Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Retaliation; the Trouble Inside ❯ Uub the Protector ( Chapter 6 )

Disclaimer: I don't own Dragon Ball Z or GT; the characters were created by Akira Toriyama and are owned/licensed through Shonen Jump, Toei Animation Co. Ltd. My fan fiction story means no harm to the anime or manga, and is for entertainment only.

 

Retaliation

Indoctrination

4/8/2008

 

Trynia Merin

 

Pan glanced up at Uub, noticing that sculpted bronze was really flesh, and felt her heart thumping against her breastbone. Could he sense it as well as she? That undercurrent of unrequited passion burned inside her stomach and in other regions of her body. He was not a Saiyan, in fact a reincarnated being of enormous power. In a previous life, a destroyer was reborn as a savior, heir apparent to her grandfather's role.

 

"Pan," he whispered, pushing hair out of her face.

 

"Yes?" she asked, hating herself for feeling so foolish, although he did not look like he would laugh in her face.

 

"Are you okay?" he wondered, his hand lingering on her soft cheek. Not since Bish had she felt so comfortable with someone close to her own age. Youth and strength crouched before her, and she felt how warm his body seemed only an inch from hers. Solid and strong he rested his hand on her back, and then kept his right hand by her face. Primarily because her gloved hand shot up and grasped his wrist to keep it there.

 

"Uh huh," she nodded. Memories surfaced, uncomfortable but passionate ones. Uub pulled her into a hug, seeing the vulnerability in her eyes. Pan let down her wall for no one, but him, and he knew the look. Living in a village where everyone knew the other's business educated him well for life's lessons. Even if he did not live them himself, he could draw from the experience of friends and family. At that moment, she looked as lost as he felt at his first World Tournament, and he wanted to protect her for as long as he could.

 

Pan twined her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly to herself. Grateful she could let go with full strength she brushed her nose against his ear. Slowly he moved so he sat down, pulling her along with him. This brought her half sitting on his lap, his leg strong under hers. Sweat from their weary bodies soaked through his vest and her gi, and he knew now what the feeling was inside.

 

He loved her. Just like his father had loved his mother, and his cousins and siblings had when they married, those that were older than he was. Finally, a woman had clung to him with the full passion heating her body against his, her mere touch sending shivers all over his body. It seemed so natural to hold her close, binding her small body in his arms, and feeling her soft breasts press to his hard chest like those of the village girls he longed to love and give his love in return. She who saw him not as a demigod but as a man.

 

How he had been so blind, Uub wondered. Did Pan have any inkling of what she was instilling in him, and should he tell her? Right now, she was so vulnerable, and the idea of making his own feelings known rang selfish to Uub. No, he would choose others ways to express his love, the simple and heartfelt ways that someone who cared for another would. Arranged marriages were still practiced in his culture, and compatibility was touted as the predecessor for love. Certainly, this would qualify as one of those situations. He had grown to love her. Could she grow to love him? Though he desired to do much more, Uub kept his hands to himself, pressing his chin into her shoulder and struggling to will his body into tight control. Then he released her, hand still resting on her cheek while he distanced himself from her. Still she sat half on his knee, no shyness in her eyes and no fear.

 

"Maybe we should get back so you can eat lunch? If I know you, you're probably starving, the Saiyan you are," Uub cheerfully smiled.

 

"Oh my KAMI! That's right. Grandfather's probably worried sick!" she yelped. Uub gently grasped her and moved her off his lap before standing up. He extended his hand towards her, still sitting in a daze at his feet. To his delight Pan did not hesitate, seizing it and letting him pull her up to stand next to him.

 

"Want to race me there? Or are you too tired?" Uub playfully challenged.

 

"You're on!" she laughed. A comfortable distance of friendship had been restored, to his relief. In no way did he want to violate her trust while she still was plagued with memories of Trunks. No, he would be the well-mannered young man his mother raised him to be, and win her as if she were one of the girls of his village. Yet to do that, he would have to ask for her parent's permission, and bring his mother to dine with them mutually. Working along rusty yet familiar tracks, he sought to do this in what he felt was the 'right' way. In his culture, kissing and more intimate acts were saved for after someone was married. The greatest expression of love and intent was holding hands, and perhaps the kiss itself. That would herald the course things would take.

 

Tugging on his hand, she levitated up, and he did the same. Their grasp broke only when Pan realized their hands were still clasped and saw him release with that slight pink to his bronze cheek. A small smile crossed her face that he barely caught before she flared her ki and streaked away. "Catch me if you can slowpoke!"

 

"Right behind you, Pan," he chorused, easily closing the distance between them in an extra burst of speed. The complex nature of marriage warranted him 'courting' first. After the initial introduction of prospective suitors to a girl, he was required to platonically spend time in her company. Usually it was best supervised. Pan would not understand his intent, but he hoped she would respond naturally, as the bond would grow between them. He knew of the faster paces of relationships but was still determined to stick to his traditions for Pan's sake.

 

A grin remained on Pan's countenance that she retained when halfway home. For the first time in more than three days, she felt good and safe. She had not missed the warmth of the hug, nor the fact she had half sat on his knee. Rather than scare him off she decided to feign ignorance. Her mind told her that he had different customs than she, and it was not within his nature to show 'closeness' except through extremely platonic gestures. Already he displayed more familiarity with her than one of his village would except for family members.

 

Something reassured her he would never do what Trunks did. Alternatively, if it did happen, Uub would personally see to it that the aggressor regretted his actions. Pan normally thought such chivalry was outdated and chauvinistic. On the other hand, it showed respect that her family had instilled in its own code of honor since as long as she could remember. Grandmother would certainly give her a talking to if she knew half the things Pan had done on dates. Anything beyond kissing or handholding was considered 'delinquent' and 'perverted' to Grandmother Son.

 

Videl had confided to her long ago that she and Gohan had sex before marriage. To this day Chichi never knew, or at least gave no open acknowledgement this was the case. Such a confession blossomed into 'the talk', whereby she presented Videl with a visit to the GYN, and got birth control pills. It was not to encourage Pan, but to let her know that anything she told would be accepted. Unfortunately, Gohan and Goten had not been as eager to believe her as far as what transpired between her and the possessed Trunks. She pushed that aside, touching down a second before Uub in front of the house. The smell of rice cakes mingled with steamed vegetables and cooking fish, wafting from the smoke drifting down from her grandmother's chimney. Glancing up she could see her grandmother hanging out the laundry as she did every day to dry.

 

Someone reached out to touch her shoulder and she flinched. Whirling around her fist slammed into the flattened palm of her grandfather. He smiled, “Nice block Pan. Are you all right?”

 

“Yes, Grandpa,” she nodded eagerly, her face still pumped full of hot blood. She hoped he could not guess what caused it, and rather hoped he would think her apologetic and embarrassed from her actions before.

 

“I um, wanted to know if you'd like to spar with me and Uub tomorrow. And no easy stuff, okay?” he asked simply.

 

“You sure Grandpa?” she asked, a gleam of mischief present in her eyes. Goku's heart leapt with joy to see a hint of the old Pan surfacing again, the one who refused to back down from any fight.

 

“Sure,” Goku nodded.

 

“Goku, are you going to stay down there or are you going to help fold the laundry like you promised?” Chichi's voice interrupted.

 

“Oh yeah Chichi, sorry! I'll be right there,” Goku apologized, a silly foolish look crossing his face.

 

“I'll help you, Grandpa,” Pan offered. Goku extended his arm and grasped Pan's, then touched his fingers to his forehead and homed in on Chichi's energies. Both appeared an instant later at her side. While it seemed odd for him to use such a technique to move a mere matter of feet up, it had the desired effect when chichi whirled around.

 

“Thank you Goku! I'm glad to see you rolling up y our sleeves to help since you last ran off with Vegeta to train for a whole week without telling me,” Chichi mildly scolded.

 

“Sorry Chichi… I know I should have left a note,” he apologized. Her answer came in the form of a huge basket shoved into Goku's waiting hands.

 

“Just take down those clothes while I cook dinner and we'll call it even, sweetheart,” Chichi said with a smile. She leaned over and kissed his cheek, causing him to relax considerably.

 

“Should I help Grandpa or do you want me to give you a hand with dinner, Grandma?” Pan asked.

 

“That would be sweet of you Pan,” Chichi smiled. Leaving Goku to fold sheets, grandmother, and granddaughter entered the Son home together.

 

While the Sons readied themselves for dinner, the inhabitants of Capsule were gearing up for a much more nerve-wracking family occasion. Trunks waited, his stomach tensed into multiple knots that spanned from his esophagus to his intestines. Shivering he curled his arms around his body to hug himself and steel his resolve for the inevitable meeting with his father. Left alone since Marron returned home with 18, his ki sense blazed with the signature distinctive to his father's royal blue pattern.

 

Not bothering to knock, the door was pushed open, revealing the spiky haired figure though short in stature yet soaring in presence. Vegeta's attitude entered the room long before he placed one gold toecap over the threshold. Eyes the shade of space devoid of stars locked into those the color of a summer blue sky, increasing the chill in the room. The attending employee dashed out of his way as Vegeta's short-legged strides crossed the distance and brought him to Trunks bedside.

 

“Trunks,” Vegeta rasped out, still imprisoning his son in that piercing stare.

 

“Father,” Trunks cleared his throat. That inevitable Saiyan disapproval came to mind, and Trunks tried desperately to second-guess his father's moods. Was Vegeta disappointed in his inability to fight back against a spiritual adversary? Alternatively, was he about to shed light on Trunks attacker? Not for the first time did he fail to peel back the mask. A second later, Trunks knew the answer from the minute movement of Vegeta's stern brow.

 

“So, what's this I hear about you being possessed, Trunks?” Vegeta simply queried.

 

“You heard about what happened from everyone else, didn't you?” Trunks asked, seizing the end of his quilt and sheets. He twisted the material between his two hands at the responsive silence following his statement, which was a question. Just why Vegeta did not answer, he struggled to comprehend. Then another minute variation in the twitch of Vegeta's eyes spoke volumes. Disappointment reigned along with a sense of battle readiness. Every muscle in Vegeta's shoulders tensed. Trunks had noticed the gleam of light off the surfaces of the white armor set with gold venting in the abdomen, which matched the segmented straps binding it to his father's chest.

 

Battle armor and white gloves bespoke Vegeta's response to an intangible opponent. If he was so attired, then things were far graver then he had anticipated. Cloth almost tore as Trunks wrung the sheets in guilt. “I… I know I should have fought him off, Father. But I couldn't… how could I stop something that I had no idea of…”

 

“Quiet,” Vegeta held up one hand, the palm towards his son. “I will ask you and you will tell me exactly what you remember instead of dealing through intermediaries. If I am to know the true nature of the threat, then you will answer clearly without fumbling around with excuses Trunks. Understand?”

 

“Yes Father,” Trunks sighed. Automatically he straightened up in the bed, focusing on a spot between Vegeta' penetrating eyes.

 

Arms twisted like a tight pretzel knot before Vegeta's compact body. Slowly the Prince paced a half circle around the bed, his gaze never wavering. The visual inspection had begun. Stopping at the opposite side, Vegeta leaned in close, so his nose was within a distance of one foot from his son's. “Now, just how in control were you? Were you aware of what possessed you? Did you get a name or a face?”

 

In reality, the progress had been slow. So gradual in fact that Trunks realized thoughts not his own spit through his mind only when the relentless need to pursue pan overcame all other duties. Only brief moments did he surface from a haze spread over his mind's eye, and a soft whisper of suggestion? What it said first spoke of the need to lead for his father's approval. This prompted the switch to wearing business attire over casual togs. Next came the careful attention to all business matters concerning the running of Capsule. Naturally, it seemed he should assume his rightful place, for he was the son of a Prince, was he not. Did he want to bring shame on his family?

 

“He said I was the son of a Prince. That I should prove my manhood and not disappoint those looking up to me,” Trunks found himself saying.

 

This confession caused Vegeta to tense up, his posture ramrod straight. He would not admit to Trunks what he had seen in his son's blue eyes. That hardness and cold reality of grim acceptance of fate he recalled from so long ago. Holding back the full truth while finding the words that would save face when he uttered those words just now, Trunks seemed a different person. Immediately Vegeta knew the truth.

 

“He said he was part of my blood. That it bound me to him, father. That there was nothing I could do out of honor to stop him,” Trunks confessed. His brow wrinkled so his eyes took on an imperial slant that caused Vegeta to shiver in realization and fascination. The gaze of a warrior not that of a boy who had once won his approval but then accepted the fate of the world.

 

“Is that so?” Vegeta said in a bare whisper, still piercing Trunks gaze. “And did you come to this on your own?”

 

“It was over such a long time. I had neglected my duties. Something compelled me… no drove me to train again. I didn't want to… run away anymore. I wanted to show Mother that I could run Capsule, and it seemed only natural. Yet then all I could think of was Pan. Taking what was mine. But she isn't mine… is she Father?”

 

“What was yours?” Vegeta grunted, startling Trunks. For a second the hard warrior gaze deserted his son's face, and then snapped back into place.

 

“I know there's no excuse for it, Father. I let him… take me over. But what he said became so loud that I didn't know where he ended and I began. We… I… we are Saiyans and the life I was living seemed unworthy. Now that the hold's been broken, the desire for Pan is gone, but I still find myself… empty…” Trunks whispered. “It makes sense, and yet doesn't, Father.”

 

“You have nothing to apologize for, Trunks. Not for your Saiyan blood, this seems to have awakened. The only shame you face is that of one unprepared for such an attack,” Vegeta said. “I know who it is that possessed you, boy. And Now I see why.”

 

“I see,” Trunks said. “But this right of Lineage… why would your own father… my Grandfather try and use me and not you?”

 

“Then your memories of the possession are limited?” Vegeta said. “That when he reached through blood, through you that his knowledge was not retained?”

 

“Only bits and pieces. He would have assumed you would have told me. Such anger and such rage,” Trunks blinked, shuddering as he rubbed his arms.

 

“There are things that I have neglected to tell you, out of royal pride. Always thinking that when you were worthy of knowing you would be told.”

 

“Worthy of knowing what, Father?” Trunks demanded. “About my past, my culture? It would have HELPED to know that this was even possible!”

 

“Quiet, Trunks, and listen!” Vegeta snapped, causing Trunks to clamp his jaw shut.

 

“Why didn't you ever share this culture with us, your own family? How can you expect the Saiyans legacy to survive when you… didn't you think we would have a right to know? Or are you ashamed all these years because you're living on earth with humans?”

 

“That's not it, Trunks. I was waiting for you to be worthy of the knowledge yes… but while I am still alive I am the Prince…”

 

Trunks laughed harshly at this, “That he would try and use ME to teach you a lesson! I always wanted you to be proud of me Father. Those things didn't seem important… how can I be ashamed of something I know so little about? Now I know that every time you scolded me for not training I should have listened! Dammit, Father, I had a right to know my responsibilities and my abilities…”

 

“Trunks…” Vegeta struggled to interrupt. Yet Trunks rent the sheets between his fingers, the ripping of cloth overriding any words Vegeta could use to intervene.

 

“Father, all the culture, and all the sides to a Saiyan's power you never shared. That the soul of a father could return through a descendent to fight a battle not completed! You never told me it was possible! The rite of Lineage!” Trunks continued, focusing the anger over top his fear. Vegeta only told scraps of his past life of Vegetasei, only revealing what seemed relevant to address some concern or a situation he disapproved of. Only when asked directly would he grudgingly explain rituals that he seemed to expect would be common sense to a Saiyan? Vegeta by then had backed away to a distance of six feet, his body crackling with blue ki that electrified the air itself in the room with a tingling odor of ozone.

 

“Enough!” Vegeta shouted, drowning out the angry tirade. “I'm telling you NOW, so shut up and listen, Trunks! That's an order!”

 

“Okay, I'm listening, Father,” Trunks panted, chest heaving up and down. Vegeta again closed the gap, and then leaned in as he had before, his aura reaching out to tingle Trunks skin.

 

“Such a ritual was never used in my memory. Every Saiyan prince was prepared because war was imminent. A son or grandson would complete any unfinished battles. Yet when Freeza enslaved our people, the ritual lost importance. The need for family ties and loyalty fell by the wayside in favor of who was the strongest. For years, only my pride remained, and the truth that I needed to be Number One among all Saiyans was the only shred of culture, the only ritual I needed. I did not dream any King before would have the audacity or the desire to bring business from times past to the fore…”

 

All the while Trunks narrowed his focus, struggling with the conflicting emotions of shame and anger. What did Vegeta think he was doing, by not sharing the rich cultural heritage of the Saiyans? He seemed so greedy keeping them all in the dark with what he deemed Saiyan culture, controlling what they knew and did not know and revealing it only when it gave him an edge. A link in a chain that stretched back centuries he was the soul repository of everything that had been the house of Vegetasei. In addition, he in the same breath had the gall to complain that his race was no more. On the other hand, did he? Was he waiting for the right time when Trunks would prove worthy, or was he ashamed he had failed to see the importance of said rituals now?

 

“You learned the culture you needed to, from the Saiyans around you. What if you had died fighting the Androids, Father? Would you have let yourself be the last Saiyan alive?”

 

“Don't question my motives then. I am the Prince, and it is for me to decide what should be passed on, and what should die with me. That the Saiyan race as worthy of survival, and its legacy would live through me. Now I see that I was remiss in that duty. Moreover, for that reason I hold aside my pride and will reveal to you what you must know. What I revealed to your other self before he left for his own time,” Vegeta admitted.

 

“You told my other self… before he left? I never knew,” Trunks shook his head.

 

“It wasn't your business to know. I never thought I would have an heir to pass such things on to. All that mattered to me was strength and the defeat of Kakarotto. As I said before I am the one who decides the fate of the Saiyan race. When Kakarotto forgot his true heritage, I alone bore the weight of such responsibility. You do not understand what power and what responsibility that entails. I was waiting for the right time. Father did so with me, and now it seems such time is overdue…”

 

“You're saying that because you told Trunks… the other Trunks you thought you'd done this duty? Because he proved himself and I didn't?” Trunks asked. “You're not making any sense Father.”

 

“If you keep interrupting you won't,” Vegeta snapped, grabbing Trunks shoulder. “I encoded all of what was to know in a special file. All of the information was recorded in case I did die. You assume that I never wrote down any memories or history?”

 

“I thought… the way you were saying things,” Trunks gripped the sides of his bed railings, almost twisting them apart in frustration.

 

“If I died when the Androids came, your mother would have given the knowledge to you when y you first proved yourself in battle. Do not think me stupid to assume you would be left with nothing. Only when I knew that I could trust her with such responsibility as my mate could I know you and she would be worthy. You survived birth and your first year in her care. Before I left that second time to fight, I encoded the files in a place she knew. That vault your mother keeps company secrets in. She swore that if something happened to me… she'd pass on the legacy I'd encoded.”

 

Sullenly Trunks turned away, his face hot with frustration. Again, he had assumed something without first stopping to think and it had raised his father's ire. It only seemed logical his father would make such provisions after years of life on Earth. Yet from what he remembered about his own childhood, his father was not always around, and his mother confessed the lack of attention Vegeta bestowed on them during those three years.

 

All he cared about was proving his supremacy, not for a half-breed of a weak earth woman. Not until his self from a war torn future arrived did Vegeta learn the true meaning of what it was to love. Lust and desire bound him and Bulma together at first, as well as the need to pass on his seed. Once done, the main drive snapped into place, excluding all other responsibilities, until challenged by his son from another time. Bulma had taught Vegeta to feel something besides hatred and a focus beyond defeating all his rivals. Then future Trunks who taught him to love and gave him another purpose to live, his own family.

 

“Lineage was only legend. It seems that my own Father thinks to challenge how I have chosen to live my life Trunks. Moreover, he thought it easier to strike through you. To get my attention. Now that he has it, the course of action is clear,” Vegeta said firmly.

 

“So he wants you to fight and conquer and destroy, and rule Earth?” Trunks said with a look of irony. “Not just live in peace?”

 

“Why do you think I call myself the Prince of all Saiyans and not the king?” Vegeta grunted, almost unable to bring himself to admit the truth.

 

“I had wondered that, but the more time went on, the more I figured you just were happy to be my Dad, and Mom's husband. That you just wanted to live in peace,” Trunks said. “You just said you were the one who decided the fate of the Saiyan race. I'm guessing from all this that Grandfather… his spirit isn't satisfied and wants you to answer for your choices?”

 

“You have said it yourself Trunks,” Vegeta nodded slowly, squeezing his eyes shut and heaving a weary breath. “And now it is my task to show him in my own way that my destiny, our destiny is ours. He forfeited his right to whatever hold he had on us when he surrendered me to Freeza. I understand WHY as a King he did such a thing, and have respect for him only to a point. I have `violated' many points of Saiyan custom by even mating with your mother. But the extinction of the Saiyan race was something we in our arrogance thought of no importance when we only lived to fight.”

 

“That justifies you holding back. That you would rather die and let the Saiyan race come to an end with you because you didn't think us worthy to survive, is that it and you had second thoughts when I was born?” asked Trunks. “That in fact it was true that you and mom… had a `passion kind of thing' that resulted in me… and then you learned another reason to live?”