All around him endless, deathless white as far as the eye could see, in all four directions. When he looked up it was white, the ground he walked on was white. He was staggering from exhaustion, hunger, thirst and pain. Especially pain. The gravity was thick and relentless, ever dragging him down so that each foot weighed ten times as much as it should have. His muscles couldn't handle it. Trunks pushed purple hair out of his eyes and looked around feeling desperate. Still there was nothing but white.
He and Vegeta had been in the Hyperbolic Time Chamber for several months, each new day was grueling and difficult and murderous. He could feel himself getting stronger, his capabilities expanding, and yet he was afraid he would die before he could actually grow enough to be of any use. Every day the fluctuation of the temperature took its toll on him, every day there was a new, painful trial to pass;
Worse yet was the mental torment of it. He'd known how difficult this challenge would be when he'd entered, but he hadn't actually imagined the reality of the pains he was going to be experiencing. The fact that everything was white, the fact that everything was endless and impassive and consistent was taking its toll on his mind. He missed the sky and the sun and the grass, he missed sound and taste and feel. Nothing was here but coldness and warmth, pain and despair, and himself. He'd not spoken to another being in weeks. He was utterly alone.
Oh of course, Vegeta was there, he was always there, drifting like a spirit, never complaining, never issuing any kind of orders or expectations other than that he wanted to be alone. It wasn't the kind of bonding time Trunks had been hoping for. Vegeta never spoke. It was as if he'd gone mute. They were nearly almost together, slept in the same room, ate at the same times, trained at the same times, but they never spoke, neither of them.
Upon first entering the chamber Trunks had made a number of attempts to break the ice between he and his father, he'd done whatever he could to try to find something to say, something Vegeta would respond to. In the end it had just been like talking to a wall. Vegeta only looked at him with his black, ruthless eyes, snorted and went about his business. At times Trunks wondered if Vegeta even knew that he was his father or if he still hadn't been told. He longed for some closeness between them. If not some tenderness or affection than at least some kind of sign of approval. He didn't have to be proud. He didn't have to talk if he didn't want to. Trunks just wanted to know that Vegeta recognized him, not only as his son but as another Saiyan, a being worth acknowledging.
He'd given up by now of course, just assuming that Vegeta would never even pass a benevolent glance in his direction. He was just as cold and harsh and deep as the chamber itself.
That alone could prove to be Trunks' undoing. He'd lost sight of the chamber house; he wasn't sure how, or even when, but when he'd walked out to train after getting up Vegeta had been in a particularly sour mood and had issued the decree that he didn't want to see or be within earshot of Trunks for the remainder of the day. Not that day could really be measured by anything but time in this place.
The demand had angered Trunks. It was just the kind of selfish, irresponsible thing that Vegeta would say. Grumbling he had stormed away and kept walking. The point of the stay in the chamber was to train, but Trunks had been training the last three months without stop and he didn't feel like it, especially not after how Vegeta had treated him. He'd continued walking, lost in thought, likely for hours. At some point he had turned around and the chamber house was gone.
At first he merely thought he'd gotten turned around and was looking in the wrong direction, but after turning and turning and turning he'd realized that the house really was out of sight, that the blankness had overwhelmed it, and the turning he'd done hadn't helped, because now he had no idea which direction to go back in. He was utterly lost.
Trunks had picked a direction that seemed right, but hours had gone by now and he still hadn't seen any sign of the house. He was beginning to get really scared. What if he never found his way back? What if he was trapped out here forever? He'd starve. He'd die. The gravity would kill him. The temperature would burn him away or freeze him to death. It was all over now. His twenty years of life had been utterly worthless.
As a child Trunks had always believed that if he could only become a supersaiyan he'd be able to destroy the androids. He'd thrown himself into that goal, going after it for all that he was worth, chasing it until he thought he'd break. When he'd finally accomplished that mission and had been beaten down just as badly it had been made horrifically clear to him that he was not enough. That everything he was, and everyone he was, prince's son or not, trained by Gohan or not, he was nothing. The androids were all powerful. Cell was all powerful. Gohan and the others were dead, the world was being destroyed in front of his face and he could only sit by, like a child, waiting for his own untimely death.
Perhaps he just put too much hope in things. He'd done the same thing with Vegeta.
When his mother had first announced that she was building a time machine to go back in time in order to save Goku Trunks had only been fifteen years old. He'd been secretly thrilled by the idea, although he'd feigned indifference. He had thought that it would be the perfect opportunity, that he could travel back in time and meet the father he'd never known so that they could spend quality time together and get to know one another. In his young mind he'd imagined long walks under the stars learning about their race, sparring, learning all of his father's techniques, laughing, regaining the lost time, just being father and son. He had found the old photograph Bulma kept in her desk, studied the impassive face, the stern frown and the dark eyes until he knew it by heart, until he was sure that when he met his father he would recognize him. He imagined how great it would feel to finally be wrapped in those muscular arms, to feel the tightness of protection surrounding him.
Trunks wiped his forehead and removed his jacket leaving him in only his black tank top. It was getting hotter in the Time Chamber, hopefully not too hot though. Out here there was nowhere to seek shelter.
Naturally he'd been extremely disappointed in meeting Vegeta. Vegeta himself wasn't necessarily the disappointment. Trunks had assumed that the Prince had something good about him, but since he'd never seen it there was no proof, there was no certainty, and his indifference to the way Trunks felt disappointed the young man. He felt like he was a failure, like he wasn't good enough to be the son of a warrior prince. He felt the need to prove that he really was.
Getting hopelessly lost wasn't going to accomplish that.
Trunks kept walking and thought about his father. He was looking for something, anything that would give him a clue as to why in the world Bulma would ever fall in love, let alone have a child with a man like Vegeta. The Prince was attractive he supposed. If there was anything he knew about women it was that they liked the bad boy. They had a thing for renegades and rebels and street toughs; still, Bulma was a full-grown woman, not a high school girl, that indicated that there must have been something else between them, some bond, if not love, then at least some affection.
It had crossed his mind that Vegeta had raped Bulma, but that didn't seem quite right. First of all, rogue or not, it wasn't Vegeta's style, he couldn't picture the Prince doing it. Period. And second of all, they were too casual around each other, too nonchalant. There didn't seem to be any grudges between either of them, nor between Vegeta and Bulma's parents. Everything was relatively normal. Trunks didn't think Goku would let Vegeta get away with that anyway.
So far he'd found nothing to admire about his father, and the search went on, for all he knew, it always would.
Trunks paused. The heat was swelling again. He could see steam rising off the floor, an indication that it was very hot. His feet were feeling warm even with his shoes on.
In the distance he could see a wavering shape, some far off structure. Except there were no structures in the Time Chamber. So could it be…? Trunks hurried forward.
Soon he could make out the golden dome and the huge hourglasses, the sparkle of falling grains of sand. He had made it back!
"Good." Trunks smiled, and with the last of his strength, ran forward. The first thing he would do when he got back was to take a nice, relaxing bath, and then he'd go straight to bed. His walk had been training enough for the day. He wasn't even going to say hi to Vegeta. He wasn't going to even look twice at him. The Prince was just as sentient as anyone else, only better at hiding it, and sooner or later he too would get sick of the solitude. Trunks was sure.
"He probably hasn't even noticed I'm gone." He mumbled.
Trunks stopped
suddenly and stared. Something was wrong. He'd been running for
several minutes but the house hadn't gotten closer. In fact it
seemed further away than before. He hesitated a moment, then ran
again. Still the distance didn't change. Trunks stopped again and
took a long, hard stare at the chamber house. He didn't see any
sign of Vegeta. He should have been right outside, training. Where
was he?
At last the young man lifted his head and cupped his
hands around his mouth, shouted, "Vegeta?"
There was no answer. The house stood silent.
"Father!"
No answer. Trunks' heart began to pound, his chest went tight. The house was vanishing right in front of him. A mirage? An effect of the chamber, or of his wearied mind? He ran as fast as he could, breathing hard, tripping all over himself, screaming, "Dad! Dad! Answer me! Father! Come on Dammit! Where are you? Where are you?" He was panicking, somewhere in the back of his mind he recognized that he was hysterical, that he should stop and calm down and save his strength, but it was no use. He was too afraid. His reasoning had been utterly obliterated by his fear. Trunks could feel tears building in his eyes, starting to run down his face. He'd not cried since the day of Gohan's death, why was it happening now? He'd taught himself to know better. He'd taught himself to control that emotion. So why now?
He screamed again, voice going raw, dropped to his hands and knees, sobbing.
"Where in the hell are you?"
Vegeta had never been there. He'd died. Trunks had told himself that over and over, as if it would change something. Vegeta couldn't help dying. And yet, some part of the young man was angry, some part of him felt abandoned and let down. Why hadn't Vegeta been able to stay alive? And even here in this past world Vegeta was distant from his infant son, uncaring and cold; Trunks had never seen his father even hold or touch the younger version of himself. He could be there. His life had been spared, giving him the chance to be there, but he was choosing not to. He was choosing to allow baby Trunks to grow up without him. Future Trunks resented that with all of his heart.
Suddenly he couldn't stop the tears. He couldn't understand why his life was like this, why he'd had to grow up without a father, without any friends, why his only friend Gohan had been taken from him, and why when he finally got the chance to meet his father Vegeta didn't give a damn about him. What kind of cruel universe was this? The tears streamed down his face and he beat his fist against the burning ground, screaming obscenities. Who cared if he died here? Who would even notice? Vegeta would probably go for the next nine months and not even realize that Trunks had never returned. If he did he wouldn't care at all. He'd probably justify it with his stupid, immoral philosophy of survival of the fittest. He'd probably say that his son deserved to die.
Trunks squinted his eyes shut and continued screaming and sobbing and carrying on. He didn't want to see the white anymore. He couldn't handle it for a moment longer. He wanted to wake up back home, in his own bed, in his own time. He wanted Gohan to be alive so they could go out and spar or train, he wanted so many things he couldn't have. Instead he was going to die here in this god-forsaken chamber.
At last, when the heat and the exhaustion had drained away all of his strength, he collapsed and lay panting on the burning ground, felt it beginning to fry his exposed flesh, but he didn't care. He would simply lay here until he was dead, whether that meant starving or burning to a crisp didn't matter. He was done. They didn't need him anyway. Bulma was probably better off on her own; besides, when Goku killed cell he would probably go to the future and help anyway. What difference did it make? To hell with it all.
Vegeta could explain why he was the only one coming back out however he wanted to.
Trunks just wanted to go to sleep.
"Get up."
Trunks passed it off. The voice wasn't real. It was another delusion of his ruined mind, that was all.
"Get up, or should I leave you out here, Trunks?"
His name. He held to that for some reason. Vegeta never called him Trunks, it was always something else: stupid boy or idiot or kid. Never Trunks.
Slowly he lifted his face, stared up at Vegeta. Another mirage? No. Illusions didn't speak.
"Well?"
"Well what?"
"How do you explain yourself? First you disappear for a whole day, and then when I finally stumble across you you're throwing a tantrum."
A whole day? Was he…looking for me?
"I-I just…"
"Look, if you can't handle this place then you should probably just leave. After all, you're only a child and this is a place for a man to train."
Trunks snapped, "I'm not a child. You have no idea what I've been through or how hard it's been. I realize your stuck in your own little world all the time and there's no room for anyone else, but other people live and die and suffer too! Not everything is about you! For your information I've had to be an adult ever since I was just a little kid!"
"What do you know about hard? What do you know about suffering?"
"I watched those androids destroy everything I ever cared about, what do you mean I-"
"Hey," Vegeta's voice was harsher than usual, "at least you've still got a planet, all right? At least you've got a mother. There's some hope for this damn world still."
Vegeta didn't say it, but Trunks knew that Planet Vegeta was gone, that there was no hope for his planet. That he had no mother. That everything he had ever had Frieza had destroyed, and everything he had now he'd earned himself one way or another.
For the first time it dawned on him that Vegeta was a man who'd crawled up out of the wreckage of an entire civilization and was still standing tall with his head held high. The sole survivor of a once spectacular race.
The realization made Trunks feel like a pathetic little kid and he sat up to look at his father. "I'm sorry."
Vegeta's mouth twitched vaguely in disdain, "For what?"
With a deep breath, the young man admitted, "For you."
He half expected a blow to the face, or for Vegeta to snort and turn and walk back to where he'd come from, but instead a strange shadow was cast over the Prince's face, a look that was almost one of grief, that was almost one of understanding. It was like, for just a moment, the real Vegeta peaked through those eyes, the Vegeta that was being hidden: the lonely one, the sad one, the one who missed everything, who resented everything. Somewhere inside there was a man who wasn't obsessed with beating Kakarott, who wasn't hateful toward everything, who actually wished his life was different.
He lowered his voice and said in a tone completely unfamiliar to Trunks, "You take what you get, all right? And you don't let them put you down, you don't let them spit on you; as long as your spine's intact you never hang your head, you never let them see that they've beaten you, even if you know in your heart that they have. They can't win that way. As long as I'm alive with legs to stand on and fists to fight with no one can ever tell me that Frieza won."
"He destroyed everything, Vegeta, just like the androids. How can you say that?"
"He ruined my life. I admit that, but he didn't ruin me. He didn't kill me. I'm still here. So he didn't win. I did. I came out alive and he got shredded…in a way," there was almost a hint of a smile, "I shredded him, didn't I?" To Trunks' shock, Vegeta extended his hand to help him up. "IF Frieza had won you wouldn't be alive. Remember that."
Trunks accepted the open hand and managed to stand on his shaking legs, "Are you saying I should thank you?"
Vegeta only looked at him.
"Or," Trunks whispered, "are you trying to thank me?"
The Prince snorted, "Thank you?" He looked away, staring into the distance for a very long time, "He needed to be gone. It was time. I didn't care who did it, even if it was Kakarott; but I guess I like it better that you were the one to finish him off."
Trunks looked at him a moment before the implications struck him, then he couldn't hide the smile that broke over his face.
Vegeta glared, "What are you grinning for, boy?"
"You've just never said so much before. Especially not to me…"
"Whatever. Just never let me catch you lying face down on the ground in tears again, all right?" He turned around and started to trudge in a very direct manner. "Now come on."
The young man didn't move, "I thought you didn't want to see or hear me for the rest of the day."
"Don't be stupid. That was yesterday."
Not hesitating, Trunks followed him, "D-Dad…?"
"What?"
Trunks took a deep breath. "Don't you care that my whole life I've never wanted anything more than to meet you?"
Vegeta glared back at him, "Are you going to get all sentimental on me? Maybe I should just leave you out here."
"Dad…" Trunks felt the tears coming back, he wanted to stop them, but once again it was no use, "Please Dad…you know what it's like…not having a father…"
The Prince kept walking. He didn't turn around. For a long time he didn't answer. When he finally did it was terse and uninviting, "It's hard."
"Then maybe you should treat me differently. Not me me, the me of this time."
"What makes you think I won't?"
Trunks had no answer.
"He's a baby. He's not going to remember any of this at all, whether or not I'm in his face; obviously you can't remember me from when you were an infant."
There was a swell of hope in Trunks' chest, "So when he's older?"
"What? You think I'd let him sit around and get stagnant? Play video games and eat crappy human food?" he turned around and looked Trunks right in the eyes, "Any son of mine has got to be strong—as strong as Kakarott's boy, if not stronger. He's not going to get that way without proper training. It's sort of a shame really, that I wasn't there in the future to put you in your place."
Trunks felt almost insulted. "You could fix that now."
Vegeta shook his head. Beyond him Trunks could see the chamber house; the Prince began walking toward it, "Teaching a child and sparring with a full-grown are two different things: I train alone."
That was the final word. Vegeta marched forward and went inside. Trunks stared after him.
He felt like he'd uncovered something. Vegeta was functioning on more than one level, he did have some emotions, some regard for his current life; perhaps he resented being held to this planet by what he regarded to be sentiments, but at least Trunks couldn't imagine him just completely abandoning his only child. There was something in his tone that suggested doing such a thing would be utterly disgraceful, that he believed he should be a part of his son's life. Trunks wondered if that was because he wanted his son to beat-out Gohan, or because he knew what it was like to grow up fatherless and didn't want his own child to go through that.
Trunks thought back to Vegeta's fight with Android eighteen. He'd been so set on fighting her, so insistent that he was the only one, refusing any form of help; back then he had just seemed stubborn, now Trunks could see that he hadn't wanted help because the Prince finished what he started, he saw it through to completion and perfection, like any aspect of his life. He bet that Vegeta repaid his debts too. It was suddenly very clear that all the arrogance, all the cockiness and selfishness was really just a façade. One thing drove Vegeta, one thing alone: honor.
Had Bulma seen that somehow? Had she picked up on it and watched it and admired it and learned to appreciate it? Had she seen that in spite of Vegeta's coarse actions he would make a good lover, and even a good father, if only because his honor would keep him from running out?
Trunks began to limp inside. No one would ever know, other than Bulma, and it was as good a guess as any, but the very thought made him see his father differently. It made him believe that there was some good in the Prince.