All right. I have no idea why I wrote this, as I am not a DBZ author. But I
was staring at my calender (its got super-sayains all over it! ^_^) and this
idea just came to me, demanding to be written. So I did. This never
happened, but I feel sorry for Bulma, so I made it happen. Ha!
*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*
For Life
By Phoenix Cubed
A Dragon Ball Z story.
*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*
"Do you love her?"
The question shocked Vegeta down to his very core. So much, in fact,
that he nearly lost his balance and slipped off the tree he was leaning on.
Vegeta glared at the normally shy and self-effacing boy in front of him,
"what? What kind of question is that?"
"A simple one," Trunks crossed his arms and returned his father's glare
eye for eye. "Do you, or did you, ever love mom? I'm not leaving until
I get an answer."
They stood face to face in the expansive backyard of the Brief's home,
facing off like two duelers at dusk. Trunks had tracked down his father in
the fading evening light to ask him the question that had been burning in
his head ever since he was old enough to understand. The young warrior
thought he would never have it answered. But now, finally catching his
father alone and knowing he would return to his mother with the sunrise,
Trunks could not resist the chance. It would never come again.
"How dare you ask me such a question, boy." Vegeta stood in royal fury,
his fists clenched at his sides in an angry expression to hide the surprise
that still welled within him, "You as a Saiyan should know better."
"But I don't," the boy replied coolly, " And I have no idea of what it means
to be one, either. In my future, there are no Saiyans to teach me. You're
all dead. All that's left of any of you are the stories mother tells me
when I'm recuperating after a battle with the Androids." Trunks's eyes
narrowed, "And let me assure you, father, not all of them are heroic."
"Bah!" Vegeta spat, "This is ridiculous! I refuse to listen to this nonsense
any longer," he snarled and turned to walk back to the house, "go home, boy."
"She has no idea, you know!" The youth called to the back of the
retreating prince. He was determined not to let the Saiyan leave before
he got the answer he wanted. "From the time you left her to the day I did,
it's the only thing she could never figure out; what honor was to be had in
using her and leaving like you did! Prince of Saiyans indeed!"
Vegeta stopped cold. The grass under his feet began to sway and lay flat
against the ground like a harsh breeze had gusted through them without
waning. And as suddenly as that, he vanished into the air, only to
rematerialize inches from Trunks to deliver a devastating blow to the
young warrior's midsection. Trunks's lungs emptied in a fast whoosh, and
he doubled over in pain and surprise, falling to his knees on the ground.
One hand resting in the grass to balance him and the other cradling his
tender middle, the half-Saiyan looked up to see his father's eyes blazing
with hot fire rage.
"Never," Vegeta hissed, "never question my honor again."
Beads of sweat began to run down Trunk's pale temples as he struggled
to his feet. The boy watched as again Vegeta put his back to the youth in
a motion to retreat once more. Trunks tried to force words from his mouth
that would make the older man stay, but all that came out were the
choked syllables of despair as he realized his one chance for answers
was about to walk away forever.
But Vegeta did not walk away. With his muscular back still to his grown
son, his eyes had been captured by the scene inside the nursery window,
where Bulma herself rested, nursing the infantile Trunks. Vegeta
watched the scene for a time, a strange emotion glittering in his eyes.
Behind him he could hear the future form of his soul progeny struggling to
his feet, gearing up for another verbal assault.
My, how the boy would grow.
Trunks took a deep, uninhibited breath, his mind racing to come up with
the right combination of words that would extract the desperately wanted
answers from his father's mouth. He was surprised, however, and the
words were taken away again, when Vegeta spoke on his own.
"Tell me again, boy," he said, "What does your mother say about me?"
Though the question caught him by surprise, Trunks had known the
answer to it long before it had even been formed, so his words were slow
and deliberate, wanting to get them exactly right for the sake of both his
parents. "Goku, mother said, was a great man, but mother never thought
of him as anything but a man. In her mind, you were the only real Saiyan
left, and in you she would say was the pride and power of a dead race
that would never be forgotten. The power was built on the need for
vengeance, and the pride a disguise to hide how lonely you were."
Trunks looked away, not daring to meet his father's eyes with his words.
"No one knows why she did, but she loved you--didn't want you to be
lonely anymore--I guess that's why I'm here. Even after the fights you
two had, or would've."
Vegeta snorted, but his eyes had still not left the image in the window.
Trunks seized the opportunity of his father's strange quietness and
plowed on, faster now. "She said it was all worth it though, to see the
expression on your face when you found out you were a father. She used
to have a picture of the three of us in a secret drawer in her workstation.
Mother would take it out and look at it for hours when she thought I wasn't
around. I know for a fact that I am not the center of attention when she
stares at it--she doesn't cry when she looks at me."
Strangely enough, Vegeta remembered that picture. It had been taken
right before he had left on his quest to become a Super-Saiyan. The first
and only time he had held his son. Then something registered in the
prince's mind. "Used to, you say."
"The Androids attacked the Capsule Corporation some years back."
Trunks's eyes went distant, "we lost...everything that day." Trunks shook
his head, coming back to the happier time of the present. "It'll be mom's
birthday when I get back, she gave me a duplicate of that picture to give
to herself." The boy smiled wryly at his mother's antics, "so I'd know what
to get her."
Vegeta turned around and looked at Trunks, "do you have that picture
now?"
He nodded.
"Give it to me."
Warily, Trunks complied. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled
out a small three by five photograph and handed it to Vegeta, wondering
what his father would do with it.
A far off look came to Vegeta's face as he studied the picture. Bulma
*would* think the photo worth it. Vegeta himself was centered in the
picture, an astonished look plastered on his features as he held the tiny,
cat-hatted infant in his arms, as if it were something that was no doubt
going to break as soon as the prince moved so much as twitched a
muscle. Bulma leaned against him, her arms crossed in front of her while
winking at the camera, a self-satisfied smirk gracing her face. Vegeta
shook his head slightly and ran his thumb across her image. That
woman.
Trunks stood as silently as possibly, trying hard not to let the growing
silence in the backyard become uncomfortable. He studied the grass for
a time, wondering what his mysterious father could be thinking.
"It could not be helped."
Startled, Trunks looked up to see that his father hadn't, but spoke
nonetheless.
"Pride and power come in many forms, Trunks," Vegeta said in a soft voice,
"you'd do well to remember that."
He stared at his father, not understanding. Vegeta lifted his head to look
at his son, a smirk of his own set across his features. "She doesn't know,
you say? Then your mother has either neglected to tell you one story,
yet, or her memory is not nearly as good as she boasts."
"I don't understand," Trunks replied, shaking his head slowly.
"Of course not," Vegeta's smug look grew. "Next time you see her, have
your mother tell you the story of the night this picture was taken. Let us
see if that will not answer your question. And just in case her mind is as
bad as I suspect--"
Vegeta looked about for a moment, until he caught sight of a promising
twig and snapped it off a branch above his head. He squinted at it a
moment, then flicked it with his other hand, causing the end to begin to
smoke and char black. Flipping it around like a pen, Vegeta scribbled
something on the back of the photograph, then threw the twig aside and
flicked the photo back to Trunks.
"--That will jog her memory."
Trunks reached out frantically and caught the picture before it could reach
the ground. He cradled it to his chest like a precious jewel and looked
back up to glare at his father, only to find him walking away once more.
"Ask your mother for the story, son, and see if that does not answer both
of your questions'."
Embodying the very essence of the Saiyan race, Vegeta walked away
from one son and to the other, now sinking well below the horizon as it
did every evening.
Trunks watched his father's stride for the last time in the fading daylight.
His gait slow and strong, it was exactly what it had to be. The youth
looked at the photograph again, then turned it around to read what
Vegeta had written.
Scrawled on the white photopaper in blocky, charred letters were two
simple words.
'For life'
Trunks tucked the photo in his jacket pocket. He did not call his father
back.
*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*
Good? Bad? Never write again? Review me, darn it!
was staring at my calender (its got super-sayains all over it! ^_^) and this
idea just came to me, demanding to be written. So I did. This never
happened, but I feel sorry for Bulma, so I made it happen. Ha!
*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*
For Life
By Phoenix Cubed
A Dragon Ball Z story.
*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*
"Do you love her?"
The question shocked Vegeta down to his very core. So much, in fact,
that he nearly lost his balance and slipped off the tree he was leaning on.
Vegeta glared at the normally shy and self-effacing boy in front of him,
"what? What kind of question is that?"
"A simple one," Trunks crossed his arms and returned his father's glare
eye for eye. "Do you, or did you, ever love mom? I'm not leaving until
I get an answer."
They stood face to face in the expansive backyard of the Brief's home,
facing off like two duelers at dusk. Trunks had tracked down his father in
the fading evening light to ask him the question that had been burning in
his head ever since he was old enough to understand. The young warrior
thought he would never have it answered. But now, finally catching his
father alone and knowing he would return to his mother with the sunrise,
Trunks could not resist the chance. It would never come again.
"How dare you ask me such a question, boy." Vegeta stood in royal fury,
his fists clenched at his sides in an angry expression to hide the surprise
that still welled within him, "You as a Saiyan should know better."
"But I don't," the boy replied coolly, " And I have no idea of what it means
to be one, either. In my future, there are no Saiyans to teach me. You're
all dead. All that's left of any of you are the stories mother tells me
when I'm recuperating after a battle with the Androids." Trunks's eyes
narrowed, "And let me assure you, father, not all of them are heroic."
"Bah!" Vegeta spat, "This is ridiculous! I refuse to listen to this nonsense
any longer," he snarled and turned to walk back to the house, "go home, boy."
"She has no idea, you know!" The youth called to the back of the
retreating prince. He was determined not to let the Saiyan leave before
he got the answer he wanted. "From the time you left her to the day I did,
it's the only thing she could never figure out; what honor was to be had in
using her and leaving like you did! Prince of Saiyans indeed!"
Vegeta stopped cold. The grass under his feet began to sway and lay flat
against the ground like a harsh breeze had gusted through them without
waning. And as suddenly as that, he vanished into the air, only to
rematerialize inches from Trunks to deliver a devastating blow to the
young warrior's midsection. Trunks's lungs emptied in a fast whoosh, and
he doubled over in pain and surprise, falling to his knees on the ground.
One hand resting in the grass to balance him and the other cradling his
tender middle, the half-Saiyan looked up to see his father's eyes blazing
with hot fire rage.
"Never," Vegeta hissed, "never question my honor again."
Beads of sweat began to run down Trunk's pale temples as he struggled
to his feet. The boy watched as again Vegeta put his back to the youth in
a motion to retreat once more. Trunks tried to force words from his mouth
that would make the older man stay, but all that came out were the
choked syllables of despair as he realized his one chance for answers
was about to walk away forever.
But Vegeta did not walk away. With his muscular back still to his grown
son, his eyes had been captured by the scene inside the nursery window,
where Bulma herself rested, nursing the infantile Trunks. Vegeta
watched the scene for a time, a strange emotion glittering in his eyes.
Behind him he could hear the future form of his soul progeny struggling to
his feet, gearing up for another verbal assault.
My, how the boy would grow.
Trunks took a deep, uninhibited breath, his mind racing to come up with
the right combination of words that would extract the desperately wanted
answers from his father's mouth. He was surprised, however, and the
words were taken away again, when Vegeta spoke on his own.
"Tell me again, boy," he said, "What does your mother say about me?"
Though the question caught him by surprise, Trunks had known the
answer to it long before it had even been formed, so his words were slow
and deliberate, wanting to get them exactly right for the sake of both his
parents. "Goku, mother said, was a great man, but mother never thought
of him as anything but a man. In her mind, you were the only real Saiyan
left, and in you she would say was the pride and power of a dead race
that would never be forgotten. The power was built on the need for
vengeance, and the pride a disguise to hide how lonely you were."
Trunks looked away, not daring to meet his father's eyes with his words.
"No one knows why she did, but she loved you--didn't want you to be
lonely anymore--I guess that's why I'm here. Even after the fights you
two had, or would've."
Vegeta snorted, but his eyes had still not left the image in the window.
Trunks seized the opportunity of his father's strange quietness and
plowed on, faster now. "She said it was all worth it though, to see the
expression on your face when you found out you were a father. She used
to have a picture of the three of us in a secret drawer in her workstation.
Mother would take it out and look at it for hours when she thought I wasn't
around. I know for a fact that I am not the center of attention when she
stares at it--she doesn't cry when she looks at me."
Strangely enough, Vegeta remembered that picture. It had been taken
right before he had left on his quest to become a Super-Saiyan. The first
and only time he had held his son. Then something registered in the
prince's mind. "Used to, you say."
"The Androids attacked the Capsule Corporation some years back."
Trunks's eyes went distant, "we lost...everything that day." Trunks shook
his head, coming back to the happier time of the present. "It'll be mom's
birthday when I get back, she gave me a duplicate of that picture to give
to herself." The boy smiled wryly at his mother's antics, "so I'd know what
to get her."
Vegeta turned around and looked at Trunks, "do you have that picture
now?"
He nodded.
"Give it to me."
Warily, Trunks complied. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled
out a small three by five photograph and handed it to Vegeta, wondering
what his father would do with it.
A far off look came to Vegeta's face as he studied the picture. Bulma
*would* think the photo worth it. Vegeta himself was centered in the
picture, an astonished look plastered on his features as he held the tiny,
cat-hatted infant in his arms, as if it were something that was no doubt
going to break as soon as the prince moved so much as twitched a
muscle. Bulma leaned against him, her arms crossed in front of her while
winking at the camera, a self-satisfied smirk gracing her face. Vegeta
shook his head slightly and ran his thumb across her image. That
woman.
Trunks stood as silently as possibly, trying hard not to let the growing
silence in the backyard become uncomfortable. He studied the grass for
a time, wondering what his mysterious father could be thinking.
"It could not be helped."
Startled, Trunks looked up to see that his father hadn't, but spoke
nonetheless.
"Pride and power come in many forms, Trunks," Vegeta said in a soft voice,
"you'd do well to remember that."
He stared at his father, not understanding. Vegeta lifted his head to look
at his son, a smirk of his own set across his features. "She doesn't know,
you say? Then your mother has either neglected to tell you one story,
yet, or her memory is not nearly as good as she boasts."
"I don't understand," Trunks replied, shaking his head slowly.
"Of course not," Vegeta's smug look grew. "Next time you see her, have
your mother tell you the story of the night this picture was taken. Let us
see if that will not answer your question. And just in case her mind is as
bad as I suspect--"
Vegeta looked about for a moment, until he caught sight of a promising
twig and snapped it off a branch above his head. He squinted at it a
moment, then flicked it with his other hand, causing the end to begin to
smoke and char black. Flipping it around like a pen, Vegeta scribbled
something on the back of the photograph, then threw the twig aside and
flicked the photo back to Trunks.
"--That will jog her memory."
Trunks reached out frantically and caught the picture before it could reach
the ground. He cradled it to his chest like a precious jewel and looked
back up to glare at his father, only to find him walking away once more.
"Ask your mother for the story, son, and see if that does not answer both
of your questions'."
Embodying the very essence of the Saiyan race, Vegeta walked away
from one son and to the other, now sinking well below the horizon as it
did every evening.
Trunks watched his father's stride for the last time in the fading daylight.
His gait slow and strong, it was exactly what it had to be. The youth
looked at the photograph again, then turned it around to read what
Vegeta had written.
Scrawled on the white photopaper in blocky, charred letters were two
simple words.
'For life'
Trunks tucked the photo in his jacket pocket. He did not call his father
back.
*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*
Good? Bad? Never write again? Review me, darn it!