Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ The Broken Road ❯ Chapter 4 ( Chapter 4 )

Chapter 4

When he woke up, Trunks could hear a voice, but it sounded distant. “I'm sorry I can't be there today, Bulma. Trunks is sick. I think it'd be better if I stayed home with him.”

Trunks blinked his eyes. He was on the couch in the living room of their apartment. The room was dark, but he could see from the glow behind the drawn curtains that it was sunny outside. I'm sick? he wondered, vaguely registering the words. Then he noticed the clammy feel of his hands. No, wait, his whole body felt like that. And his head—oh god, his head! It felt as if it had been split in two. He reached up and miserably raked his fingers through his hair, trying to hold his head from splitting apart completely. “No, Bulma!” the voice continued, a little too loudly for Trunks' liking. “There's no need for you to come over here, I promise. He'll be fine. I'm sure I can handle it. Yes. I know, and I'll make it up on Sunday, I promise. I'll call you this afternoon, okay? Bye.”

The conversation ended and Trunks thanked Dende above for the sweet silence. He closed his eyes again, deciding to ignore the waves of nausea that were beginning to wash over him, and welcomed unconsciousness once more as it mercifully overtook him.

***

After hanging up the phone, Gohan returned to the spot where he had spent most of the last eight hours—sitting on the coffee table by the couch where Trunks lay. He looked over the sleeping Saiyan again, trying to gauge whether anything in his condition had changed in the few minutes that he was on the phone. There was a light sheen of sweat on the other demi's face and neck. He was covered in blankets but Gohan imagined his whole body was probably clammy and warm. His sweat smelled of alcohol. That was why Gohan had dissuaded Bulma from coming over. He was pretty sure that Trunks wasn't really sick, he was plastered. And Gohan doubted if it was something his mother would want to see.

After assessing his condition the night before, Gohan had decided that he just needed to sleep it off. His worst injury seemed to be the cut on his forehead that was caused by his fall on the pavement outside. But his heart had been beating abnormally fast when Gohan picked him up off of the street, so he decided to keep an eye on him until the toxins made their way out of his system. So far he hadn't vomited, or seized, but had simply slept. And Gohan was waiting patiently for him to wake up to make sure his diagnosis had been correct.

Trunks looked so calm and placid as he slept. It was the only time the boy ever reminded Gohan of his future self. Gohan had watched with interest as Trunks grew into an adult, and wondered if the handful of a little boy that he had known most of his life could ever really become the intense and serious young man Gohan had met for several fleeting days as a child.

But it had become clear just how different the same person could be if he grew up in a world full of peaceful luxury instead of surrounded by tragedy and destruction. And, although he wouldn't wish Mirai Trunks' fate on anyone, Gohan sure wished this Trunks had an ounce of the other's self control or humility. Or his selflessness or sense of purpose. Or his heroic dignity. . . . Or, well, he couldn't really pick just one thing. Any of them would be an improvement.

But he supposed he should be grateful that young Trunks was able to grow into a man with all of his innocence and playfulness still intact. All of his irritating, infuriating, irresponsible playfulness still intact.

Gohan shook his head and wrote off his moodiness to sleep deprivation. After all, it wasn't Trunks' fault that he had grown up in a world devoid of disaster and despair. Actually, it was probably Gohan's fault. At least in part. He had killed Cell after all. Before moving in with Trunks he hadn't thought anyone could ever make him regret that.

He rested his chin in his hand and wearily glanced at his roommate again. He vaguely wondered if his brother had had any part in this. Whenever one got into trouble, the other was never far away. But Goten hadn't been with Trunks when he'd shown up at the apartment, and Gohan had more pressing matters to tend to, such as what to do with the unconscious Saiyan prince.

He leaned down to listen to Trunks' heartbeat again, glad that it seemed to have returned to normal. It probably wouldn't be long until Trunks woke up. Gohan yawned. Then maybe he could get some sleep . . . .

***

Trunks was unsure how much time had passed when he next awoke. He was sure of one thing, though. The churning in his stomach could no longer be ignored. He groaned and attempted to roll from the couch where he had been dozing. A heavy weight on his chest was holding him back. Looking down, through blurred vision the image slowly became clearer. Black, spiky hair. That familiar scent and energy. “Goten,” he croaked. Maybe his friend could tell him what they had done last night to end up this sick. Trunks snaked his clumsy fingers through the hair, grateful for the human contact. “What happened?” he managed to gasp.

“You tell me,” came the other's groggy answer. But the voice wasn't playful and understanding, as Goten's would have been. It wasn't sympathetic and soft. It was tired. It was accusing. It was mean!

It was Gohan.

“Ugghh . . . .” Trunks moaned miserably as Gohan lifted himself off the other's chest. Gohan realized he must have fallen asleep while listening to Trunks' heartbeat. His back ached due to the graceless way he had collapsed, ass on the table, head on the couch. But, if the sounds of Trunks' heaving sighs were any indication, his pain was nothing compared to what the other boy was going through.

“Ughhh, I'm gonna be sick.”

Gohan handed him something cold and plastic. Whatever it was, Trunks thought, it was going to get puked on. As he sat up, though, he noticed the plastic thing he was holding was a bucket. He wanted to thank Gohan but all possible thoughts were quickly drowned out by the sound of retching.

Well, that was unpleasant! Trunks mentally complained as he threw himself back against the cool leather of the couch and tried to regain what little composure he had. “Gohan,” he gasped very seriously, “I think I'm going to die!”

Since it seemed that Trunks was back to his normal self, Gohan silently reaffirmed his prognosis. “You are not going to die,” he said. His voice was both sympathetic and amused. But then he turned serious. “Although there were a few moments last night when I wasn't 100% sure about that.” He continued, “I felt you go Super Saiyan a few blocks away. Then I felt your power fluctuating like crazy. That's why I was rushing out of the building to find you when you showed up. What the hell happened?”

The teen just closed his eyes and buried his face in the pillow that must have been placed under his head as he slept. He realized he had also been covered with a blanket. Gohan must have done all this. Trunks lifted the blanket and peered underneath. He still wore the jeans and t-shirt he had put on the day before. His shoes had been removed. He didn't smell too great but he felt too awful to care.

The events of the last 48 hours began to unfold in one cloudy corner of his mind. “I went to a bar,” he said, more to himself than in answer to Gohan's question. “Some guys followed me out. They wanted money.” But that was the least of his concerns. As he reached further into the recent past, he found the memories that were causing him waves of dread, even as the nausea fought them for dominance.

Being with Goten. Fighting with Goten. Storming out of class after seeing Goten . . . .

“So that's why you powered up?”

“Yeah,” he glanced at his roommate who still looked confused. Confused and worried. “I didn't really need to. They were just common thieves. But I—I wasn't really thinking straight.” He looked away from Gohan as he said the words.

“I figured that.” Gohan, too, looked at the ground. He didn't want to pry into Trunks' personal life but he felt responsible for him ever since they moved in together. In fact, Bulma had made it pretty clear that he was responsible for him. He figured that if he would have to answer to Bulma, then Trunks should have to answer to him. “So, did you go to class yesterday?”

“For a little while.”

“Was Goten with you when all this happened? Is he okay?”

“Yes, he's fine. He wasn't with me. Gohan, I really don't want to talk about it right now.” The older man didn't know whether to be mad at Trunks or worried for him. What he had done was ridiculously irresponsible. Had he just been goofing off, or did he have some kind of a problem? Maybe he's just trying to drive me completely insane, Gohan concluded.

Trunks didn't want to tell the other demi what he had been so upset about. How could he have explained it, anyway? Goten had said that he didn't think they should “do it” anymore. What did that mean? Did it mean anything at all? Maybe he had simply been in a mood the other night. It wouldn't be the first time he had gotten mad at Trunks for no apparent reason. Stupid cranky Goten, Trunks cursed as a fresh stab of pain shot through his cranium.

“I'm sorry, Gohan,” he whispered. “Please don't be mad.” And then he looked pleadingly at the other man. “Is there any way you can make it hurt less?” Gohan swam in his blue eyes.

Dammit, he cursed to himself. I had planned on yelling at him! Since they had moved in together, he had noticed that Trunks could be alarmingly disarming. He found it difficult to stay mad at him for any length of time, no matter how badly he wanted to. He was entirely conscious of the righteous anger that had been building in him all night giving way to sympathy and even a desire to comfort the little brat. He shook his head at his own weakness. “Here,” he said, pressing a glass to the younger boy's mouth. “Drink.”

Trunks gulped down a few sips. “Ugh! This is nothing but tepid water!” He whined and squirmed on the couch, taking deep, loud breaths that exaggerated his misery. “Aren't you some kind of doctor or something? Can't I have a saline drip?”

“Yeah, sure, let me just go get the intravenous tubing and hypodermic needles I carry everywhere with me,” Gohan answered sarcastically. “I'm a Ph.D., not a medical doctor. Thank you for your complete disinterest in my career. Now drink the water.”

Trunks made a face, but downed the glass of water. Handing the empty cup back to Gohan, he reluctantly mouthed a “thank you.” In a minute, Gohan was back with another glass.

“As long as you're awake,” he instructed, “keep drinking this. I know it doesn't seem like much, but it eventually will make you feel better.”

“Eventually?” Trunks' eyes widened.

“Don't worry.” Once again he took pity on the younger demi. “I think the worst is over. When you're able to keep them down, eat the crackers I left on the table for you. It's been a long time since you ate. They should help to make you feel better, too.” Gohan had stood up and was backing away from the couch. Suddenly it occurred to Trunks that he might be leaving and Trunks couldn't bear the thought. Although a few minutes ago, he'd have given anything to make Gohan go away, now the thought of being alone seemed terrifying.

Without thinking, he reached out for Gohan's hand. “Where are you going?” he asked, unable to keep the alarm out of his voice.

Gohan looked slightly confused. “Thought I'd better wash this out.” He held the bucket in his other hand.

“Oh,” Trunks answered weakly, letting Gohan's hand slip from his.

After a few minutes, the older man returned and placed the freshly washed plastic bin back in place beside the couch. Trunks felt his face becoming hot with embarrassment. “Gohan,” he started, looking down at his hands. “I had a reason. I mean—not that there's any good reason for, you know, doing what I did, but— I mean, I wasn't just goofing off. Well, I was but—”

“Shhhh.” Gohan put a hand absently on the lavender head as though he was comforting a child. “You don't have to explain yourself to me, Trunks. I've known you for a long time.”

“Thanks—.” Trunks started, but then his eyes narrowed and he stopped himself. Was he just insulted? Did Gohan mean that he expected such behavior from Trunks? He considered confronting his roommate about the comment, but as he looked up he noticed Gohan was already hunched over some paperwork at his desk on the other side of the room. Then he remembered the faraway-sounding conversation he had heard this morning in his half-sleep. Gohan had stayed home from work to look after him.

Sighing, he realized his roommate had good reason to think him nothing more than an irresponsible child. He had pretty much been impossible since they'd moved in together. He was vaguely aware that Gohan had been cleaning up after him. And, of course, he had probably been late for work on the mornings he had to drag Trunks and Goten out of bed. Now he was missing work altogether. Trunks made a mental note to go easy on Gohan for awhile. I will not be a pain in the ass, I will not be a pain in the ass, I will not be a pain in the ass, at least not for the rest of this week….

***

By evening, Trunks was feeling a bit better. Gohan had made dinner and it smelled amazing. “I didn't know you could cook,” Trunks said, watching the older demi balance two trays heaped with roast pork, steamed vegetables, and rice as he walked carefully to the living room. He sat one in front of Trunks and placed the other on his own lap. Lavender brows rose in delight at the sight of a huge piece of chocolate cake on the tray for dessert. “My, my, Gohan, you've outdone yourself!”

“Well, I guess I went all out.” He smiled proudly. “I like to cook, but don't ever have the time. It was kinda nice to have the day off today.”

“Wow. I'm impressed. Makes me wonder why Videl would ever divorce you.” Trunks caught the pained look that immediately flashed across Gohan's face. Oops! he thought, cringing. Maybe it was too soon to be mentioning that so candidly. But he had meant it as a compliment.

“Were you born without that part of your brain which filters random thoughts before they come flying out of your mouth?”

“I'm sorry, Gohan,” Trunks said softly. “I just mean that you're quite a catch.”

“Well, thanks I guess.” He restrained himself from bitterly mentioning that fact that Trunks' high opinion wasn't the one he was after right now. He still thought about Videl all the time. Not so much out of love or because he missed her, but because of the way it reminded him that he failed. Lately, he had been addicted to replaying that sentiment in his head.

For a while, they ate in silence. Then the phone rang, interrupting Gohan's morose thoughts. He jumped from the armchair where he was eating to answer. “Oh, hey, little bro!” he said cheerily into the phone. Trunks immediately stiffened. “Trunks? Yeah, he's right here—.”

But Gohan stopped in the middle of the word when he saw Trunks' frantic expression. He shook his head vigorously from side to side, silently pleading with Gohan to lie for him. “Oh, actually, you know what, Goten?” he continued, his voice wavering only for a second. “He's actually, um, sleeping. Yeah, that's it, he's sleeping. You see, he was . . .” Gohan glanced at Trunks for approval. “He was sick today.” He saw Trunks visibly relax.

Realizing the boys must be fighting, he easily answered Goten's next question. “No, I don't think it'd be a good idea if you came over, bro.” He paused. “Because, um, well, it might be contagious!” He was a horrible liar, but luckily Goten was too trusting to question him. After a few minutes of small talk, he said goodbye.

Then Gohan made his way back into the living room, intending to ask Trunks what that was all about. But when he reached the couch where Trunks was resting, he saw that the younger demi was slumped back against the pillows, his arms protectively wrapped around himself, staring dejectedly at the floor. Worry overcame his curiosity. Alarmed, he only asked, “Hey, Trunks, are you okay?”

“Yeah. I'm just—I'm going to go take a shower.” Trunks didn't want to stick around to answer whatever questions Gohan may have. Plus, he really did need a shower. He tried unsteadily to get up from the couch and Gohan was immediately beside him. The last time he had seen Trunks standing was right before he fell outside their building the night before. Despite his thick Saiyan skull, Gohan was sure he had narrowly escaped a concussion. And he didn't look like he was feeling much steadier right now.

“Why don't you wait until you feel better?” Gohan asked.

“I feel fine,” Trunks lied, as he steadied himself with a hand on the back of the couch. His weak knees supported him for almost three whole steps before giving out. But Gohan easily caught the slightly smaller man before he had a chance to fall. Trunks steadied himself again in Gohan's arms, but didn't attempt to move forward at all. He simply grasped Gohan's clean blue shirt and held onto him tightly. He rested his head on Gohan's shoulder and wrapped his arms around his back, shuddering slightly.

“Um, gee, Trunks . . . .” Gohan wasn't quite sure what to do. He just hugged his friend back and waited. Eventually Trunks' breathing slowed and became soft and regular again. Just when Gohan was beginning to wonder if Trunks hadn't fallen asleep on him, he felt his heavy head stir on his shoulder.

“Sorry,” was all he said. And then, “I'm ready now.”

They moved together toward Trunks' side of the apartment and Gohan helped him into the bathroom. “I can do it from here,” Trunks promised, giving Gohan the okay to leave.

But Gohan wasn't so sure he could. “Um, alright,” he agreed, not wanting to intrude. “But I won't be far.”

Trunks nodded and started to take off his shirt. Gohan began running the shower for his roommate, turning the water to a comfortable temperature between warm and hot. As steam started to rise from the soft stream of water, he turned around to leave. But Trunks was leaning over the sink, looking positively miserable, bracing himself against the marble. His skin was broken out in goose bumps all over, but he was still sweating. Man, he's in worse shape than I thought, Gohan realized.

“You really did it this time, kid. Looks like you've got a case of the DTs. I hope you'll remember this next time you go out drinking.”

“Ha, yeah . . .” the teen answered weakly. In his head he had already promised a million times today that he'd never drink again. Maybe getting off the couch wasn't such a good idea. Or maybe, it was the fact that Goten had called that had him all shaken up. . . . He pressed his face against the mirror in front of him, knowing he looked like an idiot, but grateful for the cool feel of the glass. “You know, maybe I do need some help after all.”

“Sure,” Gohan agreed, stepping over the wrinkled shirt on the ground and kneeling to help Trunks with his pants. Then he realized the slight awkwardness of the situation. He tried to look away as much as he could as he unbuttoned the other's jeans, figuring Trunks would feel more than a bit weird about Gohan undressing him. But the dejected and uncaring look on Trunks' face showed he had not much dignity left. He had already done all manner of embarrassing things in front of Gohan today. There would be time for modesty when he didn't feel like he had just been run over by a train.

Gohan slid his pants to the floor and Trunks stepped out of them, kicking them into his bedroom. But as he did so, his very last shred of dignity was stripped away along with his clothes. The tiny bag of white powder that Trunks suddenly remembered purchasing in one of his last moments of coherency was now laying on the bathroom floor; silently and completely ratting him out to Gohan.

Their eyes met. Gohan didn't have to say anything, because the shocked and angry look on his face said it all. But he spoke anyway. “Trunks!” There was the surprised tone. Then came the anger. “How could you? What were you thinking?”

“Umm . . .” his eyes searched the bathroom as if the answer was there somewhere. “I wasn't?”

Gohan tilted his head to the side, giving him a face that said `that shit might work on your mother but it won't work on me.' Things were starting to make more sense, though, now that he knew exactly what Trunks had been on the day before.

“You know, powering up was the worst thing you could have done! Whatever you ingested,” he said disgustedly, “would have metabolized all at once when you went Super Saiyan. You could have fried your brain, you idiot!”

All of the humiliation Trunks had felt now turned to annoyance. The last thing he needed was a lecture from preachy Gohan. “You know,” he said, turning his anger on Gohan, “if you're going to kneel down in front of me like that, I could think of better things for you to be doing than lecturing me!”

Gohan gasped and immediately jumped to his feet. “I don't know what to do with you,” he admitted, flinging his arms out in exasperation.

“I thought my suggestion was pretty good,” Trunks answered.

Gohan left the bathroom grumbling and slammed the door behind him. “You shouldn't be so uptight!” Trunks yelled, regretting it as soon his own loud voice made his head pound.

He was glad Gohan had left because he couldn't bear the distinct sound of disappointment dripping from his words. It was even worse than the physical pain he was experiencing, and that was saying a lot. Why should I care what Gohan thinks, anyway? he wondered. But for some reason he did.

A half hour later, Trunks opened the door between his bathroom and bedroom and large clouds of steam preceded him into the room. Gohan was sitting cross-legged on his bed, leafing through a science book that Trunks recognized as his Anatomy 101 text, although he hadn't yet opened it himself. Gohan looked up. “Seems like you're feeling better.”

“Yeah,” Trunks sighed. The hot water from the shower and the dinner Gohan had made had done wonders to restore his strength. He even felt a little bad for making Gohan uncomfortable earlier. After all, he had spent the entire day taking care of him.

Trunks slid a pair of black sweatpants on and discarded the towel he had been wearing, then slipped under the covers alongside his roommate. “Thanks, Gohan, for everything,” he said sleepily. “I really mean that.” Trunks closed his eyes and leaned back against his pillow.

“You're welcome, kid.” Gohan patted his shoulder and lifted himself soundlessly off the bed. But Trunks arm shot out towards him then.

“Please, stay,” he asked. Gohan nodded his head in agreement. He should have been mad—as if he had nothing better to do with his time than watch Trunks Briefs sleep. But for some reason, he wasn't. Maybe it was the need that was conveyed in the request. He was sure he had heard some desperation there. And he didn't think Trunks wasn't trying to impose on him, it seemed he simply didn't want to be alone. And Gohan had to admit that, as insufferable as Trunks could sometimes be, it felt nice to be needed. So he watched the lavender-haired teen toss and turn until he fell into a restless sleep. And he continued to watch him for some time after.

***

Gohan woke up very pleased with himself. Once he had left Trunks' room, and cleared his head of the sympathetic thoughts that those blue eyes could evoke in him, he had been able to craft the perfect punishment for his young friend. Although he had doted on the sickly teen yesterday, he had something else in mind for today. Now that Trunks had recovered from the hangover from hell, he would need to learn that he couldn't pull stunts like that with impunity. He would have to deal with the wrath of Gohan. Watching out for Trunks was becoming more of a full-time job than Gohan had planned and he had to make an impression on the kid, or risk becoming his rag-doll for the next year that they lived together.

But how exactly to get through to him? Gohan had thought of the one person that Trunks respected unconditionally. The one person who could strike fear into his untamable heart. He had asked himself, what would Vegeta do? And that's when this great idea came to him.

At 8:00 a.m. on the dot, he rapped on his roommate's bedroom door. When a muffled groan was the only reply, Gohan opened the door. “Trunks, up and at `em.”

“Earth to Gohan,” came the grumpy voice from under the covers, “it's Saturday.”

Just as Gohan had suspected, gone was the vulnerable Trunks of yesterday and back was the sometimes arrogant, always headstrong Saiyan that Gohan knew. He wasn't sure that he was happy about the change. Some parts of yesterday had almost been nice.

“I know what day it is. Here, put this on.”

Something soft but heavy landed on Trunks' head. It was some kind of clothing. Apparently Gohan thought he was going to get dressed at this hour. Not likely. And especially not in anything Gohan would pick out. He absently reached up to pull the unwanted garment off of him. But as he was about to throw it onto the floor, he recognized the fabric. It was Saiyan armor. He sat up.

“What's this?” he asked rhetorically, demanding Gohan explain himself.

“Oh, it's Saiyan armor,” came the matter-of-fact answer.

Trunks was not amused. He knew damn well what it was. What he didn't know was why in the world he'd need to put it on.

“Ohh,” Gohan said, pretending he just now understood the question. “Yeah, I thought we'd work out in the gravity room this morning.”

“And why would we do that?”

Again, Gohan couldn't help but marvel at the difference between the worlds that he and Trunks grew up in. Never would Gohan question the need to train. It was important to stay in shape in case life on Earth was threatened. He knew well that it could happen when a person least expected it. For that reason, he still trained regularly, as did Goku, Vegeta, and Piccolo. But his suspicions that Trunks and Goten had slacked off these last few years were now confirmed.

“I need a training partner and I figure you owe me one.”

“Umm, sorry, Gohan.” Trunks' brain worked quickly. “I think I have some homework to do today or something. Yup, I'm sure I do.” With that he rolled back over in bed and pulled the covers over his lilac head.

“I know all about your homework because I called your professors yesterday and got your assignments from them.” Gohan effectively burst his bubble. “In fact, later tonight I'll help you with it. But I'm sure it won't take the whole day, so there's plenty of time to train this morning.” With one deft movement, he pulled the covers off of Trunks and off of the bed altogether. “So get up.”

The inflection with which he spoke the last few words left no out for Trunks. He didn't hear Gohan use his `I'm serious' voice very often, but he knew better than to argue when he did. Besides that, his best excuse had already backfired and now, not only did he have to fight Gohan, but he'd be stuck doing homework all night on a Saturday. Brilliant, just brilliant.

A few minutes later, Trunks slowly entered the dining room and approached the table. He was still tired and he felt like an idiot in the Saiyan armor. He wore the classic blue spandex body suit with its yellow and white sleeveless vest. Gohan wore the sleeker, in Trunks' opinion, black and white model. “I look like an idiot,” the younger demi complained.

“No you don't!” Gohan was sincere. He had loved the look of the Saiyan armor ever since he was a kid. “You look really cool. This stuff is great.” He stood up and modeled his, thinking—wrongly—that he could get Trunks to share his enthusiasm. The teen had to smile, though, at Gohan's supreme dorkiness.

“You are such a nerd,” he teased, pouring a bowl of cereal.

“You'll pay for that.” Trunks recognized the threat as half joking, but half serious. He decided he'd better keep his mouth shut for the rest of breakfast. But at the thought of heading to Capsule Corp., he did have one more question.

He tried to sound nonchalant. “So, did you tell my parents about the other night?” he asked, trying to keep his eyes down, but nervously glancing between Gohan and his own breakfast cereal until the older demi finally answered.

“No, I didn't.”

Trunks breathed an audible sigh of relief. The thought of Vegeta waiting for him in the gravity room was more than a little scary. Once, his father had found a pack of Bulma's cigarettes in Trunks' Capsule Corp. jacket. Bulma explained later that, wanting a smoke, she'd just grabbed the nearest warm coat and headed outside. They all had Capsule jackets, so it was an easy mistake to make. But when Vegeta found them, he didn't ask any questions. He only thundered into 13-year-old Trunks' room, pulled him by the hair from his seat next to Goten, and proceeded to school him in the lessons of healthy living.

It had ended with the promise that, “If you're bent on abusing your body, I'll gladly do the honors.”

Then it had taken the construction crew two weeks to plaster the hole Vegeta had put in the bedroom wall when he tossed his son through it. And that was just cigarettes.

But Gohan had his own reasons for not telling on Trunks. If Vegeta was the unnaturally strict parent, Bulma was just the opposite. To her, Trunks could do no wrong. He was her pride and joy, he was beyond perfection, and while Gohan was sure someone would pay for Trunks' slip-up, it wouldn't be her son. It would be Gohan. Bulma would blame him for not watching Trunks better, for failing to protect him from himself. So they would keep this their little secret.

But that didn't mean Gohan would go easy on him. He saw the relieved look on Trunks' face, and wondered if he should warn him. He decided against it. Better to catch him off guard.

“You ready?” Gohan asked.

“Ready as I'll ever be.” Then another disturbing thought struck. “We're not going to have to walk out of the building like this, are we?”

Gohan laughed. “I figure we can take off from the balcony outside your bedroom. Hopefully no one will notice.”

A few minutes later, they touched down outside the huge building at Capsule Corp. headquarters that doubled as the Briefs' residence. Gohan headed straight for the outdoor gravity room. Trunks attempted to distract him, asking if they shouldn't first say hi to his mother, but Gohan was determined. As both of them stepped into the gravity chamber, Trunks put all thoughts of escape out of his mind and figured he had better focus on putting up a good fight. His roommate was fiddling with the control panel. “One-fifty ought to do it,” he said, and Trunks felt the atmosphere around him grow thick and heavy. The crushing gravity hit him before he was ready and he felt his knees give a little before he steadied himself in the new environment.

How embarrassing! He thought. He had been working out in 150 times gravity when he was eight. The fact that it even affected him now was proof positive of how badly he had been slacking. He only hoped he'd righted himself before Gohan had noticed.

“Alright,” Gohan said, ready to go. “Let's start with an easy warm-up.” He put a boxing pad on each hand and indicated that Trunks would go first. The teen threw a few punches and then gradually increased the intensity of his hits as he got into the exercise. No matter how out of practice he was, the Saiyan in him felt right at home doing this. He incorporated a few expert roundhouse kicks and Gohan took them in stride. Had a normal person been holding the pads, he would have been kicked halfway across the city.

When Gohan felt Trunks was limber enough, he tossed the pads to the side.

“What about you?” his partner asked.

“Oh, I don't need a warm-up,” Gohan answered, and something about the look in his eye made Trunks very nervous. The younger demi got into fighting stance and braced himself. Gohan came at him with a kick, but Trunks was able to block it. The force of the kick knocked him back a few feet, despite his quick reflexes. Gohan wasted no time making up the difference, as his long leg quickly closed the gap and caught Trunks' chin, sending him upwards into the air.

The young prince quickly recovered and shot a ki blast down at Gohan which he easily slapped away. Angry at the ease with which his roommate brushed off his attack, Trunks lunged towards him. His left foot was out in front, poised to land a damaging blow, but Gohan caught his ankle with his left hand and slammed him effortlessly to the floor.

Trunks lay there for a moment, annoyed at his own lack of practice. He should be much faster. He was really making it easy for Gohan to annihilate him. The other man extended a hand to help him up, which Trunks gladly accepted.

The second round was more intense. Trunks was intent on proving to Gohan that he hadn't turned to complete mush since the last time they'd fought together. But whatever level he brought himself up to, Gohan easily matched it and exceeded it. It wasn't long before he was literally wiping the floor with the teen. They continued that way for what felt like hours, until Trunks had finally had enough.

“Alright, Gohan,” he said at last, thoroughly humbled and out-of-breath. “I know you're playing with me. Whatever level I take it up to, you're going one beyond. So why don't we just get down to it and you show me your full power. I'd like to finish this some time today.”

“Okay,” Gohan said, “if you think you're up for it.”

Trunks nodded. Then he felt the hair lift from around his face. It blew first in front of his eyes and then straight up towards the ceiling as the immense power Gohan was raising reverberated around the too-small chamber.

Shit, egging him on may have been a mistake, Trunks thought to himself, as a blinding white aura began to surround the older demi. Nothing about his appearance changed save that the single lock of raven hair that fell across his eyes began to sway in the man-made whirlwind that encircled him. He exuded power that filled the gravity room and spilled out far beyond. For a moment, Trunks was completely overcome by it.

“Gohan . . . .” he breathed, but the sound was carried away on the waves of energy emanating from his sparring partner. And then his face flushed for a second as a long forgotten memory resurfaced. When he was a kid, the firstborn Son had seemed to him the most powerful man on Earth after his own father. And handsome, too. Trunks remembered that he'd been in awe of Gohan as a little boy. And when he had shown up to fight Buu where Trunks and Goten had failed, and saved them from being destroyed by the monster, he had truly become Trunks' hero. I can't believe it, I had the hugest crush on Gohan when I was a kid! he thought.

But the whims of eight-year-olds were fickle, and aside from that, Gohan was soon engaged to Videl, so Trunks had quickly given up his silly infatuation. He remembered how he had made Goten promise that he would never get married and, satisfied with that, he had all but forgotten about the elder Son. But those giddy feelings came back to him now as he was struck once again by the sheer intensity radiating from this man.

Trunks only realized he was chuckling to himself when Gohan's voice broke through his thoughts. “What's so funny?”

“Nothing.” Trunks shook his head, then powered up to his own maximum, planning to put up as good a fight as he could with the distinct knowledge that he was about to have his ass handed to him.

It suddenly occurred to him that all of this was punishment. Gohan hadn't merely wanted a training partner. He had brought Trunks here to beat the crap out of him for what he'd done. That's why he had so readily agreed to power up. Tricky, tricky, the young prince thought. But he knew that he deserved it. So instead of getting angry, he resigned himself to getting it over with as quickly as possible.

Gohan noticed the look of resignation on the teenager's face. Affirming the other boy's suspicions, he stated, “Alright, this is for scaring the shit out of me yesterday.” Before Trunks even had a chance to move, Gohan was directly in front of him, burying his fist in Trunks' abdomen. The younger Saiyan doubled over and soon hit the wall of the chamber behind him with a deafening thud.

“And this,” Gohan continued, “is for skipping class.” His foot came up and met with the side of Trunks' jaw. The teen landed on all fours on the floor of the chamber. He shook it off and slowly got up, but he couldn't see Gohan anywhere. Then he realized, too late, that the other man was behind him. He felt Gohan's arm around his neck as he applied a headlock that Trunks knew would soon render him unconscious.

Gohan continued his low epithet at Trunks' ear. “Things are going to be different, Trunks. I'm expected to take care of you, so that's what I'm going to do. I'll be tracking your ki from now on and I'll know where you are at all times. I'm sorry to do it to you, my friend, but you've left me no choice.” Gohan sounded genuinely upset at the position he found himself in.

But Trunks was rather enjoying it. Maybe it was his lightheadedness, or maybe he was truly a masochist, but getting knocked around by Gohan was quite a turn on. His head fell back against Gohan's shoulder in the hold, and he let himself be overtaken by the waves of ki that were all around him. The other man was so strong, it was difficult to concentrate. And Trunks could think of a million better ways to put that white-hot energy to use right there on the floor of the gravity room . . . .

“Focus, Trunks!” Gohan warned him, afraid the teen might actually pass out.

“I'm trying, Gohan,” Trunks crooned. “But, you're making it so hard.” He reached down and very conspicuously adjusted himself in the tight Saiyan armor. Gohan caught the double meaning and spun the younger boy around.

“This is no time for jokes,” Gohan insisted. Apparently none of what he had said or done had any effect on the smaller Saiyan whatsoever. Trunks still failed to take things seriously, still failed to accept responsibility for his actions. This kid is unbelievable! Gohan thought. He put his right hand out so that it almost touched his roommate's chest. He tried the last thing he could think of that might work: direct threats. “Trunks, I care about you. A lot of people do. So that's why I'm telling you that if you ever pull another stunt like you did the other night,” he promised, calmly but with definite conviction, “you can expect to deal with me.” A blue ball of energy appeared between his palm and the yellow and white vest of armor.

Trunks no longer liked the position he was in. But the pain Gohan was about to inflict was the least of his concerns. He was more frustrated than he was fearful. He had realized that Gohan was one of very few people that he couldn't easily control. It was so simple to manipulate Bulma with a winning smile, or to get salespeople, classmates, even teachers to bend to his will with the flutter of eyelashes. And Goten, well up until recently he'd been the easiest of all. But Gohan was being downright impossible. “What's the point of saving me from overdose,” he quipped, “only to kill me with a ki blast?”

Gohan regarded him for a moment. “More satisfying,” he whispered, and then Trunks felt the sickening vibrations of the blast resounding through his chest. The room went completely dark when he hit the wall. He could hear the other man's voice, though it sounded far away again. “When you wake up, come inside. Your mom is making us lunch.”

With that, Gohan left the dozing teen on the floor of the gravity chamber and headed inside. He knew that with the protective vest on, the hit was nowhere near enough to really hurt Trunks. But Gohan hoped it would be enough to knock some sense in to him.

***

When Trunks awoke, he had no desire to join the rest of the family for lunch. His father would taunt him for losing the morning's spar to Goku's spawn, his mother would question him about school and prod him about Goten, and Gohan would probably try to micromanage his caloric intake or something. He was awfully getting bossy, Trunks thought.

In a huff, he took off for the apartment. Slipping into his room via the sliding glass door of the balcony, he immediately peeled off his sweaty blue bodysuit. His muscles were already starting to tighten uncomfortably from the damage they had taken. And now that his clothes were off, he could see the brownish purple bruises forming on his skin. Grumbling, he ran a hot bath and added a few drops of bath gel that Bulma had given him.

“Luxuriate in this aromatic remedy for overworked and aching muscles,” he read aloud from the back of the bottle. I think I've earned the right to luxuriate today, he thought, and lowered himself into the warm water.

But as soon as he began to relax, his thoughts drifted back to Goten. The last few days seemed like a strange dream. The two had started college together, had all their classes together, and had an awesome apartment to hang out in. To Trunks, everything had seemed perfect. Wasn't this what they had always wanted? A little voice in the back of his head answered, No, it's what you've always wanted. But he ignored it. He and Goten had always been so in synch, always wanted the same thing. And then Goten had just thrown him this curve ball entirely out of left field.

Had he really suggested that they see other people? Trunks realized that in the back of his mind, he always figured that if he and Goten split, it would be because Trunks wanted to. He just assumed he'd always have Goten's love and admiration. His friend had always given it so freely, and Trunks had always found it so very easy to take. It occurred to him that he might have taken Goten for granted. Maybe just a little bit. And as he admitted the truth to himself, he couldn't help but feel a little ashamed of his self-centeredness.

He also had to admit that he never would have broken up with Goten. Mostly because he didn't know what to do without the other boy by his side. He truly needed him. It scared him to admit how much. He decided to try to talk to him at school on Monday and hope that they could work things out. He would simply make the other boy tell him what was wrong and then he would fix it. Yup, that would be the plan. Simple.

The young prince had almost drifted off in the relaxing bath, when he heard the sound of the balcony door. “Trunks?” Gohan called out through the bedroom, as he closed the door behind him. “You in here?”

Trunks realized with a start that he had left the bathroom door open. He thought about trying to close it, but realized it was no use. Gohan's eyes had already settled on him. “Did you really have to ask, Mr. I-can-sense-your-ki?”

“Not really,” Gohan answered. “But I was trying to avoid walking in on a scene just like this one.” He gestured to the bath and Trunks checked to make sure the bubbles blocked his nakedness from view. Then he noticed with interest that his roommate had brought him a plate of food from the luncheon. Trunks could tell his grandmother had wrapped it by the dozens of toothpicks sticking out of the food to hold up dozens more layers of plastic wrap. Ironically, it rarely occurred to her to use capsules.

Gohan cracked a goofy smile—actually he looked to be on the verge of laughter—and Trunks peeled his hungry eyes off the food for a moment to scowl at him. “Why don't you take a picture, it lasts longer.”

“I wish I had a camera.” Gohan didn't miss a beat. The image of a fully-grown Trunks splashing around in the bath, bubbles clinging to his lavender hair just brought back too many memories of bath time with Goten and Trunks when they were kids. Gohan made his way into the bathroom.

“What are you doing, Gohan?” Trunks voice was alarmed. “I don't know how you Sons live, but I wasn't raised in the woods! Have you ever heard the word privacy?'

Gohan ignored him and dipped his hand down into the water. When Trunks' mouth had dropped open just wide enough in shock, Gohan splashed the biggest handful of water he could manage at the other demi.

He sputtered and spit out the water, his eyes totally covered by wet blankets of violet hair. “Gohan, you cannot do this to me anymore, I'm not a child!” He had no sooner wiped the wet hair and bubbles out of his eyes than another soapy assault came. Trunks gasped at his roommate's audacity. Then he gave up on trying to reason with his tormenter and put both hands to use paddling water at Gohan as fast as he could, being careful not to drench his own lunch. Finally the older Saiyan backed into the bedroom and fell on his backside laughing hysterically.

“Well, I guess you won that one, Trunks!” he said good-naturedly.

The teen just stuck out his tongue and answered with a loud raspberry. When their laughter died off, Gohan looked up into amused pools of blue. “Why didn't you come to lunch?” he asked.

“Wasn't hungry.”

“Liar.” Gohan stood up and left the plate of food on the edge of the bed. “When you're done with your bubble bath come find me and we'll work on your assignments.” Trunks groaned and submersed himself entirely under the bubbles. He could still hear Gohan through the water. “Don't worry,” he said apologetically. “Tomorrow you'll be rid of me for most of the day.”

“Why?” Trunks asked, resurfacing.

“Because I'm going to work to make up for Friday.”

“Oh.” When Gohan left the bathroom, Trunks got out of the bath and dried quickly. He remembered his promise to try to go easy on Gohan for the rest of the week. If he was nice enough to help the teen with his school work, he supposed he shouldn't be ungrateful. Besides, it would feel good to get caught up on everything. With any luck, by Monday he'd be back to goofing off with Goten again, and he might as well get that week's homework out of the way while he had the chance.

The two spent the rest of the afternoon huddled over text books in the living room, and in a few hours time, the Saiyan student had made up all the work he'd missed as well as the following week's assignments.

The work was surprisingly easy and he couldn't help but think he'd have had more of a challenge if he'd gone to Weston. For the first time, he wondered about the long term ramifications of his split-second decision to attend WCU. But he quickly put it out of his mind.

“Well,” Gohan said, interrupting his thoughts, “I'm glad to see you haven't killed all of your brain cells yet.”

“Nope,” Trunks smiled. “Just enough to actually need your help.”

“Nice,” the other man answered sarcastically. “So, you wanna watch a movie?”

“Okay!” Trunks brightened. Then his face fell. “Wait, when you say movie, do you mean real movie or some kind of observational documentary about the plight of the human condition?”

Gohan vaguely wondered if Trunks could read minds.

“Goodnight, Gohan,” Trunks rolled his eyes as he got up from his place on the floor. Laughing softly, he disappeared into his bedroom.