Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ MIRROR, MIRROR ❯ Picking Up the Pieces ( Chapter 3 )

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

Mirror, Mirror
(c) 2006 by Darke Angelus
Part Three - Picking up the Pieces


The last little part of Bulma that had remained unchanged through what her mother called "The Three M's" (maturity, matrimony, and motherhood) was firmly convinced that the Senzu would solve all of her and Vegeta's problems. This carefree, self-indulgent, optimistic spirit had sustained her since childhood against more troubles and conflicts than she cared to count. She had battled monsters and demons, courted superheroes, and made wishes with magical Dragonballs; always convinced by the voice of the little spirit inside of her that things would turn out all right, just like in the romance novels and the movies she adored.

It should have ended happily ever after. But it didn't.

When his disorientation passed, Vegeta swallowed the Senzu bean readily enough and together they waited in tense silence for the legume to be broken down in his stomach and the healing to begin. It took almost an hour. At the end of it, he was spitting out the wires that had been used to keep his broken jaw shut. The bruises and scratches faded. The stitches drifted off of his bare arms like stiff cobwebs. When he raised his head to look at her, both of his eyes were clear and alert.

Bulma dared to ask the question. "Did it work?"

He considered her a few seconds longer and then flinched, as if her face had changed. He slowly shook his head. "I told you it wouldn't," he said roughly. Together they left the hospital, neither of them knowing what else they could possibly do. His body had been perfectly healed but his psyche- his fragile, vulnerable mind had been usurped by a foe he knew all to well and loathed as much as he respected.

By the time they got back to Capsule Corporation, his stress and confusion was back as if the last two days had never happened. His head was in his hands, the nails digging into his scalp, and he was breathing quickly through his nose in exaggerated snorts of frustration. When Bulma gently grabbed his wrist he rounded on her with a snarl and then backed off, visibly shaking. She could almost see him split right down the middle: one half the feral prince, the other her childhood friend. Both sides struggling for dominance.

"We're going to get through this," she promised him in a firm voice. It was a tone she often used with Trunks and the irony was not lost on her. "Everything is going to be all right. Do you hear me, Vegeta?"

His mouth twitched but he made no reply. Instead, he shook his arm free and exited the hover car without looking back.

Bulma's unease intensified.

>>>>>

He spent most of the day pacing the headquarters building like caged tiger. Bulma had sent Majin Buu off to Mr. Satan's mansion. She knew that Vegeta had purposely goaded the entity during their violent clashes; wanting- needing the physical pain of the beatings to block out his mental confusion. She didn't want to risk it happening again. The Saiyan was upset about it when she told him and stormed off in a sulk. When she looked for him later, she saw him tending to a small salt-water fish tank in the library. There were numerous tanks of various sizes scattered around the building, all filled with rare and exotic fish that he had collected over the years. The tanks had started to become neglected while he struggled with his post-Potara fusion crisis, and she was reassured to see him finally returning back to his old hobby. Relaxing a little, she left him alone and went downstairs to try and get caught up on her office work.

By the time Trunks returned home from school, Vegeta was fully engrossed in his work. It had been a little confusing at first and he had almost given up the chore until the names of the specific breeds of fish had finally started to return (painted glassfish, mixed fruit tetras and bizarrely colored "blood" parrot cichlids, to name just a few), their feeding instructions, how to test the water, and properly clean the tank. Being a desert breed, he found the movements of the plants and fish in the water to be quite relaxing and getting back into the routine was starting to calm him down at last...

"Dad!" Trunks called as he entered the living room, unbuckling his backpack and throwing it to the floor where it landed with a loud thump. He wore a pack big enough for a high school linebacker and it was filled with about sixty pounds of books and other gear. He barely noticed the weight.

He ran over to his father and was about to hug him when Vegeta snatched him by the head and held him off at arm's length. "There'll be no more of that nonsense, boy."

Trunks stepped back, coloring a little from the rebuttal. "So, I see that you're back," he muttered.

Vegeta looked over at him and frowned. "What are you talking about?"

"It doesn't matter," Trunks said under his breath. He headed upstairs to his room to get out of his school clothes.

Vegeta stared after him in confusion for several minutes and then went back to feeding his fish, lost in deep thought.

The boy was still subdued when the entire family sat at the dining table for the evening meal, despite Bulma's attempts to draw him out. Still preoccupied by his own thoughts, Vegeta remained largely quiet, picking languidly at the various fares that Mrs. Briefs had prepared in celebration of his return. He didn't feel much like celebrating, truth to tell. His head was starting to ache from the strain of keeping Kakarrot's memories at bay (it was working but only as long as he concentrated on what he was doing). The way he had treated Trunks earlier bothered him in a way he couldn't articulate.

He was upset, he rationalized privately while Trunks and Bulma talked about school. I pushed him away and he was upset by it.

Worse than that, Vegeta, you hurt him, came Gokou's voice, as clear as if he was speaking in his left ear. Vegeta almost dropped his fork and only Mrs. Briefs noticed the fumble.

Get out of my head, Kakarrot, Vegeta growled, wondering if the foolish Saiyan was using telepathy.

He quickly got his answer: Nuh-uh, can't do that. I live in here too, ol' buddy. 1-2-3/ I'm a part of you / You're a part of me. We're roomies!

Shut up, Vegeta seethed. This time he did drop his fork.

"Vegeta, honey?" Mrs. Briefs asked.

You need to give Trunks a great big hug and tell him you're sorry. That's what he needs. Tell him you love him. Aw heck, why don't you just give him a kiss on the cheek while you're at it! You know you can do it. With me inside of you now, it's easy!

Vegeta squeezed his eyes shut. Shut. UP!

While that internal debate raged on unnoticed, Bulma laughed delightedly at something Trunks said, "Really? Your teacher actually thinks that you might skip a grade ahead in school? That's wonderful! You have to tell your father!"

His young face glowing with pride, Trunks turned around in his chair. "Hey dad, did you hear? My teacher said-"

"SHUT UP!" Vegeta screamed. "I don't want to hear any more of your fucking bullshit! Just SHUT THE FUCK UP!"

Trunks mouth closed with a snap. He didn't notice that Vegeta was shouting down at his plate, or that his eyes were closed. He took every word as a personal barb through the heart and left the table at a run.

Shaking his head like a man coming out of a spell, Vegeta looked at the shocked, astonished faces staring at him from around the table. "What?" he asked defensively.

>>>>>

"I think I finally got him settled," Bulma said, walking into the bedroom later that evening. "He's still very upset. I think you should go talk to him."

Vegeta had been considering the king-sized bed and looked sharply over at her. "About what?"

"The incident during supper."

"I wasn't yelling at him."

"That makes it even worse. He doesn't understand what's going on with you. Perhaps if you explained it to him-" she broke off when he shook his head. "Well, things can't continue as they are. He's going to have to know what's going on sooner or later."

"Later," came the predictable answer.

Biting her tongue, she studied him for a moment. "Why are you staring at the bed like that?"

He passed her a puzzled look. "Has it always been so big?"

"I'm not surprised that you don't recognize it," she huffed. "You haven't slept in it for over two months."

"We haven't ...?"

"No."

"That's right," he said under his breath, nodding to himself. "Because of the training-"

"The goddamned training, yes!" she snapped at him and derived absolutely no pleasure in the way he cringed from the anger in her voice. She forced herself to calm down. "You pushed me away and you hurt me, Vegeta. I know why you did it, I even understand why but it was cruel thing to do, even for you."

He stared back at her helplessly. "I don't know what I can do to make up for it."

She cleared the distance between them and took his hands, "Just be my husband, that's all I want," she whispered and kissed him.

At first there was puzzled resistance and then his mouth opened up and accepted the gift she had to offer. Even then, during the innocuous act, Bulma could tell that something was wrong. For one thing he didn't seem to like the sensation of her tongue in his mouth and he certainly didn't repay the favor. His kisses were wet and sloppy and not at all pleasant and she pulled back in disgust, trying not to be obvious about it.

"What's wrong?" he asked her.

"Nothing, it's ...just been awhile. That's all," she lied convincingly, considering him. Something as simple as that would have usually given him a straining erection but he didn't appear to be affected. "Let's go to bed."

It didn't get any better there. The pair rolled around on the wide surface of the bed, awkwardly pulling at each other's clothes and exchanging more of those unpleasant kisses. Bulma compared the experience to being groped by an immature high school student; no experience, no control, and certainly no direction. She enjoyed being caressed at the ultra-sensitive nexus of her inner thighs but for some reason Vegeta seemed to be fixated on her shoulder blades. When she reached for him, she discovered that he was still flaccid.

He grabbed her hand and suddenly pulled it away. His face became serious. "Don't-"

"It's okay," she tried using her most seductive purr as she pushed him down on the bed. "Just relax and enjoy this-" she kissed the lower part of his taut stomach and then ran her tongue along his skin, following the downward course of the zipper of his pants.

Blinking up at the ceiling, Vegeta tried to concentrate on what was happening below his waist. It was familiar and so achingly pleasant but Kakarrot was back in his head exclaiming his shock and discomfort and his usual brand of nerve-wracking naivety. Even when Bulma went down on him he knew it wasn't going to work. He raised himself on his elbows in the final hope that maybe watching would bring him around, but he wasn't prepared for the sight of Chi-Chi bending over him with his dick in her mouth.

"SHIT!" he screamed, jumping back until he slammed against the headboard.

Bulma- just Bulma- was looking at him shocked beyond words. "What the hell-?"

"I thought- For a second there ...you were-were-" he jumped off of the bed, zipping himself back up. He was almost running for the door. "I can't stay here. It's all screwed up- I can't-" his muttering faded as he marched down the corridor and out of her sight.

For the next few hours, Bulma lied in bed and tried to read a book while her ears strained for any hint of sound outside of the bedroom. Finally, her nerves could take no more. Leaving the room, she crossed the corridor and peered over the railing down into the living room. The television was on, the only light source casting moving shadows in the otherwise dark area, with the volume muted and broadcasting some late night movie. She could make out a lone figure lying on the sofa and immediately recognized this routine. A light sleeper at the best of times, Vegeta had become a chronic insomniac ever since his ordeals at Installation 15. He spent many nights this same way; watching the TV until dawn broke and he could go on his morning jog as a prelude to his usual training schedule. The habit had lessened over the years, reappearing after a nightmare or one of their infamous marital feuds, and it didn't offer her any reassurance to see him isolating himself like this again.

After a brief internal debate on whether to intrude, Bulma descended the staircase, not bothering to be quiet about it. She knew from experience that he wouldn't be sleeping anyway. Sniffing the air, she caught the whiff of telltale smoke and had to submerge a flare of anger and betrayal. It took some doing to contain that emotion but right now was not the time for a confrontation. Not even when she walked towards the sofa and saw the glowing end of the cigarette perched securely in his mouth.

He glanced up at her once and then went back to staring at the television. "I don't want to hear it," he said, deliberately taking a drag and flicking the ash onto a plate that was on the floor. It was littered with extinguished butts. Scattered around it were several empty beer cans.

"Fine, then I won't say it," was all she said, resting her arms on the back of the sofa and staring down at him.

Vegeta tensed, waiting for the rest.

"But ...you DID promise me that you'd stop sneaking them the day I finally decided to quit."

"Fine," he grumbled and did something that she absolutely hated the most about the filthy habit; he snuffed the cigarette out directly in his palm. It always made her cringe even though she knew from experience that it didn't hurt him. "There. You satisfied now?"

"Yes, thank you, Vegeta. I appreciate that."

"...hypocrite..." she heard him mutter under his breath.

"What did you say?"

"I said you're a hypocrite. I know that you're sneaking smokes when you're alone, too. So don't play Miss fucking High-And-Mighty with me!" he snarled at her with sudden ferocity.

She recoiled as if she'd been struck across the face. Drawing in a breath for a fevered response, she abruptly let it out again when she looked at him; really looked at him. Even in the dim light she could see the wrongness there and when she reached over to turn on the table lamp, she could see the truth in stark detail.

Vegeta had been crying.

He immediately looked away from her and made a quick fist and the light bulb popped, bathing the room back into its prior gloomy lighting.

"Vegeta-"

"Get out of here, Bulma," he said roughly.

She glanced at the staircase but didn't move. Her mind, her brilliant, genius mind; the envy of every scientist on the planet, had ground to a stunned and useless halt. If this were some fabulous device she would be able to fix it without pause but she was unable to formulate any possible way to repair his damaged soul. She had never felt so helpless in all of her life and all she could say in the end was a meek, "Alright," and leave her husband to face the darkness of the room, and his own thoughts, alone.

>>>>>

A slam of books on the coffee table was enough to snap Vegeta out of an uneasy doze and he squinted up at Trunks for a few seconds, letting the face register.

"You and mom have another fight?" the boy asked gruffly.

"...What? No," Vegeta said at last, sitting up and running a hand through his disheveled hair. At least he didn't think so. He felt sluggish and out of sorts and his mouth tasted like an ashtray.

"Riight," Trunks said, eyeing him with scorn. He shouldered his backpack and went into the kitchen without another word.

Looking around the living room, Vegeta was shocked to discover that it was morning, well past eight o'clock. The television was still on. He wasn't sure when he had fallen asleep but he figured that it must have been several hours ago. Bulma was at work by now and Trunks-

"Bye sweetie," Mrs. Briefs was calling from the back door. "Have a good day at school."

Vegeta scrambled to his feet. "Wait!" He caught up with the boy just as he was walking down the steps. "I'll walk you to school."

"You'll- what?" Trunks gawked at him. "Dad, I'm eight years old, not three! Besides, I'm running late as it is."

"No arguments," Vegeta said, apparently oblivious to his disheveled appearance. To Trunks, he looked like a man recovering from a serious all-night bender and he sure as hell didn't want his friends at school to see him looking like this. Unfortunately, the Saiyan was determined to shadow him and the boy realized that he had no choice but to go along with it. It was like a nightmare that had come to life.

They walked quickly along the sidewalk for several minutes in silence until Vegeta attempted; "It wasn't you I was yelling at last night. I want you to know that."

"Sure dad."

"I mean it. It wasn't directed at you."

The boy looked at him seriously. "So who were you yelling at?"

"...Kakarrot," Vegeta admitted after a pause.

"He wasn't even in the room!"

"It's complicated, Trunks-"

"Dad, I'm not a little kid. If there's something going on then just tell me what it is!"

Vegeta hesitated again and that was all the answer Trunks figured he needed. He sped up his pace and deliberately tried to ignore his father who started lagging behind. Vegeta was trying to come up with an excuse that wouldn't irreparably damage his pride (what precious little of it still remaining, that was), but he was drawing an alarming blank. Who knew that trying to reason with an eight-year-old could be so damned difficult? He was sorely out of practice but when he saw the school come into view, he gamely tried to give it one more try; "Listen Trunks, what happened last night-"

"Goten!" Trunks called. His best friend was waiting for him near the front steps and standing next to the little hybrid was his big brother Gohan. Vegeta grumbled his displeasure under his breath as the pair approached. The way this morning was going, he might as well have stayed on the couch.

"Hi Trunks," Gohan greeted cheerfully. "Good to see you too, Vegeta," he added in that same light-hearted tone but his eyes suddenly sharpened on the older Saiyan's tousled, weary appearance. A thought went through his head, so fast that he hardly noticed it: --oh no, it's Pitch all over again--

"Gohan," Vegeta said neutrally, not appearing to notice the scrutiny, or didn't care.

"Hiya, Mr. Vegeta!" the little hybrid piped up, happily adding a wave.

He tried not to roll his eyes. "...Goten." He had always treated the little boy with weary disdain but the brat just seemed immune to his indifference.

Trunks wheeled his friend back around in the direction of the school. "Let's get going or we're gonna be late," he said, giving him an abrupt shove that sent his pal stumbling forward a few steps.

"Trunks!" Vegeta barked. "We're not through talking yet."

Trunks passed him a flippant wave. "Yeah, we are-"

Vegeta grabbed him by the arm and whirled him around so that they were face-to-face. The first hint of anger had surfaced on his face but that was okay. Trunks was starting to get angry, too. "You will show me the proper respect, boy. I'm your father. I may not be too sure of much at the moment but I'm damned sure of that!"

"You're an awful father!" Trunks shouted back directly into his face. "I wish that Gokou was my dad instead of you!"

"Wha-" Vegeta was absolutely thunderstruck. "What did you say to me?"

Gohan couldn't believe it either. "Trunks!" he snapped.

"Leave me alone!" the boy cried. He turned and raced for school. "All of you- Just leave me alone!"

"Hey Trunks, wait up!" Goten called after him and gave chase.

Gohan and Vegeta stood alone on the sidewalk in stunned silence. All of the blood had drained out of the older Saiyan's face except for a bright spot of scarlet on either cheek. A vein had popped out on his forehead and was throbbing along with his racing heartbeat. The hands at his sides were clenched into tight, white-knuckled fists.

He's going to explode, Gohan thought with acute dread. I can feel his ki starting to build. He's going to actually blow up and take out the entire city block and there's not a darn thing I can do to stop him.

Vegeta passed him a glance as if catching the thought; it was full of helpless rage, personal embarrassment, and a great deal of simple incomprehension. Without saying a word, he abruptly turned around and headed back the direction he came, returning to the headquarters building. The sensation of building ki dissipated as quickly as it had started.

No temper tantrum, no swearing, no retaliation- Just surrender. Gohan had been wondering how Vegeta was coping with his share of the aborted Fusion and now had his answer:

He wasn't.

>>>>>

Barely fifteen minutes from the time he had stepped out of the back door, Vegeta was walking back through the kitchen on his way to the living room.

"I have plenty of leftovers, Vegeta," Mrs. Briefs called over to him. "I'll prepare a setting-"

"I'm not hungry, Bunny. I'm going to bed," he said absently and walked past her to head for the stairs.

Mrs. Briefs released a gasp and seized her apron in a worried grip. She wasn't sure what unnerved her more; that he wasn't hungry even after missing breakfast, or that he had actually called her by her first name. Up until now, she hadn't even been sure that he had known what it was. Utterly flustered, she looked around for someone who could confirm what she'd heard (she had the nasty habit of getting even simple things confused from time to time), but there was no one else around; Trunks was in school, Bulma and Mr. Briefs were tending to company affairs.

Completely flustered, she rushed back into the kitchen; her only true sanctuary in the entire building, and fretted back and forth wondering what she should do. Even her husband's black cat registered that something was wrong and made itself scarce.

Ten minutes later, she was knocking on the door of Bulma and Vegeta's bedroom with one hand while balancing a tray filled with food on the other. She got no answer but she doubted that her grumpy son-in-law was really asleep. "Vegeta sweetheart, can I come in?"

She thought she heard him speak (or it could have been wishful thinking) but she opened the door and walked tentatively inside. The curtains in front of the balcony were drawn closed, turning the room into a gloomy navy blue, but it was light enough for her to see by. Vegeta was lying on the large bed and staring up at the ceiling. "Put the tray on the dresser and get out. I'm not in the mood for company."

Mrs. Briefs put the try of food where he told her but after a moment's hesitation walked over and sat on the edge of the bed, staring at him earnestly.

"You're not much of one for instruction, are you?" he grumbled.

"I'm just worried about you, sweetie."

"I'm fine-"

"No, you're not. Even I can see that."

He made no comment and after a moment she asked, "Is there anything else I can do?"

"Getting the hell out of here would be a start."

She lightly swatted one socked foot. "Don't be like that. I just want to help you."

"I don't need your help." Under his breath she heard him mutter, "I don't need anyone's help."

"We both know that's not true, honey," she said softly.

Vegeta said nothing and only went back to staring at the ceiling.

"Do you want me to go fetch Bulma?"

He cast her a baleful glare. "Do I look like a child to you? No."

"Would you like to talk about it?"

"No!"

She pressed on. "I can be a very good listener-"

He gripped his head with both hands. "Woman, would you just get the hell out of here before I lose my mind and finally kill you?!"

"You make that threat over and over but you've never harmed a hair on my head, sweetie," she tittered. "Not in all the years I've known you. Now why is that?"

"Woman, I'm not in the mood to exchange mindless babble with you-"

"It's because you know that I could never hurt you. You trust me."

"Yes, fine. Now get lost-"

She giggled again. "Always the tough guy! I know you're going through a rough patch right now, but things will work themselves out. They always do."

Vegeta solemnly regarded his mother-in-law in the gloom and muttered, "This time I doubt it."

"I don't know a quarter of the messes that you've gotten yourself into over the years, sweetheart, but the fact that you're still here means that someone is looking out for you. Right now that person is me!" She looked at him, her eyes were actually open and she was smiling. "I'll help you through this any way I can."

Such devotion in her wide blue eyes; so full of trust, and love, and adoration. They were Bulma's eyes and once upon a time Trunks used to look at him with eyes like that, too. To Vegeta's mind it only seemed to be yesterday but it was apparent that the spark in his son's eyes had died out long ago. He found this recent betrayal to be unendurable.

"- an awful father! I wish Gokou was my dad instead of you!" That's what he said and I can't change it. No matter how hard I try. 'An awful father.' Kakarrot scores another victory at my expense-

It was all so unfair and it was the final damned straw.

He rolled away from her and deliberately showed her his back. "For the last time: Get out of here," he told her, his words were hoarse but understandable.

"What? But Vegeta-"

"-NOW."

Reluctantly, she backed up towards the door. She had come to try and make things all better and, somehow, had only managed to make things worse. She didn't want to leave her son-in-law at the mercy of that dark emotion on his own. She stopped her retreat and squeezed her hands into fists.

"No," she whispered to herself. "I'm not going anywhere."

She got a blanket from the closet and gingerly pulled it over him. After that she returned to his side of the bed and began gently rubbing his back, saying over-and-over in a soothing voice; "It'll be okay, Vegeta. Really, it will. Everything will be all right. Just give it some time."

Vegeta said nothing. He didn't appear to even react to her presence until he rolled over and suddenly hugged her with alarming urgency, burying his face into her dress. She held onto him as tightly as she dared, trying not to weep even when she felt him shuddering against her.

"It'll all be okay, honey," she whispered, kissing his cheek. "Just you wait and see."

>>>>>

Gohan made it a point to intercept Trunks and Goten when they left school at the end of last period. He cut his last two classes to be able to do it. The way that his thoughts had been all day, he might as well have skipped school entirely. The defeated look on Vegeta's face had haunted him from one classroom to the next and not even Videl's short skirt had been enough to get his mind off of what had happened that morning.

He was here to invite Trunks over his home, figuring that the boy was probably dreading facing Vegeta, and he was right. The lavender-haired youth accepted the offer scarcely before the words were out of the teenager's mouth. That was fine, precisely what Gohan was counting on. And when they arrived at the little cottage at the base of Mount Pazou, he was also counting on seeing Bulma's yellow hoverjet parked in the backyard. It was.

Trunks couldn't believe it. He looked to the teen with shock. "You ratted me out? Are you serious? I thought you were my friend!"

When the boy saw his mother step around the side of the house, he tried to turn tail and run. Gohan grabbed firm hold of his backpack, preventing the act. "Vegeta's my friend too, Trunks. What you said this morning was just plain wrong and I won't put up with it. So yeah, I ratted you out."

"How could you?" Bulma asked in a faint voice as she walked slowly over to him. "You actually said that you wanted Gokou as your father? Trunks- How-how could you do that?!"

Trunks' cheeks turned bright crimson and he quickly dropped his eyes to the ground, unable to match the disappointed look his mother was giving him. Gohan released his hold of the boy only to have it taken back up by his mother, and she led her cringing son down to the lake so they could talk in private.

The drama wasn't yet over for Gohan. There was no telling how long Bulma and Trunks' conversation might last; it could be minutes or hours so he had to work fast. He rushed into the house to get changed. Chi Chi was at the kitchen looking out the back window and remarking, "-like father, like son. I swear, if Bulma doesn't rein that boy in soon he's going to be robbing banks before he turns twelve! Isn't that right, Gokou?"

The fighter was sitting at the table working his way through a batch of freshly baked blueberry muffins, and he managed a distracted grunt of agreement as he chowed down. Goten ran to the table and tried to snatch a muffin out of his hand and they began playfully wrestling over the treat. Chi Chi tried to maintain order but she was laughing right along with them.

Gohan hesitated in the corridor as he watched his father interact with the rest of his family. Third Class, Vegeta always called him, and perhaps that low status had something to do with his father's temperament: Don't dwell on the past, don't think about the future, live for the day. Gokou was shaking off the side-affects of the Fusion simply by being able to forget about it. For the last few days the small house had been filled with laughter, just like old times.

Vegeta's entire make-up was based on brooding over the events of his past and constantly strategizing about what the future might hold. Gohan knew from experience that the Saiyan prince was single-minded and regimented in his passions; the result of enduring the life of a career soldier. He could not let things go as easily as Gokou could. He needed help and it would take a Saiyan to get him to see reason.

Barring that, he figured a hybrid would do in a pinch. Gohan went to his room to get changed. When he was done, he slipped unnoticed out of his bedroom window and sped a swift course west.

>>>>>

There was a picnic table near the shoreline of the lake and Bulma sat down and stared at the view for a long while Trunks hovered near her, still weighing the consequences if he made a last ditch attempt at escape. Considering her words very carefully, Bulma finally asked in a soft voice, "Trunks... how much do you know about your father's past?"

He stared at her curiously for a moment, not sure of what to make of this subtle approach. His parents were screamers; that was what he was used to. "He won't talk about it-"

"You're friends with Piccolo and you've sparred with Gohan. Asking questions about him is only natural. What did they tell you?"

The boy chewed his lower lip nervously for a moment. "They don't like going into specifics; either of them. But from what little they told me, dad caused a lot of trouble when he first came to Earth."

"'Trouble'," Bulma remarked dryly. "Yes, I guess you could call it that."

"There was a battle between dad and Gokou that for some reason still seems unresolved," he added, staring at his mother uneasily. "What really happened?"

"All in good time. What else do you know?"

"Then there was the trip to Namek that you took part in to collect the Dragonballs," he said and waited for her acknowledging nod before continuing. "Dad teamed up with you guys when this alien named Frieza showed up. When dad died in the battle, he got wished back with the others, and he's stayed on Earth ever since. That's it," he gave a one-shouldered shrug.

Bulma was extremely grateful for the pair's restraint in their handling of this delicate topic. It was obvious that they didn't feel it was in Trunks' best interests to go into all of the gritty and distressing details about the mercurial Saiyan's past behavior. As far as Piccolo and Gohan were concerned; it was all water under the bridge because they were men who didn't hold a grudge and believed in second chances. "Anything else?"

Trunks released a frustrated exhale of breath. He wanted his mother to start releasing some details rather than do all of this dancing around the topic. It was the reluctance that he saw in her face that bothered him and forced him to think about his impatience. Bulma was a mother who always spoke her mind and the degree of dread that he now saw in her eyes began to suggest that she didn't have much good to say. He seriously thought over her question.

"Well, I mean we all know that he's a prince of a dead world and the Saiyans are extinct, except for those of us on earth. I know that Yamcha doesn't care much for him and neither does Tien. Krillin accepts him but I think it's more out of fear than anything else. The only one who dad seems to have any kind of nodding respect for is Piccolo, which is really surprising with him being a Namek and all."

"Piccolo and your father have a lot in common," Bulma chose to say as her answer.

"Okay. So what's the real story?" Trunks said eagerly sitting beside her on the picnic table. He had completely forgotten about the incident of this morning, entirely wrapped up in the moment. "What really went on the first time dad showed up?"

"In a minute," she said, there was an odd note to her voice that the youth had never heard before. "When your father was very young, he was being groomed for the throne. He was destined to rule an empire. It was never intended that he ever become a soldier. I want you to understand that Trunks, it's very important."

"Okay mom."

"When he was only five years old, his father gave him to Frieza who employed the Saiyans for their ability to conquer worlds. It was meant as a piece offering-"

Trunks cut in with, "His own father just handed him over? Are you serious?"

"I'm very serious," she said sadly. "In a later battle to retrieve him, the king and his army were slaughtered. Frieza destroyed Vegetasei as a warning to other races who might oppose him. Vegeta was left an orphan without a home. Frieza accepted him into his ranks but at a terrible price. It was-" her voice broke and she composed herself with visible effort. "It was horrible Trunks. He suffers from nightmares to this very day from what that-that miserable bastard did to him." Bulma's face flushed with anger while the boy recoiled in shock. He had never heard his mother ever speak of anyone with such malice before.

"What did he do?" he asked in a small voice.

For an instant Bulma opened her mouth to respond and closed it again, permitting herself one shake of the head. There were some things that no child should ever have to hear, but in the back of her mind echoed the terrible dark truth of Vegeta's childhood and adolescence: torture, derision, sodomy. That knowledge was her burden to carry but she resolved that it would never be her son's.

"Your father was molded in Frieza's image," she said instead. "He became feared throughout the galaxy for his ruthlessness. He slaughtered entire civilizations as he expanded that creature's empire; conquering world after world with his power."

"How-how many people are we talking about, mom?" Trunks asked nervously. "A thousand? A hundred thousand?"

With troubled eyes, his mother could only look at her shocked son in silence.

"... Millions?" he whispered.

She shook her head. "No one knows, not even your father, not that he would have cared at the time. Frieza was utterly corrupt and evil and his presence was like a disease to Vegeta. He wasn't any different by the time he arrived on Earth in search of the Dragonballs. He was seeking immortality to overthrow Frieza and take over the empire. With him was another surviving Saiyan Elite named Nappa who actually killed several thousand people in East City when they first made landfall. After that, Nappa killed Yamcha, Tien, Chiaotzu, and Piccolo."

"What was dad doing during all of this?"

"Laughing," Bulma confessed sadly.

"...laughing..." the boy echoed strengthlessly.

"Your father battled Gokou when Nappa failed in the attempt. It was a terrible conflict. The power that was released left huge craters in the earth and created a hole in the ozone layer that didn't close for years. When he defeated Gokou-"

Trunks eyes bulged in shock. "He- What?!"

She nodded. "It's true. Vegeta recreated a moon and transformed into a giant Oozaru and crushed Gokou almost to death. Yajirobi managed to sever his tail and Gohan and Krillin continued the battle after he had reverted back to human form. Your father had taken direct a hit from both a Kamehameha blast and a Spirit bomb and he just kept coming back for more. He seemed unstoppable."

"Holy crap!" the boy said weakly, running a hand through his mussed lavender hair. He had only heard the secondhand tales of the Cell Games and the battles with Majin Buu that had been off world. As strong as he knew his father was, it had always been Gokou who seemed to come off as the powerhouse. Vegeta was viewed as the strategist. Gokou's Kamehameha was identical in scope and destructive power to his father's own Galactic Gun. It was capable of leveling an entire mountain chain in one fatal release. Gohan's own version had completely obliterated Cell. The Spirit Bomb was the epitome of the purest of energy; siphoned off of living things and created to be a direct antithesis to anything evil it encountered. It had been the blast that had finished Majin Buu once and for all.

His father, his own father, had survived both.

"I... if-if that's the case, then how-" he had to break off and swallow, "How was he... stopped?" Trunks could never have imagined that he'd ever have to ask this question. He knew his father was something of a badass, but not a criminal. Certainly never a murderer!

Deep in his heart, he hoped that his mother would tell him that his dad had surrendered- perhaps realized what he had done was wrong and just given up peacefully. Knowing his father as well as he did (or had thought he did) he should have known better. "Gohan was also affected by the false moon and transformed. His Oozaru form attacked and defeated your father. Krillin was about to make the final strike and kill him when Gokou intervened and told him to spare his life. Vegeta never forgave him for that," Bulma explained.

"Dad would have preferred to die on the battlefield," Trunks realized. It explained the tension between the two pureblooded Saiyans. It explained so much!

"At the time, rather than return to Frieza as a failure, yes Trunks. He would have. I'll admit, the rest of us thought Gokou was insane for making that decision. Myself included."

The boy looked up in surprise. "You too mom?"

Bulma looked guiltily at the water. "I was at Master Roshi's with the others, watching the battle being broadcast via satellite. It was on every channel and we watched Nappa confront Piccolo and the others while your father stood on the sidelines. Nappa was the worst of the two, he was absolutely horrible and he was responsible for Yamcha's death, who I was in love with at the time. I'll never forget the close-up of Vegeta that first time, Trunks. You wouldn't have recognized him. Not so much in appearance but in his behavior. He was watching my friends die one at a time and he was having the time of his life. I was utterly terrified of him. He was so out of control."

She drew in a shaky breath and Trunks reached out and gave her cold hand a reassuring squeeze. Returning the gesture, she gathered strength from that contact and forced herself to continue. "Several months later we met face-to-face on Namek and he was... different. It's kind of hard to describe. That insanity I saw on Earth was gone and he was much like he is now, though rougher around the edges. I don't know what happened to him but he was conspiring against Frieza by then and desperate for the Dragonballs to use against him. He fought one of Frieza's lieutenants right in front of me."

She blushed a little and Trunks was relieved to see her betray a small smile. "The alien's name was Zarbon. I thought he was handsome until he transformed into a disgusting reptilian creature. Vegeta seemed to enjoy fighting him and I found out during our honeymoon that he was actually showing off for my benefit. He took the Dragonball without harming one hair on my head and later told Gohan that he thought I was gorgeous." She betrayed a short laugh and, beside her, Trunks was relieved to sense that some of her tension had finally passed. The Saiyan she was describing still sounded like a stranger to him (His father laughing? Dishing out compliments?) but he was fascinated to hear more about it.

"Vegeta eventually teamed up with Krillin, Gohan, Piccolo, and Gokou in the battle against Frieza. That tyrant beat him nearly to death and shot him through the chest. Before he died, he wept tears that hadn't been shed for decades, further lessening the darkness in his heart."

"Dad... cried?" Now Trunks was convinced that they were talking about someone else.

Smiling knowingly, she quipped, "Surprised?"

"That's an understatement."

"You weren't the only one. When we were all wished back to earth, that's when I started feeling the first stirrings of affection towards him. He was still a violent, ruthless, egocentric, sarcastic, manipulative son of a bitch," she took a deep breath, "but he wasn't evil. Not anymore. I think Frieza beat it all out of him. He stayed on Earth a short time and then went back out into space. I didn't think he'd ever return until he crash-landed in the courtyard one afternoon. I let him stay at Capsule Corporation and train to defeat the android threat. Trust didn't come easily to him but he gradually learned to accept me. In fact, it was during one wonderful afternoon in the original gravity simulator that you were conceived," she told him, adding a conspiring wink.

"Aw geez," the boy pulled away from her. His face turned brilliantly crimson.

"What did you think? That it was immaculate conception?" Bulma teased.

"I don't want to talk about stuff like that with my mother!" he groused.

"Fair enough," she said and got back on track. "Those three years we spent before the Cell Games were full of ups and downs, but we got through them together. After the battles were finally over, you became very sick, Trunks."

"I did?" He couldn't remember ever being sick a day in his life.

She nodded. "You were just a baby but you contracted a disease called the V'Nhar. It's a Saiyan ailment and one I think is restricted just to members of the Saiyan Royal family, although Vegeta won't confirm it. I sincerely believe that you would have died if he hadn't healed you."

Trunks mouth hung open in surprise but Bulma wasn't through yet. "Shortly after that, your father fell ill. It wasn't the V'Nhar. It was something ...worse. You repaid the favor and saved his life at the end of that terrible ordeal-"

"I- what?!" he squawked.

"You were much too small to remember," she said, "but you saved him and he's never forgotten that. It doesn't matter how or why, that's not important. What matters is that Vegeta loves you very much," Bulma soothed, trying to ram that point home while her son's guards were currently down. She touched his face, so like his father's without that shadow of loss in the background of his youthful features. "He can't say it out loud but it's true. He's so proud of you, Trunks. To become a Super Saiyan at so young an age and so powerful-"

"Why can't he just tell me that himself?" the boy asked in dismay. "Why does he treat me the way that he does? I don't get it!"

Sighing, Bulma told him, "Trunks, consider what I've told you. Try to imagine what your father went through during his terrible upbringing with Frieza. For his entire life he battled and trained with men. He lived among soldiers, learning only aggression, and is now completely conditioned to respond to that male competitive drive." She stared at her son levelly. "He treats you like an equal. It's all that he knows how to do. You should be proud of that."

"But Gokou, he-"

"Don't say it," she said, pointing a rigid finger into his face. "There's more to fatherhood than just having a sense of humor and a peaceful nature. Gokou lives to eat and spar; in that order. When those needs are filled, he gives his attention to his family when the mood suits him. Rather than hold down any kind of a job, he spends his free time visiting friends, sightseeing, and generally goofing around while the rest of the family struggles just to make ends meet. Yes, he's a hero, but he's a lousy husband, and for seven years he chose to party in the afterlife rather than be a father to Gohan and Goten."

Trunks couldn't believe what his mother was saying and yet he knew it was true, every single word of it. He had seen it all for himself. Goten, who was practically scared of his own shadow, had warmed up to Vegeta over the years. And why not? For those first seven years, it had been Vegeta, above anyone else, who had been the chief adult male figure in young Goten's life. Despite being the son of his chief rival, he had nevertheless endured Goten's never-ending curiosity and questions in the hundreds of visits he had made to Capsule Corporation over the years. When Trunks thought of all of the trouble the pair had gotten into, some of it serious, he was now amazed that his father hadn't killed them both.

"The entire earth is Gokou's family, but you and I are the only two people that your father cares about. That's why he hardly ever budges from the headquarters building," Bulma pressed on while she watched her son grapple with this new insight. "I know he doesn't hug and kiss and do all those cute things other fathers do to their children, but he is always near us. Always! In the meantime, Gokou is off to some obscure corner of the Earth looking for cheap kicks. Do really think Gokou's a better father for that behavior, Trunks? Just because he's your buddy? Or are you still too young to understand what I'm trying to tell you.?"

"No ... no, mom. I get what you're trying to say but dad, he-he ..." Who was the better father to his family? This morning, Trunks had thought he was sure of the answer but now the truth shamed him. Vegeta would never be considered demonstrative and his affections and all emotions other than his trademark irritation were usually locked away. There were rare times when he betrayed a mischievous streak and sometimes his patented sarcasm could even be considered amusing. Vegeta's unique approach to fatherhood was best described as one of reluctant tolerance. He wasn't abusive towards him, just... distant. How else could a man who had never had a childhood be expected to act? How could Trunks have thought that he was so terrible?

When Bulma saw that her words were starting to sink in, she decided to drop the bombshell: "Trunks, your father is sick again. He needs you. He needs us both."

The boy stared up at her with alarm. "He's sick?"

Gently, Bulma told him about the aborted Potara fusion and its after-effects on the two adult Saiyans. With this new insight into the past rivals' past history, Trunks could now understand why his father was having such a difficult time dealing with it. "So that's why he's been acting so weird?" It was not quite a question.

"He wasn't on vacation, he was in the hospital. They couldn't help him. He took a Senzu bean, but it didn't work. He's trying to cope with this all on his own and he needs our support. Please don't push him away now-" Her words quavered and she sniffed back tears and had to clear her throat before continuing; "Not when he needs you the most. You're the only son he has."

"Oh-Okay mom," he said in a distracted tone, lost in thought. All at once, the boy began to grasp how things from his father's perspective must have appeared: A lifetime of mind-numbing violence, of guarding his back, of being alone. All of a sudden there was his mother offering something different; something pure for the first time in his entire existence. It was the appeal of their family unit that kept him at Capsule Corporation, Trunks realized. Not money, not training devices. He didn't socialize with anyone outside of Capsule Corp. In fact, the only companionship he seemed to require was from Bulma-

-And from him.

You're an awful father! He had yelled at him in front of Goten and Gohan; I wish that Gokou was my dad instead of you! When Trunks tried to swallow, all he tasted was the sour bile of shame.

"Dad," Trunks murmured softly. His mortification and grief doubled until his small frame seemed to bow from the weight of his guilt. He couldn't have come up with a worse insult if he'd tried. "I have to set things right-"

"Trunks-"

"I have to try!" he shouted and suddenly took the air.

Bulma could only pray that he wasn't too late.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> >

To be concluded...