Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Stargazing ❯ Mixed Blood ( Chapter 7 )

Stargazing

Chapter 7 - Mixed Blood

Trunks woke the next day at the crack of dawn, a definite rarity for the lavender-haired demi who was anything but a morning person. Bringing a fist down on his meticulously beeping alarm clock (which was subsequently smashed to bits), he yawned widely and reluctantly left the warmth of his bed, making sure not to disturb his still sleeping fiancé.

Twenty minutes later the young CEO found himself at the door of the Gravity Chamber, the small window of the door revealing the soft, red tint of the room beyond. The door opened with a swoosh and the gravity returned to normal as Trunks walked in. Feeling strangely nervous, he bade his father good morning in an attempt to lighten the mood. Unsurprisingly, his only answer was a barely audible grunt.

Brushing off Vegita's callous behavior as normal for the surly prince, Trunks quickly went through the necessary stretching routine, more than slightly perturbed at how unfamiliar and out-of-use his muscles felt beneath his gi. Nevertheless, it felt good to be moving his body again, and he finished his stretches feeling surprisingly warm and languid. Slightly happier at this turn of events, Trunks walked over to the control panel with greater confidence and activated the machine to fifty times earth gravity, bracing himself for the change.

A sudden weight slammed into his shoulders, and, because he was expecting it, Trunks managed to remain on his feet. He did, however, end up groaning under the pressure and was shocked at how difficult it was to move at this level. `Dende,' he thought with sudden shame. `I was bouncing around at a hundred g's when I was only seven! Why the hell can I just barely move in fifty now?!'

Vegita stood in the background with his arms crossed lazily across his chest and scrutinized his son. The boy was having a pathetically hard time staying on his feet and obviously needed some form of instruction, but the dark prince made no move to go to his son's aid, opting instead to leave the GR entirely. Fifty times earth gravity was no challenge for him whatsoever - he resolved to spend his time elsewhere, where he could get some real training done.

Relaxing as the extra weight of gravity was lifted from his shoulders, Trunks watched his father stalk out of the room with mixed feelings. The rigid posture and regal bearing of his sire were those of a man whose mere presence demanded respect, he noticed. As a child, Trunks had often observed his father accompanying his mother to business gatherings or social functions, and the young demi had always been at awe with Vegita. The dark Saiyan-ouji was truly and justly named a prince. His entire being - from the subtlety of his intelligence to the sharp knife of his ruthlessness - radiated power, discipline, and confidence. Trunks hated to admit it, but he envied his father and often tried to emulate him, mostly to no avail.

Trunks had always been insecure when it came to Vegita. As a boy he had idolized him and loved him as only a son could to a father, but as he grew older he felt continually overshadowed by the shorter Saiyan's brilliance, dedication, and sense of honor. It was hard name to live up to, he had realized. Being a prince required doing so not only in name, but in spirit as well. Trunks had thought "prince" to be a mere title, but Vegita had completely embodied the position, and had truly embraced it. That was Trunks' problem. He had never accepted his Saiyan blood. Forget acceptance, he had even once rejected it!

It was high time that he got over the predicament of his mixed blood. So he was half alien - so what? From now on, he resolved, he would live in both worlds. He was human, yes, but was Saiyan also, and was damn tired of trying so hard to fit into "normal" and "acceptable" earth society. He was the CEO of a multi-billion zeni international corporation, but that didn't mean he couldn't also be the prince to a lost race. `Finally,' he thought, `I can do what I want to do. To hell with what everyone else thinks.'

And that didn't just apply to his relationship with Marron, either.

Shaking his head and deciding that thinking over his predicament could come later, Trunks felt his previous inner turmoil give way to a new, deep sense of peace. It calmed him to know that a decision was made and that his life, from this day on, would be different - in a better way. Impatiently turning up the gravity, he resolutely held back a grunt and waited until his body adjusted to the huge pressure.

And then the hard work began.

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My fighting ability had always been the one thing that I prided myself on the most. It was encouraging for me to know that I was one of the strongest beings on the planet - one of the few people on the earth who could truly back up a threat made or defend a threatened innocent, but I was never cocky or arrogant about it. I didn't go around flaunting my strength or rubbing it into other people's faces. In fact, I was downright shy about it. I even constantly searched for new techniques and combinations of moves, ways to become stronger, faster, and better than I had been before. It was because I had an insatiable hunger for this knowledge, unconsciously needing it to feel more competent, and thus more able to live up to my family's name.

And do you know why?

Because there was one single, infuriating thing about my life that I couldn't change. One small but ever-present, irritating thorn in my side that overshadowed any of the other accomplishments I ever made in my life...

I was only one-quarter Saiyan.

And, sadly, that was the part of my heritage that I loved most. I reveled in the savagery, the raw emotion, and the wild, uncontrollable nature of my Saiyan blood - so much so that my father and Uncle Goten could neither understand me nor mentor me. That was part of the reason that I gravitated towards Vegita so much. He was the picture of what I could never become, something that I wished desperately to be but could never reach. The reason? Because there was always the invisible barrier that was placed just above my head. That barrier was a fact that had been ingrained into me since birth, one that I could not lightly try to fight against, despite my countless efforts.

It was my inability to transform.

Maybe that was the reason for my childhood babying and my elders' over-protectiveness. In their eyes, no matter how far I pushed my limits or how much stronger I had become, I could never match up to their power - I could never fight at their level, because they had shattered all barriers, defied all logic, and had achieved so easily what was forever unreachable to me...

The golden-haired, teal-eyed god that was a Super-Saiyan.

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(Flashback)

At three years old, I was the perfect example of what a "cute little girl" should be - I had the long, dark hair pulled into two thick pigtails, the little smiling doll clutched in my left hand, the lollipop in my right, and a closet full of pink, frilly, flowery monstrosities otherwise known as dresses.

I was what you could call a complete "Daddy's girl". A spoiled, smothered, sniveling brat.

In laymen's terms, I was a wuss.

I had woken up that morning at the usual time and planned to spend the rest of the day with my favorite person in the world - my grandpa. However, Grandpa Goku, strangely enough, wasn't in the kitchen in his usual spot, shoveling food down his throat at light speed as he usually was at nine thirty every morning. Grandma Chichi wasn't there either - she was out shopping. Instead, I found my parents talking casually by the stove. My mother was cooking (yes, she could actually cook edible food after she had lessons - lots of them - from Grandma Chichi) and my father was lounging by the sink. They were, to my surprise, discussing me.

"She doesn't have enough Saiyan blood," I remember overhearing my father say as if he were talking about the weather, not his only child. "I don't think she can ever go Super. I asked Bulma, too, just in case, and she doesn't think so either. Actually, I'm kind of glad she can't," he had laughed sheepishly to my mother. "I didn't exactly want her to grow up a fighter. She shouldn't have to shoulder the burden of having to learn to control her strength. I think it's be better this way."

To say I was confused was an understatement. Don't get me wrong, I knew what a Saiyan was - Goten had given me the heads up about three weeks before - but I didn't know what dad had meant by "Super". But I did know that my parents and grandparents were all extraordinary martial artists. (Grandpa Satan had claimed he was the strongest of all, but I don't think he was telling the truth. He always said it when Grandpa Goku was conveniently not around, and then he was always really sweaty and twitchy whenever we hung out with Auntie Bulma and Vegita-san. Weird? You bet.) Was that what dad had meant? That he didn't want me to be as good of a fighter as he?

As my limited three-year-old intelligence pondered this, I wandered lazily into the woods, anxious to get some fresh air and exercise my legs. It was strange, but even though my dad always encouraged me to stay at home and play with dolls, I couldn't help but love the outdoors. There was something about the open air and the fresh morning dew that was so exhilarating - it was a constant reminder to me that there was more to life than stuffy rooms, toys and dresses.

That, and I never got tired or sweaty, even if I ran all the way to the lake and back. Funny, but Grandpa Satan always started breathing really heavily when we weren't even halfway into the woods. I had always thought that was strange.

Clutching my doll more tightly to my chest as I approached the familiar clearing that housed the lake, I noticed something floating - no, flying - over the clear water of its center. I trudged to the shoreline as quietly as possible, not wanting to be seen, but then smiled brightly when I recognized the figure to be Grandpa Goku's. He was wearing his usual gi uniform - and his clumps of spiky black hair, that was always unmistakable - but there was a look on his face that I had never seen before. It was unusually calm and serene and was also disciplined in a way that hinted at the hidden, almost dangerous edge to his posture. His entire presence was different. It was still warm and welcoming, yes, but there was also a sense of absolute power behind him now, something with real clout and force, something that had never been there before.

I decided to ask him about that later and pushed aside my initial confusion. But then, just as I opened my mouth to shout out his name and ask him to walk home with me, I was silenced when he took a deep breath and let out the single most blood-curling battle cry I have ever heard in my life. It was then that I witnessed for the first time what it meant to be Super.

His eyes snapped open, and they were a shocking shade of teal.

I went blind as the entire glade was encased in a sudden, brilliant flash of light.

It was only minutes later that I was able to shake off the dazzling pain to my sensitive eyes, but when I finally managed to crack them open, I looked towards my Grandpa only to see that he wasn't the same grandpa anymore. There was no way that my goofy, happy-go-lucky Grandpa Goku was this serene, golden, perfect entity. There was no way that the blundering mass of blockheaded innocence that played teahouse with me every evening was this unstoppable warrior, this gorgeously magnificent creature that was the epitome of discipline, standing on the water with waves and waves of golden energy pouring off of him like a gigantic, never-ending tsunami. I was in awe of him, I adored him, I wanted to be him…

And that was the emotion that stuck with me from that day on.

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I clamp my eyes shut as the memory of that day brings tears to my eyes. It was only later that I had discovered that Vegita, Trunks, Dad, and hell, even clumsy Goten had all been capable of that transformation. It was on that day that I was told by my grandfather that he had been the first in a thousand years to achieve the pinnacle of our race. And it was only afterwards that the full effect of what my father had stated that morning to my mother hit me: that I would never be able to follow him - or any of them - because I didn't have enough blood or power or determination to ascend to that untouchable level of absolute power. According to the facts and the DNA samples and the inarguable logic of Bulma Briefs, I simply lacked the genes to transform.

So I spent the next twenty-two years of my life trying to prove them wrong.

Isn't it funny? That even after all the blood, sweat, and tears that I have shed and toiled through, even after the years and years of harsh, incomprehensibly difficult training that I had endured, even after the countless battles against supervillain after supervillain after supervillain that I won…

They are still right.

I am not a Super-Saiyan.

And do you know what bugs me? What really, really, really, really gets on my nerves? What made me grind my teeth in a useless attempt to contain my anger when I first found out?

Bra can.

She is capable. She has the blood, the lineage, the ability to do what I have sought to do for my whole entire life.

And she doesn't.

She won't.

She refuses to.

That woman is someone I will never understand.

So here I am, a fully matured Saiyan female at the age of twenty-two, the only child of the single most powerful being in the universe, surrounded by countless fighters of this unbeatable and untouchable caliber…

And I can't match a single one of them.

I can't ever reach them. Forget fighting the Ascended Super-Saiyans, the Super-Saiyan Threes, the Mystics, the Super-Saiyan Fours, and the Golden Ohsarus. Forget sparring with Buu, with my grandfather's prodigy Uub, or even with the stoic Android 18.

I can't even take the lowest level of them all.

Because I lack the blood. The genes. The strength. The whatever.

I can't transform.

And there's not a Dende-damned thing I can do about it.

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The instant that Trunks had fallen asleep beside her the previous evening, Marron had gotten out of bed and left the room. She had stalked out of the building in her nightgown and ventured onto the Capsule Corp grounds barefoot, finally coming to a stop in one of Bulma's private gardens.

Then, for the next six hours, she had sat on a stone bench and thought.

The fight with Trunks that evening had put into sharp effect what she had never seen before. Perhaps, she mused, it was because she had simply refused to see it. Their relationship had, after all, never experienced even the smallest break before. In fact, she couldn't remember if they'd ever argued at all.

Their journey through their teenage years together had been gloriously smooth, peaceful, and untouched.

She realized now how wrong that had been.

She had, she admitted, molded Trunks into what she believed was the perfect man for her: smart and handsome (of course, he was already those things without her help), but also the ultimate businessman, a corporate executive who stood at the peak of human existence and who would be the ideal provider for her and their future family. She had chosen him because he was the closest to her idea of "perfect", because he could take her further than any other man could take her, and because she had taken one look at that chiseled, tanned face with its sparkling blue eyes and had fallen completely in love.

But he had been nothing more than a tool for her to reach her ultimate goal…

A perfect life.

"There is no such thing," she whispered into the night air in an epiphany. "There is no perfect life. There is only a fulfilling life." She smiled and lifted her face towards the light of the moon at this realization. It felt as if she could now begin her relationship with Trunks anew, keeping in mind both of their needs this time around, not only hers.

Tucking a few wispy strands of blond hair behind her ear, Marron made the decision to put an extra effort into understanding Trunks completely. He was her fiancé, the man she would be spending the rest of her life with. There was no way she wanted an incomplete relationship going into a binding contract as strong as the one of matrimony.

She couldn't believe it. She was actually getting married to the man she loved, finally, after three long years of engagement.

And so a decision was made.

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Frustrated at my own weakness, I hurriedly wiped the tears from my eyes and molded my face into the mask of determination that I was known for. There was no way, after I had exponentially increased my power level after years of training and after I had come this far from the useless little brat that I used to be, that I was going to quit now. I would transform, and I would show all of the Z-senshi, Saiyan or not, what Son Pan was made of.

I was going to become a Super Saiyan.

Furrowing my eyebrows in resolution, I walked into the control pad of the main hangar of the space capsule. I had decided upon my arrival to live in the capsule from then on, turning it into a type of apartment. (I absolutely refused to follow in my uncle's footsteps and leech off of my parents at the age of twenty-two.) My new home, with its sparse furnishings and yet extremely comfortable atmosphere, was now fit snugly into a clearing a few miles into the woods of my grandparents' home, permanently. This way I could have my independence while still being within convenient visiting distance of my parents' and grandparents' homes.

Pushing that thought aside, I turned up the gravity to four hundred g's and withstood the gigantic change of pressure without even flinching. I smirked. After three years of the hardest training I had ever endured, my body obeyed my every order unerringly. I was at my physical best, but I knew I could still do better.

I drew my breath in raggedly, crouched into position, and prepared to attempt, once again, the impossible.

Three hesitant knocks at the door interrupted me.

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To say that Marron was extremely nervous was a definite understatement, but what had to be done had to be done. She had made this decision in the wee hours of the morning that she had spent in Bulma's garden before returning to her fiancé's room, and she resolved not to back out.

It would be hard, tedious, and most likely very, very, very painful.

She strengthened her faltering determination.

But it would be worth it, she told herself.

Which was why she was now standing in front of Pan's new residence, her hand just lowered after knocking on the door. She heard a small mechanic beep before the panel slid open and the very battered, bloody, and surprised face of her fiancé's best friend greeted her.

Shoving back her inhibitions on the subject, she took the plunge.

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Of all people, Marron was the last I would have expected to be calling on me so early in the morning. From what I had heard, she was definitely not a morning person and hated getting up early.

So…

Why the hell was she standing at my front door, asking to be let in?!

I wordlessly complied, too shocked to offer a coherent answer. I managed to put aside my confusion in time to notice that Marron, usually very composed and calmly confident, was extremely edgy. As the front door slid shut with a sudden whoosh, she jumped nearly a foot into the air.

Interesting?

Hell yea.

I led her into my living quarters and offered her a chair, and then quickly wiped down my bloody face before joining her, plopping into my favorite armchair. To tell the truth, I was dreading the conversation to come, knowing that it would be awkward between us. After all, I didn't know her very well, and neither did she know me. We were never really friends, but appearances, I guess, needed to be kept.

I smiled warmly in order to ease the incredibly tense atmosphere.

"Can I get you anything to drink?"

"Oh, no thank you, I'm alright."

Silence.

"So….." I began.

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry if I've called at a bad time -"

"No, no, it's fine. It's not like I was busy with anything. Can I help you with something?"

She paused.

"Actually, yes."

Another pause.

"I've come because I have an enormous favor to ask of you."

Wow. Things just keep on getting more and more interesting today…

"You don't need to agree if you don't want to," she said in a rush, "but it would really mean a lot to me and it took a lot of time for me to even come to this decision and of course I don't want to impose on your hospitality or take advantage of you in any way, but…"

"But…?"

She bit her lip in the way I had seen her do before when she was terribly nervous.

"Will you train me?" she blurted out.

………………

`WHAT?'

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Author's Note: Yay, I finally finished this chapter! Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed. I'll definitely try to update faster, because after next week (Advanced Placement Test "Hell" Week), I'm free! Again, sorry for the delay.

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Author's Rant: Okay, I seriously apologize for posting this, but I really couldn't help it. Recently I just saw on Cartoon Network the U.S. or "dubbed" version of Dragonball GT. I nearly had a heart attack, it was so bad. Pan's name is not pronounced "pan" as in "frying pan"… it's pronounced "pawn". I couldn't believe it, the Americanization was so awful…. Her voice is so whiny! She sounds like a brat! ARGH!!! If anyone besides me agrees that FUNimation has destroyed a Japanese classic, please let me know. Meanwhile, I'm off to cover my face with a pillow and scream.

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Disclaimer: Any and all characters belonging to Dragonball/Z/GT are the legal property of Toriyama Akira and/or FUNimation.