same result. Kakarrot's brat treats their playing as a game, where my son seems to see it in a different light. As a result, offspring number two of my rival always leaves himself wide open for an attack and never seems to see it coming until it's too late. Usually, this result is fine for the first few rounds, but after the third or fourth one, he becomes upset because he never seems to have an edge over Trunks and because Trunks relies on his Saiya-jin nature more than his human side when playing this sort of exercise and so he ends up inevitably hurting his younger counterpart. The last thing I need is to deal with two sniveling cubs. One is bad enough. Standing up, I start walking towards the park entrance; the signal that indicates playtime is over with. Swallowing down some of my pride, I try to not feel the embarrassment of having to watch over my son and his friend. Still, it is rather humiliating in its own way. Shaking my head, I wait impatiently for the two of them to catch up to where I'm standing.

 

The walk back to Capsule Corporation is uneventful. Both boys, although young, know better then to test my temper with stupid antics and so they are both quiet and obedient until we step onto the driveway that leads up to the corporate grounds. Once they set foot onto Capsule property, both children quickly run onto the grounds and disappear to a favorite haunt, leaving me blessedly alone. Slowly unclenching my hands, letting the stress of watching the two of them seep out of my body, I leisurely make my way indoors and head towards the one place where I can find solitude within the bounds of Capsule Corporation: my gravity simulator.

 

Opening up the door, I walk inside and then go over to a cabinet where there is spare training uniforms to be had. Pulling open the cabinet door, I yank one out and start to undress, taking off the human clothes I had worn to the park in order to blend in better with the rest of the bakas that bring their idiotic brats for play time. At one point, I had thought of the park as an ideal place to take Trunks to, away from the despondent atmosphere of Capsule Corporation. However, within the last few weeks, Kakarrot's brats have also started spending time here and now I have the added responsibility of watching over the youngest one as well, which makes it impossible to go to the blasted park when there are no other humans present. Fucking pain in the ass.

 

Irritated and feeling foolish at the same time for not only watching over my own son but his stupid friend as well, it doesn't take much for me to think of the irony of my current actions. I, the noble and proud Prince of the Saiya-jins, am a nursemaid and entertainment for a couple of brats. Pulling on my spandex training suit, I can feel the hint of a smile starting to creep onto my face. Honestly, it's ridiculous, these silly behaviors that I have started to participate in. But it has had some surprising results, even if my own temper and patience are constantly under threat of exploding. My son, though he still shows some hesitancy around me (as he should), has seemed to overcome his fear of me to a certain extent. I'm not sure if he entirely understands the reasoning behind my sudden change in behavior towards him, but at least he doesn't cry all the time anymore when I yell at him for doing something retarded or run away to hide somewhere when he sees me coming. He has also started to tolerate my no coddling attitude. Perhaps it's because I bribe him with trips to the damn park or because I allow him to spend time with the son of my rival. Whatever the reason, his depressed attitude that had come about since the loss of his younger sibling, has improved. And so has my own, to a certain extent. However…Bulma.

 

I can feel my face begin to twist into a grimace. I'm not here to dwell on her and her damn attitude but…but it is pissing me off to no end. Shaking my head to clear it of all thoughts unrelated to training and strengthening my own body, I walk over to the simulator and set the gravity to 100, a setting ideal for warming up before I move onto more intense gravity for the majority of my workout. I will not…I cannot…never mind. Growling, I start focusing my mind on my training exercises, letting the tension in my muscles seep out slowly as my breathing evens out and my muscles start acting on the rote memory of movements instilled in them since I was a small child.

 

For the first time since I woke up, I feel relaxed and in control. Minutes, and then hours pass in a blur as I slowly start to push my body, both my core and the muscles that surrounds it, until they can handle no more. Letting out a battle cry, I focus my ki in the palms of my hands and then let out a tremendous explosion of power, watching as it evaporates the few training bots that are left since I once again started using the gravity simulator on a regular basis. Panting, feeling the sweat drip down my face and back, clinging to my skin and seeping into the fabric of my training uniform, I decide that the time is right for me to quit. I'm dreadfully out of condition but I've started to change that fact and with that has come the realization how much I have let things from the past push me behind where I should be. Straightening upwards, I walk over to a cabinet and pull out a towel to wipe my face and hands with. Grabbing my clothes from earlier in the day, I walk over to the control panel and turn off the machine, leaving through the doorway and once again entering the fray that is Capsule Corporation. Rounding a corner as I head towards my room to take a shower, I almost fall over when two blurs run into my legs.

 

“Oomph! Aw, ouch!”

 

“Goten, your head hurts!”

 

Crossing my arms, I stare down at the two troublemakers sprawled in front of my feet; one rubbing his head while the other is sucking his thumb, trying not to cry.

 

“Brats.”

 

They both suddenly look up at me. I don't think they realized in their haste that they had the misfortune of colliding with my legs instead of a wall. Stupid children. Slowly, both boys stand up and watch me with the expectation that they are in trouble, which they are.

 

“No running in the house. It's a simple rule. Obey it. Trunks…”

 

I'm not used to the idea of punishment that doesn't involve brute force and so I have hit a snag. In the few weeks since I have started to pay more attention to my son, I have not had to administer punishment, relying on his ditzy grandmother to do the job for me instead. I'm at a loss. Growling in an intimidating fashion, I latch my dark eyes onto his clear blue ones.

 

“If I catch you running around like a barbarian again, your backside will be raw.”

 

Aiming a look at Goten, I scowl at him as an added effect. I cannot have either of the boys thinking that I am soft or indecisive. My pride has already suffered enough blows as it is and I will not add this to the growing list of behaviors I've engaged in ever since my conversation with Piccolo.

 

“The same can be said for you, mini-Kakarrot. Mind where you are going. No matter that you are not blood of my blood; you are still a Saiya-jin, not some weakling. Have I made myself clear?”

 

Instead of bursting into a tirade of tears and sniffling, both brats stand up and shake their heads, relief evident on both of their faces. Gah, to think that they should be relieved. Have I really become that much of a weakling? However, I would much rather have them a little afraid of me then terrified. Though I know that the monster of my past still dwells within the deep recesses of my mind, I would rather not have my son or his stupid friend think of me in that sort of light. Another testament to how this place…this planet, has changed me. Or maybe, the answer is simpler then that. Perhaps…perhaps the person of my past, the brute that I still sometimes wish I could call upon, was not who I really am. Maybe, these changes, these doubts, these…these manifestations of humanity growing within me, maybe they are the real me. The person Bulma saw when she first started to pursue me years ago. The person that became lost in all of my own confusion over what I wanted and my desire to revenge myself upon Kakarrot for stealing away the glory that should have been mine. What a...a fool I have been. Smiling bitterly, I stare at the ceiling, lost in a swirl of thoughts that never seem to leave me alone along with the changes that have been slowly creeping through me over the years.

 

“Papa?”

 

Blinking slowly, I tilt my face towards the voice of my son, who is still standing awkwardly in front of me along with mini-Kakarrot.

 

“What?” I ask gruffly, trying to hide my embarrassment over spacing out like a moron in the middle of a hallway.

 

“Can me an' Goten go now? We're sorry, right Goten?”

 

I watch as the son of my rival shakes his head slowly in a positive gesture, unsure if such an admission will keep him out of the trouble that he really should be in for running bodily into me.

 

“Whatever.”

 

Taking that as the okay to leave, both boys scamper around my body and then slowly proceed down the rest of the corridor to wherever it was they were going in the first place. Letting out a breath, I also start once again in the direction that leads towards my room and that of the shower I'm in desperate need of taking.

 

Rounding another corner, I start up a flight of stairs and within a few minutes, I'm in front of the door that opens into my room. Glancing to my left, I notice Bulma's door is closed as it usually is and I wonder if she's still asleep. Even though it has to be near lunch time, she has taken to sleeping odd hours at night, something that has begun to worry me, not to mention the few times that she shows herself around Trunks and myself. It is as though she is…she is asking for help but doesn't know how to receive it. A state of being that I am intimately acquainted with. It is all I can do not to open up the door to the room we had been sharing until this fucked up business with the loss of the child changed everything, stripping away all illusions the two of us had been feeding each other in regards to the state of the bond between us. However, my pride decides to assert itself, and instead, I open the door to my own room.

 

Stepping quickly inside, I can hear the door whoosh shut behind me as I walk over to the closet and pull out another set of clean training gear. I haven't given much thought to the rest of my day, but knowing that Kakarrot's brats are probably going to be spending the majority of their time here, I have the sudden desire to leave the confines of West City for the openness of the wilderness that lies beyond. More specifically, the crater that has ended up being my place of contemplation. The blood of my ancestors is beating through my veins and I need the time alone to get away from the stress of trying to revert the damage done between Trunks and myself as well as trying to get my woman out of her deepening depression. Besides, I haven't been back there since the night I was visited by a fucking Namek-jin and his insufferable ideas.

 

Thinking of these things, my mind wanders as I go through the automatic motions of readying myself for a shower. Really, it's almost laughable that I should be taking one anyway, knowing that I'll only have to take another one once I get back from my solitary travels. Still, there is a deeply ingrained part of my persona that demands cleanliness. I know it steams from the years working under Freeza, coming back from months of being out on purging missions before finally being able to wash away the stench of death and decay. If I had to survive without such benefits, I very well could do so. But given the choice, I have always opted for keeping my surrounding area and myself clean. Another example of how the past still has a way of haunting me, even well into my adulthood and in a place far removed from the hideousness that was Freeza's ship.

 

Stepping inside the shower, I let the water soak into my hair and slide down the contours of my muscles. The path that we take through the journey of life is never an easy one, something I have known since I was a boy. It has the power to change you one way or the other. But, just as the journey can change who we are, the power also resides in each of us to either make ourselves stronger from the trials we endure or weaker. It is always easier to blame others for our misfortunes, to blame them for the mistakes we have made and the horrible things we have done. Changing our destiny and owning up to the sins of the past, that is what is difficult.

 

A few hours later…

 

Landing on the rim of the balcony outside my room, I stand and survey my surroundings before I slide the door open and make my way back inside my room. Closing my eyes, I briefly sense out the ki in the household to determine who is here and who is not, if I still have to deal with Kakarrot's progeny reeking havoc within the place where I live. I can't sense either one of his brats and so I let out a sigh of relief. With them gone, especially the youngest one, the house will be calmer and my already frayed nerves won't snap. Stepping towards the inside entrance of my room, I make a quick decision to not take my second shower for the day in favor of finding something to eat. My earlier lunch had been more like a quick snack because the idea of taking meals with both of Kakarrot's children, my own son and the two imbeciles that are Trunks's grandparents is still something I would rather avoid if given the chance. Slipping quietly into the hallway, my legs carry me to the one place in the household where I can find an abundant supply of food to support my Saiya-jin metabolism.

 

In a matter of seconds, the kitchen looms in front of me. Walking through the entryway, I let out a grunt of irritation when I notice that my mother-in-law is standing next to the counter making up a tray of refreshments. Ignoring her as she waves hello to me, I open the refrigerator and grab what looks to be a huge assortment of leftovers from the lunch that I had purposely ignored.

 

“How was your trip?”

 

Leveling a glare at her that clearly states I don't feel like talking to her, I settle myself at the table and start opening and consuming the food within the containers, not bothering to heat them back up. A waste of time, in my opinion.

 

“Goku's boys left. Poor Trunks, he's all by himself again. I was going to take him out to the garden for a tea party.”

 

I almost spew the contents of my mouth across the table. Take him out to the garden for a tea party? Glaring at her, I swallow my mouthful before giving the baka onna a piece of my mind.

 

“He's a Saiya-jin Prince for fuck's sake! I do not want him participating in sissified human customs like tea parties.”

 

“I used to take Bulma out for tea in the garden. She always liked it. It made her happy. Poor little Trunks, sometimes he needs to be happy too.”

 

Glaring at her, I wonder what she thinks that I have been doing with him the last few weeks, if not to make him into a fucking optimist, at least to make him act more like the boy he was before Bulma started ignoring him. If anything, I almost think she should take my mate out to the garden for one of her idiotic parties, if that's what made her happy in her youth. I certainly haven't been able to break her from her melancholy, even following the ideas of a certain Namek-jin. Breaking my eyes from hers, I settle back into eating my food, though it has lost most of its flavor.

 

“I tried to Vegeta. The only one who can help her is…I don't know.”

 

Looking up again in surprise, I wonder where that comment came from. Swallowing some of my pride, I ask her as much even though I dislike talking to her. Smiling happily at me, she waves her hands in the air in a wild gesture to accent whatever the fuck decides to come out of her obscene mouth.

 

“Well, you said I should take her out there since you haven't been able to help. I'm just trying to make you feel better, that it's not your fault for the way she's behaving.”

 

My token phrase slips past my lips before I settle back to eating the tasteless meal in front of me.

 

“Whatever.”

 

Quickly finishing my hasty meal, finally having the sensation of being fully satiated, I stand up and leave the mess for her to clean up. Stopping in the doorway, I glance over to where she is still fixing up a tray of sweets.

 

“No tea parties. I won't allow it.”

 

She just nods her head airily and I growl out in irritation. Moving away from her, I make a snap decision to go and find out what my son is up too, uncomfortable with the fact that he's by himself again. Even though he's still considered to be young by human standards, he's quite capable of causing more then a bit of trouble if left to his own devices. Sensing out his ki, I track him down and find him sprawled on his belly in the middle of the living room floor, listlessly playing with a bunch of stupid human toys.

 

As soon as I stop in the doorway to check on him, he senses my presence. Sitting up awkwardly, he sticks his thumb in his mouth and watches me with mournful eyes. Overlooking his babyish habit for the moment, I can tell that he's been crying, though he doesn't appear to be at the moment.

 

Not for the first time, I feel decidedly uncomfortable around my offspring. The Saiya-jin side of me feels disgust for his obvious weakness in showing his emotional states to all who should happen to walk past him. But there is a part of me that can empathize with him, can understand some of the juvenile feelings that he is having, even if I don't know what has caused him to break down and act like this. Staring at him, I watch as he pulls his thumb unceremoniously out of his mouth and wipes his saliva on the stained t-shirt he happens to be wearing.

 

“Papa, wanna play?”

 

Rolling my eyes, there is no way in hell that I'm going to play a stupid imaginary game with my brat. Besides, I wouldn't even know how to even if I decided to humor him. Growing up on Vegeta-sei, my early childhood had been devoted to learning how to fight, learning how to become a killing machine. Perhaps third class children that had been allowed to stay planet side had the luxury to indulge in games of fantasy and flights of fancy, but it certainly wasn't something a Prince would have been allowed to participate in. Shaking my head curtly, I can see that my answer disappoints him. However, he doesn't break down and start crying, of which I am extremely grateful.

 

Turning back around, I decide that he seems to be fine even though his obvious distress bothers me somewhat. Shrugging off my feeling of concern, I'm about to step back into the hallway, when he says something that causes me to blink in shock.

 

“Why does Mommy not love me anymore?”

 

Swallowing nervously, I'm not prepared to answer that question. Bulma, not love Trunks? I want to laugh at such a ridiculous statement. If anything, the Woman has over-indulged in the sentiment with her son, no matter how much I have disagreed with her treatment of him. However, for him to voice such a concern, especially to one such as myself, the ramifications are suddenly clear to me. Turning around, I face him once again.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

I can tell that he's trying to keep his tears in check, but it's a losing battle. I watch as they slide down his cheeks and nose, leaving salty trails on his face and wet streaks across the front of his shirt. Crossing my arms, trying to hide my discomfort with the situation at hand, I walk over to where he is struggling not to make a blubbering mess in front of me. Bending over, I pick him up and throw him over my shoulder, trying my best not to take notice of the wetness seeping into my uniform. Stepping over to the doors that lead to an outside patio, I open them up and blast up into the air, not really sure why I picked him up in the first place or where we are going.

 

Leaving the city, I can feel his small, warm body as it quivers against mine, and guilt that he should be suffering like this suffuses my conscience. Up until Bulma's miscarriage, I had ignored and belittled my offspring, unsure of how to act, afraid of developing an attachment towards him. For the first time, I wonder if he had ever come to Bulma asking if I didn't care for him. And what had she said to relieve him of his childish concerns? A conversation I had with her right before she lost our child suddenly pushes itself forward in my mind, helping to feed the remorse I feel for having abandoned my child for so long.

 

“All he wants is approval, which means more then just spending a day where you don't insult him. Anyway, he doesn't understand half the things you tell him except that for some reason, you don't like him. And that's a big deal to a kid his age.”

 

“Since when did liking someone have to do with anything? I've spent the great majority of my life being hated and despised and feeling sorry for myself over my lack of companionship never got me anywhere. If I could make it into adulthood without being liked by anyone, surely my son can survive feeling disliked by his own father.”

 

But that had all been a lie. It was considered a weakness to want affection from elders, but I could remember a time when trying to prove to my father my worthiness as his son was the most important thing to me. How his apparent rejection of my efforts only fueled my desperation to be recognized by him. And in an instant, all of that was taken away from me when my planet was destroyed and my father was killed alongside it. I was told by Freeza how cowardly my father had been up until the very end, how he had sold me into slavery to save his own hide. And from that thirst to prove myself to a man whom I idolized, a creeping despair and then hatred moved into my heart. If anything, the desecration of my father's memory was the catalyst that turned me into an angry, blood thirsty, vengeful child whose only recourse to remove all vestiges of caring towards someone no longer worthy of my affections was to purge myself of all emotional attachments through the willful destruction of the lives of people who Freeza deemed undeserving of existence. The appearance of not being liked by my own father had deeply affected me in ways more profound then anything else in my life had. At least, until I had come to this fucking mud ball. Since that moment when I first laid my eyes upon Kakarrot, my whole world has been turned upside down.

 

Hearing Trunks sniffling in my ear, I tighten my grip on his body and try to figure out someway to, I don't know, find out what is going on inside his childish mind. Glancing downwards, my eyes focus on a wooded area near a lake. Deciding to land, I change directions, descending towards an open glen within the wooded copse. Without a word, my feet touch down and I set my son on the ground in front of what appears to be a large, mature oak tree.

 

Settling myself underneath the leafy canopy, Trunks wipes his eyes with his arm and then flops down in front of me, glancing around curiously.

 

“Where's this?”

 

Shrugging my shoulders, I let him know that I have no clue where we are. It just seemed like an adequate place to find out what is truly bothering my offspring. Clearing my throat, I decide to cut to the chase.

 

“Brat, what do you mean that your baka mother doesn't care for you?”

 

Blinking his clear blue eyes, he suddenly focuses his face towards his feet, which are pushing the leaves on the ground in front of him into small piles. I can feel my frustration starting to grow, but I try to remind myself that he's very young and perhaps he doesn't understand what I'm asking him. Pursing my lips, I try to think of a way to rephrase what I'm asking.

 

“She does love you.”

 

He looks up at me and sniffles, shaking his head in a negative motion.

 

“Not no more. She doesn't tuck me in, or read to me, or kiss me, or play with me an' Goten. I make Mama cry.”

 

After the last comment, once again my son is reduced to tears and it makes me feel nervous and guilty at the same time. He needs comfort, but that is something I can't really give him, not the way that he expects at any rate. Besides that, any assurances I give him, his four-year-old mind might not be able to comprehend them.

 

“Papa, how come I make her cry?”

 

Before I have time to react, my son is suddenly in my lap, his face pressed against my chest as he bawls all over the front of my training uniform. To have him completely disregard the unsaid rule of not touching my body without permission, I know that Trunks is probably beyond his breaking point, trying to understand why the mother he knew suddenly doesn't seem to exist anymore. Internally containing my concern, I try to calm him down by rubbing his back, even thought I feel like a complete idiot for doing so.

 

“Look brat, you don't make her cry. Your mother…your mother is going through something and it has nothing to do with you. She lost something and can't get it back and it's making her…sad.”

 

Feeling completely inadequate for this task, I hope my stupid explanation makes sense to him. I can hear his sniffling starting to calm down and within a few minutes, he slides out of my lap and sits cross-legged in front of me, wiping his nose with his shirt.

 

“You mean like when I lost my blankey and couldn't find it?”

 

I don't know what the hell a blankey is, but if that's the comparison his mind can come up with, I nod my head in acceptance of his understanding of the situation. And with that, a sudden transformation suddenly seems to take hold of my son. In what seems to be a split second, his tear stained face breaks out into a brilliant smile.

 

“Papa, you an' me, we gotta help her find it. Then she'll be happy again.”

 

Shaking my head slightly, I'm dumfounded by his reaction. If it could only be that simple. There is no bringing back the child from the dead, even if I wanted that to be possible. I had considered wishing it back with the dragon balls when Bulma first started to lose her luster for life. However, since it had died of natural causes, any wish I might have tried to make would have been a wasted one. Still, I'm not going to ruin my brat's sudden optimism with such a pessimistic truth. I'd rather have him act like his usual, annoying self then have him break down and cry all over me again.

 

“Sure brat, we'll find it.”

 

With that said, he takes my words as the truth, accepting them without analyzing the hidden meaning behind them with his childish innocence. It is as if his previous discomfort and pain were no more then a fleeting memory, something that almost makes me envious of his ability to relegate his hurt to a place where he doesn't have to dwell on it. Standing up from underneath the tree, I make my way towards the lake I saw before I landed in the clearing, glancing behind me to make sure Trunks is following me. Stopping at the edge of the lake, I can see the gleam of anticipation in his large eyes.

 

“You can go in the water, but only up to your middle. If I catch you trying to go any deeper, we'll go home.”

 

He nods his head and then pulls all of his clothes off, running naked into the water and splashing around like a moron. Rolling my eyes at his antics, I settle down on the grass and pull my knees up to my chest, resting my chin on them as I watch my offspring frolic in the water.

 

This attitude of Bulma's…it has to stop. It has been over two months since the death of the child, yet she has only fallen deeper into despair, no matter that I have been putting in a visible effort to change things. Up until this point, except for the one time I had tried to talk to her, I have been giving her space, much like she gave me mine after Kakarrot died and I felt cheated once again of my destiny. Seeing her like this, seeing my son like this, it is finally putting into perspective what my morose attitude must have been doing the entire time I wallowed in self-inflicted misery. If anything, it is the conversation with Trunks that has finally spurred me on to have a much needed discussion with my mate. For the first time since I can remember, he has put his trust in me to make something right, and for once in my life, I don't want to screw it up. Glancing over to him, I finally make a resolution in my mind about what I need to do in order to bring the woman I care for back to some semblance of the way she was before all of this happened. If not for me, then for my son.

 

Next chapter: Vegeta and Bulma finally have a much needed confrontation. Will it be enough to snap Bulma out of her misery? And please review if you would like.