Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Ensuring the Future ❯ Chapter 4

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Disclaimer: I do not own Gohan, Trunks, or Dragon Ball Z, Akira Toriyama does. I do not own Baki Hanma either. This is a work of fan fiction and is written in appreciation for a great series.

Author notes: Written with ideas/support from Lord Truhan, incorporating the Sergeant Idea story arc.
Ensuring the Future Chapter 4

Intense heat flared in a confined space, relegating its single occupant to swelter. Inside the metal box, it was close and tight, the air saturated with humidity that kept his skin perpetually wet. Despite this, the occupant shivered, forced to crouch or lay down with only a few slits allowing bright lines of daylight to enter.

Trunks Briefs mentally calculated just how long he had been in this predicament. The isolation chamber was another part of the commando test, yet he had not anticipated the stress merely sitting still in darkness would evoke. Alternating between annoyance at the conspiring elements of the jungle prison and the sense of impending claustrophobia Trunks felt decidedly uncomfortable.

Of course, this was not a pleasure cruise, not like the Love Boat, he ruefully admitted. Since minute one from the plane, all events led to aches, pains and various other battles pitting their physical and mental conditions against a jungle. The intense rays of a tropical sun seared their eyes when they were first shaken awake and barked at to get up and move. Then they were ordered to don their heavy packs that seemed to have gotten suspiciously weightier. Down the gangplank into the sweltering sunbeams that were not even overhead they were marched. Trunks felt his pasty pale skin was not up to the task comparing it to the protective tans he remembered seeing on the other commandos exiting the plane.

The unnamed competitor carried a pack identical to their own. His shaven blond hair stood out in fierce contrast to his tanned skin. Not giving Gohan or Trunks a second glance he had stood to attention like the others and endured a verbal harangue that made Sgt. Baki's sound like a lover's speech. Words no more complex then shit, fuck or damn crossed his lips and they were hastened out of the airport. Dirt paths crunched under their boots, which were laced far too tight.

Even the branches seemed to knit together, so only a slashing of a machete from the leader of the party could penetrate the jungle. Their trek down the dirt road from the mountaintop airport pushed their lungs from breathing rarified air to full atmosphere drenched with 100 percent humidity. Such air coated their bodies with a perpetual layer of moisture that did nothing to relieve the intense heat of their exertion. Instead, the sweat mingled with the humidity, causing their clothes to stick to their bodies uncomfortably.

He recalled the one stain on his pants caused by slipping down a muddy slope and spilling headlong into a stream. Instead of getting a helping hand, he got a verbal slap and was forced to pull his face out of the muck and wipe off his skin from the mud as best he could. Later on, he wished he had kept the mud on his face because the mosquitoes suddenly decided they preferred Demi blood. It was open season, from the many small mounds that were uncannily under his clothes that caused Trunks to scratch in fury.

He no longer laughed at the fact that Gohan had taken some of the mud and plastered it on his face and shoulders. His scientist had been using that noggin effectively until the commando leader yelled at him for looking 'shitfaced' and ordered he would clean it off and suffer as the others were. A ten-mile trek through the meandering jungle trail led to a cleared area called the 'campsite'. Unfortunately, Trunks recalled there were no tents.

"Fall out and get them up, ladies!" the commando had barked. Food was a distant memory, for only after pulling out their small pup tents and erecting them could they even be allowed to have a few hard pieces of salty stiff bread. Licking his palate Trunks realized it was one of the only dry things left in the whole damn jungle. Only a bit of water was allowed, and then they were put back to work arranging their tents.

How to erect a tent with only two pegs for each man was another sick joke. Trunks recalled dead manning his to a nearby tree, and shoving improvised pegs he'd made of sticks to pin down the other parts of his shitty green tent. Gohan was doing much the same, both of them trying to minimize eye contact. Then that first day was capped by a fast circuit of jogging around the jungle with full sacks of rocks tied to their backs, with no food until the sun plummeted below the distant hills.

"You remember the last s.o.b. that ate some of the jungle plants?" he heard one of the commandos just outside saying with a harsh laugh.

"Poor shithead was puking from here to the airport. Had to go back after a week in quarantine and start the ordeal all over again, right?" whispered the other.

IT lent credence to the old warning 'don't drink the water'. Gohan's own sense had prevailed, and Trunks emulated his younger lover's actions. Forbidden to speak, or even make eye contact was torturous enough, but he was allowed to peer out of the corner of his eye and see what Gohan did and did not do. Neither knew what was safe to consume. Even the frogs could be lethal if they so much as rubbed a finger down the back. Such that the natives here would rub the tips of their arrows down said bright red frogs to make effective hunting weapons.

"OY! Wake up motherfuckers! No goddamn sleeping on the job!" someone bellowed.

A sharp twanging brought Trunks back to reality and the present moment. A loud voice boomed while something was pounding on the outside right near his sensitive ears. Then it faded and left him alone. Every so often, and it was never in any sort of pattern or time interval someone would interrupt their solitary state. Only by the angle of the sun could he tell remotely what time of day it was. Not to mention his bladder was growing heavy with the need of relief. He doubting pissing in the solitary cell would go down well with their hosts.

Groaning, Trunks pressed his ear to the metal wall that separated his cell from Gohan's. He could hear a low moan and shallow breathing nearby, and his heart warmed. Not even steel could keep him from at least sensing that Gohan was near, and that was pure torture. To be unable to reach out and touch his lover, or even see his smile was far worse than Trunks could have imagined. Back home which seemed worlds away they were rarely out of one another's sites for the last five years.

On some base level, he knew Gohan was curled up, pressing his own ear to the rusty metal and hoping to hear him. Trunks heard the pounding of his blood pressing close and the gnawing animal twisting in his empty stomach. The curse of the demi Saiyan was already tearing away his ability to think straight. Sometimes he felt dizzy in the heat of the full sun though the green canopy overhead blocked it. Something crawled over his arm and he cursed, slapping it.

Next door yet a world away Gohan heard the yelp. To even hear Trunks cry of pain was welcome in the silence. Curling up to the source of the noise Gohan pressed his cheek more tightly to filthy metal and imagined Trunks just there, suffering the same fate. From the angle of the sun, Gohan judged it was already two pm.

"The square root of 456," Gohan whispered, trying to turn to cold math to block the sense of sorrow welling up inside him.

He was no stranger to isolation Gohan realized. As he tried to turn the now rusty gears of his upper mind, Gohan pushed forward memories of his year under Piccolo. Yet even the worst of those days was nothing like this. For he had something now he had not then. A lover and mate who he was not allowed to touch, feel, or see.

Separation was hell, and he was plunged deeply into it. Gohan swallowed hard, pushing down the sorrow that bobbed up like a beach ball. Mental calculations shifted to the exact day once he had calculated the hour. Valentine's Day.

It was Trunks fault, all of this. Why had his mate sacrificed the meaningful romantic day for this hell, Gohan asked himself for the umpteenth time. Despite his outer facade, Gohan was setting between resentment for his mate, and self-pity. He clung to the whirring numbers in his logical brain like a lifeline, desperately trying to pull himself out of the black feelings welling up inside him.

Similar black feelings also bubbled inside Trunks, though it was comprised of his own guilt. The undercurrent of resentment he felt from Gohan even through starvation and the sting of mosquito bites was still perceptible. He too knew the date, and was unable to keep his mind from guessing what Gohan must be thinking now. Even though they were forbidden to share thoughts, they had lived so closely for the past few years they could anticipate what the other was thinking.

"I'm sorry Sexy," he thought to himself, feeling another pang welling up from inside. "But it's hurting me just as much as it is you... knowing you're there and I can't even hold your hand to tell you it's going to be all right..."

Enough, he thought angrily to himself. Dwelling on the guilt only made him feel it even more. Instead another thought drifted through his mind, distracting to him yet adding to the morass of downward grief collecting as heavily as the aches and bites on his crawling skin. He shifted once more, his knees drawn up under his chin as he pushed himself to think of the worst time he had ever endured.

Had he grown so complacent in this other world, with his Gohan? Surely, he deserved this. They both needed this. It would build character, and the cost was worth the sacrifice of Valentine’s Day shag? Would they both forgive one another for putting the greater cause first when he had promised Gohan that would not happen?

"Dammit," he cursed, beating his fist on the wall.

Through the thin metal Gohan felt the rap of Trunks fist. Tears burned in his eyes and Gohan brushed them angrily aside with a finger. His head throbbed with heat and he pressed his hand flat to where the noise had sounded. His rational mind was no longer a lifeline for it was getting increasingly harder to think in the hot thick stifling air of the cell. It heavily seared his throat and pulled even more precious sweat from his body. Knowing the effects of dehydration, Gohan realized was far worse than living in ignorance. To judge and assess the situation was a curse, not a blessing. Even a scientific mind was not the key to getting through this. Unable to hold back the feelings Gohan simply yielded.

Nobody was here to see him cry, he realized. Perhaps he could release the emotions here, and then use it as a safety valve.

Through the distant din of the jungle, Trunks heard a sob. It was clearly Gohan's, he realized. Just hearing that was enough to pull tears from Trunks own eyes, and tug at his heartstrings so they almost broke.

Anger filled Trunks. Self-anger and an inner harangue. He suddenly hated himself for putting his lover through this. Tapping into that anger, he reached inside, knowing that the anger pulled him out of the black morass. Getting angry was the reflex to fighting any battle. Biting his lip Trunks felt a new resolve. For Gohan he would face any test this jungle would throw at him. For the sweet dark eyed beauty suffering with him, he would get through this.

"For Gohan, my love," he mouthed.

Back in the adjacent cell, Gohan felt the tears dripping down, and then tasted the salt as he licked his fingers. Somehow, the darkness had lessened and he was quick to keep his cries silent. Ever since he had lived and loved Trunks, he had allowed himself to cry aloud. Now he reverted to the silent eerie sobs that had no voice. The snapping back suddenly pulled a brightness to mind.

The foundations of his strength were laid far before this. Piccolo had pushed him to his limits and beyond. Despite all fears, he had survived that year and had proved he could fight the mighty Vegeta. Through the trials on Namek, he had reached deep inside at the inner strength that none could realize to soar above. The only fetters were those pushed down by his father and mother. Anger surged in his gut, and he gritted his teeth. Yes, anger was his friend.

"I will get through this," Gohan swore. "And I won't be afraid of my emotions. There’s nobody here to tell me I can't, except my own self."

Imperceptible time passed. Trunks jerked awake, feeling cold and clammy and his heart pounding when a loud rapping tore him out of a daze. Sitting up, his spine felt compressed and he realized a burning thirst consumed his tongue and throat now. He felt himself beginning to shiver, and lights were dancing before his eyes, despite the lights of the jungle through the air slits just before him. The world seemed to spin, and Trunks allowed himself to turn with it. Yes, he was letting his body fall apart, and it felt blissful.

No, he had to keep it together. Of what good was he if he lost his mind to hunger and thirst, he realized. Sharply he slapped his cheeks, the pain bringing new fresh awareness to the fore. The words of the trainer echoed in his brain, and he held onto them now.

"This isn't a naptime, dill weeds. You are going to stay in here until I decide you can come out. You will not eat, or drink unless it is your own piss. If I see you asleep in here when I come to let you out, then you're going to stay in here for twice as long!"

"The camp, remember what happened the day before, walk backwards in your mind. It's the only way to bring myself out of this daze," Trunks slapped his cheeks again.

Yes, the camp. That first night he had slid into a damp sleeping bag. Under his back, he felt every lump and curve of the landscape. Then a musty smell had made him curl his nose and he realized the tent was rife with mildew. Thanks to him falling in the creek.

He ran his fingers through the short buzz of hair he had left. There was a good reason for why Baki had done this, there had to be. Just what it was eluded him until now. Everyone in the commando program had an identical hairstyle, representing uniformity. It was difficult to tell Gohan and he were demi Saiyan. Perhaps that was it. A good place to hide a needle was not in a haystack but with other needles. With his short-cropped hairdo, Trunks and Gohan blended right in with everyone else.

"I don't know what I've been told," Trunks mumbled, singing under his breath the dirty ditty. "But ass is worth its weight in gold..."

Similarly, Gohan found himself tracing back through the events, unaware his lover was doing the same thing. He heard the voice of his lover singing low but strongly that nasty march ditty, and smirked. Instantly he perked up, and listened to how beautiful Trunks voice sounded.

"I don't know what just was spent, but I had fucking mildew in my tent," Trunks sang. "Sound off..."

"One two," Gohan mouthed the cadence. He remembered how close and hot the tent was around him, and how he had chosen a different fate. Instead of sleeping inside, he had simply slid out of the thing in disgust. Spreading the tent out to dry, he then pitched the rain fly and spread out under it.

Again, the cluster of red ant bites down his legs caused Gohan to almost run his hand along them through the cloth of his pants. Gritting his teeth, he realized the price of sleeping in a bag without the protection of a tent. No wonder Trunks had endured the nasty funky smell when he had awakened unscathed from the swarming Amazon fire ants that had bitten Gohan's calves to red welts.

There was a reason why one fate was preferable to another. Sleeping in a nasty tent protected you from the bugs and mosquitoes. Surviving hunger was better than dying from eating an unknown poisonous plant. Some pains were far less in comparison to the alternatives that would bring far greater suffering.

Such as the fate, their world would undergo if he and Trunks failed to train and retain their powers. Slogging through a mud infested, piss warm, slimy nasty Dende forsaken jungle was nothing compared to a charred ruined world that was without the protection of its warriors.

"What the fuck is this? A recital? Shut the hell up!" the commando leader yelled, slamming a fist on the cell next to his.

"Nice going Trunks," Gohan mumbled.

Invisible seconds ticked by in the space of the dark. Resting his chin between drawn up knees Gohan's ears perceived a rasping scrape of gravel and dirt on a pair of boots. The loud voice echoed with the telltale question, "Do you want to be let out."

However, the question came enticingly close but bypassed his door. To his shock, it sounded only a few feet away. The muffled shout of a 'sir yes sir," sounded from a few of the tin boxes up. Straightening up Gohan's ear turned toward the waning light in the triple slits of the low door. A frown creased his face, eyes craning to see through the narrow slit but only seeing the temporary blockage of the light by a camouflaged leg.

"Do you want to be let out?" the voice repeated.

"Sir yes SIR!" sounded the reply, muffled still by the door before it. Coming at the height of Gohan's own perspective, he knew it was someone else. Then the scrape of metal followed the clang of the door hitting the next cell over and a rapid flurry of movement. Any time now, the lucky party was scampering a beeline to the nearest tree to unload his bladder.

Sharp pangs of disappointment poked Gohan’s already stinging gut, devoid of food. Already he visualized his stomach twisted in knots churning nothing but empty acid. Cramped knees and a full bladder also grew immeasurably heavy. It seemed like the muscles could not hold back an in cell evacuation of urine, but Gohan knew he was not about to have wet pants on the way out. Ears once more strained for a possible sound that the marching boots would land next to his cell. Unfortunately, the wait dragged on for another minute stretching into five, then ten. The longer the span stretched, the tenser Gohan's jaw muscles locked into place giving tetanus a run for its money.

"What is the deal?" Gohan bitterly questioned. "They didn't let me out yet?"

Others had been released from isolation, yet he had not heard the boots and fateful question stop by Trunks cell either. Questions again spun in Gohan's scientific brain though dulled by hunger, depression, and sadness.

Similar questions passed through Trunks mind when he heard the same question a few feet away. Instead of clenching his jaw, Trunks however bit the inside of his lip. Pressing the flat of his left hand on the bottom of the metal box he reclined on one ankle, placing the other foot with opposite knee slightly bent. Occasionally he would switch to sitting on his other ankle to keep movement within the space that left little ease. Without that minute variance in position, he knew he would go stir crazy.

"All right, this is not good," he mentally commented, realizing the question had not come his way. Just why they were left behind was a question he would demand an answer to, but realized the question had best stay rhetorical.

Were they an example, singled out for some unknown reason? It had to be deliberate, Trunks reasoned, fingering his chin. A bit of purple stubble had begun to collect there, bristling against his thumb. Lavender brows knit with suspicion, fueling Trunks reserve to stick it out however much longer they were forced to endure this isolation.

Finally when he could stand it no longer the rasping scrape dragged by once more. Trunks snapped his head up to see the lines of light now eclipsed by something. Heart pounded and he tensed every muscle in readiness to leap out. At the last moment, he held back in wait for the question. Sharply knuckles rapped on the door, caving it only slightly mere inches from Trunks face forcing him back a bit with the loudness of its report.

"Are you ready to be let out private?" barked the voice.

"Y... yes sir," Trunks answered, heart pounding.

"I didn't hear you! Are you ready to be let out?"

"Sir yes SIR!" Trunks barked, leaning forwards in readiness. The latch clanged and rasped, bolts drawn back. A pungent smell of rust hit his nostrils, followed by a blinding shaft of light hitting him full in the eyes. Dilated blue irises were widened to mere lines of blue, now forced into a tight small hole against the flickering sun. He launched himself up and struggled to stand, trying not to fall into the commando standing there.

"What do you say now, private?"

"Thank you sir!" Trunks barked, blinking yet standing on very shaky legs. Around him, the world seemed suddenly and dizzyingly full of open space.

"One minute piss break then get your ass back here!" The commando barked. Tripping over his own combat boots, Trunks scrambled in a full run towards the nearest tree. Having released the lavender haired private, the commando then marched with measured step to the next cell over.

"Are you ready to be let out, private?" was his question, after a sharp knuckle's rap on the green flaking paint that covered the steel box secured with two padlocks.

The voice from inside cracked only for a moment with its answer of, "Sir yes sir!"

Surprised and delighted the voice was loud and clear; the commando leaned over to undo the fetters on the cell, swinging it wide to blind its occupant with a shaft of sun beaming its way through the overhead canopy of high trees. Black eyes slatted to the sun, Gohan thrust his hand against the dirty floor and tottered on his booted feet.

Only stopping to shout a "Thank you sir,” Gohan bolted quickly towards an adjacent tree to Trunks to unload his bladder. Just the joy of seeing the light once more overrode any resentment for the present time. He realized he was never so happy to piss at that moment as he was now.

Under the shadow of a thick trunked tree, two privates finished their business and turned. While doing so, a pair of blue eyes met dark black ones. For a full minute their gazes locked, still disbelieving it was the single longest unit of time they had beheld each other in days. Gohan’s pale skin had already taken on a tan, while Trunks flesh was closer to a shade of light pink, contrasting with his pale hair. They shared a mutual warm smile, drinking in the sight of beauty before rushing back to the camp.

Following the curling stream of smoke, they smelled something roasting. An aroma of beans, meat, stew, and hot coffee mingled together, assaulting their nostrils and drawing their half-starved bodies the rest of the way. Inside a ring of stones a fire crackled, over which a grille had been set with various pots and pans stewing away. Huge plastic jugs of water and Hercule sport drink sat on nearby crates, alongside a table laden with various plates stacked. Though the grey sludge in the pot was most likely some sort of sausage, Gohan and Trunks were not about to turn their nose up on anything.

Plunking down on two rocks they took their battered aluminum plates filled with the sludgy grey stew ladled over slightly firm bread. Between huge draughts of water and the sport drink, they almost inhaled the high caloric sausage and gravy over biscuits. Residual smells of fruit and baked beans told them the other choices had been taken, but they did not care. Food was food.

Multiple bowls of stew and pitchers of fluid later they were ready to line up for their next task. They could not help holding their noses when peeling off the sweat soaked garments that Gohan was certain would stand up of their own accord. Next on the schedule was washing up using a basin of water and soap tied in a nylon stocking run through their fingers. White and orange plastic jugs made an improvised showerhead, lifted high, and opened to a steady stream to rinse. Either lukewarm or cold water was dumped overtop of them, and they removed the dirt that seemed to encrust each of their bodies.

Between his fingers, Gohan lathered shaving cream. Staring into a mirror tucked in the cleft of a branch he raised the disposable razor to his chin and held the skin taught with his other hand. The blade stung a bit as it slipped over the rough hairs. Nearby Trunks dunked his razor into a cup of rinse water, and tugged another streak clear in the lathered artificial white coating his face. Those heavy packs they had brought from Baki's garage held changes of clothes, including clean socks, underwear, and duplicates of their camouflage pants and green tank tops. Unfortunately, there was a time limit of ten minutes to complete their task.

Mud and dust stuck to the bottoms of their boots as Gohan and Trunks took their places at full attention before the Commando. Metallic sunglasses reflected both their faces, shielding his eyes under the brow crowned with a pith helmet. His muscular body was deeply tanned, skin rife with a few scars healed here and there. They could tell behind those sunglasses his eyes were scrutinizing them but could not guess what he must see.

"All right ladies. You must be wondering why I left you in an extra hour. It was simple. Because I felt you needed it. Now pick up these bags and haul your asses over to those cliffs. We're going to have you climb and get those delicate hands broken in with some rock scaling!" the commando barked. His finger pointed towards two knapsacks that were stuffed with what appeared to be rocks.

Gohan and Trunks had finished their extensive meals and at least felt remotely human. However just how much rock climbing was involved both clued them into another possible challenge that was not routine. Neither of them relied on climbing much since they were used to flying by their ki. Following orders, they boosted the packs up and slung them over their shoulders. Gohan hissed, feeling the sting of peeling skin already tender from sunburns. Despite his fair hair, Trunks own skin was much the sort as his father Vegeta's, and was tanning relatively easily. Nevertheless, his shoulders were a lighter pink and already peeling. Chafed with the straps that cut in over their sleeveless shirts, it would only be a matter of time before more skin would be worn away.

Branches smacked both of them in the face as they clawed their way along the 'trail'. Plastic yellow ties were bound to tree branches, indicating the way they were to take to the next objective. Drops of liquid from high above hit Trunk sin the nose, causing him to blink. One became a few, deceptively hiding the fact that soon there would be tens of more. Then the whole sky opened up, dropping hundreds of tiny fat drops of rain heavily on them accompanied by the sound of the patter of what seemed like thousands of feet.

Underneath their boots, the dust became slippery slimy mud. Only well-placed grinding steps arrested their feet from sending them toppling over. Even the trunks of trees were treacherous to grab hold of. Still the warm rain felt welcome reliefs to the sweat caked clothes that they were sure were ripe with their own body odors. Barely able to see through the rising mist they at last crashed through the last twist of branches into a clearing.

"Oh no way," Gohan mumbled, shading his eyes and peering up the precipice. The loud rushing sound was not just rain, but also the fall of water from a great height. Almost five hundred feet the liquid cascaded and bounced before slamming into the narrow riverbed. All that mist was a byproduct of the sizable waterfall crashing a few hundred yards from them now.

"Got any objections?" bellowed the Commando, emerging from the trees slightly up the riverbank from them.

"Up there sir?" Trunks asked, shouting over the water to make him heard. Thickly the trees lined the banks, which gave way to mud and other vegetation sloping down to water level. It was a thin channel cut by millions of years of water erosion, and the river was only perhaps twelve feet across.

Grey craggy rock stretched upwards, gleaming with occasional plants able to get a vine hold here and there. Only sparse ledges seemed visible, and they were waved over to stand at the base where the forest floor mud merged with the folds of brown and slate grey blending. Another gesture pointed up to a fluttering red flag barely visible at the top of the cliff.

"Up there. Hand over hand, no ropes. Keep near the waterfall but not too near. Get the flag at the top, and then bring it down the other side on the trail," he instructed. "Any questions?"

"With the packs sir?" Gohan asked.

"What do you think? Get a move on!" the commando barked. Gohan moved forwards tentatively, his eyes scanning the crags for any possible handholds. Next to him, Trunks probed with his own fingers, feeling the slippery moisture that coated the slimy rock face.

"Oh shit," Trunks mumbled, his fingers still probing for something to lever himself up with. Finding a likely groove, he shoved his fingers into it, and then tugged up. HIs boots pressed into any sort of outcropping, thrusting upwards.

Gohan's own fingers twisted sideways, his left foot wedged into a diagonal pocket. Though the moss under his right hand seemed precarious, he could feel a bit of earth or soil under it and the strength of roots holding it securely. Grunting, he tugged himself up. Then his eyes scanned immediately ahead, and he reached for the next possible hand hold. Both fought the impulse to glance down, rather pinning their eyes upwards. Fingers slipped and scrabbled shortly to grip or plunge into small recesses while their toes clad in boots pressed against thin ridges jutting out. In between shifts for handholds, Gohan realized that the tightly laced boots were something of a help.

Although the rocks seemed coated in slime and their finger sinews ached in protest, they made significant progress. Gohan remembered the smell of wild wet earth and stone, while Trunks thought the smell reminded him of the ruined city after a purging rain. Still far above the red flag rippled in the air currents generated by the waterfall only ten feet from either of them. Pelted with droplets of its cold mist felt very refreshing even in 100 percent humidity. Once or twice Gohan caught himself slipping, digging his fingers in deeper to the rock face to arrest his fall. It wasn't his imagination when he felt his fingertips actually indent the rock with the force of his Saiyan strength.

Each knew the other was climbing near him, and this encouraged them to double their pace. Reality focused to a tight vertical slope, eyes scanning for any possible holds. To Gohan it was like a chess game, thinking ten steps ahead of the opponent. While for Trunks, the experience was reminiscent of mapping out a circuitry panel slated for repair. Craggy rock merged and blended into a temporarily landscape of transistors, resistors and other surfaces engraved on a microchip. He shook his head to banish this vision, and wedged his whole hand into a wide crack. Beneath his left toe, the ledge crumbled, forcing him to jam that toe into another place that was only a half inch out from the rock face.

Time blurred its passage to indeterminate units as it had done in the isolation chamber. Now they faced a different type of solitary confinement, the bubble of space round them that demanded full attention. All that could exist was the rock face, the flag above, the awareness of how far a drop was if they let go. Gohan seemed shocked when his next grip actually was the top of the cliff and his shaky arms relied on those legs to thrust him over the edge. Hugging the rock, he felt like kissing it. A minute later and next to him, Trunks heaved himself up by rolling over and landing on his back. Panting skywards, he didn't even bother to grab the nearby flag. Rather Gohan reached over him in his weariness and tugged hold of it. To do so he dragged himself temporarily over Trunks, the contact of their bodies maddeningly brief before Gohan flopped next to him. Fingers twisted in red cloth he simply lay there with shut eyes, his lungs drawing in great draughts of air. Trunks reached feebly to grab his own bit of the flag, and they opened their eyes to see the mist veiling the sky clear. Wafts of cold air from the waterfall kissed their skin, and they reveled in the immediate but brief now.

"Hey, what the hell are you lollygagging around for, you dumb shits? Bring that damned flag down here now!"

They sat bold upright in unison, eyes glancing down as they hung their legs over the precipice. Far at the base of the cliff, the Commando held a bullhorn to his lips, bellowing through it with a tinny shout that echoed on the cliffside towards them. "I'm talking to you two stooges! Stop sightseeing and MOVE those asses!"

"YES SIR!" Gohan and Trunks chorused from the top of the cliff, standing at attention with their other hands full of flag. It was only a matter of minutes before they found the marked trail that would carry them down the other side and back towards the campsite. Already by the angle of the sun, they could tell it was getting to be early evening. The golden beams broke through the jungle canvas with a more favorable light. Triumphant and momentarily forgetting their isolation, Trunks and Gohan strode into camp.

What met their ears a good two hours later was hardly what they expected. With only a half mile to go they could hear whoops and shouts accompanied by jarring percussive beats. By the time they were only a quarter mile distant they discerned the electronic twang of raucous rock music blaring overtop men’s voices hooting and hollering. It sounded like a fraternity party at Gohan’s college, Trunks realized.

“Who’s throwing the party and why weren’t we invited?” Trunks mumbled, disbelief crossing his features.

“I’m going to find out,” Gohan answered, taking off after his mate. Both of them felt the pounding of the loaded backpacks slapping against their backs with each fall of their booted feet. Although their legs felt like mashed potatoes the sound of partying spurred them on. Where there was a party there was plenty to drink.

Still clutching the banner that they’d torn into two pieces the privates exploded through the trees to see their fears were indeed confirmed. They skidded to a stop, their boots sinking into the mud leaving impressions. Each of the people who were taking the ‘commando’ course, the person on the plane and a few others they had seen glimpses of and hardly knew were there tipping back mouthfuls of beer and whisky. Even those not imbibing were quaffing on bottles of juice cocktail.

“What the hell took you poor sods so long? Don’t you know the course is over?” laughed one of the commando’s assistants.

“But sir, we’ve achieved the objective!” Trunks brandished the flag aloft. Out of the nearest huddle, the Commando himself strode out, looking them both over.

“Well it’s about time. Both of you have a half hour to use the head, shave, and change before your jog back to the airport. Plane’s going to take off this evening,” he said, regarding them with a gleam in his eye.

“Yes sir,” Gohan saluted, with the hand not holding his part of the flag. He handed it over.

“You’re welcome to have what’s left, if there is anything, privates,” the Commando grunted, not smiling or even giving them congratulations. “Now shake a leg.”

Gohan and trunks looked at one another, feeling the anticlimactic nature of the moment. When they realized that nobody reprimanded them for this brief glance, they moved closer tentatively. Still worried about any possible mind games they kept their hands to their selves. Wandering over to where the coolers stood, they let their packs drop and helped themselves to what was left, cans of soda or huge bottles of spring water. Both of them cracked open cans, after having wiped their hands off on their pants of course. Other participants didn’t even spare them a second glace other then curiosity, pity, or question.

“Were we the only ones who did that last mission?” Trunks murmured to Gohan, in between sips of cola.

Swallowing his mouthful of orange soda Gohan coughed, “I don’t care. At this point all I want to do is take a shower, and collapse into bed with you when I know it’s safe.”

“All this and not even an ‘atta boy’,” Trunks murmured, leaning his head on Gohan’s shoulder. The dark haired demi crushed his can to vent some of his pent up frustration, then slipped his arm around Trunks’ shoulders.

“Look sharp! Finish up and get your stinking bodies to the shower, on the double!” the Commando barked. Both of them jumped apart, standing at ramrod attention.

“Sir, sorry sir, yes sir!” they chorused.

“Hmm, as you were,” The commando fingered his chin, a slight smile on his face that they had not seen present in all the time they’d spent here. Nodding to both of them, he grunted a dismissal. Heads still spinning the two rushed to relieve themselves and attend to other creature comforts. In the space of ten minutes they had shaved and showered, and were struggling into fresh fatigues. All the while Gohan and Trunks pondered the significance of the additional trial, and the singling out. Still nagging on their brains was the slight smile given them. Was it respect, pity, or that subtle ‘job well done’ they were hoping for? By the time they had packed their gear and stowed their dirty clothes in a lined bag, Trunks and Gohan shouldered their packs. Instead of beer or wine, both were thrown bottles of water.

“Here, don’t hesitate to drink to your health, Privates,” the commando grunted. All the while behind him, his assistants and the other trainees were taking down the camp, and in the process of strapping on their own gear.

“Thank you sir,” Gohan nodded.

“At once sir,” Trunks added, still warily eyeing the Commando.

“Don’t just stand there gawking, jog your asses to the airport. Plane leaves in five hours,” he said.

The sound of an engine whirring and spluttering into life diverted their attention. Through the undergrowth a huge ATV hovered, then stopped. Another barked order sent them dashing. Only a glance over their shoulders confirmed that the gear and the commando assistants were being loaded into the large vehicle, along with some of the trainees. Even that guy who had come with them, which surprised Trunks and Gohan.

“Good riddance,” Trunks mumbled, his legs burning like fire as he jogged to keep pace with Gohan. Neither was sorry to leave this hellhole behind them. Days of endless torments had suddenly ceased, yet all culminated in the long run downhill towards the landing strip. He felt tears burning in his eyes, the further he panted after Gohan. His lover beside him wiped away the moisture collecting on his cheeks as well, knowing the dam was breaking on the emotions he had kept bottled up for so long.

Around the bends in the dirt road, it gave way to gravel. Trunks and Gohan heard the whirring buzz of a propeller plane increasing in volume. Chests heaving they came to a stop at the landing strip that was little more than a cleared strip of earth and gravel in a mountaintop clearing. Already the cargo plane’s back was opened, and the same pilot they’d seen was unloading various crates. Catching sight of them, he stopped and rushed up.

“Get moving you two,” he said. “I’ve no time to lose.”

That was the most he had said to them at all, they realized. Wearily nodding to one another, Trunks and Gohan clasped hands. When the pilot only gave them a cursory glance and waved them in, Trunks slid his arm around Gohan’s shoulders, and felt Gohan’s arm around his waist. They gave one another a quick squeeze, drawing security from the close contact.

“Wait a minute,” Gohan panted, swinging Trunks around and pulling him so their chests collided.

“What if…” Trunks stammered.

“Shut up Trunks and kiss me dammit,” Gohan gritted, looking in no mood for a negative answer. “That’s the least we owe one another and damn the consequences…”

Fiercely he grabbed Trunks by the scruff of the neck and yanked him forwards. His lips slammed into Trunks with almost bruising force. Trunks crushed Gohan to him as well, yielding to the kiss and tasting his lover for the first time in ages. Although it was fierce and brief, it was heartfelt and better than any food. Arms around one another they stumbled onto the plane and home.

“One hell of a way to spend Valentine’s Day, Handsome,” Gohan murmured.

“Uh huh, you said it Sexy,” mumbled Trunks, in a daze as they slid their packs down and collapsed into their seats for the flight home. As they sat next to one another, their fingers interlaced tightly while their heads bowed together. Leaning his head on Gohan’s shoulder, Trunks fell fast asleep. Gohan did the same, relishing the feel of his lover’s touch again. Uppermost on their minds was the sense they had achieved their mission.