Author's Notes: Hello! Here's my first DBZ story! (Though not my first story, in general) And it's sad. oops. Next one (if there is one) will be happier. I hope...

I've recently got the DBZ bug, and am seriously marathoning the show and reading like crazy... and a bunch of "whats" and "what ifs" popped up, most of them here in tiny details that make up the whole. I hope it is enjoyed! please review! :D

Disclaimer: DBZ and Star Trek (tiny reference) are not owned by little ol' me.

Beta'd by Vegeta'sNo.1 (Thanks!)

Reference:

Vegeta and Bulma: mid 60s

Trunks: early 30s

"Can you tell me about my mother?"

King Vegeta visibly tensed, unprepared for the question. True, he had never held anything from his son, nor had he any plans of doing so. However, he had never told his heir about the woman who had borne him, or of his own abiding love for her; also with no plans to do so.

Sighing, forgetting about what they had previously been talking about, forgetting about matters of state that really should be dealt with, he turned towards his lavender haired heir, and asked, "What brought this about, Trunks?"

The boy shifted, no doubt embarrassed in one form or another, as he should be. Vegeta had never wanted nor needed to speak of the woman to her son; such was Saiyan culture: it valued strength above all else, including family, feelings, and what blood may or may not flow through the prince's veins. But that was just it: the blood of a weakling human flowed through Trunks; perhaps Vegeta should have expected this. The boy obviously favored his mother more than Vegeta was prepared for.

He pinched his nose as he heard Trunks explanation. "Kakarot," he spoke, and Vegeta felt his frustrations mount, "was wiping his eyes the other day, and when I asked why, he told me a very good friend of his died recently. I wanted to know more about his good friend, I didn't know he had any, so I asked 'who?' Kakarot told me his friend was my mother, but he would not elaborate. If she was the best friend of such a powerful general, then why wasn't she here, father? Why had she not made herself known to me?"

Vegeta sighed, still pinching his nose, gathering his thoughts on how to proceed. He had no experience in such matters, he hadn't even asked about his own mother till after Bulma became one. (His own mother had been an elite warrior who had stayed on the front lines, eventually dying in battle, refusing the crown once, and never asked again; such was the short, but heated, affair between his own parents.) It was rare for sentimentality to make its way in Saiyan family life, even between those who professed something more then just friendship. It was rarer still for family units to stay together, as Bulma had told Vegeta humans did.

Mating was for life, but that did not tie anyone together unnecessarily. If a Saiyan found a mate, and if beyond that declared love in foolishness, they could still lead a full and happy life alone, out doing whatever they pleased, as was the case between Vegeta's highest ranking general and his rarely seen wife: Kakarot and Chi Chi. Only when "amorous", or rather "carnal", feelings arose, did both parties naturally fall in together, and no feelings were discussed or even needed, beyond the superficial. Afterwards, a distance was built up again, whether mental or physical.

That he had explained to Bulma, multiple times, and she had begrudgingly accepted. After all he had, in return, begrudgingly talked to her about his feelings. More than once, he shuddered to recall.

He never regretted it, though, not once.

Looking at Trunks as he awaited an answer, Vegeta saw that Trunks did not so much wish that his mother, Bulma, had always been around, but rather he expressed the human wish to at least know who his mother had been. If that was all this question was, Vegeta mused, perhaps he could indulge the boy in such foolish sentiments. But nothing more.

"You know you are not a full blooded Saiyan, right boy?" He asked, and received a nod in return. "Have you figured out which species your mother was?"

Trunks is a smart boy; smart by Saiyan standards at least, perhaps even by human standards though Vegeta had never bothered to find out. Trunks nodded, "I have come to the conclusion that it must be one of our more powerful allies. Maybe the Vulcans, or the Romulans, as both at least share our looks. Their domains are far enough away, and their mentalities also mirror ours, at least to a certain extent. With any other species, I doubt I would be as strong as I am, or as independent, and would naturally expected more from you as a father."

Vegeta smirked, for once having the upper hand in their talks. He would always dominate in spars, but Trunks usually had a way of keeping abreast of any debate, argument, or meeting he was a part of, sometimes surprising Vegeta with his opinions or views. Now however, Trunks was wrong. Vegeta would remember this for a later occasion, but for now…

"Genetics are a funny thing," He lectured, "Even among Saiyans, having strong parents does not necessarily mean strong children, or weak parents begetting weak children. Inter-species relations are even more complicated. Or so your mother once explained to me. She was a scientist, you see, strong of mind, but terribly weak of body."

Trunks mouth opened. Not in shock, but wonder. He had assumed otherwise, especially considering his father's pride in strength.

Vegeta continued, "Saiyans value strength above all else it is true, but every now and then other factors come into play. Kakarot, for example, was lured by his mate's cooking skills. As for me, I was drawn to your mother's absurd beauty, fearless attitude, and sharp brain. Every Saiyan fears me, adores me, defers to me; I guess it was only natural I desired something different, someone different. Such as your... human mother."

This time there was an audible gasp from Trunks. Vegeta allowed the news to sink in, going so far as to clasp Trunks shoulder in understanding. He himself had been shocked more than once from the intensity of feelings that arose in him over a puny, weak, loud, annoying human. There is no surprise now as he feels the familiar ache in his chest over his lost woman.

He and Trunks had been standing in his solar, previously talking over agreements within the Planet Trade Organization, and now Trunks, shocked, stumbled away and sat down on a chaise. Releasing Trunks shoulder, Vegeta walked towards the windows that overlooked the red desert behind the palace walls. Tilting his head up, he looked at the stars, searching and finding the small yellow star that was the sun of Earth, and smiled. Thirty years it had been since Bulma had been to Planet Vegeta, since she had held baby Trunks in her arms, since the science wing had been destroyed.

Planet Vegeta was a wonderful place to live, full of dangers, wars, fights, staged arenas and spur of the moment clashes. Bulma left because their little experiment of integrating science within the capital had failed, and because the Saiyans, as a whole, could not accept long-term residents that were not strong. Bulma needed 26-hour protection, and she had failed to get used to it, even after five skirmishes involving her, two almost ending her life.

He frowned, recalling his own journey to Earth, during a time his father still reigned and he had a chance to reside elsewhere. His own restlessness during his stay on the peaceful mud ball that was full of frivolities and weakness cursed his time there. He lasted there less than Bulma lasted on his own planet; she was stronger than him where it counted.

He placed his forehead on the glass, closing his eyes and remembering her smile as she boarded the spaceship going to Earth; tremulous, fake, but positive. She would not even leave him without smiling. Ten glorious years they spent together, on one planet or another, before separating peacefully and without regrets.

Trunks cleared his throat and asked with a tremble in his voice, "Did she not... like me?"

Vegeta frowned further at that. He wondered if Trunks was OK with an absent parent before only because he assumed his mother was strong, of a race that showcased love within defined, if questionable, parameters. Now knowing that his mother was of a race that accepted, nay flaunted, relationships and feelings, Trunks realized that his own needs were sorely neglected.

Turning around, he glared at Trunks, "What a pitiful excuse for a Saiyan you are!" He walked up to Trunks again and backhanded him, sending him sprawling off the chaise and on to the floor. "You are the crowned prince of Vegeta, my son and heir. You are the strongest prince, after me, ever recorded in the history of our family! You lack for nothing, you yearn for nothing, your future is secured, rare by Saiyan standards, and yet you question if your mother 'liked' you? No, my son, she did not 'like' you." He stopped and stewed for a moment, allowing Trunks to feel anguish before soothing the burn. "She loved you." He finally whispered, daring the truth to be known beyond the four walls.

Trunks sharply looked at Vegeta, hardly believing that the four-letter word escaped his father's lips. "That... that makes no sense!"

"Hmph." Vegeta grunts, turning away from his son. "I guess I should expect nothing less from a human hybrid, not understanding the gift of sacrifice." He walked to the desk, opening a drawer and taking out a framed picture. He stared at the family in the picture, fingering the cheek of the young woman who no longer existed, feeling the ache again as he saw her holding a little two year old boy within her lap as she herself sat in her taciturn husband's lap. Clearing his throat and mind, he thrust the frame towards his son. "Here," he states, "here is a photo of your mother, holding you."

He watches Trunks take the frame gingerly, obviously reverent in the moment of finally seeing his mother, and gaze in awe at the love displayed carelessly in the photo. Vegeta frowned, "She gave you what any mother who loves her children would give, her own life. Not in the physical sense, but in the fact that she wanted you to be fully committed to a way of life, to never question who or what you are."

Trunks did not stop looking at the photo, but Vegeta knew he was listening. "Vegeta may not need both a queen and king to rule, and never has for over 500 years, but we do need an heir. You have a stable life here, but while on Earth, who knows? Perhaps it would be stable as well, or even better; but your mother knew what Saiyans are like, and she wanted you to have the best Saiyan life possible. Without the burden of jumping back and forth between... strained existences. You would not have had such a chance to be so strong, so widely regarded, so revered, had you stayed on Earth. Or so she believed.

"She also believed..." Here Vegeta took a moment to gather his thoughts. He waited so long to speak again, that Trunks looked up to him again. Tears, traitorous things, leaked out before he started again, "... that I needed something of ours to keep me sane."

Tears started falling down Trunks own cheeks as well. Vegeta scoffed, turning away as his son shed emotion yet again over some triviality. He stiffened when Trunks asked his next question though. "What about her? What kept her sane? Why couldn't you two be closer, at least on the same planet?"

Vegeta stared at the bookshelves across the room, seeing but not. "Bulma was strong where it mattered. But she also had a family back on Earth, much more worthy than the one here that I had with my father. She had a support system, friends… more than I could count or would care to recall. Humans are good like that, when your feelings are hurt, they have your back, as much as Saiyans have your physical back.

"I couldn't stand it, Trunks. It was so, fucking... peaceful. She couldn't stand it here, either, for the opposite reason." He looked at Trunks then, trying to convey pride in his voice "She was stronger than I am, son, and I see her resilience and persistence in everything you do. She would have stayed here, and thrived, had there been no other choice." He looked away again, "But time and health are two very unforgiving things."

He cleared his throat one more time, and finished with a true shocker; "She has your sister, as well."

The frame is dropped to the floor. Thankfully, it does not break. Clarifying the situation before Trunks could ask questions, Vegeta continued. "Your sister is ten years your junior, and is named Bra. Bulma could not sacrifice a second time. Though from what I hear, Bra is more than happy, spoiled, and quite taken with her life on Earth... I knew her less then your mother has known you... I... have never met her."

"... You've seen my mother since she left here?"

Picking up the frame from the floor, Vegeta nodded, saying, "Regularly. You will have a chance to meet Bra. I will make it so. Now leave me... we'll talk again tomorrow."

Trunks lingered though, obviously not ready to stop talking, or to learn of his heritage, but realized the king had issues more demanding of his time, and so was done sharing for now. The prince nodded and left the room, enough on his mind to content him, for now anyway.

Vegeta slumped back into his desk chair, frowning at memories evoked by the photo he still held. Tilting his head towards the bookshelves, he asked nonchalantly, "How long have you been there?"

Chuckling, Kakarot came out from behind the removable shelves, and knelt before his king. "Since you took the frame out of the desk."

"Hm."

"Are you ready, Vegeta?"

Growling, Vegeta stood from behind the desk, "I should know better than to expect proper respect from you." he muttered, causing Kakarot to laugh. "Yes! Yes, I am ready." The monarch told his subject.

The two grabbed hands as if to shake, and do not let go while Kakarot uses one of his powers, spreading a white light visible to no one, and then blink out of existence.

Many trillions of miles away, on a little mud ball of a peaceful planet, in a large house that doubled as a corporate headquarters, they blinked into existence.

Quietly, they strode outside and followed Ki signatures towards the burial site. Respectfully, Kakarot stood behind Vegeta as both men stood guard and vigil to Bulma Briefs' grave.