Author’s Notes: Just a little DBZ chick lit. “Present” timeline. This story is based on an idea suggested to me by the one, the only Lord Truhan — many, many thanks! It seems to be taking a different path than I originally envisioned, but I’m having fun with it so I’m gonna run with it :) Hope you enjoy.

Chapter 17

The Supreme Kai approached Goku where he stood at the Lookout, gazing with somber features into the Kai’s crystal ball. The image of the two youngest demis, embracing on the dark landscape of the faraway planet, glowed on the surface of the glass.

When Supreme Kai had shown up beside him in the moments before their ship crashed, and whisked him away from disaster, Goku had been stunned to find himself at the Lookout, surrounded by family and friends. Piccolo, Dende, Vegeta, Bulma, and Popo kept their distance while Gohan explained to his father why they left the boys to fend for themselves. Goten and Trunks, it seemed, had a lot of issues to work out and the only way the Z-fighters thought they could do it was if their lives practically depended on it; if they were left with nothing and no one else to turn to.

The others had watched, gathered around the crystal ball like a television, as the boys rose from the ashes that day in more ways than one. But nobody had been more surprised than Goku to see the scene unfold. Until then, he had no idea there was any truth to Vegeta’s suspicions that the teens were fighting because of their feelings for each other. And now, though he was happy to see the boys reunited, he felt more estranged from Goten than ever.

He turned his gaze to the prince of all Saiyans and his eyes were met by those all-seeing black ones. It was with good reason, Goku supposed, that he’d been the last to know about Goten and Trunks. Until they started fighting, Goku hadn’t even really paid attention.

The years he had missed with his family as a result of his choices were never a consequence Goku intended and never something he accepted without remorse. But by the time he returned home from Otherworld ten years ago, Goten already followed his brother around like a puppy; and he had a close friendship with Trunks, just as Gohan always had with Piccolo. As far as Goku could tell, everyone was perfectly happy that way. Indeed, it seemed as though his family had become quite self-sufficient without him.

It was only in hindsight that he recognized his son’s recent behavior for what it really was. And, while Goku doubted he’d be winning any Father of the Year awards any time soon, cries for help were his forte. He turned to the purple deity waiting nearby.

“Can you take me to see him, Supreme Kai?”

***

Goten lifted his head from his friend’s shoulder abruptly. He stared at a point on the edge of the forest where two shadowy figures took shape. He wouldn’t have trusted his eyes, but there could be no doubt who that energy belonged to.

“Dad!” Goten shouted, taking off at a run in Goku’s direction. “Dad, I can’t believe it! You’re okay! We looked everywhere, we—.”

“I’m sorry for scaring you, son. I was back on Earth, that’s all. Supreme Kai pulled me out of the ship using instantaneous movement.”

“Goku, nice of you to show up.” Trunks greeted cheerfully as he took his place alongside Goten. Then he cast a judgmental glance at their other visitor. “As for you, thanks for nothing! You know, Goten,” the teen addressed his friend, lifting his nose in the air, “this isn’t the first time he’s saved Goku and left us to die. I’m starting to sense a pattern here.”

The pureblood smiled. Only Vegeta’s son would talk to the supreme ruler of all life in the universe as if the god owed him something.

“I assure you,” Kibito promised, “if you had been in any danger, I would have taken all three of you home with me.”

Ignoring the argument, Goten stepped closer to his father. He didn’t really care where Goku had been or why Supreme Kai took him away. What mattered was that Trunks had been right. He had a second chance to tell Goku how he felt and he wasn’t going to wait.

“Dad?” He stared up at the tall Saiyan. “I’ve been meaning to tell you that I’m sorry about last week at the lake. I shouldn’t have said what I did. I didn’t mean it.”

“No, you were right to speak up, son.” Turning to properly face the boy, Goku put a hand on his shoulder. “You deserve an explanation, Goten. It’s just that I’m afraid I don’t really have one.”

Goku stared into eyes identical to his own. Sure, he could give Goten reasons. But what would they matter? The teen didn’t really want answers. He just wanted his dad. And while Goku couldn’t make up for the mistakes of the past, he could be the person now that Goten needed him to be.

“Whaddaya say we give this whole father-son thing another try,” he suggested. “I promise, I’m really not such a bad guy if you get to know me.”

Goten smiled and shook his head. “I’d like that.” Then, more animatedly, “I’d really like that.”

“Good,” Goku began, “cuz we have a lot of catching up to do. Like for starters, when the heck did you guys start kissing!?”

“Da-ad . . .” Goten begged his father’s discretion as his cheeks colored a deep red.

“Oh, no need to be embarrassed, son! Trunks is a real looker. Just like his mom.” He approached the royal demi and slapped one of his shoulders like a stamp of approval. “And strong, too. Like his dad.”

Goten only stared at them aghast while Trunks broke into nervous laughter.

“Boy, I could hardly believe it when I saw that! Tell ‘em Supreme Kai.”

The deity shot a wary smile at Trunks, knowing what was coming.

“What do you mean saw it?” the aforementioned Saiyan demanded, forgetting self-consciousness in favor of suspicion. If Goku and the Kai were anywhere near close enough to see them, he and Goten would’ve known it.

“When we were watching you on Supreme Kai’s crystal ball,” Goku announced, oblivious to the offended gasp of his audience. “Oh, yeah, everyone was there! Me, your mom and dad. Hmm, Piccolo and Dende. Mr. Popo and Supreme Kai of course. Oh and Old Kai, too. Man, you shoulda seen the look on his face—.”

“Excuse me,” Trunks cried finally, “this is not a pay-per-view event!”

But then he felt Goten’s hand on his arm and shut up after one look at his friend. Goten was staring at the pureblood apprehensively.

“What about Mom?” Goten swallowed. “Was she—?”

“Listen to me, son,” Goku cut him off abruptly. “I know sometimes it’s hard to tell, but your mother . . . . She only acts the way she does because she wants the best for you and your brother. Because she loves you very much. And so do I, Goten. We want you to be happy. So just leave worrying about your mom to me.”

Trunks thought that Goku had rather skillfully avoided the question. But, however Chichi responded to the news, Goku’s solemn promise to insulate his son from the negative was all the youngest demi needed to hear. His features relaxed and the fearful look was replaced by one of gratefulness, even pride.

The Capsule heir watched them have their moment, truly happy for his friend. But he was struck by the bittersweet realization that it wasn’t only Goku’s absences that had caused the rift between them over the years. The secrets he and Goten had been keeping most of their lives did much to isolate them from the others. And whether Goten knew it at that moment or not, in deciding to take his side Goku had already cleared one of the biggest hurdles on their road to a healthy relationship.

Goten became aware of Trunks watching them and it reminded him of something important. “Hey, Dad, was Gohan there, too? Watching the pay-per-view?”

Trunks rolled his eyes.

“Well, sure. The whole thing was his idea, actually.”

“Then I need to see to him right away. Can you take me there?”

Goku turned away from him. “What about it, Supreme Kai? Can we get a lift home?”

Kibito bowed in that reverent way he had despite the fact that he was the most venerated of gods. “Of course.”

But as the four of them linked arms to prepare for transport, Goku scratched his temple. “Oh, you know, maybe we ought to drop Trunks off first. Bulma’s been worried sick about him. I guess she feels pretty bad about sending us all into space on a ship with no wires or brakes or anything. But hey, all’s well that ends well, I say!”

***

“You sabotaged our ship!?”

Dawn was breaking at Capsule Corporation when Trunks burst into the kitchen of the main house. The blue-haired woman jumped at the sound of her son’s voice while Vegeta, who’d long sensed his approach, calmly shoveled another forkful of breakfast into his mouth.

The teen focused his condemning gaze on his mother and Bulma cringed, thinking that while Trunks certainly had her eyes the glare was all Vegeta. She held her arm out and pointed a finger at the Saiyan prince.

“Your father made me do it!”

“You could have at least shipwrecked them on a planet with increased gravity,” the accused complained and Trunks relaxed his posture with a sigh.

“My parents,” he gestured at them hopelessly. “My own parents tried to kill me.”

Vegeta took a leisurely gulp from his mug. “If I’m trying to kill you, son, you’ll know it.”

Trunks crossed the room and picked up a shiny red apple from where it sat among some other fruit in a bowl. “Is there even such a thing as black star dragon balls?”

“Of course not,” his father answered. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Well, all I can say is . . . .” He tossed the apple into the air and caught it then shot a quick smile at Bulma, much to her relief. “Thanks.”

On the next throw, however, Vegeta reached out and snagged the apple from midair above his hand.

“If you want to thank me, you can start by eating your own food.”

He bit into the piece of fruit with a loud crunch and Trunks stared blankly at the back of his head. That sound was immediately followed by a cracking noise when the wooden spoon Bulma was holding met her husband’s skull.

“What is your problem, Vegeta?”

“For gods’ sake, the boy can fend for himself! By the time I was his age, I had entire armies under my command. And I did it all without my mother suckling me at her teat.”

“Oh, and I bet she would’ve been real proud of her son – the homicidal maniac!”

“Ugh, humans!” he growled.

“Hey, buddy, I don’t know when you last looked at an evolutionary chart but—.”

With his parents thus preoccupied, Trunks decided it was time to take his leave. He got the feeling this was like foreplay to them and didn’t particularly want to be there for the next round. Besides, he was sure he had dirt in places he didn’t even know he ihad/i places and even more than food he really needed a shower.

The sounds of their arguing followed him as he exited the kitchen and headed for the nearest bathroom, taking some comfort in the fact that life was slowly returning to normally abnormal.

***

Gohan dropped another pile of his clothes onto the couch. Wanting to be sure he was at the Lookout in time to meet his dad, he had packed his things hurriedly at the apartment in West City. Then, unable to fall asleep after the rendezvous with the Z-fighters, he decided it was as good a time as any to start settling in to his new home. Now his once neatly pressed outfits were lying in haphazard piles around him and it didn’t make this grim task any easier.

He wasn’t happy to be back here, in the house he once shared with Videl.

So far away from Trunks.

So unfortunately close to his mother.

But Gohan didn’t want to impose any longer on his hosts at the Lookout, where he’d been staying since the previous weekend, so he forced the second thoughts from his mind and returned to folding.

And sorting.

And organizing.

And arranging.

God, was this what his life had been like before? So monotonous and dull?

He was startled from his gloomy thoughts when he felt the energy signals of his father and brother approaching. Standing to greet the two as they materialized in the room, he realized that this was the moment when all he had given up would be worth it. When he saw Goten’s smiling face and got that warm, fuzzy feeling that only the happiness of a loved one could bring. When Goten looked him right in the eye and said—.

“What the hell is wrong with you, Gohan!?”

“Er . . . ?”

Goten didn’t even wait for his brother to answer. Marching right over to him, he knocked on the other’s forehead. It wasn’t often that Gohan was wrong and he was right, so Goten figured he’d better play it up while he could. “Anyone home in there?”

“Hey, what’s the big idea?” his brother asked, slapping his hand away.

“Why don’t you stop me when this rings a bell.” Goten began counting off the offenses on his fingers. “Not speaking to Trunks for five days. Almost ruining his big presentation. Breaking up with him in the hallway at work. Oh,” Goten added as he glanced around the room, “and moving out behind his back while he’s stranded in outer space.”

“Now, wait a minute!” the older demi protested. “You’ve got it all wrong, Goten, I—. I didn’t . . . break up with him in the hallway.” Gohan faltered, then offered with as much dignity as he could manage, “It . . . was the elevator.”

But the elder Son was easily defeated. He’d been so worried about Goten’s feelings that he hadn’t really thought about what Trunks was going through. And in retrospect he couldn’t believe he had rationalized treating a friend so badly.

Especially after—.

“After you slept with him!” Goten noted, as if reading his mind. “Boy when you said you make bad decisions all the time, you weren’t kidding, were you, Big Brother?”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Goku interjected, waving his arms and regarding the boys with wide eyes. He was trying his hardest to follow along but this was starting to remind him of one of old Master Roshi’s romance programs. “I thought that Trunks and Goten were together!”

“Dad, please,” the teenager admonished quietly. “That was so three weeks ago.”

“But, that kiss—.” Gohan was at a loss to interpret his brother’s behavior. When Goten had found him and Trunks together, he had seemed devastated by their relationship. Even if he was angry at Gohan for the way he handled breaking it off, now that the boys were back together, hadn’t it all been for the best?

“That kiss,” Goten informed him bluntly, “was goodbye.”

“Goten, I . . . I don’t understand.”

“That’s my point!” The other demi gestured emphatically. “You totally don’t get it, Gohan.”

His older brother sat back on the arm of the nearby couch. He ran a hand through his hair, and Goten could clearly see the guilt reflected in his charcoal eyes.

“I was only trying to do what I thought was best.” Gohan attempted to reassure himself, but all the good intentions in the world could do little to ease his mind right then.

“I know,” Goten admitted, and his voice was much more sympathetic this time. He walked over to stand next to the firstborn and nudged him gently. “I know exactly what you were trying to do, Gohan. And you’re the best big brother a guy could ever have.”

Goten stared at him thoughtfully. Gohan had only been eleven years old when Goten was born and Goku died. But he had accepted the things he couldn’t change and filled their father’s shoes without complaining. And he had somehow managed to fit raising his kid brother in between graduating with honors and making sure the family didn’t starve. Goten realized that, probably long before he was even born, Gohan had willingly sacrificed for the good of others the happy-go-lucky childhood that Goten selfishly clung to even now.

And yet he had never asked for anything in return; and Goten sincerely doubted he had anything to give that could provide his brother the kind of happiness his brother had always provided him.

That was . . . until now.

“Thing is,” he mused, “what’s best for me and Trunks isn’t really for you to decide. The choice was his to make, Gohan. And he chose you.”

When Gohan turned to face him, Goten met his eyes without wavering. The youngest Son’s expression was open, as it always was. He couldn’t hide his emotions the way the others did and Gohan had long ago learned that he could gauge his brother’s feelings just by looking at him. Though, search as he might, he could find nothing but contentment in his childlike expression now.

“It’s okay, really,” the teen insisted preemptively. “I have another relationship I need to be working on right now.” Goten glanced sidelong at their dad who returned his optimistic smile. Then he turned back to his brother.

But before the boy could say anything else, Gohan stood up and draped a heavy arm around his neck. He dragged Goten to him and buried his face in the spiky hair. Goten closed one eye as a few stray pieces fell into his face and giggled awkwardly at his brother’s overt display of affection.

It seemed to him that Gohan always had some profound thing or other to say; some precious nugget of wisdom to impart. And to see words fail him now was perplexing for the smaller boy. But he happily pressed his cheek into his brother’s shirt and tried not to squirm too much while Gohan held tight to him.

When at last he let go, it was only to trap the younger demi in a headlock and rub his knuckles across Goten’s scalp, messing up his hair like he did when they were kids.

“C’mon, Gohan! Knock it off!” Goten demanded, attempting to wriggle out of the other’s grasp while smacking blindly at his arms. Really though, he was glad for the lighthearted gesture and when the two finally disentangled, it was with matching grins.

“So, let me get this straight,” Goku interrupted, a contemplative look on his face. “First Goten was with Trunks and now Gohan is with Trunks. So . . . if Trunks was going to make it a trifecta . . . .” Alarmed, he glanced from one boy to the other. “Then that would mean—!”

Goten leapt toward the older Saiyan. “Nevermind about that, Dad!” He ushered the pureblood toward the door, all the while flashing his teeth at Gohan in a conciliatory smile. “Let’s just leave the lovebirds to work things out, mm-kay?” Goten suggested, pushing a blinking Goku onto the lawn.

Once his father was safely outside, Goten waited until he started across the grass for home. He watched Goku disappear through the door to the kitchen but didn’t follow just yet. Instead he leaned back into the room, fingering the doorframe. “Hey, Gohan?”

“Yeah?”

“I was just wondering . . . . Can I still run to him with good news and turn to him when it’s bad?”

Gohan pressed his lips into a thin line and Goten worried that he had upset his brother by the way he was refusing to speak again. But finally the older demi shook his head. “Of course you can, Goten. Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Appeased, the teen turned to leave, but stopped to offer one final piece of advice.

“Good luck, Big Brother. He’s not exactly Mr. Forgive-and-Forget, you know.” He realized Gohan would have a twice-scorned Trunks on his hands and he really didn’t envy the man his task. Though he did think it might be fun to see the demi-Saiyan prince put someone else through the ringer for once. “Hey, just make sure you’re not wearing anything he gave you the next time you see him!”

While Gohan contemplated it, his eyes came to rest on the sofa where his clothes still lay in untidy piles. He eyed the mahogany fabric of the only outfit that didn’t belong there.

“You know something, Goten? I think I’ll make sure that I am.”

***

Trunks landed on the balcony of his apartment just after dark. As soon as he’d finished showering, he had passed out from sheer exhaustion in his old bedroom. When he awoke, Vegeta had graciously allowed him to dine with them, commenting that he would need his energy for the next day, when the Saiyan prince would implement his new and improved, ultra-sadistic training program. Bulma had also suggested that Trunks work full-time at the family business starting on Monday to keep him busy until the spring semester began. Then, determining that he’d be spending plenty of time at the Capsule complex as it was, Trunks had once again refused her offer to move back in.

Reaching out now for the handle on the glass door, he automatically scanned the area for Gohan’s energy, though he knew the other man wouldn’t be there. In order to spare him from finding out the hard way by walking into a half empty apartment, Bulma had told Trunks before he left her house that Gohan had moved out. And, although he hadn’t been particularly surprised to hear the news, it somehow stung all the same; especially now, as he stared through the glass into the dark room beyond it.

Opting not to go inside just yet, Trunks lifted off again and floated one story up to the roof of the building. The wrought-iron railing that surrounded it had been decorated with strings of white lights and a few café tables and chairs dotted the rooftop, separated from each other by large potted plants. It would have been a nice place to relax on a moonlit summer night, but now it was deserted, the crisp fall air keeping the building residents inside. Trunks leaned against the railing and looked down at the street below, watching the city move.

He was grateful to be back on Earth and for the familiar sounds of traffic and snippets of conversation echoing off the buildings around him. It was a relief to have his life back – for the most part – even though it wasn’t the way he always imagined it would be.

Trunks raised his ki as a cold breeze picked up. It cut through the thin black leather of the waist-cut jacket he wore with D&G indigo washed jeans, both of which had been chosen more for fashion than for warmth. Surrounding himself with the same invisible energy barrier they used for protection from the wind when flying, the demi-Saiyan watched his hand begin to glow faintly. He didn’t remember just how much of this energy he could channel at one time until it had been absolutely necessary to do so.

To save Goten.

Trunks stared through his spread fingers and focused on the ground again. The people there were gathering on street corners and popping in and out of shops and bars. Some of them walked alone, some in pairs, and others in groups of three and four. He tried to imagine himself among them, and thought maybe instead of spending the night in his empty apartment, he would go out and try to make some friends. But he had known what it really meant to be one with another person; and somehow being surrounded by others – even the millions of others that this city offered – just didn’t compare.

Even if Goten was right and Trunks could have anyone down there that he wanted, he had to wonder, as he rested his elbow on the railing and his chin in his hand, who among them could possibly save him.

Lost in his thoughts, the teen jumped at the sound of his own name.

“Trunks?”

When he turned around he was surprised to see his old roommate standing there.

“Uh—Gohan. When did you—?”

Trailing off, he let his eyes roam move over the other man, statuesque as he looked in tailored Italian wool. His jacket was buttoned over a matching vest and the maroon silk of the tie he wore was visible only for a few inches below his neckline. The deep plum color of the fabric set off his dark eyes and hair just as nicely as Trunks remembered and he found he had a sudden, inexplicable craving for chocolate covered cherries – and one juicy piece of eye candy in particular.

He stopped himself before he could actually lick his lips and cleared his throat instead.

“I, uh . . . I didn’t know you kept that.”

“Yeah,” Gohan mused as he looked down at himself. “Neither did I, actually.”

“Oh, right.” Trunks rubbed the back of his head, remembering how he had slipped the unwanted garment into Gohan’s closet a few days after they argued over it. The suit had been custom-fitted after all and it couldn’t have looked as good on anyone else, so he didn’t see the point of returning it. He figured Gohan would eventually come around and accept it. Or, if not, he’d at least yell at Trunks again when he found it there. It really made no difference to the young prince at the time. He’d have taken attention from his roommate any way he could get it. “Uh, sorry,” he offered a belated apology.

“I didn’t come here about that.”

“Oh.”

Trunks closed his eyes briefly and cursed at himself. He remembered a time when he’d made sport of flustering his roommate. And yet this was the second time now that he’d found himself barely able to form coherent sentences in the other man’s presence. It was embarrassing!

“Goten told me what happened up there.” The older demi glanced skyward and finally the lavender head nodded in understanding. He remembered Goku saying that it was Gohan’s idea to send the boys into space in the hopes they’d reconcile. And suddenly he found he had plenty to say.

“So, Goten told you we weren’t getting back together and you came here to try and change my mind.” Trunks turned his back to his visitor dismissively and, with a bemused snicker, resumed watching the people below. “While I appreciate your concern, Gohan, I’m not quite as useless as you think I am. On occasion, I can actually make a meaningful decision on my own.”

But a moment later, the other demi stood directly beside him, resting his hands on the railing and following the teenager’s gaze toward the ground. Chilly as he was, Trunks was keenly aware of the warmth he could feel at every point where Gohan’s arm touched his, even through the multiple layers of clothing dividing them. He chanced a quick look to his left at the man’s profile.

“That’s not why I came either.”

Gohan sighed. For the second time that week, he found himself at a loss for where to begin the apologies. He had turned his back on Trunks at a time when the other was suffering, simply because he was afraid of the things he felt. The younger demi had called him on that fear from the very beginning; and yet, it was only now that Gohan realized how right his roommate was.

He couldn’t help but recognize the metaphor at work as they stood on the rooftop looking down. It was so much safer to watch life happen below than to it was to get out there and live a life of one’s own. The latter choice required making a leap of faith, falling, and, most likely, ending up broken and bloody on the pavement.

But Trunks had given him a taste of what he’d been missing; the rush that came from standing right at the edge. And he had finally realized that a life without laughter, and spontaneity, and even tears, well . . . that wasn’t really a life at all.

Besides, where had the safe route ever gotten anybody, anyway?

Much to the younger demi’s surprise, Gohan grabbed his hand.

“C’mon,” he said, jumping up onto the railing and physically pulling Trunks up behind him. The teen scrambled to hoist himself to his feet on the slippery rail as his arm was nearly yanked out of the socket. The soul of one black leather loafer slipped and before he even had time to regain his balance, he felt himself being pulled forward as Gohan – who Trunks firmly decided had lost his mind – leapt off the roof and dragged Trunks behind him.

They plummeted toward the ground and the Capsule heir, in his utter confusion, nearly forgot he could fly until the screams of several of those he’d just been watching snapped him out of his reverie. He pulled up and stopped them both a few feet above the ground, amid the frightened gasps of the humans all around them. Gohan hung from his outstretched arm, feet barely scraping the sidewalk. He gazed up at Trunks and after a moment . . . he smiled.

Trunks shook him off.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” he demanded as he touched down a second later; but Gohan only stared at him with a sort of dazed grin. The other demi knew damned well they weren’t supposed to use their powers in front of people unless it was an emergency. And as Trunks glanced left and right at the fearful semi-circle gathering around them he wondered when the hell he had become the level-headed one.

“This is just GREAT,” he snapped at Gohan. “I can’t wait to see what kind of headlines they come up with for this one.” The eldest Son took a step toward him and Trunks backed away. “Why did you even come here, Gohan? If you want to make a spectacle of yourself leaping tall buildings in a single bound, then go dig up your Saiyaman costume and just leave me out of it!”

Angrily, he turned toward the door of his building where the doorman was staring at them in shock. Trunks smoothed his hair and jacket, then gestured at the brass handle of the door expectantly as if there was no reason anyone should be behaving any differently than normal.

Stammering, the man pulled open the door but Trunks barely managed one step toward the lobby when he felt a strong grip on his arm, pulling him back. Inertia spun him around and the teen only had time to gasp shortly before Gohan crushed their mouths together.

“Mmph—!” Out of surprise alone the royal demi protested the kiss, his whole body stiffening in response to Gohan’s other arm tightening around his waist. His alert blue eyes darted in the direction of the crowd, but he could already feel the lids growing heavy. And as soon as he closed his eyes, all Trunks was aware of was the heat of Gohan’s body pressed against his own and the gentle but insistent tongue seeking entrance to his mouth. His head swam and he granted access rather automatically, melting into the embrace with alarmingly little resistance.

As the boy’s body grew heavier in his arms, Gohan let go of his wrist and buried his fingers in the short lavender hair at the nape of the other’s neck. Trunks’s own arms hung at his sides and he seemed satisfied to let the other man hold him up. His protestations started to sound a whole lot more like whimpers and by the time Gohan pulled himself off the teen, Trunks leaned forward for more, eyes closed and mouth still slack.

“God, I missed you,” the dark-haired demi breathed when puzzled blue eyes met his. “Let’s get out of here,” he suggested and the still-blinking boy stumbled behind as Gohan led him by the hand through the small crowd. When they reached an open portion of sidewalk, they leapt into the air together, quickly leaving the stunned spectators behind.

It took awhile before Trunks found his voice again. “Where are we going?”

Gohan still held his hand and he flew only as far behind the other demi as his outstretched arm would allow.

“Someplace we can talk.”

“I take it the rooftop wasn’t to your liking.”

Gohan smiled but didn’t answer. He could feel Trunks glaring at the back of his head and knew the teen was trying to figure out what was going on in there. But he allowed Gohan to lead him through the air, apparently content to stick around until he figured it out.

“The Lookout?” Trunks wondered aloud as the semi-spherical platform came into view. It rapidly grew larger as they approached and it was only a few seconds until they touched down on the white marble tiles.

“Just a quick pit stop,” Gohan promised. He held up two hands. “Don’t move.”

With that he raced toward the palace and entered the kitchen, finding the Lookout’s residents there. “Hi, Dende,” he greeted. “Hi, Popo. You don’t mind if I grab a few things, do you?” Without waiting for an answer, Gohan began rooting through the cabinets and, after a moment, he went to the window. “Hey, Trunks, are you hungry?”

From across the platform, the royal demi shook his head in the negative and Gohan returned to the fridge. He chose only a few select provisions then shrunk them down with a storage capsule.

“Thanks, guys. I’ll owe ya one. Oh and I’m taking the blanket from the bedroom I’ve been sleeping in. I should . . . uh . . . wash it for you!” he offered with barely a wave over his shoulder, leaving the young Namek and his assistant to stare mystified at the door.

But there was one person he couldn’t slip anything past.

“What are you two up to?”

The gravelly voice of his mentor was unmistakable and Gohan looked up as he dashed back outside. Piccolo hovered above, seated in a meditative pose, his white cape billowing in the upper atmospheric wind. He stared at them as a parent might a couple of naughty children and Gohan put one hand behind his head with a hereditary Son laugh before he grabbed Trunks’s hand and made for the edge. He pulled the royal demi backward, although the boy followed quite willingly. Trunks lifted one hand and waved his fingers at the green man before dropping off the platform after Gohan.

Piccolo snorted as he resumed his mental exercises. Wherever they were going, he had no desire to follow, and he was reminded again how thankful he was to be an asexual creature; not prone to erratic behavior and illogical mood swings at the hands of that absurdity humans called love. But as the Namekian closed his eyes, he smirked nonetheless.

“It’s good to see you happy, kid.”

***

Trunks watched Gohan spread a goose down comforter on white sand. He leaned back against some large boulders that adorned the crescent-shaped beach the other had chosen as their destination and tapped his fingers on the rock. They had traveled due south and it was just as dark here as it had been in West City, though significantly warmer. But he didn’t think that people came to secluded beaches in the middle of the night just to talk. And, while earlier he’d been sure Gohan had lost his mind, it now seemed that he was acting quite deliberately.

Even as his lower body reacted optimistically to the prospect, his other head screamed in protest. Gohan had told him in no uncertain terms that they couldn’t be together, and as much as the rest of him might want one more night, his psyche wouldn’t make it through another week like the one before. And if Gohan thought he could have his cake and eat it, too – sparing Goten’s feelings with a secret romance – the bastard had another thing coming.

It wasn’t until the eldest Son turned to him with a start that Trunks realized he was making dust out of the stone under his fingertips. But as long as he had Gohan’s attention, “Why did you bring me here?”

The older demi looked surprised as he stood up from the place where he’d been kneeling. He had shed his jacket and tie on the blanket, and rolled up his sleeves now as he regarded Trunks with an artless expression. It immediately made the teen feel bad for his harsh tone of voice, but he held his ground.

“I guess I owe you an explanation for all of this, don’t I?”

Trunks crossed his arms with a short sound that indicated that was the least Gohan could do.

“The truth is, I thought it might be a nice place for our first date.”

“Our—? What?” The prince halted, caught off-guard by the admission. “Isn’t it a little late for that?” He tried his best to be cutting but somehow it didn’t come out that way.

“I hope not.”

Gohan took a few steps in his direction and Trunks didn’t say anything when he reached up to touch his cheek, pushing a few strands of hair behind his ear. “I’m so sorry, Trunks,” he whispered. “I know I can’t just ask you to forget the last six days. I’m only asking for a chance to make it up to you.” His thumb traced the teen’s jaw. “Please.”

Finally blue eyes met black. “But Goten . . . .”

“Said that you weren’t getting back together,” Gohan finished, confirming Trunks’s original suspicion. “And I told you I didn’t come to change your mind.”

Trunks stared at him. He had waited for this moment all week; had dreamed about it even. But when he last saw this man, his passionate appeal to Gohan had been met with uncharacteristic coldness and afterward he’d been forced to question his own instincts. He had wondered if all that he once thought he saw in those dark eyes was nothing more than pathetic wishful thinking on his part; the ill-conceived notion of a boy denied affection for too long. And it scared him that Gohan, like Goten, seemed able to turn his feelings on and off at will.

“For whatever it’s worth, Trunks, staying away from you all this time has been one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. And what I said to you in that elevator, it . . . .” The firstborn paused, took a breath and tried again. “It killed me to—.”

“Gohan, don’t.” Trunks shook his head. “Just don’t.”

He had felt the dull ache those memories could evoke enough in recent days to last a lifetime. But . . . if Gohan had ever cared about him, then Trunks could only imagine how difficult the position was that he found himself in that particular morning; not merely torn between his brother and his lover, but a casualty of their war. And although he couldn’t just forget the last seven days, he was sick and tired of dwelling on the past.

Plus, the present was made noticeably brighter by one inescapable fact.

“You’re here now.”

With one finger, Gohan nudged the other’s chin upwards and leaned in close. Trunks could feel lips graze his cheekbone, and if one syllable could express affection, atonement and hope all at the same time, it did when Gohan spoke his name. But as the lips found their way back to his, Trunks stopped the other demi with two hands planted on his chest.

“I need you to promise me something.”

“Anything.”

“Promise that you won’t ever hold back with me again. Do you hear me, Son Gohan? Because I’ll give you everything. But in return, I want all of you.” He punctuated the sentence with a hard poke to the other’s chest. “That’s the way it works. Get it? Because if not, you might as well just leave now.”

Trunks watched the taller Saiyan as he appeared to think it over, but was annoyed when the decision took longer than he thought it should. “Well?” he challenged. “What’s it going to be?”

Gohan lifted one hand in a solemn pledge. “I promise you, Trunks, never again.” With his other arm he anchored the young demi firmly to himself, allowing Trunks to pull him under and not caring if he resurfaced. “Starting right now.”

Azure eyes closed when soft lips covered his. For as many times as he had thought about them in the last week, Trunks had forgotten how ethereal Gohan’s kisses really were. For all the passion behind them, and all the strength the man possessed, his capacity for tenderness was . . . . It was . . . .

Oh, it was maddening!

Trunks held tight to the front of his vest, sliding his hands underneath the silk and gripping it to pull Gohan closer. But the other demi only chuckled, breaking their mouth-to-mouth contact, which was exactly the opposite of what the teen prince intended. He stared at Gohan’s lips.

“So impatient,” they commented. Then, much to his dismay, the older man pulled away. “Sit, would you?” he gestured toward the blanket then focused a small beam of energy on a pile of driftwood he’d collected earlier.

Trunks seated himself as the flames began to leap into the air, lighting the blanket with moving shadows. There was a forest of palm trees behind them and in addition to the crackling of the fire, their leaves made a rustling sound in the tropical breeze. A bright half-moon shone over the water and the black waves that came ashore here were nothing more than ripples and they lapped at the beach quietly.

The whole thing was really quite romantic, Trunks thought, and he peered at Gohan as he placed a carved wooden tray on the sand and began filling the two glasses on it with champagne.

“What’s that for?” he asked, and the older demi shrugged calmly.

“We have a lot to celebrate, don’t you think?”

“Yeah,” the prince joked uncomfortably, “like how Chichi’s gonna hold me singlehandedly responsible for her lack of grandchildren?”

“Well,” Gohan considered it as he stood up and rounded the blanket, offering one glass to Trunks before settling down next to him. “If you think she’s scary, you should’ve seen the way Vegeta was looking at me the last time we talked.”

He watched Trunks for a reaction but the teen’s smile was fading as he traced lines in the sand with the heel of one shoe.

“What’s wrong?” Gohan inquired. “Are you really worried about it?”

“No.”

He coaxed the other with a nudge of his elbow. “What is it, then?”

“Nothing,” Trunks insisted, shifting away.

He was avoiding eye contact now and the older demi sat up straighter, turning to face him with the intent to remind him of their promise not to hold anything back. But now that Gohan looked closer he could see a faint pinkness coloring the other’s skin and the problem suddenly struck him.

For all of their sexual escapades, Trunks and Goten had never really been a couple. They had acted on hormones, impulse, and instinct, and outside of those parameters, Trunks wasn’t sure what to do. The normally smug Saiyan before him was entirely out of his element.

And it was downright adorable.

“You’ve never been on a date before, have you?”

“Oh, don’t be stupid.”

Gohan tried hard not to delight in the other’s predicament, but the rare show of reticence made the teen all the more alluring.

“Why don’t you drink your champagne?” he suggested. “It’ll relax you.”

Trunks looked at him as if to say he didn’t need Gohan’s pointers, but lifted the glass to his lips nonetheless. When he took a sip, Gohan tapped the bottom of the glass playfully, spilling bubbly liquid down the prince’s chin. But before he could be angry, Gohan kissed the droplets off his face and followed the sugary trail right down his neck. He could hear Trunks’s breathing slow and felt him begin to relax again almost immediately.

It seemed the teen was all too easy to placate and Gohan was thankful; considering the need would probably arise quite often.

He ran his left hand along the tense muscles beneath the boy’s jacket before sliding it off of one shoulder. Trunks shrugged out of the other sleeve and leaned backwards, reclining onto the blanket and taking Gohan with him. The elder Son allowed his hand to continue wandering, enjoying the way Trunks unwound under his fingers. And when he leaned back, stretching out on the blanket beside the younger demi, the once stormy blue eyes were already glassy.

By the time Trunks smiled up at him, more than a trace of that smugness had returned. “Cheers,” he said, emptying the remainder of the champagne over the front of his jeans.

Gohan shook his head in mock disappointment. Patience would never be one of the young prince’s virtues.

“Oh, Trunks,” he teased, trying his best to sound sympathetic as he pressed his lips to the other’s ear. “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, my friend. . . but I plan on taking my time with you.”

Author’s Notes: Just a little DBZ chick lit. “Present” timeline. This story is based on an idea suggested to me by the one, the only Lord Truhan — many, many thanks! It seems to be taking a different path than I originally envisioned, but I’m having fun with it so I’m gonna run with it :) Hope you enjoy.

Chapter 16

“Black star dragon balls?” Trunks asked sardonically, crinkling his nose. “That doesn’t even sound like a real thing.”

“Yeah,” Goten piped in from across the cavernous lab. “If these things are really so powerful, then how come we’ve never heard of them before?”

“And how did someone else manage to find them if we didn’t even know where they were?”

Piccolo’s head turned from left to right and back again as the two youngest demis interrogated him. He had shown up at Mount Paozu an hour earlier and quite literally dragged Goten and his father to Capsule Corp., explaining that he had important news to share with everyone. Now the assembled group of Z-fighters stood in Bulma’s private laboratory; Goku nestled between Goten and Vegeta, Gohan leaning against a metal workbench on the opposite wall from his father, and Bulma fastidiously working, bent over some gadget right next to him.

Trunks stayed near the doorway where they’d entered, leaning back against the cinderblock wall just inside the room. He had momentarily frozen there when he walked into the lab and unexpectedly locked eyes with the very demi-Saiyan he and Gohan had been arguing about. And considering the way his last meeting with Goten ended, he decided not to venture any closer. He didn’t particularly feel like spending another perfectly good afternoon in a regeneration tank.

Goten, meanwhile, had watched the other demis’ entrance closely. Although Trunks and Gohan had walked in together, they silently separated and moved to different parts of the room immediately. The younger boy didn’t have much time to wonder what it meant since as soon as the two late arrivals showed up, Piccolo started in on his explanation.

Though it wasn’t going over very well.

“Who was it, anyway, Piccolo?”

“Yeah, I haven’t heard of any new threats on this planet. So did a couple of kids get to them? Don’t you have any security up there?”

“Where was Mr. Popo when all this happened?”

“What did they wish for?”

“Look!” the Namek shot back, bad memories of training Gotenks causing him to lose his patience even faster than usual. “None of those details are important and we don’t have time to get into them right now. The point is—.”

“The point,” the royal demi examined his nails with disinterest, “is that you should’ve seen this coming when you made something with so much destructive power. Seems pretty stupid if you ask me.”

The guardian shot a scowl at Vegeta who, in turn, grunted angrily.

Gohan and Piccolo had an entire week to come up with a plan and this was the best they could do? Black star dragon balls? Huh! He should have known better than to leave anything up to that incompetent Namek and his half-breed protégé. Not to mention Trunks was too damned smart for his own good and if he didn’t stop asking questions he’d ruin everything. Vegeta turned to him, cracking his knuckles purposefully. “One more word, Trunks. Please, I welcome the exercise.”

“So, Piccolo . . . .” Goku spoke up from alongside Vegeta, a note of excitement creeping into his voice. “You say the earth will be destroyed by negative energy in one year if the balls aren’t all brought back together?” He shifted his weight quickly from one foot to the other, giving the impression that he was about to start jumping up and down or running in place. One would think he’d just received the best news ever.

“That’s right, Goku,” Piccolo answered with a graveness that matched the Saiyan’s exuberance. “And the bad news is—.”

“You haven’t even gotten to the bad news yet?” Trunks stared at him with incredulity. In the last ten minutes, he’d been dumped in an elevator then found out the earth was in its last year of existence, and apparently, the worst was yet to come. “Can we hurry this up? I have a dinner date!” The demi-Saiyan crossed his arms over his midsection as casually as he could; aware of two sets of dark eyes settling on him. Technically it was a rain check on the drink Kim had promised him. And he didn’t think she really counted as a date. But Gohan and Goten didn’t know that and it was none of their business anyway.

“As I was saying,” Piccolo continued, ignoring the interruption, “these dragon balls don’t just scatter across the earth.” He paused dramatically, staring at each one of them in turn. “They scatter across the entire galaxy.”

“Fan-fucking-tastic.” Trunks dropped his head back against the cinderblock wall with a dull thud and stared at the ceiling.

Bulma gasped. “Someone is in a mood!”

“And I’ve got just the remedy,” Vegeta growled.

“Hey, cheer up, you guys. That means we get to go into space!” Goku’s eyes were brightening with every revelation. “I bet you’re looking for a crew to go with you, huh, Piccolo?”

“Not exactly, Goku. I need to stay here. In case we’re unable to track down the black star balls, Dende’s going to need all the help he can get with this planet.”

“Well in that case, whaddaya say, Vegeta?” Goku jabbed the smaller Saiyan in the ribs good-naturedly. “You wanna go? Think about how many strong fighters there must be out there. The whole galaxy,” he breathed. “Wow.”

“Please,” the prince spat. “Like any of them would even pose a challenge to me. But by all means, have yourself a blast, Kakarott. Send me a postcard.”

“Aw, c’mon, Vegeta!” Goku called out behind him as the royal Saiyan strode towards the door of the lab with his nose in the air.

“Forget about him,” Piccolo ordered. “Goten, why don’t you join your father?”

Goten’s eyes widened as he glanced from Piccolo to his dad and back again. “Ah—but—I have school,” he attempted lamely. “Mom’ll kill me if I miss any more!”

“Oh, yeah.” Goku scratched the back of his head thoughtfully, a look of consternation coming over his features. “And I suppose Chichi does get kind of upset when I leave.”

“Like that ever stopped you before,” Goten grumbled under his breath.

“We don’t have time for this senseless bickering,” Piccolo admonished, emphasizing his words with a stern look at the two youngest demis. “If someone doesn’t get those dragon balls back here, and I mean now, there won’t be any school for you to go to. Or any more dinner dates either. I thought I could count on you two to help, but I guess I didn’t realize the Z-fighters had become so self-absorbed.”

The disappointment in his tone was enough to make both Trunks and Goten drop their gazes to the floor.

“Bulma,” he continued after a moment, turning to a more receptive audience, “did you say you had a ship that could make the voyage?”

“Well, of course, silly,” she said, as though it was obvious. “Capsule’s only been making them since my dad built the ship that took Goku to Namek twenty years ago! And I’ve even been able to alter the dragon radar to pick up the frequency of the black star balls!” She proudly held up a piece of equipment that vaguely resembled the dragon radar but with a number of wires hanging down to her workbench where they connected to a large metal grate.

She turned to Goten and Goku. “I just have to run a simple algorithm and then I’ll be able to integrate it with the mainframe of the computer that runs the ship’s navigational systems. All it’ll need then is to isolate the unique molecular structure of the balls and—.” She stopped abruptly as two sets of vacant brown eyes stared back at her, blinking. “And this model has a gravity training room and a full kitchen, too.” She shot them a winning smile and winked.

“Aw, man, Bulma! You’re the best. Wow, just like when I went to Namek. Those were the days.” Goku’s smile faded only slightly as he turned to his son. “Hey, we’ll have a great time, Goten.”

“Uh, but . . . .” Goten held his father’s expectant stare as he wracked his brain for another excuse, wishing that in all their years of friendship some of Trunks’s ability to think on his feet had rubbed off. “I . . . uh . . . . But Bulma!” He turned back to her. “We have no idea how to fly something like that. Maybe Gohan should go in my place.”

“Sorry, kiddo. I need your brother here. Just in case the world idoesn’t/i end in a year, I’ll need my top scientist around to keep things running.”

“Don’t worry, Goten,” Goku placed a hand on his shoulder. “You don’t need to know anything about mechanics. These ships fly themselves.”

“Actually this one won’t,” Piccolo interjected again. “Unlike the one you took to my home planet, this one has no set destination.”

The blue-haired woman nodded. “That’s right. The ship won’t set a course until it’s located the first dragon ball and that could be anywhere! Until then, you’ll need to know how to navigate. I can probably teach you, but it’ll take some time—.”

The Saiyan prince broke into a caustic laugh from where he was now standing near the door. “Kakarott’s a clown, not an astronaut. We don’t have the kind of time that lesson would take.” His laughter died off as black eyes settled on one ungrateful purple-haired princeling. Vegeta slapped a hand to the back of Trunks’s neck, causing him to take a few unplanned steps forward. “Trunks will take you.”

“Father!” the teenager hissed as he turned to look at Vegeta. But he was quickly immobilized as the hand beneath his hairline squeezed harder. How Vegeta could practically paralyze him and simultaneously cut off his air supply with one hand he had no idea. But the pureblood had quickly learned the trick when, in his mid-teens, Trunks had grown too tall to easily grab by the hair.

“If you don’t get your over-used ass on that spaceship, boy,” the Saiyan prince threatened so that only Trunks could hear, “then you’ll have me to deal with. And I promise you,” he tightened his grip along with his jaw so that he was now speaking through clenched teeth, “it won’t be a walk in the park like it was last time.”

Trunks grunted in acknowledgment. If the last time had been Vegeta’s idea of going easy on him, he didn’t want to know what the alternative was. Vegeta pushed him across the lab towards Goku. “Now, tell Kakarott how excited you are to escort him and the brat on this little trip.”

The teen cast a sidelong glance at Goten before turning his eyes back to Goku. Vegeta finally let go and Trunks rubbed his throat. “It’ll be great.”

Goku nodded in agreement then turned to the other pureblood. “He’s right, Vegeta. Sure you don’t wanna come?”

“I can’t imagine anything less appealing than being stuck in that ship with you. Forget about me, Kakarott, and spend some time with your son.” Goku blinked then looked back over his shoulder at Goten. Vegeta’s eyes came to rest on the youngest demi as well.

“And you,” he addressed Goten deliberately. “Spend some time with mine.”

***

A fucking setup! Trunks fumed as he changed into one of the sleek black space suits Bulma had provided them. That’s what this was. He was sure of it. Some kind of hair-brained scheme thought up by the others to try and get him and Goten to talk. Well, it wasn’t going to work. If they thought they were doing the boys a favor by shoving them onto a tiny pod and sending them into the depths of blackest space they were sorely mistaken. It was a recipe for disaster.

Trunks began to seriously contemplate taking his chances with Vegeta. But while it was clear that the crew of this little mission had been very purposefully chosen, there was a slim possibility that the premise was real. It sounded ridiculous, but he couldn’t be sure. And he didn’t want the destruction of the world on his shoulders all because he couldn’t get along with his ex-boyfriend.

So there he was, trading in his Armani for a space suit and mentally preparing for the worst. Trunks was happy to see that at least his mother’s fashion sense had improved since she’d designed that horrific Saiyaman costume all those years ago. He held one arm out, examining the lightweight material. It seemed to be a sort of thin, modern rubber polymer that made it look as if the three of them had been coated up to the neck in black paint.

Since the moment they had agreed to take this trip, Trunks had tried to keep Goku between himself and Goten at all times, the older Saiyan being as much of a buffer zone as he could hope for. Now he watched the pureblood pull the protective material over his torso and zip the front of the suit, stretching it taut around his well-toned muscles. The almost wet-looking black fabric matched his hair and eyes and made his pale skin seem all the more radiant by comparison. The outfit clung to every crease and curve and Trunks thought it was easy to see where the younger Sons had gotten their incredible genes.

Goku put on a matching pair of boots then stood up straight, his features taking on a purposeful expression as he picked up a helmet. “Alright, boys. Let’s go.” The other two followed him out of the hangar, albeit less enthusiastically, and into the bright noontime sun. The spherical ship that had become a Capsule Corp. trademark over the years stood ready for takeoff at the center of the complex.

Bulma approached her son. “Sweetie, the new radar is built right into the ship. Once it locates the first ball, autopilot will take over. If you have any questions, I’m just a tele-monitor away.” To Trunks’s surprise, she wiped away a stray tear from her cheek then leaned in to kiss his hair. “Be careful,” she whispered, and the teen pulled back to study his mother’s face. She knew he’d been flying ships like this since he was practically a child, helping her and Doctor Briefs test out their new designs.

“It’s okay, Mom,” he reassured her. “It’s no big deal.”

Bulma pressed her lips together, nodding, then trotted quickly away to stand with Vegeta. She clung to his arm and her tearful farewell gave the royal demi pause as he boarded the craft. He and Goten watched their friends and family members disappear from view as the hatch closed. He only noticed at the last second that Gohan did not join the send-off party.

“Wooh yeah!” Both turned around at the muffled whoop that came from inside the ship and Goten threw the small duffel bag he’d packed over his shoulder with a sigh.

“Guess that means Goku found the kitchen.”

***

It didn’t take long before the revamped radar picked up a signal from the first ball. They were nearing the edge of the solar system and, now that there were no nearby planets to create interference, the radar’s range appeared to have increased dramatically. A tiny white dot was blinking at the outer edge of the navigational screen and Trunks quickly calculated its distance. It was far away but at the high rate of speed they were travelling, they could cover a lot of ground.

“About twelve hours ‘til we reach the first ball,” he announced to no one in particular. Goten looked up from where he was sitting a short distance away. His feet were pulled up onto the seat so that his chin rested on his knees. He let go of the lock of raven hair he’d been threading between his fingers and the crescent-shaped spike bounced back to its normal position above his head. It was the only indication he gave that he heard the announcement. So far he and Trunks had managed not to speak directly to each other. The royal demi stood up and stretched his legs then turned to observe their surroundings. “Might as well make ourselves at home.”

The main level of the ship contained the cockpit and living areas, and judging from the beeline Goku made to the lift as soon as it was safe to unfasten their seatbelts, Trunks knew the kitchen was below. That would mean the gravity room was on the upper level.

He approached the first door on the left and it opened automatically to reveal a bathroom. To his surprise, the second door led to a recreation room with a flat screen T.V. on one wall with several plush-looking chairs in front of it. There was a video game console that Trunks didn’t think was even on the market yet and he smiled, thankful for his mother’s foresight. But his grin faded as he turned to face the opposite wall.

There were only two doors on the other side of the ship.

That meant . . . .

“Only two bedrooms,” he mourned, staring despondently at the wall. Trunks didn’t even realize he’d spoken aloud but the youngest Saiyan perked up at the words.

As if this entire trip wasn’t already his worst nightmare come true, now Goten learned he would be stuck with either Trunks or Goku as a bunkmate. And, truthfully, he couldn’t decide which one he’d rather room with less. He picked up his bag just as his father re-entered the main level with an armful of food he was happily munching.

“I’ll take my own,” the teenager said decisively, stalking into the nearest bedroom and dropping onto a bed. “Dad, you can bunk with Trunks. Who knows? Maybe he can make it a trifecta.”

Trunks’s mouth dropped open. The blood rushing beneath the surface of his skin made his face flush for a second. Then, forgetting his embarrassment, he pushed past the older Saiyan and approached the open door. “Oh, yeah, Goten,” he snapped, “because I’m the one who just jumps into bed with the nearest warm body.”

“Only if they’re related to me,” Goten shrugged.

“Well at least this time I’ll be expecting the complete abandonment that comes afterward!”

Goten growled through clenched teeth and Trunks balled his own fists at his sides, snarling just as loudly.

“Boys, boys!” Goku slapped a greasy palm to Trunks’s chest and held a turkey leg out at Goten. “We’re all going to have to learn to get along. We can’t let our personal differences affect this mission. Remember,” his voice softened, “there are a lot of people counting on us.”

The two stared at him defiantly for a moment before reluctantly backing down.

“You’re right, Goku.”

“Sorry, Dad.”

The pureblood patted the demi-Saiyan prince on the shoulder and flashed a smile at Goten. “Now that’s better.”

After Goku turned to leave, Trunks wasted no time making the wanker sign at Goten to which he responded by crossing his arms over his groin and mouthing “suck it”.

Eyes flashing, the royal demi stepped into the room only far enough to snatch a pillow from the empty bed near the door before heading back to the control seat.

This was going to be a long trip.

***

“You don’t mind that I took off, do you, Bulma?” Gohan asked into the mouthpiece of his cell phone as he walked across the lobby of his old apartment building. “I wanna try and get my things packed up while Trunks is gone. You know, just to avoid a scene.”

He listened to her speak as he rode up to the fourteenth floor on the elevator and she was still talking by the time he pushed open their door. He made sure to throw in a “yeah” or an “uh-huh” every few seconds so she would think he was listening. In truth, he was distracted and not even the sound of her rather shrill voice in his ear could stop his mind from wandering. The meeting with Trunks earlier had left him shaken and he was having a hard time writing off the younger demi’s words as insignificant. Nothing spoken with so much sincerity could be completely void of meaning, could it?

Gohan took a sweeping look around the main room. It was strange for him to be in the apartment again. Not even a week had passed but it somehow felt like forever since he’d been there. With Bulma’s nervous chatter like background music in his ear, he fished a capsule out of his pocket and tossed it onto the living room floor. It burst into a pile of moving boxes and, as he grabbed one off the top, Gohan realized that the cardboard mess he’d just made was the only thing out of place in the entire apartment. In fact, it was so spotless that he would have assumed Trunks had been staying with his parents. But then he remembered the teen’s own words. He had been there all week.

“Uh—I’m sorry, what?” He realized Bulma had stopped talking and was apparently expecting him to say something. “Oh, yeah, I know. I’ll be there. This shouldn’t take too long.”

Gohan made his way down the hall and into his bedroom. Right away he noticed the faded SCC tee sitting laundered and neatly folded on the edge of his bed. It tugged at his heartstrings to see it there, so deliberately placed. As if it was waiting for him to come home. Though, of course, it wasn’t the shirt that he’d deserted. Rather, it was the person who’d placed it there.

But Trunks was a smart boy. How could he not have seen this coming? Sure he was willful; and it was true that he got his way most of the time. But even Trunks would have to acknowledge the obstacles – indeed the glaring iobstacle/i – that stood in their way. And if he had ever expected Gohan to write off his brother’s feelings to be with him, then he didn’t know the eldest Son at all.

“Yeah, okay,” Gohan said as he lifted the shirt from the bed and placed it in the box he was holding. “I’ll see you then. And don’t worry, Bulma. I’m sure that we did the right thing.”

He flipped his phone closed and put it in his pocket, realizing with little joy that he was getting better at that whole lying thing.

***

Goten awoke in the middle of the night. Pitch blackness surrounded him and he was aware of the sensation that he was moving. Alarmed, he sat up in bed and pushed the covers off his legs, planting his feet on the floor. But as soon as he remembered where he was he wished he hadn’t. Glancing at the bed across from him, he found it empty. It looked like Trunks had decided to sleep with Goku after all.

Becoming aware of the pressure in his bladder, Goten realized what it was that woke him up. He stood and stumbled across the common area to the bathroom. The automatic doors made it a much less noisy trip than it might have been. Once he had relieved himself, he started back the way he came, pausing to look out the large dome-like windshield to his right. All he could see were the brightest stars for millions of miles in every direction. He had never been in space before and even in his sleepy daze the sight was breathtaking. Most people would go their whole lives without ever laying eyes on something like this.

In his awed silence, Goten soon became aware of the sound of even breathing nearby. His eyes had adjusted to the dark by now and he could see Trunks asleep on the floor near the far wall. His head was supported by the duffel bag he’d packed and the pillow he’d taken from Goten’s room was tucked snugly between his right arm and his torso. His left arm was draped across his face, half hiding it from view. It was a sight that was at once familiar and disconcerting to Goten.

Before he could think on it any longer, an automated voice echoed from the control panel informing him that they were approaching the location of the first dragon ball. “Landing in T-minus three minutes,” it stated in a soothing monotone.

Goten glanced at the sleeping demi again. Maybe Trunks would want to be awake for the landing. He didn’t need to pilot the ship, as far as Goten knew, but he sure would love this besides, Goten felt pretty bad that Trunks was sleeping on the floor. He probably shouldn’t have said what he did about Goku.

Chewing his bottom lip, the teenager approached his old friend. He knelt down alongside him but thought twice before touching him. Trunks might be startled when he woke up and Goten wasn’t sure what his reaction would be. But as if it was part of his muscle memory his hand reached out for Trunks’s shoulder without his brain’s permission. How many times had he knelt above Trunks just like this; making his friend walk him to the bathroom in the middle of the night back when Capsule’s high and sprawling hallways had seemed impossibly scary?

Goten squeezed lightly. “Trunks,” he whispered. “Hey, Trunks, wake up.” The royal demi took a loud breath and groaned as he shifted his weight on the floor. His hand came down on top of Goten’s.

“Hmm . . .” he murmured in his sleep, putting a small amount of pressure on the fingers. “Gohan?”

The youngest Son pulled his hand away as though it had been burned. The sudden movement brought Trunks around and he pushed himself up on one arm, blinking drowsily. “What?” he asked, apparently oblivious to the offense he’d just committed. “What is it?” There was a note of irritation in his voice.

Goten stood up, wiping his hand on his pants where Trunks had touched it and turned with a huff toward his bedroom. He was surprised when a bright red light illuminated the cabin.

“Warning, warning.” The voice was louder now, and no longer soothing. “Landing sequence malfunction. Landing sequence failed to initiate.”

Goten spun back in the direction of the voice. He saw Trunks jump to his feet and approach the control panel. Several parts of it were blinking and it didn’t look like it could mean anything good. The Capsule heir ducked under the control panel and resurfaced with what looked like a phone book. Goten quickly realized, however, as Trunks began flipping through it and pressing buttons on the console, that it was an instruction manual. He seemed to be running through some sort of a checklist. But whatever he was doing didn’t quiet the female voice that now blared warnings at them in rapid succession.

“Landing gear failure,” she informed them and the royal demi swore, fisting one hand in his hair. The landing gear was the least of his problems! He couldn’t even get the ship to decelerate. Trunks had tried overriding the autopilot but it wouldn’t recognize any of his commands and they were still barreling through space at full speed.

“Trunks?” Goten inched closer to the other boy. “What’s happening?”

“Go get your dad, Goten.” Trunks kept his voice as calm as possible. “This is going to be a rough landing.”

“’Kay.” With that he scurried off. When the older Saiyan came out of his room, rubbing his eyes and yawning, Trunks barked at him.

“Get in your seat and strap in!”

Both Sons did as directed. But the royal demi doubted how much buckling up would help any of them. At the rate the ship was heading towards the rapidly growing profile of the planet, there would be nothing left of it when it hit the surface.

“Whoa, Trunks, what’s going on?” a more alert Goku asked.

“I don’t get it,” the teen admitted as he ran through the override sequence yet again. There were multiple fail-safes built into every Capsule ship. For nothing to work, for the computer to fail to respond to any of his commands seemed almost impossible. It was more than just a simple manufacturing flaw. System after backup system would have to fail. How unlucky could they possibly be?

Abandoning the manual, he began to think through their alternatives. They could blow up the planet. But what if it was inhabited? And in case he didn’t manage to fix the ship, they couldn’t just blow up every planet that got in their way until the damn thing ran out of fuel.

“Trunks.” Goten’s tone was slightly frantic. The youngest Son sat strapped in to the chair next to the control seat which was glaringly empty. They were close enough to the planet now that he could see what looked like vast forests covering the surface of the brownish landmass. The ship began to shake as it entered the atmosphere.

“Trunks, quit it now.” Goku chimed in with an identical plea. “We’re going to have to brace ourselves.”

But there was one last thing that might work and the teen pulled up on the steering column with all his strength, ignoring his shipmate’s entreaties. Since he didn’t seem to be able to slow them down, he figured if he could change the ship’s course, they might at least have a chance. Skimming the surface of the planet would doubtless be better than smashing directly into it.

The teen kept his eyes on the console and the rapidly approaching ground. He could see that the surface was made up of a red-brown sort of mud. The forests were full of tall, twisted trees not at all like the ones on Earth. They were leafless and looked dead. He realized that at the speed they were travelling, there was no way the ship could pull up in time to avoid impact. And Capsule ships, though based on the Saiyan model, weren’t meant to slam into the faces of planets like an asteroid on a collision course. Whatever element it was that made Saiyan pods able to withstand that kind of pressure did not exist on Earth. That’s why a Capsule ship’s landing system was supposed to be state of the art.

“Trunks!” Goten screamed his name this time, but his voice just barely overcame the rattling of the ship’s parts, doing their best to hold together despite the atmospheric onslaught. The Capsule heir made a mental note to Final Flash the asshole who had assembled this piece of junk if he ever made it back to Earth. Then he turned to Goten, locking onto him with his eyes in the midst of the clamor. The younger demi’s fearful stare turned to one of surprise as Trunks lunged at him, wrapped his arms around Goten’s chair, closed his eyes, and gathered as much energy as he possibly could.

***

Goten looked at the sky. The millions of stars he had been admiring twinkled above him like so many white lights on a black canopy. They were even brighter here than they were on a clear night at Mount Pouzu. He felt inexplicably tired and closed his eyes to go back to sleep, but the pain in his left arm wouldn’t let him. Moaning, he rolled over to alleviate the unnatural angle at which it was bent and found himself face down in chalky dirt. Choking on the dust, he sat up and glanced to the left and right. All he could see for miles was reddish brown earth.

No, wait. Not Earth. This was the alien planet they’d crashed into. There had been an accident. And not far away on the ground lay an unmoving pile of black and purple.

“Trunks!” The teenager dashed across the dry ground before falling to his knees near the other demi. “Trunks! Wake up,” he begged, gathering the unconscious boy’s upper half in his arms and shaking him as violently as his own injury would allow. At first the lilac head only rolled back and forth unresponsively. But finally, to the youngest Son’s great relief, cloudy blue eyes blinked open.

“Goten?” Trunks’s eyes grow clearer as he looked around, struggling to remember what had happened. Suddenly he turned to Goten and grabbed both of his arms, as if trying to reassure himself the other boy was real. Goten winced at the contact.

“It worked,” he exclaimed. “The shield—it worked! We’re okay!” Goten nodded but he didn’t share Trunks’s enthusiasm. They had made it through the crash landing in one piece, but that was only the beginning of their problems. Over Trunks’s shoulder he could see the wreckage of the ship and there was hardly anything left of it. Raising his gaze, he realized they were in the middle of an enormous crater.

Trunks’s eyes followed his and the same realizations began to dawn on him. To his surprise, though, he realized they were having no trouble breathing. By some astronomical coincidence, they had landed on a planet with an atmosphere similar to their own. He turned to Goten to voice the observation, but now that the two boys faced each other, he could feel Goten’s breath on his skin. The younger Son was still holding onto him but let go abruptly when he realized how close they were.

Both pushed themselves to their feet.

“What kind of place is this?” Goten wondered, looking up into the sky again. They couldn’t see much else from the bottom of the hole they were in.

“I guess we’ll find out.” Trunks had already started climbing the steep wall that led to the surface. He pulled himself over the lip of the crater and planted two feet on the planet’s dusty crust. It was dark at the moment, but the place likely had a sun because there were things growing there. The bizarre, leafless trees he had seen on their approach twined together to make a surprisingly dense forest off to his right. There was no grass anywhere and the whole planet seemed to consist of dry dirt.

Besides Goten, who had just joined him on the surface, there wasn’t another living soul around. It was eerily silent except for the wind whistling through the nearby trees and the sizzling sound of steel cooling at the bottom of the crater.

“Hey, Trunks.” The younger boy did a slow three-sixty. “Where’s my dad?”

The teen prince gasped. In his relief at surviving the crash, he had completely forgotten that there were supposed to be three in their party. He joined his friend in scanning the area with his eyes. Then, with a feeling of dread, he followed Goten as the younger boy floated back down towards the wreckage. They hovered above the twisted metal that had once been their transport and looked for any sign that the older Saiyan was among the debris.

“He’s . . . not here.” Trunks’s tone was relieved but the revelation only left him more confused.

In a flash of light, his companion disappeared into the sky to gain a better vantage point. “Dad!” he yelled from high above. “Dad, where are you?” But Goten knew better than to expect an answer. There were no signs of life in this place and he couldn’t sense his father at all. Not even faintly.

He touched down next to Trunks at the edge of the dead forest. “I—I don’t understand,” the younger teen said, squinting as he peered into the trees. “He should be here with us.”

“Well, maybe . . . .” Trunks avoided Goten’s searching eyes as a disturbing thought occurred to him.

“What is it?”

“Well, I—.” He paused, not quite knowing what to say. Goku was the strongest person he knew in the entire universe. It had never occurred to him that he might need any help. “You see, I . . . I only shielded the two of us.”

“You . . . .” Goten blinked. “What?”

“I couldn’t make it any bigger or it wouldn’t have been strong enough to protect us!”

The younger demi looked pale as his eyes darted involuntarily to the nearby hole in the ground. There was still smoke pouring out of it.

“Dad!” he shouted desperately, taking off at a run towards the ship again.

“Goten, wait!” Trunks caught up to him quickly, wrapping his arms around the smaller boy’s waist from behind and stopping him in his tracks. “Wait,” he repeated more forcefully. He was quite sure that Goku wasn’t in that crater and if he was, well . . . . This was no time to let Goten get hysterical.

“Let go of me!” The other twisted and struggled and Trunks was forced to squeeze him tighter to stop him from flailing.

“Calm down.” The voice was at once soothing and authoritative and Goten momentarily quieted. “He probably IT’d somewhere.” Gohan had learned how to teleport in relation to other power levels rather than directly to them. If he could do it, then surely Goku could, too.

“He probably disintegrated!” Goten offered his own hypothesis.

“Don’t say that. Your dad is stronger than both of us put together. If we survived, he did, too.”

Goten raised his power enough to break free from Trunks’s grasp then spun to face him. “We only survived because of you. Why didn’t you shield him?”

The royal demi tried to keep his cool but it was hard not to get defensive when Goten practically accused him of killing Goku. “I told you I couldn’t make it that big. I could only help one of you—.”

“Why didn’t you choose him then?” Goten demanded, grabbing for the front of the other boy’s space suit. Trunks just didn’t make sense to him sometimes. If he’d have gone for Goku instead, then everyone would be happier. The universe would still have its hero and Trunks’s dream of a world without Goten would come true. The younger Son struggled to catch the slippery material between his fingers and Trunks kept him at bay with a forearm pressed to his chest. “If you could only save one of us,” Goten spat, “why would you even bother with me!?”

“Be-cause.” Trunks gritted his teeth, pushing back harder against the other. The sounds of their struggle echoed in the dark forest.

“Because why, Trunks?” Goten mocked the older demi. “You’d trade with Mirai to be rid of me. You said so yourself.”

“I know what I said!” Goten’s back hit the tree behind him.

“So you had your chance,” he panted, dropping his head against the bark but still holding Trunks’s gaze. “Why not take it if you hate me so much.”

“I don’t hate you, you stupid ass!” Trunks shouted in his face. “I—.”

He stopped abruptly, eyes flashing in the dark. “Shit,” he swore, and the hand that wasn’t pinning Goten to the tree smashed into the wood near his head.

“You what?” the younger boy challenged hopelessly. There was a time when he would have feared a hurtful answer, but after so many weeks of fighting, he only felt numb. And if they were going to die here on this god-forsaken planet, they might as well just get it off their chests.

“I love you, you goddamn idiot!” Trunks threw his arms out to the sides. He turned away from the shocked look on Goten’s face and scowled at the cracked and dusty landscape. “Don’t look so surprised. You fucking well know I do.”

On the contrary, it was the one answer the younger demi hadn’t been expecting. Not after all of the things the teen prince had said and done to him. Even before they’d parted ways, he often felt more like one of Trunks’s possessions than his closest friend. Goten took a shuddering breath. “And just how would I know that, Trunks?”

The Capsule heir stared across the landscape for a long time. The bright stars in this planet’s midnight sky illuminated half of his face and left the other half shrouded in shadow. “You hurt me,” he said finally, accentuating each syllable so that Goten might comprehend the severity of his transgression. “You hurt me in ways I never thought you could.”

“Trunks—.”

“Wait. I’m not finished.”

He turned to face Goten again and when he next spoke, his tone didn’t have such a hard edge. Gone was the cold, apathetic exterior Goten had grown so used to.

“You can’t imagine what it was like, those first few days without you.” Trunks shook his head when it looked like the younger boy was going to protest. “No. You have no idea. You don’t know what I went through and you can’t possibly know what your brother went through to help me.”

Goten stared at him mutely now, his wide eyes blinking as he took in the words.

“But it did force me to take a good look at myself. And in the end, I eventually came to understand why it was that you left. But it didn’t make it any easier to deal with the fact that you were gone.”

Trunks looked at the ground and his bangs fell in front of his eyes. He lifted one hand to push them off his face.

“You and me never talked about what was going on between us, Goten. Hell, we never talked to anyone about it.” Trunks shrugged remorsefully. “I guess I can’t really blame you for being confused. I know I treated you like a doormat most of the time and yet acted like I was doing you a big favor. Not to mention . . . . Well, we were just kids when everything started.”

Both were silent and Goten wasn’t sure how long he listened to the whistling of the wind before Trunks continued. “Sometimes I think we shouldn’t have let it go so far, ya know? Because it was always going to come to this.” He looked up to glance at their surroundings. Of course he couldn’t have predicted they’d end up having this conversation here on some forgotten planet. But he was sure that, from those first few experimental caresses, the only way it could have ended was in flames.

“To the extent that it complicated everything, Goten, I’m sorry that it happened. And if I could go back and do things differently, I would. Because I did love you. And despite everything that’s happened, I always will. That’s why I saved you. Okay?”

He swallowed the lump in his throat and shook his head, embarrassed at his own display of emotion. “Who’d’ve guessed it, huh? I always prided myself on being the stronger one.”

But Goten, too, had to bite his bottom lip to keep it from trembling. He wanted to tell Trunks about everything he had learned, as well, in the weeks without him. How close he had come to drowning and that – if anything – instead of finding the answers he’d been seeking, in leaving he had lost a vital part of himself.

He wanted to say that he was sorry. But most of all, he just wanted his best friend back. Because, despite his antagonistic behavior, inside the teen was aching to let go of the grudges they’d been holding. Perhaps the most important thing he had learned was that the burden of prolonged separation was the worst pain either could inflict on the other.

He was nowhere near as good as Trunks at expressing those kinds of things. Lucky that the royal demi could read him like a book, anyway.

At long last, Goten gave in to the magnetic pull between them and embraced his old friend. “I missed you,” he exhaled forcefully as his chest was crushed against the other boy’s. Goten thought he might suffocate Trunks if he squeezed him any harder. But he could feel Trunks’s nails digging into his back as he fisted the thin fabric of the space suit. The lavender-haired demi was shaking and Goten imagined the same waves of relief that were crashing over him were the likely cause. He tightened his grip and it was only then that he again became aware of the aching in his shoulder. Ignoring it, he squeezed his eyes shut. He didn’t want this moment to end.

But he could feel Trunks withdrawing from the embrace and after a moment he grudgingly let go.

“What’s wrong with it?” the older teen inquired, collecting himself.

“I dunno,” Goten admitted, reaching up to massage the injured appendage. “It just hurts.”

Trunks gave him a knowing look and began pulling the zipper down on Goten’s space suit. He peeled back the fabric only far enough to see his shoulder. The exposed skin was bruised and red in comparison to the milky whiteness of his chest.

“It’s only dislocated, you baby.” This was practically a daily injury when one lived with Vegeta. The young prince slid one hand down the back of Goten’s suit to his shoulder blade. He pressed the front of his chest with the other.

“Ow,” Goten complained after they heard a loud pop.

“Good as new.”

“Thanks.”

Trunks withdrew his hand from the younger boy’s suit and zipped it up again.

“You’re welcome.”

Their lips met before Trunks really knew what was happening. For a moment it felt like they were back in his bedroom again, as though nothing that had happened these past few weeks was real. But he noticed with surprise that this kiss felt different. It wasn’t poisoned with expectations, demands, or judgment. It wasn’t tainted by the taste of tears like so many of their intimate moments had been over the years. Trunks realized it wasn’t really like their last kiss at all.

No, it was more like the first one.

Back when things had been simple. And this time, Trunks thought, it’d be better to keep them that way.

Goten reached up to touch his cheek and the two separated. Without having to say anything, he knew the younger boy had come to the same conclusion. Trunks wanted a relationship, and not just kids’ stuff. It wasn’t enough for him anymore and, quite honestly, it hadn’t been for awhile. He wanted a commitment and it wasn’t something that Goten could give. Maybe the other boy had been able to sense it weeks ago, even before Trunks had known it himself.

Goten smiled and his whole face brightened. That was the smile that Trunks had fallen in love with. How ironic that he had seen it so rarely since then. He caught his best friend’s hand in his own.

“So, how did the search for ‘Goten’ ever turn out, anyway? Was the real you hiding somewhere under Tiffany’s clothes as you had suspected?”

“Shut up,” Goten blushed, embarrassed at his own naiveté in retrospect. “No, he wasn’t. And you’d never believe the stuff that was under there, Trunks.” He lowered his voice considerably, as if anyone could hear them. “You have no idea what I had to deal with!”

The royal demi laughed in earnest then. “You know who’s gonna be sorry to hear that?” He raised one eyebrow. “Our mutual friend, Kim. She totally wants your cock.” Trunks jumped out of the way as Goten swung at him and the two quickly disentangled. “I’m serious, Goten!”

The younger teen put a hand behind his head. “She’s great, ya know? But I think I’m gonna stay single for awhile. I mean . . . I’m just getting out of an eighteen-year relationship with this really high-maintenance guy.” Now it was Trunks’s turn to jab his friend in the ribs. “Anyway, I don’t wanna jump into anything new.”

“It’s a good idea.” Trunks’s smile slowly faded. His tone was unconvincing as he kicked up some dirt with the toe of his boot. “It’s about time we give the single life a try, right?”

“Ah! But—.” Goten tilted his head, uncomprehending. “But what about Gohan?”

“Oh,” Trunks waved his hand with practiced nonchalance. “It’s not gonna work out.”

“Why not?”

“Cuz he told me so, okay?” Trunks couldn’t keep the edge out of his voice. He turned away from his friend when he noticed the other staring at him discerningly. “And the five minutes it took him to tell me that were the most he’s spoken to me all week. So, believe me, he made it pretty clear that he’s not interested.”

“You mean you guys aren’t still living together?”

“Not even close.” Trunks made a face. “I have no idea where he’s been. In fact, I figured he was back at Mount Paozu.” Goten shook his head in the negative. “Look, whatever. It’s no big deal, okay? So just drop it.”

“Hmm . . . .” Goten chewed on his thumb nail. “’Kay,” he acquiesced finally.

“So . . . you’re not mad then?” The Capsule heir pushed a few unruly strands of hair behind his ear while he waited for Goten’s answer.

“Well, if you really cared about him,” the younger Son reasoned, “then it’s not so easy to be angry anymore. I mean, how can I fault you for loving Gohan? I love him, too.”

The royal demi realized his father was right about this family. They didn’t think the way other people did. It was one of the things that made them so utterly remarkable.

Well, that and their fantastic glutes.

Trunks took his friend’s hand again. “I guess we’d better figure out how we’re gonna get off this rock, huh?” He stared at the landscape over Goten’s shoulder as he went over their limited options in his head.

“I wish my Dad was here. He’d know what to do.” The younger boy sighed and Trunks focused his eyes on him with concern. It had been a long time since he’d heard Goten refer to Goku with affection, not to mention wistfulness. “The last time we talked, Trunks, I said some things . . . .”

Goten squeezed his eyes shut and when he didn’t go on, the royal demi pulled him close again and pinned his friend’s tired head to his shoulder.

“I just don’t wanna lose him again,” Goten admitted.

Trunks petted his jet-black hair and with every stroke, the soft spikes bounced up to tickle his cheek. Considering it was something he never thought he’d feel again, each fleck was like a gift for which he was grateful. It was funny how near-death experiences could change everything so quickly, and he couldn’t help but think back to the story Vegeta told him about Mirai.

“You’ll get another chance to tell him how you feel, Go-chan, I promise. My father says it’s never too late to make up for your mistakes. And do you know what?” he whispered, gazing up at the stars above them. “After today, I know for sure that it’s true.”

Author’s Notes: This story is based on an idea proposed by Lord Truhan and developed with help from him! This is a rewritten version of the original story. We hope you’ll enjoy the improved version.

Bright sunlight peeked through fluffy white clouds, drifting lazily past the corporate jet. The sky was robin’s egg blue, one or two shades lighter, then Trunks eyes, Gohan thought. Sky and ground were clearly delineated for a few hours before the vast expanse of the ocean stretched beneath them. Then the clouds partly interrupted the azure surface rippling and tenting with small minute whitecaps. Far above the jet soared the icy cirrus clouds, the only ones higher than the blanket of puffy cumulous occasionally that it flew through.

Inside the cabin, the excitement was palpable to Gohan and Trunks. Perhaps the end goal made the journal far more enjoyable then all the flights before. His heart pounding more rapidly the closer they flew to their goal, the more Gohan couldn’t keep his anticipation to himself. Next to him in the other wide seat, Trunks reached over and squeezed Gohan’s hand.

A playful smile teased at the corners of Trunks lips. Ever present now was that playful yet shy twinkle Gohan missed so much. Likewise, Trunks delighted in the soft depths of Gohan’s bottomless black eyes, no longer dulled by the mundane nature of work.

“I’m quite happy about who we picked for running Capsule while we’re gone,” Mirai said.

“I agree. We were most fortunate to have Ivan Balmer. He’s successfully guided our Eastern Province division for the past fifteen years,” Gohan nodded, turning his hand over to interlace his fingers with his husband’s. The gold band on Gohan’s left hand gleamed brightly in a flash of sunlight, almost laughing the same way it did beaming over the wing of the plane.

“All the strategic plans, as well as the authorizations are in his hands now. Come Monday he’ll preside over the board meetings for the shareholders and we’ll be conducting our own sort of business,” Mirai said.

“I’m also glad because he will keep an eye on Chibi and Goten. He’ll make sure they’ll stay on task and not get too distracted while we’re gone,” Gohan also reminded him.

“Yes, so they won’t be tempted to follow the old saying, ‘while the cat’s away the mice will play’,” Trunks chuckled, raising Gohan’s hand to his lips and kissing the back. Lately when Mirai held Gohan’s hand, he felt the rough skin of calluses catching on his.

Over the loudspeaker came the pilot’s voice, “Mr. Briefs and Mr. Son, we’ve reached cruising altitude. Feel free to move about the cabin.”

“Thank you,” Trunks said, depressing a control on his chair’s armrest.

“Nice timing,” Gohan chuckled, reaching for the buckle of his seatbelt. Letting go of Trunks hand he unfastened it, hearing the responding click from his husband’s belt.

As usual, Trunks lavender hair was fastened into a ponytail at the nape of his neck. Those tendrils of hair on the sides he let free to frame his tanned face so perfectly. Some of it fell before his eyes, veiling them in a partly seductive manner. Gohan caught himself thinking such things, and then laughed because only months before such considerations were gone. He now saw Trunks through desiring eyes almost constantly.

“Goten and Trunks sure seemed anxious when we left them at the airport,” Trunks mentioned.

“They’re just excited about going on that extended working vacation, if I know Goten,” laughed Gohan.

“You could just feel them trying to keep themselves from bouncing out of their seats when they were seeing us off. I can’t help but wonder what they’ll do the minute we’ve completed our transition,” Mirai mused.

“That’s something Ivan will have to deal with, not us. It’s such a relief to know that we won’t be sitting at those long tables anymore waiting for someone to ask us if we want tea.”

“Instead someone will be yelling at US not to slack off,” Mirai joked.

“Slacking off, there are parts of that I like. Though one man’s slacking off is another’s idea of relaxation,” Gohan drawled.

“Likewise one man’s definition of what makes hard word is another man’s definition of busywork,” Mirai added to the conversation.

“You’re just getting me to think about all the cleaning, ditch digging, and other manual labor we’d end up doing,” Gohan laughed, brushing his nose to Trunks.

“You love the thought of me hot, sweaty, and half naked, don’t you? As much as I drool at the thought of seeing this gorgeous body of yours the same way?” Trunks whispered, leaning his head close to Gohan’s ear. His hand rested on Gohan’s thigh, rubbing up and down it sensually.

“And we’ll be working side by side together instead of having walls between us. We’ll see as MUCH of each other as we want.”

“No phone calls or computer screens to interrupt,” Trunks sighed with pleasure, feeling Gohan’s hand sliding up and down his own thigh in retaliation.

“I can hardly wait. Perhaps that’s what’s causing this plane ride to be far more enjoyable,” Gohan suggested, turning in his seat to face Trunks more fully.

“Oh, you’re actually ENJOYING yourself cooped up in a plane instead of flying by yourself?” Mirai teased him. He gave Gohan’s muscular leg a pinch, causing his husband to gasp a bit.

“Sounds surprising huh? Yes, I’ll admit readily the flights until lately were just a long stretch of time waiting to be filled. Now, I’m just sitting here next to you wanting to get my hands on you…” Gohan whispered seductively, walking his fingers up Trunks thigh, past his hips to dance over his chest. He unbuttoned Trunks suit jacket to do so, playfully slipping his hand between the silk lining and the expensive material of the salmon colored shirt.

When he felt Gohan’s hand tickling him through the cloth he let out a slight whimper when Gohan’s fingers brushed over the cloth-clad nipple. “I have to admit I’ve thought the same thing…”

Abandoning Gohan’s thigh Trunks slid his hands further up, teasingly brushing over the front of Gohan’s pants before reaching over to unbutton Gohan’s navy blue blazer. With both his hands, he rubbed up and down the material, massaging the muscles underneath. Gohan tipped his neck back into the chair, sighing deeply. “This is one of the advantages of flying in the corporate jet versus on our own power… THIS…”

“You mean me mapping out your sexy body through those designer clothes?” Mirai cooed into his ear.

“That, and the fact one is free to engage in sexual activities miles above the earth,” Gohan purred back, leaning over and kissing Mirai’s cheek.

“You referring to the ‘mile high’ club then?” Mirai bantered.

“The very same,” Gohan nodded, sighing as Mirai caught his earlobe in his teeth and bit it lightly.

“And as part of the initiation into this club, there is the added bonus of taking my time to look at your body, and you to see mine,” Mirai suggested, fingering at Gohan’s buttons.

“A required inspection of the merchandise before the main event?” Gohan laughed, loving the lustful twinkle in his husband’s eyes.

“More that I want to see your body and what our lifestyle changes have done to it,” Mirai urged, slipping the buttons through their holes.

“Ah, a most thorough investigation is warranted then? Do continue,” Gohan moaned longingly, as his fingers danced over the buttons of Trunks shirt.

“Stand up, and let me strip you down, and then you me,” Mirai instructed. He stood up first, extending his hand to Gohan, who took it. He loved the strong tug of his husband pulling him up to stand opposite him. In the bright light of the noon sun beaming through the windows, Mirai finished unbuttoning Gohan’s shirt.

Gohan’s hands brushed against Mirai’s, at the same time removing and spreading the cloth as he tugged it out of his husband’s belt. Both of them shrugged off their blazers, folding them and laying them over the backs of their seats. Gohan then waited as Mirai undid his belt buckle, and then moved back so he could slide his fingers over the tanned leather of Mirai’s belt and do the same.

Mirai tugged his necktie, pulling it off. “I won’t be sad to stop wearing these.”

“Nor me. Mom made me wear them ever since she thought the stupid idea of slicking my hair back made me look good,” Gohan wrinkled his nose.

“What is it with moms and the thought that slicked hair looks in any way except dorky?” Mirai laughed. “The only way I like your hair slicked back is if it’s because I’m making you sweat after pounding you.”

“I concur,” Gohan purred, pushing back the cloth from Mirai’s chest to see the tanned flesh beneath. He unbuttoned his husband’s pants, watching Mirai shimmy his hips and let them drop to puddle around his ankles. When Mirai unzipped his, Gohan braced himself on Mirai’s forearm, stepping out of his carefully. Next, the pants were folded and placed with the blazers that matched. Other items soon joined them.

Gohan feasted his eyes on Mirai’s body, noticing how more defined Trunks appeared. From the creases in his chest to the line running down his six-pack, the ridges were far more apparent. Down from the abdomen to the thighs, then to the knees he traveled his gaze, noticing the roughening skin on Trunks knees. Finally, he finished his visual inspection at the base of Trunks feet, the skin tough and hardening on the bottoms.

Simultaneously Mirai filled his vision with Gohan’s creamy flesh, his mouth watering at the valleys and ridges comprised by his powerful torso. From the washboard flat of his belly, he trailed to the spread of Gohan’s narrow hips, and the flaring of his muscular thighs. Preceding down those gliding muscles on his thighs he noticed the difference in skin color on Gohan’s knees. Long legs terminated in shapely calves, angled with far more definition.

Reaching up Gohan slide his hand around Trunks neck to unfasten his hair tie. Long lavender hair now liberated spilled over his chest and shoulders, partly obscuring and softening Gohan’s view of his husband’s chest. How much more golden would Trunks skin become when they saw the continual light of outdoors. The sun would bake and toast Trunks skin to a lovely tan, and he could already see the improvement from their forays outside.

Trunks hissed in delight to feel rough pads of Gohan’s fingers sliding down his neck to walk across his pectorals. They paused, the callused pads rubbing over his sensitive nipples for a lingering moment. Then Gohan danced his fingers over the ridges of Mirai’s muscles, memorizing each one again. Like a sculptor, Gohan was mapping out his husband’s flesh, but with the rougher hands of a manual laborer. Catching Gohan’s hand Trunks lifted it to his lips, and then kissed the hardening palm.

He licked over Gohan’s rough index finger, sucking it into his mouth. Gohan moaned erotically, wishing it were another part of his anatomy. Now Mirai passed his hands over Gohan’s torso, giving his husband the chance to feel the rough patches of skin catch on his muscles, and enjoy the difference in contact. In his throat, Gohan’s breath hitched, when Trunks dropped to his knees and ran his tongue over Gohan’s inner leg. A gasp escaped his lips at the sensation of his husband’s hot tongue raking over the rough skin covering his patella and femur, bathing it before nuzzling his left knee.

Gohan slipped his fingers into Trunks hair, tugging him up. Blue eyes glanced up at him, hungry and aroused. “My turn,” Gohan growled.

Trunks murmured as Gohan lightly pushed him by the chest and he fell back into the chair. Dark eyes burned with authority now, and Trunks knew it was selfish to worship those callused knees without letting Gohan return the favor. “Mmm, your hard working hands feel fantastic on me.”

“That’s the idea,” Gohan growled, bending down. Spreading Trunks knees apart, he bent to kiss the left, then the right. Resting his head against the headrest, Mirai closed his eyes and concentrated on the delicious softness of Gohan’s lips pressing multiple kisses to his knees. Then he felt his left leg being lifted and his ankle held in a pair of strong rough hands. He yelped to feel hot air and moisture brushing over the undersurface of his big toe. Drawing it into his lips Gohan sucked it briefly, and then moved onto the next.

“Ohh shit,” Trunks whimpered, tossing his head.

“Your feet feel like fine cured leather, Trunks,” Gohan purred, licking the arch of Trunks foot. He rubbed the heel sensually, and then kissed it as well. He couldn’t wait for Gohan to treat his right foot just as sensually, sucking and licking each toe in a pretext of another organ.

“Just wait till it’s your turn, Sexy,” Mirai promised, his voice deepening with desire. Gohan’s ministrations unlocked waves of hot desire, causing blood to pulse to his saiyanhood and push against his underwear, the last piece that they did not yet remove.

“Got to take these off,” murmured Gohan, sliding his fingers in the interior of Trunks legs. Lifting his hips Trunks allowed Gohan to pull his boxers down and off so cool air hit his developing erection.

“Now you,” Mirai pleaded, his voice cracking with the effort to keep himself from coming far too soon. No, there was much more fun to be had.

Gohan pouted slightly, but sat down next to Mirai. Boosting himself out of the seat Mirai then genuflected on one knee before his husband, slipping callused fingers into the boxers so Gohan could lift his pelvis and slide them down. Yet Mirai stopped pulling them at the knees, at the time Gohan set his ass down in the seat again. Blinking at him Gohan asked, “Why are you stopping?”

“You’ll find out soon enough,” Mirai crowed, then dipped his head. He brushed the tip of his nose to Gohan’s knees, rubbing his cheeks against the rough flesh like a cat marking its territory. Then he boosted both of Gohan’s ankles on his one shoulder, tickling the back of Gohan’s knee so he laughed beautifully.

“Hell that tickles, watch it!” Gohan yelped.

“I can’t help it. I love the sound of your laughter when I touch you there,” Mirai purred. “And THERE…”

“Ohhhh….” Gohan groaned, loving how Mirai licked the ball of his left foot in broad strokes. Each toe he rubbed and dragged his tongue over instead of sucking on them. Rough fingers pressed and kneaded his hardened feet, causing him to hiss and gasp when he finally felt the heat of Trunks breath blowing on his skin.

“Reminds me of how your feet were when we trained all those years ago. Your feet feel beautiful and they’ll continue to become perfect as that silky soft skin of yours becomes a light gold, Gohan. You’ll be even sexier still,” Mirai said in that deep voice that drove Gohan wild. His heart pounded heavily in his chest, feeling Mirai finally relent and suckle his big toes both at once. He wrapped the underwear around Gohan’s ankles, binding them together.

Glancing up Mirai saw Gohan’s dark eyes closed, the long lashes fluttering while he pulled Gohan’s legs apart. He pushed his head between them so Gohan’s knees were on his shoulders. Licking and kissing up the flesh, he used his callused fingers to tease the sensitive inner parts of Gohan’s thighs, causing his husband to moan deeply. Already Gohan’s dark hair reached his collar, curling and spilling in a lovely fashion, he remembered from years ago. He said, “Gohan… you should continue to let your hair grow out like mine.”

“Anything for you,” Gohan promised, glancing down at his husband with passion deep eyes, bottomless and needy.

“And you should sleep in nothing… at all, next to me under the stars,” Trunks commanded softly, blowing on the prominent erection Gohan now sported. Skin strained around the rosy tip, twitching under the assault of Mirai’s breath. Lightly he tickled the underside, before kissing along it.

“Don’t stop,” Gohan whispered.

“Now it is your turn, sexy,” Mirai whispered, ducking out from between Gohan’s legs. Suppressing the urge to grab his hair and pull him down, Gohan merely plotted a suitable sensual revenge. Mirai would not soon forget their plane ride when he was through.

Gohan slid to the floor, on his hands and knees on the thick carpet that covered the cabin floor. Soft in contrast to his hardened and chaffed knees he wondered how much more his flesh would change as their new phase in life together commenced. On all fours, he walked towards Mirai, who sat on his knees and watched him predatorily.

Gohan kicked his underwear free, and then seized hold of Trunks shoulders. Pulling his husband to him, he climbed on trunks thighs to straddle him. He bumped the underside of his cock against the tip of Mirai’s erection, causing him to whine with need. Then wrapping his legs around Mirai’s waist, he captured his husband’s lips in a kiss. Trunks imprisoned him in an embrace, sighing as Gohan’s tongue coaxed and teased his mouth open. Hot breath merged, dancing between them as their tongues glided along one another. Slowly Gohan ground his hips down, pressing himself to Trunks own need.

“Ohhhh,” Mirai groaned, feeling his sensitive cock tip rub against Gohan’s.

“You like that? Feeling my rough hands over every tanned inch of your gorgeous body, Handsome?” Gohan purred, keeping his voice deep and feral.

“Hell yes,” Trunks swallowed hard, bucking his hips up. “I want to be in your lap, Gohan.”

“I think we can allow that,” Gohan whispered, scooting back. Sitting Indian style, he reached for Mirai. Swinging his legs over he sat in the triangle of Gohan’s legs, so their cocks sensually brushed like their tongues had done seconds before.

Together they panted, reaching down and caressing one another’s lengths. Gohan closed his eyes at Trunks grinding down and rubbing him just so. Simultaneously he slid his hands along Mirai’s slick shaft, pressing the rosy tip and rubbing the moisture that leaked over the broad head. Lying back, Gohan felt Mirai balancing on top of him so his erection rubbed against his belly. Bracing his hands on Gohan’s strong chest Mirai rocked back and forth.

“You feel so good there, Gohan,” Trunks whispered, bending down so his hair fell in a curtain around Gohan’s face.

“I want you Trunks… want you now…” Gohan growled, grasping Mirai’s hips in his hands. Holding his wrists Mirai lifted himself and stood on his knees so Gohan’s tip rubbed his opening teasingly.

Mirai reached for the tube of scented lube he’d stashed in his pants pocket. Gohan heard the flick of the cap snapping back and the spurting sound of lube squirting onto Mirai’s palms. Rubbing his hands together and blowing, he warmed the liquid before reaching down to rub his hands on Gohan’s erection.

Gohan slicked his index and middle fingers, and then waited for Mirai to sit on his knees so he could slip his fingers inside. Mirai groaned, loving the invasion of those rough fingers spreading and kneading him in preparation. “G… Gohan… I need…”

“I know… I can’t wait either,” Gohan panted, lifting him reverently. At the same time, Mirai ground down Gohan thrust up into tight heat.

“Ahhhh feels so good,” Mirai sighed, bouncing his hips up and down. Gohan flexed his hips up, finding the rhythm they both loved so much. It didn’t take long for the silver sparks of pleasure to explode along them. Grinding pressure and squeezing flesh wrestled the inevitable result while Gohan reached up to stroke Trunks and knead him to the same place.

“Trunks… I love you,” Gohan ground out, exploding in bliss. Mirai howled the same words, savoring the molten heat bathing his insides, while spurting his own seed over Gohan’s chest. The milky white liquid showered Gohan’s ivory flesh, mingling with the already gleaming sweat. Rolling on their sides, they tangled their legs together and embraced tightly.

“Gohan, I do love you too,” Mirai whispered, kissing his lips lingeringly. Gohan’s fingers smoothed Trunks hair from his face, his eyes sated and misty.

“It’s your turn next,” Gohan smiled contentedly.

***

Blue expanses of oceans stretched for miles around the small island. A warm breeze passed over their cheeks as Trunks and Gohan climbed out of the taxi. Gohan heard the thump of the door behind him, and the sound of their driver’s shoes on pavement.

“Thanks,” Trunks said, climbing out of the cab first. “Just pop the trunk, we’ll get the bags.”

“Here you go,” Gohan said, reaching through the glass partition to hand the money to their driver.

“Thanks,” the driver nodded, accepting the zenni and the generous tip. Outside the car, Trunks already pulled the bags out of the trunk and set them on the curb. Gohan exited the cab next closing the door behind him. Already Trunks had removed all the suitcases, so Gohan waved to the driver.

Each of them grasped the handles on their bags, and easily hefted their luggage. Walking side by side, they set off down the meandering path towards their villa. Its windows peeked out from between the branches of trees with graceful twining branches. Instead of a straight walk, the stone path curved left and right to create a sense of randomness.

“Not much of a workout schlepping these,” Mirai commented.

“Not really. I think we are used to something far more substantial,” Gohan agreed as they reached the front steps. Fishing in his pocket Trunks pulled out the keys. He set his bags down to stick them in the lock.

Gohan stopped to admire the rear view of his husband presented to him. Slowly the door glided open, revealing the marble floor of the entryway. A slightly dusty smell wafted over Trunks nostrils, and he stood for a moment before he felt Gohan’s arm wrap around his waist.

“Been a while, hasn’t it?” asked Gohan.

“Indeed,” Trunks agreed, leaning back into Gohan’s body a bit. Softly Gohan kissed his ear, and gave Trunks a squeeze.

“Bags?” Gohan whispered.

“Yeah,” Mirai whispered his heart pounding. He exited the entryway to grab his belongings, and set them just inside the door alongside Gohan’s. Grasping the brass knob, Gohan swung the heavy oak door shut behind them with a definitive slam.

Glancing about, Trunks wandered over towards a decorative table near a clothes tree. The table held a glass dish into which he tossed his keys, then glimpsed his reflection in the mirror hung over it. From behind, he saw Gohan glancing over his shoulder, and felt his husband gently sliding his hand over Mirai’s.

“Time to stow the bags and unpack. Then we can take a walk and relax a bit,” Gohan suggested, hugging him from behind.

“Sounds delightful,” Trunks nodded.

***

Wandering from stall to stall Gohan and Trunks made their purchases. Their latest stop brought them to the vegetable and fruit stand they had seen in their stroll the day before. A whole symphony of color greeted their eyes in the various peppers, tomatoes, carrots and other fresh produce. As Mirai picked up a tomato, he felt the grit of dirt on his fingers.

“Soon I’ll feel this dirt all day long,” he reflected, reveling in the smell alone as he brought it to his nose.

“We’ve also got green peppers sir,” the woman interrupted.

“And red?” Trunks asked.

“We also need to stop by the butcher’s, Trunks,” Gohan reminded him, standing beside the baskets of nectarines. Carefully he turned each one over in his hands, giving each a small pressure with his thumb. Not sufficient to bruise, but enough to tell assess its ripeness. He remembered doing this for years when his mother sent him to the local village market with their produce to sell each week.

“I’ll take these,” Mirai said, gently placing the tomatoes into the scale for weighing.

“Two pounds for three zenni,” the produce merchant wrote down on her sales slip.

“And the green peppers,” he added.

“I think we can make a nice fruit salad with these, Trunks,” Gohan announced, carrying his basket over. With great care, each piece of fruit was positioned on the scale next as if it were a precious commodity. Indeed, it was, Gohan realized because he was remembering the value of how far a zenni would go.

Once they had selected their items, the grocery vendor tallied everything. Items were wrapped or placed in the cloth bag they had brought with them. Folding out several zenni Gohan handed it over to pay. A smile and nod were also exchanged.

“Over there, across is our last stop,” Mirai said, shading his eyes with his hand. Unlike other days, he let his long hair hang freely around his shoulders. Gohan’s hair reached his collar by now, growing rapidly but still far shorter than his husband’s.

On the crown of his head, Gohan felt the burning heat of the late afternoon sun. Instead of wiping the sweat off his brow, he simply allowed it to evaporate and cool naturally. They would be sweating far more in the future, so he figured it did not hurt to become accustomed to putting up with it. Besides, Mirai saw the sweat as an aphrodisiac. The sweatier, the better.

“Gohan you’re tanning so nicely,” Trunks said, leaning over to kiss him.

“Yeah. Another few days and I’ll be looking less like an office style vampire,” Gohan joked.

“And more like a regular person, make that a person who’s worked outdoors,” said Mirai.

“You’ll be able to work more on that tan today by the pool.”

“Looking forward to that. Ah, here we are,” Gohan answered, leading the way to the butcher’s shop.

Several young men and women moved among the cases that frosted slightly, picking up slabs of meat and taking them towards the rear of the shop to slice them. Mirai advanced to the main counter and grasped one of the paper tags from the number dispenser. Gohan watched as the customer in front of them slipped their hand on the side of the scale before pulling it back. Several pounds of bacon freshly sliced landed on top, pushing the digital reading up to three.

“No worries, I don’t put my thumb on the scale miss,” he teased.

“Sorry, force of habit,” the customer laughed, nervously. Gohan sighed, remembering how some of the vendors would bias their customer’s weights with a thumb strategically placed. However, he was glad to see that sort of corruption was not rampant here.

“Can I help customer 5?” asked the young man behind the second counter.

“Oh yes, I’d like several pounds of sirloin… I mean back cut, two whole chickens, and um…” Mirai glanced down at his list.

“Must be having quite a party?”

“We’re good eaters,” Gohan chimed in.

“No problem,” the man answered with a smile. In the meantime, the woman’s purchases were being wrapped from a long roll of brown paper. The end ripped off with a loud shredding noise, folded around the parcel, before being tied tightly with string. Gohan watched the spool of twine spin as the attendant turned the newly wrapped bundle on its side, then upended it quickly. Most likely, those hands were callused from the fibers of the string.

Once invisible people from behind counters and running to the rears of stores were now quite visible to Mirai. His sharp eyes caught sight of every behind the scenes person, and his mind even reflected on those who he did not see. Just by seeing the great care in the wrapped parcels, or presence of dirt from someone’s hands on fresh produce. Not to mention the strategic placing of meat in the butcher case on beds of green lettuce to lift it off the ice, showing its best side to the customer. It was an art form in itself.

Even catching his reflection in the polished glass or the glossy counter told Mirai the story of how the shopkeepers meticulously cleaned every inch of their store. His mind flashed to his and Gohan’s own cleaning efforts and he smiled. Months before he would not have given it much of a second thought but now he appreciated it.

“There you are, sir,” the butcher said with a smile, handing several wrapped bundles to Trunks. Gohan reached into his pocket and folded out the bills from the cheap plastic wallet he carried.

“Thank you,” Mirai and Gohan said together. They grasped the wrapped packages of meat and carefully placed them in the cloth bags, separate from the other food.

***

Charcoal briquettes tumbled of out a bag into the grill, as Trunks poured them. Gohan poked them tentatively to shift them into position. The smell of lighter fluid filled the air along with a minute amount of smoke. Sulfur and the scratch of a match later caused small flames to lick along them. A large metal cylinder poked over the center of the pile created a chimney, coaxing flames from the carbon.

“All right, that’s started,” Gohan nodded with appreciation. In the small outdoor kitchen, Trunks washed his hands and turned back to the huge bowl. Spinach and other vegetables tumbled about between the two wooden salad forks he used. He smelled basil that he sprinkled and heard the glooping of the vinegar and oil drizzling into the bowl. Oil and vinegar mingled but did not dissolve, though it spread over all the salad components in a glossy sheen.

“A few peppers?”

“Just a few, but not too spicy,” Gohan said. He covered the coals and then turned his attention to a cutting board. He sliced pieces of green pepper, red, and pieces of fresh pineapple. The sharp tines of the shishkabab skewers would soon be busy.

Gohan picked up the glass frosty with condensation to his left, and sipped the bittersweet tang of lemonade. Slices of lemon swirled in the top and he eagerly drank down the sugary concoction.

In the cooler Trunks set the bottle of red and the bottle of white zinfandel to chill near the bottles of water. It sat on the counter nearby the sink, filled with crushed ice. He caught a glimpse of Gohan’s toned tanning legs visible from the blue swimsuit. His chest was bare and gleaming with sweat, exposed to the rays of the sun angling down in mid afternoon. Moreover, Trunks amorous gaze.

“Shall we swim while the charcoal gets to the right temperature?” Gohan asked.

“Sounds appealing, that and a glass of wine,” Trunks agreed.

For the next hour or so they relaxed by the pool. Custom ceramic tiles ran along the side, forming a small but comfortably sized area where a few umbrella tables sat. Wrought iron chairs bore comfortable seat and back cushions. Sun brewed iced tea sat in a pitcher, absorbing the rays of the Mediterranean sun. Potted palm trees also gave more natural shade, reminiscent of Kame house.

Together they took turns watching the grill, one jumping into the large kidney bean shaped pool dancing with the swimming rays of light sparking on its surface. While the other kept watch and turned the steaks, shish kebab, and salmon over the hot coals on the rack. Small foil wrapped sweet potatoes were placed alongside them to roast slowly and evenly. When Gohan announced the food was ready, Trunks head and shoulders broke water. He clung to the edge of the pool with roughened fingers, glancing up at his husband removing the food from the grill to put on china plates.

Wrapped in a fluffy bathrobe Trunks picked up glasses and removed the wine bottles from their nest of ice. He poured himself and his husband two glasses, while Gohan placed generous portions of the huge salad in bowls for them both. Between them, the never-ending bowl of salad diminished, followed by juicy steak and salmon. Gohan sprinkled cinnamon and brown sugar generously on their baked sweet potatoes, each mouthful melting over their tongues.

Gradually the sun set in shades of rose and lavender, much the same hue of Mirai’s hair. Conversation remained relegated to various small talk. Once the dinner dishes were soaking in the outdoor sink, they continued swimming lazily in their pool. Entire bottles of white and red wines were polished off between them. If Trunks glanced up, while floating on his back in the pool he could see the first stars of night peeking through the fluffy clouds.

Overall, it was a perfect last dinner together.

***

By the time the sun had set, resembling a disk of brilliant gold, the two of them had cleared up all the dishes. Trunks helped pull the solar blanket along with the pool cover to close off the pool. All the patio furniture was collected and locked in its storage shed. The last item they attended to was the grill, which Gohan closed and locked up. Reverently they strode towards the cabana, where a change of clothes awaited them.

Glancing at the last rays of the setting sun, Gohan nodded to Trunks. Mirai returned the nod, taking his husband’s hand and walking into the changing area. Stripping off their swimsuits, they entered the showers together. Gohan lathered his hands with the inexpensive soap they had used for the past few weeks, this time soaping his husband’s body with a ritualistic solemnity. Trunks ran his hands over Gohan’s body with similar ceremony. As if washing the last traces of their rich lifestyle off, they scrubbed away the chlorine smell of the pool. Tanned flesh twitched under Gohan’s fingers, as Trunks stayed still and kept his eyes closed.

Then they stepped out, each taking towels to dry one another off. Completely nude they wiped the water away from their bodies, neither one looking with lust but with admiration. Already their muscle-toned bodies were works of art, far superior to their former state. Instead of binding his hair up, Trunks allowed it to hang freely around his shoulders. Gohan’s own hair touched the back of his neck, curling up haphazardly as it dried.

Cool tile met their bare feet as they strode out of the cabana bathroom. They toweled off the wet floor, and then made their way into the changing room. Laid out on the wooden benches in the ‘locker room’ was a pair of white pants next to a pair of blue. Still silent, Gohan reached for his pair, leaning on Trunks arm for balance as he slipped into them. Then Trunks stepped into his, both of them zipping up the rough pants and buttoning them. Bare skin itched slightly like a penance around Gohan’s thighs, and he saw Mirai shifting in a similar matter that indicated he too was suffering the minor discomfort. Even after days of wearing the pants during their cleanup chores, they never failed to feel the itchy fabric reminding them of what they were.

“Onto the next phase,” Gohan whispered, as if it was sacrilege to speak too loudly.

“Yes,” Mirai nodded. They turned off the lights and closed the cabana door, locking it carefully. Carrying the keys, they strode back to the main house. Already the back yard was secure for the long duration they would not be there.

Once inside the house they strode across the polished floors. Cool smooth wood contrasted with the roughening skin on Trunks feet. Gohan wandered over to the sets of curtains, drawing them closed after checking to see that each window was locked. Trunks draped the furniture in white sheets, covering the piano, the sitting room chairs, and other carved pieces. Next, they strode up the stairs, making their way through each room in the house. Lights were extinguished and doors shut and locked, as if saying farewell to old friends.

The last place they dallied was the bedroom, both of them pulling the furniture drape over the large mahogany bed and its matching suite. Only mere slits of moon and starlight peeked through the slats in the drawn blinds, and then covered by heavy velvet curtains. Again, they took hands, Gohan giving Mira’s finger a squeeze. He dug his toes into the carpet and gave a smile to Gohan.

“I think I like the feel of grass much better already, don’t you?”

“Rather than thick nap carpets? Yes, I have to say I do too,” Gohan nodded, leading the way down the hallway of the last and uppermost floor. Towards the main staircase, they trekked, walking the long way down into the central core of the house. Small gleams of light twinkled faintly on the main chandelier dominating the vaulted ceiling. Feet touched tile, cool on their feet, as it had become a routine sensation.

All over the home, they now walked barefoot, where before they had considered cleaning this place. There were no shoes or socks to interrupt their exploration or touching of the surfaces they stood in. As if a vital flow of energy was now present, that rooted them more firmly to the earth. Trunks reflected that it was that missing link that early humans treasured but modern people missed sorely surrounded by artificial habitats.

Towards the hallway, they marched, stopping before a large painting that Mirai swung open. He reached for the dials of the safe combination lock, turning them. Boxes and folders sat inside, already indicating the valuables they had put within. Holding up his hand Gohan saw the light flash over the golden band. Trunks too held up his hand slowly turning the gold of the ring. Reaching inside, Gohan pulled out a small box and opened it.

“The very last thing to go,” he whispered to Trunks.

“This is the one thing I’m sad to let go,” Mirai admitted, reaching for his wedding band. He tugged it off, watching Gohan do the same.

“Well you’ll get another one from me when we get outside,” Gohan answered.

Reverently they placed their bands in the small box, and closed the lid. Together they sit it into the heart of the safe atop the other piles of valuables. Picking up two items in a small cloth bag, he backed away and let Gohan close the heavy safe door. It clicked definitively before the painting was replaced.

“That’s done then,” Mirai said with a serious nod. Gohan merely murmured, then followed him towards the front door.

Just inside the doorway entry area sat two army surplus backpacks, made of faded green fabric obtained second hand. Carefully Trunks picked them up as Gohan turned the knob in the center of the intricately carved front door. They stepped over the welcome mat, standing on the front portico. Cool stone greeted their toes, barely chilling them through the toughening skin on their feet. Mirai set their backpacks of meager possessions down, reaching together with Gohan for the front door. It gave a gentle slam in the cool breeze of night. Only the sounds of chirping crickets and the occasional noise of a distant car passing reached their ears.

Mirai locked the door, and then handed the keys to Gohan. They trotted down the steps, turned to the right and stopped before a large statue. Together they boosted it up, moving it aside so they could scrabble at the dirt. Keys jingled into a plastic bag, which was placed in the hole Gohan dug. Mirai smoothed the dirt overtop, and both of them moved the statue back over the place so it was invisible.

Another nod later and the duo returned to the front steps, walking on the stone pathway. Its uneven seams were discernable by their walk on bare feet. Both of them peered through the darkness at the silent stately homes in their shrouds of sleep. Behind them, the villa sat in hibernation, not dead, but closed off.

“We’d better leave before people think we’re breaking into our own house,” Gohan whispered.

“Right, let’s go,” Trunks agreed. Carefully shouldering their backpacks, they dashed down the front steps hand in hand. Neither walked before the other, as the two spouses raced along the stone path away from the house.

Soon asphalt stretched hard and stony under their bare feet, as their feet pounded the residential street. Chilly night air puffed Trunks and Gohan’s hair, swirling it around their shoulders. United in spirit and holding hands they felt their hearts mutual leapt in excitement.

Gohan felt free and light, his heart soaring, while Trunks smiled deeply and inhaled the fresh air uncomplicated by any responsibility save that which he swore to. He reveled in the joy sweeping through his body now, having shed the last vestiges of their life for a time. Nothing seemed to reach out and twine around him, dragging him back to capsule or the hundreds of thousands of decisions he would make for piloting a company. All he would pilot now was the course he and his husband would take. Likewise, Gohan could breathe each sweet draught of fresh air freely, only worrying about where they would spread their blankets and what patch of stars they would sleep under. Once out of the gates, they reached the main access road that lead into town one direction, and the other to the distant farms.

Gohan only stopped Trunks after he tugged him behind a line of trees just off the side of the road. Out of view of any passersby they finally stopped, their hearts pounding and breath surging in and out of their bodies. Once they had caught their breath, Mirai reached into his pants pocket for the small bag he had gotten before they left the house.

Two wooden rings tipped onto his palm. Standing before Gohan, he held his palm face up, waiting for Gohan to place his hand underneath and cup the jewelry. Inhaling deeply Trunks spoke first, “Gohan, I love you and I’ve shared five wonderful years with you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you no matter what happens.”

“Trunks, I have loved you for years, and the last five years have been the best I could have imagined. I look forward to a lifetime of happiness at your side, first in richness, now in poverty.”

“In poverty we will gladly face a new phase in our life together,” Mirai added.

Taking one of the rings in his hand Gohan removed his from under Mirai’s. He then turned and faced his husband, his eyes gleaming in the sc ant light of the neighborhood street lamps. “I Gohan Son do take you Trunks, as my lawfully wedded husband. To have and to hold, in sickness and health, first in richness, now in poverty, and humility. Forsaking all others as long as I live. To enter into a life of scarcity, hard work, and abundant joy together.”

He slipped the ring on Trunk’s finger, and then waited as Trunks uttered, “I Trunks Vegeta Briefs take you Gohan, as my lawfully wedded husband. To have and hold in past and future, unseparated by time. In war and peace, in sadness and great joy. In humbleness and destitution. Together in the new life we have chosen as hobos, to explore our bond and renew it to that life and to each other as long as we live.”

His fingers trembled only slightly taking the wooden ring, gliding it up Gohan’s finger. Sliding arms around one another, they pressed lips in a heavy kiss. Heat passed between them, filling their bodies with its radiance. Although only their body heat warmed them, it was far more welcome then any fire or heating device inside any of their large houses.

“This is the only warmth I need,” Gohan whispered into Trunks ear. “I love you.”

“And I love you, Gohan. As long as we’re together, we’ll be happy,” Trunks answered, pressing kisses to his eyes, and then his husband’s nose. Their fingers interlaced, giving each other a tight squeeze. Backing Gohan up against a tree Mirai renewed the heavy kiss, bodies nearly bursting with joy.

Reluctantly the kiss ended, and Gohan panted, breathing softly against Mirai’s face. “I think, as the first thing we should do as a couple who has renewed our wedding vows is prepare our bridal suite, so to speak.”

Mirai chuckled, backing away a bit and keeping hold of Gohan’s hands. Small flecks of light from the stars overhead peeked through the tree leaves. He suggested, “Right this way for our accommodations then…”

Still giddy they walked hand in hand, feet touching the dirt and grass around the bottoms of the line of trees just ten or twenty feet from the side of the road. Mirai figured that it would be easier if they were just out of sight, but not so deep into the trees that they were plunging into totally unknown territory in the dark of night. As they stepped out from under the branches of the nearest tree, they entered a slight gap in the overhead canopy. A river of bright stars crossed the sky, each small point of light seeming to be far brighter than seen from the backyard.

“Very little light pollution here,” Gohan whispered sliding his arms around Mirai’s waist from behind. He warmed his husband’s back with his front.

“Here seems a good place,” Mirai said. He leaned back and kissed Gohan’s cheek, then nudged him over in the direction of the small clearing. Underfoot were patches of bare but smooth dirt, only with an occasional bump of a tree root.

“Good as any place,” Gohan confirmed, sliding his pack off his back. Mirai let his drop to his feet, and both of them opened their backpacks. Tugging out their blankets, they felt the scratchy wool on their fingers. Such material was ideal for the outdoors, because wool wouldn’t stop giving warmth even when wet. Better still, it itched and scratched their bodies as the pants did.

Material flapped as they spread Mirai’s blanket down first. Gohan placed their packs at the top of it, to use to rest their heads on. Mirai took Gohan’s blanket in his hand and then watched as his husband lowered himself to sit on the one already spread out. Reaching a hand up, Gohan helped guide Mirai down in the darkness so they sat side by side. Then they stretched out, pulling the other blanket over top of them both.

Lying face to face, they tangled their bodies together. In the cocoon of their blankets, they shared the delicious heat of their bodies. Trunks whispered, “Good night Gohan… love you.”

Gohan bent over and kissed Trunks on the lips tenderly. Tightening his arms around his husband he answered, “I love you too. Good night Trunks…”

Author’s Notes: This story is based on an idea proposed by Lord Truhan and developed with help from him! This is a rewritten version of the original story. We hope you’ll enjoy the improved version.

Pants sticking to his shapely thighs, Trunks flopped down on the cushions. He shifted the sofa with his weight, resting his back against its softness. It felt like he’d died and gone to heaven, just about. When he opened his eyes he glanced up at a familiar brown pair.

“Coffee?” Gohan asked, holding out a Capsule second hand mug. Sweat glistened over his olive skinned chest. In either hand, he held a steaming hot mug, each with a plastic spoon handle protruding.

“That would be wonderful, Gohan,” Trunks sighed blissfully, reaching up to grab the mug from his husband. Instead of flopping down next to him, Gohan turned a half pace and gracefully lowered himself to the seat cushion Trunks patted.

Their legs brushed one another. Gohan too let out a sigh and leaned next to Trunks, settling into his lover’s warm body. Somehow the need to be close was most important, despite the fact they were both drenched from head to toe in sweat. No, Gohan corrected himself. It was precisely BECAUSE they were hot and perspiring that he couldn’t resist cuddling up and resting his head on Trunks shoulder.

Slowly Trunks lowered his arm around Gohan’s shoulders swinging his mug around to take a sip. His nose perked at the smell of instant coffee mingled with the store brand of 2 percent milk. Wearing only their second hand pants, they rested for a moment, sipping the brew. Trunks reached down on the coffee table and grabbed the paper, after tucking the mug between his knees.

“Let me,” Gohan said, taking Trunks mug before it tipped on the carpet.

“Thanks,” Trunks answered, kissing Gohan’s cheek. Thighs pressed together Trunks leaned forwards and spread the paper out so Gohan could see, catching the opposite end of it by passing his arm behind Gohan’s back.

Gohan peered at the black text that said “Want Ads, jobs.” “Let’s see, we’ve got the basic jobs listed here… under restaurants…”

“Here’s one. Raphael’s,” Trunks said. Gohan’s finger stopped at the listing.

“Says they need waiters, and bussers,” Gohan murmured, his eyes focusing on the small print.

“Waiters and bussers,” Trunks repeated, rustling the paper so his thigh brushed Gohan’s enticingly.

“I think we should apply for the busser job,” Gohan suggested.

Trunks nodded. “Yes. That would be perfect for us. The most amount of manual labor.”

“Exactly,” Gohan agreed, with a confirming smile. He felt Trunks side sticking to his as his husband shifted slightly on the couch.

“Okay, it also says that anyone interested should apply in person… tomorrow…” Trunks continued to read.

“Between the hours of nine and eleven,” Gohan said, running his finger further along the numbers.

“So we should be there a good hour earlier then.”

“Absolutely, Trunks. That was just what I was thinking,” Gohan agreed. “So we can be sure to get the job.”

Noticing again how their skin tones contrasted, Trunks feasted his eyes on Gohan’s well-defined chest. Every muscle was perfectly sculpted, but the skin was still quite pale. Even his own flesh seemed to miss the golden healthy tan, prompting Trunks to consider another possibility. Perhaps they should spend more of their time outside in the future. It wouldn’t do for people to think they were stuck indoors all day.

“Such a job will continue to keep us hot and sweaty, Gohan,” Mirai observed, setting down the paper so it rested across both their knees. He shifted his arm so it slid up between Gohan’s back and the couch and wrapped around his husband’s strong shoulders again.

“Agreed. We want to be as sweaty as we are now. I think that last round of cleaning today went a bit too quickly, Trunks.”

“You were analyzing our amount of sweating again?” Trunks teased, nibbling on Gohan’s ear. “Just like the thinker you are… what’s the measure of how much we SHOULD sweat?”

“Well,” Gohan pondered, turning to his husband and shifting his hips so his knees lined up with Mirai’s thigh. “As amazingly shiny and gorgeous as your body looks now covered in perspiration, your hair isn’t completely saturated…”

“It isn’t? So you’re saying we’re getting too used to cleaning this place, and need a bigger challenge,” Mirai grinned, as Gohan nuzzled his chin.

“If your hair was two shades darker purple from lavender, that would tell me we’ve sweated the right amount, Trunks,” Gohan chuckled, pushing pieces of Trunks long hair that were only slightly sticking to his face and hanging around it.

“Yours is still sticking up, so you’re not sweating enough either,” Mirai teased him back, turning his chest so they were front to front.

Gohan brushed his nose to Mirai’s, quipping, “So what is the solution? Get a larger house?”

“We could do that. At least then we could have MORE things to clean,” Mirai responded with a smile, lightly brushing his lips over Gohan’s.

Yielding to his husband’s firm lip press, Gohan angled his face slightly to the side, relishing the spurt of hot breath entering his mouth. In turn, he teased lightly at Trunks lips with his tongue. Both of them raised their hands to cup one another’s faces, deepening the kiss. Gohan tunneled his fingers through Trunks silky locks, while Trunks held the back of his neck. Eyes fused shut as their hands caressed up and down one another’s bodies and they shifted so Gohan could raise his legs up and across Mirai’s thighs.

“You know…” Mirai gasped when they surfaced for air.

“Uh huh,” was all Gohan could manage.

“All this makes me want to…”

“Clean again?” Gohan finished for him. Both pressed their forehead together, sharing a chuckle.

“Mind reader,” Mirai purred, pecking Gohan’s lips. He slid his hands up and down, giving Gohan’s ass a squeeze that jolted the younger Saiyan with desire.

“Keep THAT up and we’ll have to take a rain check on that cleaning,” Gohan panted.

“Uh uh, cleaning first, Sexy. It’ll make the fucking all the more enjoyable,” Mirai waggled a finger at him. He lifted Gohan off his lap, and shakily they stood up.

Bracing Mirai’s body with his own, Gohan murmured, “So you figured it out. Cleaning equates to foreplay?”

“You ARE a genius,” Mirai laughed, swatting Gohan on the ass. “Now let’s get those cleaning rags and get to work.”

Across the glossy floor and over wooden cabinets and furniture they dragged their cloths. Gohan and his husband sought to remove the sticky footprints left there by their bare feet. Earlier on, their way to the couch Gohan noticed the tracks on the parcade floor.

More sweat plastered Trunks hair to his face and he gladly pushed the tendrils behind his ears. As for Gohan, he focused on the right sides of the room while Trunks did the left. They worked as a well-coordinated team, canvassing the entire home from attic to ground floor, their actions dictated by nonverbal cues.

Later, both of them faced one another, Gohan rubbing the parcade floor with long circular sweeps of a rag. He stopped to fold it in and find the one clean surface left before dropping it. A shot of floor polish and lemon tingled his nostrils. As before, drops of his sweat blurred his vision causing him to rub his face. Only a few feet away Trunks rubbed more of the polish over his rag and moved his arms in long broad strokes, much different from Gohan’s method. Despite their differences, the end goal was the same. A highly polished floor that glistened gold under the late afternoon sun.

On his hands and knees, Trunks felt a spasm of pain twinge his back. It passed down his thighs in a burning wave, delicious and painful simultaneously. “Hey Gohan?”

“Yes?” Gohan heaved. His arms felt wobbly as he walked on them and his achy legs to face his husband. That flushed red face under strands of long straight hair regarded him.

“Are you as wasted and achy as I look?” Mirai asked, catching his breath.

“Yes, I think I can safely say that’s the case,” Gohan chuckled.

Gohan arched his back, and then stopped at a sharp stitch across his lumbar vertebrae. It seemed he felt each one tingling in protest, signaling the weariness that swept over him. It felt as intoxicating as wine, and as richly earned as any drink in happy hour. Strangely, he felt lightheaded and high from the physical exertion and lack of stimulation from anything but occasional glances of Trunks ass. Moving aside the rag, he crawled over to where Trunks stretched his body.

Cobalt blue eyes watched Gohan’s every move. Pushing up with both hands he sat back on his knees, hearing his back pop and crackle. While Gohan reached him, he stayed perfectly still, worshipping his husband with a steady gaze. Slowly Gohan pressed his hands to Trunks thighs, rubbing up and down them. He sat on his ankles, only inches from Trunks, hot breath fanning his steaming hot face. The contrast in temperature tingled, adding to Trunks arousal screaming through his body.

Possessively Gohan and Trunks twined arms around one another’s bodies. Their lips found each other’s, as Gohan straddled his husband’s knees. Sighing Trunks leaned back and sideways so his side hit the shiny floor. Lavender hair splayed out around him as Gohan lay atop him, lips locked in a heavy kiss.

***

Trunks suppressed the urge to drum his fingers on the table. Mr. Platter’s whiny voice drawled on for nearly a half hour and Trunks could not keep his eyes from diverting to the gold clock on his desk. His left hand brushed past blueprints and engineering reports that spilled out of the man’s leather briefcase.

“So Mr. Briefs, my buddy, are you sure we can’t convince you to try our new tripolycarbonate resistant weatherproofing containers?”

“I am very grateful with how well they’ve held up with the summer line of C-678 compact capsules,” said Trunks with a patient smile. Already the hands pointed to the ten and five, his hands watching the incessant dragging of the second hand rushing up.

“I just remembered we also have some Vynilic Zb5 that you would find PERFECT if you tried it in the winter snow vehicle line,” Mr. Platter said, pushing a few papers into trunks view.

“Well yes, we could keep that in mind,” Trunks said quickly, pretending to stare at his colleague.

“You’re so open minded, just like your grandfather. Such an eager business partner,” laughed Mr. Platter, patting him on the shoulder.

“Thank you, it’s a pleasure using your plastics in our capsule lines,” said Trunks shaking his hand. Slowly Mr. Platter rose from his seat, only to stop.

“Oh that reminds me,” he said, sitting down.

“Really, do tell?” Trunks laughed, inwardly cursing at the man now taking up another five minutes. Yet he knew it would be rude to refuse to hear what the long time partner and supplier would say.

“You and I should play golf on Sunday. We could go over the winter lineup account then! What do you say? My wife’s been dying to wear her new golf dress and she’d love to meet your husband and play a round of 18 holes,” said Mr. Platter with a grin.

“Well I’ll have to see what he’s got on his schedule, but I’ll get back to you,” said Trunks, with a slight blush. Mr. Platter had supplied them for the last 20 years, and had been fully aware of the marriage between him and Gohan, accepting it breezily as if it was just another development in the Capsule dynasty.

“Say have I shown you a picture of my daughter’s new pet poodle? She is gaga over him, and that reminds me that we hardly ever see your husband at our annual client’s party. You’re both invited and we’ll have caviar…”

“I’m sure that will be very nice. Is there anything else you wanted to talk about, Mr. Platter?” asked Trunks with forced politeness. He was not trying to be rude, but already another five minutes were burned away. Again they both rose to get up, but then Mr. Platter snapped his fingers and again sat down. Trunks forced a smile and sat down again.

“Well the pet care line, I just remembered! I forgot to give you the latest shipping figures for it! We’re both making lots of returns on that partnership!” Mr. Platter said, digging in his briefcase.

“You don’t say?” Trunks said, interlacing his fingers and tapping his foot under the desk instead. His skin crawled with anxiety as he continued to glance past his business partner’s head at the wall clock.

Flickering ki patterns indicated a familiar presence, and Trunks rejoiced at the sensation of Gohan walking up the hall. A knock on the door interrupted Mr. Platter as he pulled out the forgotten ream of papers and set it in front of Trunks. “There we are!” he said with a loud booming laugh.

“Yes, thank you!” Trunks said, nodding with another laugh and a grin.

“But there’s a few things that I want to show you in particular,” Mr. Platter said, pulling his chair around and pointing to a chart on the front page.

“How many things exactly?” asked Trunks, his patience frayed to shreds. Relief filled him when he heard the knock repeating.

“Oops, sorry I didn’t realize you were expecting someone,” Mr. Platter said quickly.

“Come in” Trunks asked.

Gohan’s head popped from behind the door, and he apologized, “Oh sorry… I forgot you were in a meeting.”

“No problem,” said Mr. Platter. “Sorry to monopolize your lovely husband, Mr. Son.”

“It’s nothing,” Trunks lied.

“I’ll see you two at the West City country club I hope! Bring your selves and putters, and we’ll talk!” said Mr. Platter as he finally got up and went over to shake Gohan’s hand.

“Uh sure,” Gohan said, blinking at Trunks who nodded eagerly.

“We’ll be happy to see you then,” said Trunks, shaking his colleague’s hand and gently urging him towards the door. Gohan smiled too, and both of them walked their colleague into the hall. Waving to him Gohan watched as Ms. Thyme handed the man his coat and helped him to the elevator. Turning to his husband Gohan saw Trunks shoulders slouch and his chest rise and fall.

“Whew never thought I’d get rid of him,” Trunks said, wrapping an arm around Gohan’s shoulders.

“Hard day?” Gohan asked, kissing his husband’s lips.

“You don’t know the half of it.”

“Let’s get going. We don’t want to be late. Raphael hates it,” said Gohan, looking at his wristwatch. Trunks nodded and they walked off, holding hands.

Around them, the corporate world of Capsule clicked on. Miss Thyme waved to them, and they politely handed her the stack of papers. Trunks said, “Here you go. Thank you so much for your hard work.”

“You don’t have to thank me Mr. President!” she said quickly with a blush. “It’s my job.”

“But still thank you,” Trunks smiled sweetly at her. “This place would fall apart without you and your staff.”

“Why… why that’s sweet of you to say,” Miss Thyme said with surprise. Gohan and Trunks waved to the busman who punched the button to the elevator as they stepped in.

“Nice night, isn’t it, Carl?” Trunks said to the red suited man.

“Uh yes it is sir!” the man replied quickly, his face a bit filled with pleasant surprise. Gohan and Mirai were delighted to see the expression, and their grip tightened. Gohan squeezed his husband’s hand.

“Thank you,” said Gohan with a smile.

“Yes, that’s right. Thank you for helping us every day,” said Trunks, extending a hand and patting the man’s shoulder.

“Um… sir, you’re um, welcome?” Carl said, pushing the button for the first floor. “No need to thank me. It’s a pleasure to serve you Mr. President.”

“Mr. Trunks is fine, Mr. Carl,” said Trunks with a charming smile. His heart warmed when he saw the smile that came on the man’s taciturn face. For years, he had operated their private elevator and only said good morning.

“Good night sirs! Take care!” he called.

“Have a wonderful weekend,” Trunks smiled back.

“Take care and see you Monday,” Gohan nodded, shaking his hand and grinning as well. Both of them chuckled to one another as they saw the glowing smile on the man’s face.

“Well I’ll be damned,” they heard him mutter.

“He seemed really happy we said goodbye to him and called him by name,” whispered Gohan as he squeezed Trunks hand.

“That’s very true. We have not noticed him. However, the moment we do he feels like he’s important,” Trunks, observed with a sober look on his face.

“That’s why we’re working as bussers. Doing the same thing for a whole shift so we don’t forget just how many people work under us,” said Gohan with a smile as they walked to the garage.

***

A half hour later, they bustled about their apartment in town. Gohan hunched over an ironing board, spraying starch on his white shirt. He inhaled deeply of its fresh scent and then peeled his shirt off. He watched Trunks rush past, and held out the shirt to his husband. “Here you go!”

“Thanks!” Trunks said, leaning over and kissing Gohan as he accepted the shirt. He tugged it on and then Gohan turned the iron off. Moving to the mirror in the bathroom, he ducked behind Trunks who was buttoning the shirt up.

“Don’t forget your nametag,” said Gohan, slipping his black tie around his neck. It snapped and he straightened the collar.

“I have it in my pocket. We’ve got only ten minutes to spare,” Trunks whispered, glancing at his watch. Instead of his capsule brand with diamonds, it was a cheap imitation leather band and a battered crystal with a white face. Gohan ducked out of the bathroom and rushed towards the living room.

“I know, I know,” Gohan murmured, folding up the ironing board into t he wall. He set the iron on its shelf.

“You got it,” Gohan laughed, grabbing his keys and shoving them into his pocket. Trunks stuffed his vinyl wallet into his front pocket, chuckling when he thought of the eel skin one he had traded it for. Gohan did not even use a wallet, because he just put his ID in a small change purse and kept it in his front pants pocket.

“Wallets are a pain,” Gohan has said. Trunks dashed over to the door, opening it. Gohan almost tripped over him in their haste to get out. It only took Mirai a few seconds to do up the bolts and locks before he dashed after Gohan down the hallway.

Gohan panted, opening the door to the fire stairs and waving to Trunks. “C’mon, we’ll miss the bus!” he called.

Mirai laughed, darting around Gohan and hopping on the railing. He slid down, watching Gohan’s flustered face peering down before he heard his husband’s grunt and felt a body almost knock him off the railing. His feet touched the bottom, clad in a pair of slightly scuffed black dress shoes. Hearts pounding he grabbed Gohan’s elbow and pulled his husband out the front.

Gohan’s hair stood up straight, and he ran his hand through it, glancing up at the battered metal bus sign. He sighed and leaned against the metal and glass shelter. Already a few other people were huddled inside, the smell of cigarette smoke filling his nostrils. He waved his hand at the smell, catching Trunks shaking his head.

Mirai leaned against the signpost, facing Gohan and meeting his gaze. He tried to convey a sense of boredom, as if they had done this countless times. So far, the other people waiting paid them no mind. One of them shuffled their newspaper, and the others tossed cigarette butts down, stubbing them out with their toes. It reminded Mirai of what he would have to clean up in a while. His head turned quickly when he heard a squeal of breaks accompanied by the rumbling rattle of a bus engine. Around him, he watched everyone tense up from their seats, digging in their pockets for a bus pass.

Gohan tugged out the folded zenni notes and grabbed Trunks elbow to lead him to the bus. They found their place in line, stepping back to let everyone else on first. Leaping up the steps one after they other Mirai watched his husband slip the bills into the meter, and then hear the creak of the door closing. Stepping over the white line they both stood in the aisle, grabbing the cold metal railing up overhead. He lurched against Gohan, holding his husbands hip to steady himself. At the next stop, more people poured on, pushing and jockeying for position.

Mirai swung around so he faced Gohan, and saw his grateful nod. They clung to the pole with opposite hands, wrapping arms around their waists to anchor one another and keep from brushing up against strangers. Someone pressed to his backside, and Trunks leaned more heavily into his husband. Pressed to him he willed his body to behave.

“Crowded,” whispered Gohan.

“Yep,” Trunks nodded, leaning his head on Gohan’s shoulder. Gohan slipped his fingers into Trunks back pocket, as if claiming his husband from the pushing and shoving patrons. He stared up at his left wrist, looking at the cracked crystal of his watch to see the sweep of the second hand inexorably towards the 12.

“Great, we’re almost ten minutes behind,” he grunted.

“Thanks to that guy I couldn’t get rid of,” whispered Trunks. Mentally he counted off the minutes, glancing around Gohan to see other people shifting and zoning out on the seats while others stood grabbing the handholds above them. Through the dirty windows, he glimpsed the setting sun blending into deep red between the buildings they moved past. Then the bus lurched to a stop sending them almost flying into the people before them.

Trunks bumped against Gohan’s front, both of them chuckling and glad they were facing one another. Otherwise, it would have been quite embarrassing. Hisses and whispers of frustration caused him and Gohan to crane their heads forward towards the accumulating thickness of cars. Progress was limited to a slow crawl, and they exchanged worried glances.

“Shit,” Trunks cursed.

“Terrific,” Gohan sighed, resigned to the fate. Still he tapped his foot, the vibrations alerting his partner to his frustration mounting. Each minute seemed an eternity to Gohan, and he felt his stomach twisting with the inevitable fear of being late.

“Let’s get off,” said Trunks, reaching for the cord. A loud ding stopped the crawling bus, and the driver pushed the button. Mumbling excuse me to the patrons they bumped and bumbled their way out and dashed down the steps.

Both of them panted, threading their way around cars that were stopped at a red light. Trunks heard the chorus of dissonant car horns around them, deafening. A loud siren split their ears, shooting through the intersection. Snatching Gohan’s hand, he leapt up on the curb and broke in full run down the sidewalk.

Gohan felt sweat soaking his shirt. Encouraged by the squeezed of his husband’s hand he panted and wheezed behind him, trying to keep up. They damped down their ki, feet violently slamming into the pavement as they dodged and weaved around pedestrians. Back and forth from his wrist to straight ahead Gohan glanced.

“C’mon, we’re almost there!” Trunks panted.

“Thank goodness,” Gohan heaved, both of them dashing up to the flashing flickering neon sign just into view.

He read the words “Raphael’s Diner Open 24 hours”, almost stumbling over a curb when they reached the parking lot. Releasing hands with Trunks, he stopped, bending over to brace his hands on his thighs. Trunks did the same, his tanned face flushed. He reached over and brushed off Gohan’s pants.

“Thanks,” Gohan nodded, leaning over to hug Mirai. A quick squeeze later, he trotted around followed by Gohan to the back entrance. There standing against a wall was one of the cooks, his apron smudged with grease. A cigarette dangled from his lip as he looked at them.

Grunting he held open the door so both of them could rush through. Trunks and Gohan entered the dimly lit rear hallway, seeing the shapes of busser carts lined neatly up. Gohan struggled to still his pounding adrenaline as he walked towards the hallway near the double doors. On one side was a set that led to the kitchen, and the other to the restaurant. Grabbing his notched card from the rack on the wall, he slipped it into the clock.

Trunks grabbed his timecard, hearing the “kerchunk” once he slipped his in, seconds after Gohan. Only one minute past their start time, he fretted. Out of the double doors walked a tall man clean-shaven with short-cropped hair. His tie and white shirt were immaculate, and he wore a maroon vest buttoned over his shirt and a gold plastic tag that said Manager, Raphael.

“You’re here. Get going,” he grunted.

“Sorry sir,” Gohan panted.

“Busser carts that way. Get moving. Not time to waste,” Raphael muttered, not looking at them as he dipped into the kitchen. Sighing Trunks and Gohan walked towards the busser carts, pushing up their sleeves.

“Don’t forget the hair net,” Trunks said, looping his apron around his neck. Gohan reached around to tie it, after Trunks pulled the apron over his head.

“Your net,” Gohan pointed. His fingers tugged the hair net overtop Trunks ponytail, a bit shorter since the haircut. It did not reach down his mid back, but was shoulder length.

Deftly Mirai knotted Gohan’s apron, patting his husband on the ass playfully. “All ready. All systems go?”

“Yes,” he nodded, tugging out a hair net and pulling it over his head. Trunks did the same, looping his ponytail in the back and clipping the net on his head with small hairpins.

***

It was the middle of the shift at the West City Diner not far from the rougher side of town. Gohan glanced again at the retro logo in green on the paper placemats he set on the cleaned table. He straightened his nametag that said Son, and then glanced at his husband. A black hairnet covered his spiky hair, while another held Trunks trimmed hair. He had pulled it into a ponytail at the nape of his neck but he could see the mesh covering the lavender hair like a fence.

Plates clanked amidst conversation. Trunks hefted the tray easily, but tried to show normal human fatigue when he boosted it up. Next to him, Gohan did the same, glancing around the people clogged dining room. Constant hubbub and white noise of chattering people was punctuated by the instructions from the floor manager. He moved to within earshot and said, “Get moving! We need 3 tables clean in the smoking section.”

Trunks groaned, realizing that it meant more plates filled with mashed potatoes in which people extinguished their butts. He already stacked several water glasses and coffee cups into which someone had left a few ashy stubs. Most of the time the smokers used the ashtrays, but sometimes they got too creative.

Wincing Gohan tipped the ash from one of the glass trays into the place on his busser tray for cigarette refuse. “I think we should make this place non smoking,” he mumbled.

“Let’s talk later,” Trunks, whispered, nudging him.

Both clad in white shirts under black aprons they felt sweat soaking through the undershirts already. The black clip on ties matched their aprons, already smudged with ketchup and mustard stains. Methodically they stacked the plates into the busser tray, and then wiped the seats with a clean rag. A few sprays from a small bottle of lemon cleaner and hard strokes of the hand over the table and Trunks polished its top so he could see himself in it. Gohan’s backside popped up and Trunks resisted the temptation to watch it as Gohan swept under the booth table.

“Jell-O,” groaned Gohan.

“Shit,” Trunks mumbled. Gohan grabbed a rag and started to dab the Jell-O cubes that dropped to the carpeted floor of the booth. He cursed the kids eat free night which always served Jell-O cubes as the ultimate kids treat. Under his fingers, the discarded cubes disintegrated into tiny smaller slimy chunks.

“Damn it,” Gohan hissed, almost bumping his head on the undersurface of the table. He scrubbed wildly at the carpet, finally removing the sticky bits before ducking out.

“Two tables men, get your asses moving!” said a voice that snapped Gohan’s head up.

“Yes sir!” Gohan said, standing up. Trunks nodded and they covered the plates with cloth napkins. Grabbing the trays, they moved to the next table.

“Leave the money for the waiter. Don’t swipe it or it’ll be hell to pay,” Ralph warned, watching the two new recruits.

“Right!” he called back. Trunks and Gohan meanwhile moved to the next table, and saw the profusion of wadded napkins festooning it.

“You take the highchair I’ll take the stacking,” whispered Trunks, wincing as his saw ketchup, mustard, and bits of food plastered to the lacquer high chair. Small bits of cereal covered the tray, and Trunks watched as a young family cheered. A two-year-old girl with purple hair in pigtails was picking up pieces of cereal from the tray and feeding herself. Sighing Trunks heard the mommy cooing encouragement. A few bits fell to the floor.

Gohan winced. If his mom caught him dropping food he would be bitched at. His ears would ring with the scolding. He never had his parents tearing up bits of food when he was a toddler. He learned to use chopsticks as soon as he could hold them. Then he turned his attention to the plates that were precariously stacked atop a dessert bowl. A long handled spoon stuck up in a narrow fruit cup dish and as he brushed past it, the thing flipped hand over hand like a gymnast. A loud clang startled him and he grabbed the offending spoon he had launched.

Sticky film stuck to Trunks fingertips while he glided the rag over the varnished high chair frame. Dropping to one knee, he then scrubbed off dried bits of lime gelatin fossilized on the bottom rungs. Most of the bussers missed those in their haste but he wanted all the encrusted food gone that the others had missed. Next, he swabbed the seat cushion and unclipped the removable plastic tray. He spritzed the tray decorated with cartoony bunnies wearing bibs that were supposed to show how a kid should eat. Then he moved the high chair back to the holding area with the others. Gohan continued to restack the plates the patrons had precariously assembled into what they thought would be a more helpful and busser friendly configuration.

“At least they tried,” Gohan thought, grateful to see no cigarette butts floating in water glasses. It grossed him out. The bloated buts reminded him of the pieces of cold cereal floating in milk that he dumped into the liquid part of the tray. All fluids like water, and coffee were emptied into this swirling bottom of the bin. Then he separated the spoons, knives, and forks into a front shallower compartment. Then the dishes he stacked with the heaviest on the bottom before covering the whole thing with the used napkins.

“I got the silverware,” Trunks said, carrying a basket filled with wrapped bundles. He remembered spending two hours twisting the napkins around sets of knives, forks, and spoons and tucking the ends of the napkins in to hold it together. Gohan helped him and together they had filled 10 baskets of silverware sets. Artistically Trunks set the fresh silverware at each place atop paper placemats. He crumpled paper covered in crayons and stuck the used crayons the six and eight year old sitting here had used to draw a doggie, a kitty and play a game of tic-tic-toe with on the placemat’s reverse. The third table was now cleared and they both picked up their already heavy trays to clear the large round table in the corner booth.

Gohan winced again at the sight of no less than eight plates piled high with bones, chicken skin, and other mounds of half-chewed food spat back onto them. Pieces of corn kernels were strewn haphazardly over the seats, and on the floor. Sighing he dropped to his knees and picked up the pieces by hand. Trunks did not ask him if he wanted to get the electric vacuum cleaner. Instead he swept the nearby mound of sugar spilled over the edge of a plate into his hand and dumped it into his tray. Next, he stacked the coffee cups, poured milk, and orange juice into empty glasses. More silverware went flying as he brushed past it, flipping out of the small Jell-O bowls.

He turned up his nose at the melted ice cream floating in mash potatoes. Someone had made a cute face on his plate, and stuck dry bits of potato chips in for the eyes, nose, and mouth. Gohan’s dark gaze me his and Trunks wrinkled his nose, mashing the sculpture as he stacked another plate atop it rather than scrape it off. More bits of peas and carrots tumbled into the bin, along with the sludge of gravy mingled with fruit juice. One glass contained a congealed mess of carrot peelings and something else.

Gohan’s ears perked up when he heard the table across from them. A little girl’s voice said, “Mommy why aren’t you stacking the plates?”

“Just throw it down honey. Let the waiters take care of it. They’re paid to do it,” said a woman’s tired and frustrated voice. Gohan fought the urge to glare at them when he saw food drop on the floor and none of them bothering to pick it up.

Trunks too heard the mom say “Don’t pick it up. Let’s go!”

“Moooomy!” wailed another kid.

“Get the hell up and let’s go!” came a man’s voice. Shoes trampled the bits of cracker further into the carpet and Gohan saw the pieces grind down. He sighed, realizing he would be the one picking those pieces up because the vacuum cleaners were old and broken.

“Shit, I can’t get this to work,” cursed one of the staff at a table near Trunks.

“What’s wrong?” Trunks asked, turning his gaze to where one of the female servers kicked a red upright.

“It won’t suck!”

“Lemmie help,” Trunks offered, grabbing a knife and a tray. He walked over on his knees and stuck the tray under the vacuum. The server, whose tag read Clover bent down next to him and watched with interest as he shoved the knife into the feed tub. Clumps of hair, dust and other debris coated the tray.

“Try it now,” Trunks called up, hiding the urge to frown at the mess.

“Thanks!” shouted Clover with a grateful smile, switching the vacuum cleaner on. Her next words were drowned out as she applied the vacuum to the cracker crumbs.

“Let me,” Gohan called, moving over to help clear the table the annoying family had vacated. Trunks moved in, both of them helping stack and clear dishes as Clover the server struggled to clear the floor.

“That’s our job,” Trunks whispered to her. “You just go back and let us handle it.”

“But you two are working hard,” she started.

Gohan‘s dark eyes darted their attention to the floor manager moving up. Walking towards the server he whispered, “Clover, move it! You’re not paid to clean up, you’re paid to wait!”

“Sorry sir!” she answered, looking apologetically at Trunks and Gohan.

“Hurry up you two! We’ve got ten people stacked up at the door!” he said; in a low tone that they could still hear over the people.

“Yes sir!” Gohan nodded, looking the man respectfully in the eye.

“Right away!” Trunks said too, hearing the grunt of the floor manager as he turned away.

Under a water glass, Gohan found a wet five-zenni note. Holding it up, he walked over and tapped her on the shoulder. “Clover, someone left you a tip.”

“Thank you,” she said with relief. Clover turned her head and received the money from him.

“Welcome,” Gohan answered, smiling.

Smiling back, Clover grabbed a stack of menus. She motioned to the next patrons as she walked up to the front stand and led them into another section of the restaurant.

***

The next time Trunks glanced at his watch he saw it was almost 12 45. An endless blur of carts, rattling plates and screaming kids rattled in his brain. Glancing to his left, he saw Gohan wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. Spiky hair was plastered to the top of his head under that mesh of the net.

He reached up to tug his own hairnet, fixing the pins. “Gohan, almost done,” he whispered, shoving the busser cart through the double doors. They slapped behind him.

“Yeah,” Gohan managed to say, feeling his entire body drained. It took a great deal of effort to move those aching legs and tired wrists. He watched Trunks in front of him, feeling a wave of lust overcome him despite his weariness. Behind Trunks cart, he parked his own, checking over and removing the final dishes.

“Punch out time,” Trunks sighed, with a smile on his face that Gohan noticed. It caused his own muscles to twitch too.

All the piles of plates Gohan could count and feel proud. At least 200 tables they cleared, or rather 200 times, they had cleared tables in their shift, each clink and clatter representing another dish to be placed in the bin and end up on the metal conveyer belt towards the kitchen. He found himself thinking in an amused way that they seemed to magically vanish into a hole in the wall. If he glanced through, he could see a tattooed hand grabbing them up and stacking them into a tray for the dishwasher to put through the system.

He leaned against Trunks who had already half-sat propping himself on the busser cart edge. Pressing his face into Trunks shoulder, he wrapped his arms around his husband for a moment. Trunks did the same, squeezing Gohan tightly and inhaling the scent of his sweaty body. Through the material of their aprons and soaked shirts they felt the hardness of one another. Both took the opportunity to remove their hair nets along with their stained aprons.

Then Gohan felt Trunks release him and nudge him. He turned with a nod towards the lines of metal racks where the cards were arranged by alphabetical order. Snatching his out, he reached for Trunks and passed it to him. Trunks nodded his thanks, his blue eyes hooded with his heavy lids. Two loud “kerchunks” cut through the cacophony of sounds though the doors muffled them.

“Another day, another few zenni,” Gohan joked.

“Man, 200 tables,” Trunks smiled, tugging off his hairnet as they exited the back of the diner.

“I’m proud of you,” Gohan said with a smile, reaching over and tugging Trunks towards him so their bodies collided. Trunks laughed, spinning Gohan around and pressing him against the pole of the streetlight. Underneath the bus stop sign he leaned against his husband and angled his face over Gohan’s to kiss him.

“Mmm,” Trunks murmured, his lips teasing against Gohan’s. He felt the sweep of Gohan’s tongue into his, prying open his thirsty mouth. Slowly Gohan’s hands slid down his back, squeezing his ass and holding their pelvises together.

For a time Gohan enjoyed the soft kisses of Trunks, only opening his eyes partway to see others waling past them. Pulling his lips from Trunks, he blinked and frowned.

Seeing his husband’s frown and missing his kiss, Trunks asked, “Why’d you stop? Nobody cares to see two hot busboys kissing?”

“No it’s not that. Why hasn’t the bus come yet?” Gohan frowned, shaking his head.

“Oh crap,” Trunks blinked, releasing his hold on Gohan. Both of them glanced up at the tiny graph listing the times. Frustration filled Trunks as he glanced at his watch, realizing the hands were still at 1:05 AM.

Gohan noticed his husband’s serious face, and consulted his watch. He tapped it, also seeing that his watch read 1:10 AM. Realization set in and he groaned, pressing his palm to his forehead. He said, “I think our watch batteries must have died, Trunks.”

Trunks glanced up at the sign once more, seeing the black letters that said “Last Bus 1:00 AM”. Then he rolled his eyes as he looked back at Gohan. “I think you’re right. That’s just great.”

Sighing Gohan wrapped his arm around Trunks and hugged him to his side. “I’m sorry Trunks. We missed the bus.”

“Oh well, it’s not your fault,” Trunks shrugged. “Just these cheap watches whose batteries happened to fail.”

“You could say time literally DID stop with your kiss,” Gohan joked.

Trunks chuckled at Gohan’s quip and broke out in a grin. “Yeah, you could say that. I just realized something else too.”

“What’s that?” Trunks asked, noticing that Gohan’s attention had shifted to a partly lit store window. A red digital clock showed the numerals 2:15 AM.

“We left work a good hour and a half later,” said Gohan. “The boss could have warned us we were working overtime.”

“And missing a free hour and a half of overtime? Raphael probably knew it and didn’t say anything,” Trunks commented.

Gohan blinked and pondered this, thumbing his lip. A serious frown covered his face as he realized, “Well it’s only a few zenni but if we were hobos it would make a world of difference.”

Cobalt blue eyes gleamed brightly, when Trunks realized something else. Gohan noticed the inspiration flashing there as Trunks said, “Well why don’t we only buy our food with our busboy wages from now on?”

“That’s a good suggestion, Trunks,” Gohan nodded appreciatively. “It would enable us to learn the value of money once more since we seem to have forgotten it.”

Trunks dug his hands into his front pocket, feeling his wallet. With a sigh he asked “Well how do we know if we’ll make enough?”

“We will find out together, won’t we?” Gohan answered, reaching into his own pockets to feel for the small amount of zenni he’d clipped together. For a minute he pulled it out and turned it over in his hands. How long had it been since he actually felt such a small amount that he had put so much effort into making?

Trunks watched him with interest, guessing what his husband was thinking for he knew him so well. Reaching over he grasped Gohan’s shoulder and squeezed it. “We should go home.”

“I guess we have a long walk ahead of us then,” Gohan said with a smile, tugging at Trunks hip.

“Looks like it,” Trunks said with a yawn, feeling his body ache with protest.

“Want me to carry you?” Gohan teased, holding his hip against Trunks and loving how his husband felt under his arm.

“Mmm, don’t tempt me. But who will carry you?” Trunks asked, playfully yanking Gohan towards his side of the sidewalk. Chilly night air whipped his hair, plastered with sweat and stole the warmth through his soaked shirt and pants.

“Brrr,” Gohan whispered, hugging Trunks to him so it was difficult to walk. “It’s a long walk home…”

“At least we know the way,” Trunks answered, mentally beating himself up for being so careless. He glanced up at the orange hued streetlamps lighting the way of the street that was empty of cars. How different West City looked when there was no glass of a limo window to obstruct his view. With his husband’s warm body tucked under his he strode, feeling the cold night air kissing his body through thin polyester slacks and shirt.

Beside him, Gohan felt the delicious ache of fatigued muscles as a long lost friend. It had been forever since he felt this dead tired, yet a giddy sense of accomplishment washed over him like a wave. It tingled him, filling him with pent up desire at the proximity of his husband leaning on him. He saw the weird hue that Trunks silky lavender hair was painted in the overhead lights, and smiled to himself. Suddenly the reality of how good it felt to have him all to himself in a long walk home settled heavily on Gohan.

“This is not so bad,” Gohan said.

“Hmm?” Trunks asked, feeling his leaden legs protesting though they had walked almost a hundred city blocks.

“Walking with you in the night. When was the last time we did this?” Gohan asked, squeezing Trunks waist to his.

“Not in ages,” Trunks laughed, realizing that Gohan had a point. The round disk of the moon hid behind a tree’s branches overhead when they reached West City Park.

“Almost home,” Gohan said. Trunks saw the lights of their apartment complex in the distance, a welcome sight.

“Uh finally. My legs feel as if they’re going to drop off,” Trunks whined. Indeed they felt like they were made of mashed potatoes, much like those he scraped off of so many plates tonight. Surprise filled him when he felt Gohan’s hand leave his waist and slip down to behind his knees. A sensation of boosting and tipping backwards caused him to grunt as he glanced up into the face of his husband.

“We can’t have that, can we?” Gohan chuckled, his voice tired but his eyes bright. Trunks opened his mouth to protest but saw the corners of his husband’s mouth twitching.

“You don’t have to.”

Gohan chuckled. “I insist. Now take out your keys.”

“All right then, if you insist,” Trunks said, draping one arm around Gohan’s neck and enjoying being carried bridal style. He slipped his free hand into his front pocket, tugging out the jingling tangle of keys.

Gohan stopped in front of the front entrance, positioning Trunks so he could reach over and stick the keys in the lock. When Trunks unwrapped his hand from around Gohan’s neck, he tugged it open. Gohan then angled around and walked in sideways while the door was still far enough out.

Author’s Notes: This story is based on an idea proposed by Lord Truhan and developed with help from him! This is a rewritten version of the original story. We hope you’ll enjoy the improved version.

When Mirai and Gohan first walked into the front doors of the Goodwill store, they were struck by how it resembled a cross between a warehouse and a regular retail place. Both had imagined a dingy little hole in the wall with tiny shelves, poorly lit by 10-watt bulbs. Instead, what Mirai glimpsed were families milling about. Mothers with small kids in carts that were formally from some defunct grocery store chain walked along the converted shelves and racks.

“Clothes are over there,” Gohan pointed to the sign written on poster board with a permanent marker.

“Right,” Trunks nodded, feeling his husband pull his sleeve and tug him over towards it. They brushed past a young mother who had just lifted her two-year-old toddler into the cart. Her six year old climbed into the back of it and wrapped his fingers around the wire.

“Mommy push it fast!” Trunks and Gohan heard him shout with glee.

“Sit down and be quiet, and help mommy out will you?” the young mother scolded.

Trunks glanced at Gohan and both shared a slight smile. Gohan knew that tone of voice all too well, and his skin prickled a bit thinking of it. Still playfully tugging his husband’s sleeve, he marched him over to several milk crates filled with neatly folded pants. Letting go of Trunks sleeve Gohan bent over to inspect a few.

Mirai knelt near him, taking a quick look at his husband’s handsome ass before lifting a pair of blue pants out. He slowly unfolded them and ran his fingers over the coarse cloth. The smell was slightly musty, triggering memories of long ago future past. He recalled that dusty musty odor from walking through rooms in Capsule that were abandoned and no longer used. Not quite mildew, but just old.

“Smells like old people,” Mirai whispered.

“Precisely,” Gohan replied, fingering a neatly patched repair in the knee of the tan corduroys he held up for inspection.

Trunks turned another pair over, looking at the crotch. There were worn threadbare areas that made him wince. No, those would not do. Whoever had owned these before could have started a fire with the friction of their legs rubbing together. Such thoughts were pointless and he dismissed them because it only made him tingle with the thought of sitting on Gohan’s lap and rubbing up and down before…

“Later,” he muttered, feeling the pressure of his blood running south. He took a few quick breaths and folded that pair of pants to put it back.

Gohan saw the slight rose flush creeping over Trunks cheeks, and picked up another pair of pants to inspect. The inseams were not as badly worn, and they were white. Fabric was slightly scratchy to the touch, but overall sturdy. He saw the words polyester cotton blend on the scratchy label and nodded. Carefully he folded them and set them in the battered shopping basket to his left. Something rustled against his backside, prompting him to turn his head. Against his ass Trunks was holding a pair of navy blue pants with a grin on his face.

“Just holding them up for size. Blue’s your color, you know,” Mirai winked.

“White’s yours,” Gohan pointed to the pants he had selected.

“We’ll also need black dress pants,” said Trunks, pointing to another marker written sign.

Gohan nodded, picking up the battered basket. Taking Trunks hand, they wandered over to the battered metal racks that had seen better days in retail stores. Mirai slid his hands along the seams of the polyester black pants on their scratched wooden hangers. Gohan stood next to him, doing the same, holding up the hangars and judging size. They made a game of this, playfully holding the pants up to one another and stretching the waists to see if they’d fit.

“Now shirts,” Mirai said, hearing the clack of wooden hangars from Gohan draping them over the basket.

“Your favorite.”

“White shirts, regular button up, no silk, or muslin. Just cheapo polyester,” Mirai raised a brow in question.

“That’s the idea,” Gohan nodded. “We don’t want it to look expensive.”

“Polyester’s also kind of scratchy and doesn’t hold sweat well,” Trunks wrinkled his nose.

“All the better. Just like everyone else,” Gohan said with a knowing nod. He put another checkmark by the boxes on his mental tally.

“Yes,” Gohan nodded to a box he had already placed in the top of their basket. He closed his eyes shortly to track once more through his list. Trunks watched him, corners of his lips twitching because he knew just WHAT Gohan was doing.

“Checking that mental list, Gohan?” he whispered, nudging his husband.

“Knives. We need two good ones. Multipurpose,” Gohan informed him, his eyes opening to see Trunks beautiful blue ones inches in front of his face. While the view of his husband was always pleasing, he had to tear his eyes away to survey the rest of the store.

“The next steps of a scavenger hunt eh?” Mirai teased.

Gohan’s eyes already took in the rest of the store through his glasses. He had worn them, thinking it would not hurt to further spin his less than rich upbringing. After he had moved in with Mirai, there were many luxuries afforded him such as the top-notch optometrists. However, unlike many of the privileged, he had never had eye surgery nor did he wear contacts. What set him out among the rich helped him blend with the poor, especially since the glasses he wore were an older pair he had purposely dug out of his box. The frames were plastic and scuffed, instead of his usual gold or silver frame with ultra light lenses.

“Kitchen ware, watches, ah, knives,” he muttered, walking closer to the sign taped to the front of a battered jewelry case. Scratches along the side and the slightly rusted lock on the front told its unique story. Inside on shelves lined with worn but still viable cloth were a few used watches. On the shelf below, he saw a row of pocketknives, some with fake wood handles. Others were scratched, their logo slightly worn off but the metal on the front and back still gleamed.

“Like what you see?” whispered Mirai, tickling Gohan’s ear.

“Those two there look very much alike,” he pointed to the middle shelf where two slightly scuffed Capsule Corp camping knives sat side by side. One of them had a discernable scratch running across its green surface, while the other ones casing was only slightly cracked.

“Excuse me?” Gohan asked, glancing around.

Mirai smiled, and then walked around scanning the groups of people for a red-aproned volunteer. He could see a few operating cash registers in the front of the store where lines of people had gathered, their purchases in battered shopping carts. He heard the rustle of used plastic bags against the murmurings of customers.

“Excuse me?” Mirai said politely, to an older woman with grey and black curly hair. She wore no makeup, and the apron covered her T-shirt and used jeans. She wore a battered pair of sneakers, and smelled of inexpensive soap.

“Yes?” she asked.

“I’d like some help please opening that case,” Mirai pointed towards where Gohan was stationed, having found the knives.

“Oh okay, just a minute, mister,” she nodded with a warm smile that took five years off her wrinkled face. She reminded Mirai of his mother, still pretty but aged past her years by the cares and worries of a post apocalyptic society. Fishing in her pocket, she pulled out a plastic lanyard with a few rusty keys jingling on it, and then led the way to the case. Trunks stepped behind her politely anyhow.

“Thank you,” Trunks said.

“Don’t mention it,” she waved him away, bending over to thrust the key in the old lock. She fumbled with it, unable to turn the key for a few minutes. Patiently Gohan and Mirai waited, exchanging meaningful glances as they peered expectantly at their knives.

“Okay,” she huffed from the effort, finally clicking the lock open. “Which ones?”

“Those in the middle,” said Gohan. “Please.”

“You mean the Capsule All purpose? Okay,” she answered, reaching for both of them. He saw the gleam of excitement in her eyes, wondering if she had some connection to the objects inside. She slid the case shut and turned, holding the purchases on her callused hands. “Should be okay but if you want to open the blades and see for yourself you’re welcome to.”

“We’ll take…” Mirai opened his mouth to say.

“I’d like to see the blades please. That’s a good idea to make sure,” Gohan asked. He noticed the white price tags fluttering on strings that were tied around the knives.

“Sure,” she agreed, handing one over. Carefully Gohan slipped his thumbnail in the indent of one blade and snapped it out. Seeing it free of any rust he nodded before handing it to Trunks. Then she handed him the other and he inspected it carefully.

“Looks good,” Gohan said. “Pretty good shape considering.”

“Yeah, you never can tell. Those are both good, even though the handle casings are cracked. I gave my son one for his 15th birthday when he went camping with the Boy Guides and it was just like his older brother’s. I’m glad to see those go and not sit there for the next ten years.”

“We’ll probably use them camping ourselves. It’s hard to find good ones for a nice price. And these look like a real steal,” Gohan said with his own warm smile.

“Glad to hear it,” she said. From the sparkle in her eye, Mirai judged that she must have been the one who donated the knives in the first place, or was trying to sell them to clear out a house filled with memories.

Strange how physical objects take on such importance. As if she’s entrusting them to us. Mirai considered this and Gohan saw the flash of meaning in his eyes. “We’ll put them to good use, thanks, ma’am,” Trunks added.

“Enjoy using them,” she said with a smile. Reverently each carried a knife in their hands, turning towards the line of customers. They continued to take in the sights and sounds of the placed around them, each with their own private thoughts.

“She could be my mother, easily,” Gohan thought, judging her age to be about sixty or seventy.

“Working in a place like this. She’s a volunteer but she seems very happy doing this,” Trunks whispered.

“Yes. And happy someone bought those knives,” Gohan whispered back, bending his head close to his husband’s to do so.

They stood for a while in the nearest line, behind the same mom they had seen when they first walked in. Trunks noticed her cart was filled with piles of clothes, a few battered toys while her son hung off the end of the car and her daughter sat in the front, chewing on her fingers. Other parents with kids did not give them a second glance, simply wrapped up in trying to hush their own bored and tired children, or stop them from wandering too far.

“Put that back!” snapped a father. Gohan winced and shook his head. Mirai saw his husband’s tensed face and reached over to take his hand.

Behind them Gohan heard a loud wailing from an infant. He turned slightly and stopped himself, aware that he did not want to make them think he was staring at them as if he had never been here before. Since they arrived he was hyper aware of how their reactions were perceived by others. If they wandered around like dumbstruck tourists, the people around him glared at him resentfully. However if he acted as if he belonged, nobody seemed to give them a second glance. If he smiled, they usually smiled back.

Let us try it, he thought as he saw the frustrated look on the young mother’s face, rocking her newborn. She wore stained sweatpants, old sneakers with frayed laces, and a sweatshirt with dried spaghetti sauce here and there on the front. Her child was wrapped in a faded blanket, and in the cart behind her, he saw a used baby seat, and a pile of gently used baby clothes.

Gohan turned his smile to her and nodded. Relief filled her face when he said, “My little brother had quite a pair of lungs too. And he always loved using ‘em in the store.”

“I know, huh? I can’t get him to quite down,” she sighed.

“People could tell it was us from miles around,” Gohan added, seeing the tension drain from her face.

***

“Another damn meeting over with,” Gohan mumbled as he pulled at his tie.

“They feel longer and longer each time,” Mirai agreed, as they climbed out of their limo. Eager to shed the trappings of their clothes they looked with relief upon the house. Already they tugged at their collars and neckties to loosen them as snakes shedding a too tight skin.

All day long, their minds were fixated on the tasks that awaited them. They were a refuge in a desert of reports, meetings, and planners. Endless hours it seemed filled with virtual work that was not done by their own two hands. Gohan had come to loathe the technical forms he had to peruse and sign off on while trunks swore if he had to look over another spreadsheet, he would scream.

Trunks felt the shoes pinching on his feet, and he bent over to tug his socks up for the last time. Gohan gently patted Mirai Trunks’ backside chuckling, “Keep doing that, and we won’t make it in the front door.”

“Keep your hand there and I might let you help me undress,” Trunks winked, swinging to a standing position. He winked at his husband and leaned over to kiss him lingeringly on the lips. They stopped just before the front door of their villa, glancing back and forth at the bright chorus of flowers greeting them. Already Trunks smelled the thick perfume of the irises that were blooming, and stopped to brush his hand against the petals of one. He then gently ran his hand over Gohan’s lips equally soft.

“Shall we?” Gohan asked, reaching out to take the hand that Trunks worshipped his face with.

“Yep. Another afternoon of cleaning from top to bottom, on the way to our transformation,” Trunks nodded, his blue eyes brighter and filled with far more life than Gohan saw in the office that day.

Gohan laced his fingers through Trunks, as if asserting his claim to his husband’s hand. He felt calluses forming there that had not been before, since they had started a new after work routine. Physical connection between them had become more important as they started to shed the material world around them. Or rather, their ties to material objects they had accumulated. In reality, the only thing they would need in the end was one another. All this wealth was meaningless without their love.

Trunks extended his free hand, still keeping tightly hold of Gohan’s grasp to slip the key into the lock. Doing this one handed meant he had to grasp the door, but Gohan reached over with his own free hand to turn the knob. Together they pulled the front door open, and stepped over the threshold still hand in hand. Each step across now that they were still in physical contact meant far more than the oft-repeated motions of leaving for work in the morning. It was as if they were learning a new part for a new play in life. One with a far different and more meaningful audience.

“Home sweet home,” Gohan joked, stepping onto the thick welcome mat. The glossy tiled floor stretched far under the high ceiling of the open staircase adjoining their foyer. Trunks closed the door behind them, its noise echoing in the large building. There were several floors to their dwelling, more modest than the mansion of Capsule, but still larger than many of the houses in the town nearest to their private community. Trunks had helped pick the large ceiling to floor drapes in the sitting room just to the left, which coordinated with the Persian carpet woven with intricate designs of phoenixes and irises. Trunks loved the image of the phoenix because it reminded him of his future life and how he and Gohan were reborn in this world. Gohan nodded, leading his husband towards the coat rack where they separated hands. Playfully he and Trunks unbuttoned one another’s coats and hung them up. Then they shared a wink striding towards the stairs.

“Shall we get out of these work suits?” Gohan smiled. His nose wrinkled so cutely Trunks realized when he did this.

“Slip into something more comfortable?” Trunks purred, his eyes smoky with a come-hither look that made Gohan’s skin tingle.

“Absolutely,” Gohan said, playfully grabbing Trunks necktie and yanking it down. Trunks and he dashed up the steps leading towards their room where their more appropriate attire waited.

“You know the carpet looks much cleaner since you and I started vacuuming it,” Trunks said as he peered over the railing from three floors up.

“And the tile is so shiny you can see your lovely face in it,” Gohan chuckled, seeing the reflection of the afternoon sun off the glossy black and white tiles.

“Not to mention the dust isn’t as thick here,” Trunks said, dragging his finger over the hall table on the way to their bedroom.

“What dust?” Gohan chuckled. “We clean this place everyday so you must be imagining it!”

“Virtual dust,” teased Trunks.

“Well cleaning this place is hardly a challenge,” Gohan declared, heading towards the large master suite. Their large mahogany frame bed dominated the place, with a high canopy. It coordinated with the furniture they had purchased for their fifth wedding anniversary when they had gotten the place. French doors led out to a balcony that overlooked a lovely view of the bay. Blue sea seemed to stretch for miles and Trunks squinted, noticing the distant colors of fishing boats sailing back and forth.

Reaching for Trunks shirt Gohan darted around him to block his view. He teasingly slipped the buttons of his husband’s shirt, opening it. Trunks reached over and returned the favor. Slowly the tanned flesh became visible to Gohan, and he admired the view as he pushed Trunks shirt down his muscular sculpted arms. However, Gohan caught the shirt just shy of dropping into a messy pile on the floor so he could neatly fold it. Trunks shook his head, smiling as he grabbed the front of Gohan’s shirt and tugged it off.

“We can do these up and iron them as part of today’s housework,” he suggested.

“Laundry, another addition to the challenge,” said Gohan. “But soon we will only have pairs of pants to wash not whole outfits.”

“In a stream no doubt?” Trunks widened his eyes, promising things to come.

Before long, they had stripped off to their underwear. Carefully reaching under the bed, Gohan pulled out a cardboard box, slightly battered. He opened it up and pulled out two pairs of pants they had worn the day before. There were only two other pair beneath them as a spare change of clothes. Reverently he handed one of the white pairs to his husband and took one of the blue for his own. Silently he watched Trunks peel off his underwear, and caught a glimpse of his naked glory, only to have it vanish as he tugged up the white fabric. Gohan felt the heat of Trunks eyes on him as he pulled up his own pants. Scratchy fabric seemed to tug at his skin and he nodded in satisfaction. The intentional discomfort settled his mind on the task they were about to undertake.

Now Trunks reached up and unfastened the tie, Gohan watching as his long lustrous hair spilled around his shoulders. Gohan swallowed hard, loving how handsome and lovely Trunks seemed, reminding him of when Mirai had first emerged from the hyperbolic time chamber many years ago after training with Vegeta. He always loved his husband with his hair framing his face. Seeing the faraway look in his husband’s eyes, Mirai Trunks whispered, “We have a job to do. You can admire me all you want while we’re cleaning.”

“Ah, right,” Gohan said, heart skipping a beat. Trunks admired his pale skin, alabaster against ebony, which were Gohan’s colors. The two of them exited the bedroom and headed for the cleaning supplies closet at the top of the stairs. Trunks opened the door as if opening a shrine, pausing before the shelves with Gohan next to him. Selecting a brush and bucket for himself, he moved aside so Gohan could get the toilet brush.

“Bathrooms first here, and then dusting,” Trunks asked, lavender brows wrinkling.

“Make sure we don’t use anything but cloths and good old fashioned elbow grease,” said Gohan.

They commenced with the bathroom of the master suite. Now as Gohan scrubbed the floor, he wiped sweat from his brow. Glancing over he could see Mirai’s shapely ass encased in those white pants, inviting and enticingly facing him. His husband was bent on hands and knees scrubbing the cracks of every tile with precision. Gohan only diverted his gaze for tantalizing minutes before returning to his task. Water dripped from the brush he dipped into the filled bucket of sudsy water. After the master suite floor came the painstaking task of polishing the brass taps. Trunks rubbed each fixture with a cloth, until it shimmered and he could see his own reflection in it.’

“A satisfactory job from here,” Gohan called, his voice echoing in the tub. Trunks glanced over to see the top of Gohan’s spiky hair visible over the rim.

“Is that where you’re hiding so you don’t have to be distracted staring at my ass?” Trunks teased.

“Or you staring at mine you mean?” Gohan countered, his face bobbing up. Already it was plastered with sweat.

“Done here. Let’s go onto the next one,” Trunks said, twisting the cloth between his hands and making it snap provocatively.

Gohan climbed out of the tub, reaching for the hand Trunks extended to him. They gathered up the mop, bucket, and other supplies, and then marched out to do the same procedure on the hall bathroom.

Hours passed as their list of chores continued. Trunks mentally crossed off another as he knelt on the glossy hardwood floor of the music room. Already they had finished the attic, then all the hard surfaces that required furniture polish. By now, he was getting used to the feel of the flat smooth surface under his knees and the smell of the polish he squeezed onto the damp cloth. His shoulders ached in a delicious way from polishing the interlocking herringbone panels of wood. Quick and hard strokes of his hand infused more and more product in, so he could glimpse his sweat covered face before him. A quick look up and he saw the grand piano looming to his left, and heard Gohan panting across the floor.

Trunks eyes widened, taking in the sight of blue pants sticking tightly to Gohan’s muscular thighs and ass. His dark hair was saturated with sweat, clinging to his forehead, while his alabaster skin was flushed a pale shade of healthier pink. To get a better look Trunks had to push tendrils of his lavender hair behind his ear, his hands moving on autopilot while his eyes feasted on his husband.

Drops of his sweat landed into the pool of polish Gohan smeared immediately before him. His arms felt like solid pillars of lead trying to hold up his weight. How had he gotten so out of shape before this? Already he welcomed the familiar burn in his muscles of manual labor he was used to doing as a child. Again, he sensed Trunks cobalt eyes peered at him under that curtain of lavender silk, and smiled to him. Those white pants were soaked through so they were almost translucent, giving Gohan a tantalizing glimpse of the muscles it was stretched over. Trunks turned around to grab another clean cloth from a pile, presenting his backside to Gohan. Still on his hands and knees, Trunks then added more polish to his rag. When he turned around, he saw Gohan transfixed like a deer in headlights, staring at his crotch. Certain parts of Gohan’s anatomy were becoming hard, tenting out the blue pants.

“I can almost see through those pants, Trunks,” Gohan whispered, his eyes darkening with desire.

“We’ve still got the rest of the floor to do,” Trunks whispered his voice hoarse. His own pants were getting too tight just staring at Gohan’s hard on. Gohan dropped to his hands and knees, his breath rasping in and out. He increased the speed of his polishing, his skin aching for the touch of his husband.

“Soon, very soon,” Gohan whispered.

“I’m looking forward to it,” Trunks whispered back, his own hands almost blurring as he worked polish around him in a widening circle. He glanced up at the top of the piano, envisioning himself grabbing Gohan and slamming him on top of it, pumping down further and faster…

“Damn it, this is harder than I thought,” he murmured.

“What is?” Gohan whispered, wondering if Trunks meant their erections pounding the seams of their pants. His saiyanhood was itching and burning against the seams, teasing him even more.

“It’s hard not to see you bending over with your head and shoulders on that piano and me fucking you from behind,” Trunks confessed.

That purring growl in Trunks voice shivered Gohan’s resolve. He swallowed hard, licking his lips to taste the sweat dribbling down his face. Blood pulsed loudly in a rush in his ears, his vision going red with desire. These pants were uncomfortable and arousing at the same time, bringing his mind again into narrow focus of the floor, his hands, and Trunks sweaty body across the room.

“Almost done, lover,” Trunks answered, his tanned chest beading with perspiration. It glistened in the light of the setting sun. Stripes of orange and sherbet green were visible to Gohan through the green silk curtains hanging in the music room. They had painted it white, its vast floor shiny like paved gold and honey at this time of day in the sun’s dying light. Gohan’s shadow cast across Trunks, and he could see his husband’s body huddled over, panting for self-control.

Those last few feet of floor were the hardest for Trunks to finish. He had to content himself with caressing Gohan with his eyes only, allowing his hands to work mechanically of their own volition. There was no background noise of clacking computer keys or voices, or even ringing phones to distract his attention. Only the simple reality of hands pushing rags, the scent of cleaning product, and the hard floor under his knees. Alternatively, the aching tight muscles protesting from being in one position for hours on end. All these summed up to an immediate reality, bringing trunks to his baser desires. Sex, food, and sleep, all in the company of the man he loved who was doing the same thing.

When at last Trunks let the cloth drop into a bin filled with other soiled rags, he exhaled sharply. Gohan shakily climbed to his feet first, striding over to him, blue pants plastered to his sculpted body. Trunks barely could straighten up without feeling the impending press of his erection demanding almost all of his attention. Through his fringe of hair, he reached up to Gohan, who bent over with outstretched hand.

“We’re done,” he announced, his pale chest heaving in and out, glistening with the sheen of perspiration. Every muscle was perfect, seeming to cry out to Trunks to be caressed. He grabbed Gohan’s hand, feeling electricity in their contact. Gohan’s strength seemed to pull him up and refresh him just by touch alone.

“Let’s put this stuff away and then see if there is anything else to do,” Trunks panted, pleading with his erection to wait just a bit longer. Gohan nodded his eyes black and shimmering with the same lust.

Trunks flared his nostrils at the scent of Gohan’s sweaty body. Both of them burned hot, only refreshed by the caress of fingers along ribs, or the sight of one another’s bodies demanding admiration. They almost tripped over one another returning the cleaning supplies to the closet. Then Gohan grabbed the bin of soiled rags, carrying it over one shoulder. Trunks grabbed the hamper loaded with clothes and they dumped them down the laundry chute.

“We have to start them up,” Trunks gasped.

“Can’t we wait?” Gohan almost whined.

“Are we committed to this or not?” Trunks warned a teasing note in his voice. His arm slid around Gohan’s waist, pulling him forwards. For a moment, he brushed his tongue over Gohan’s lips, giving him s a foretaste. Their hard muscled bodies rubbed together, their erections brushing and sparking their desire to a greater level.

Trunks body screamed nearly in agony watching Gohan turn his back to him in front of the washing machine. His husband was sorting socks and other items into neat piles, one bin for the dark, and one for the lighter loads. He turned his head and asked, “Pass me the soap will you?”

“I’ll pass you more than that,” Trunks mumbled, reaching around Gohan to grab the box. He measured out a bit and then dumped it in. A second later Gohan gasped when his backside slammed against the hard metal of the washing machine. Trunks pinned him there with his pelvis pressed into Gohan’s, hands trapping his husband from slipping away.

The lid clanged down with the contact, startling Gohan. He inhaled Trunks scent, feeling the torrid heat of his husband’s body soaking into his. Sweat mingled and hard muscle pressed so close and hot along with the bulge of Trunks erection. Their chests stuck to one another as their arms twined around one another’s bodies. Against his ass, the washing machine vibrated into life, causing a pleasant sensation on the back of Gohan’s legs and body.

It vibrated against his balls, and Gohan purred with delight. Trunks spread his legs a bit more and stepped back, regarding his husband with a lusty cobalt gaze. Catching his breath he realized he wanted to savor the moment, so he slowly reached out his hand and rubbed the bulge in Gohan’s rough blue pants. Gohan braced his hands backwards, opening his legs to let Trunks step between them.

Together they fumbled with the button and zipper. Gohan lifted his hips while Trunks slipped the button from its hole, and pulled the zipper down. He was careful to slip his hand in between the fly and Gohan’s erection so he would not tug or hurt his erect cock. Breath rasping through his clenched teeth Gohan closed his eyes and relished the feel of his husband’s hand playing with his hot length and massaging his balls. With his other hand, Trunks tugged gently to peel Gohan’s pants off, and pulled them off his ankles. He was careful not to rip them in his haste to unwrap his husband like a long awaited present. Gohan reached between his bent knees while Trunks tugged him forwards on the rumbling washer. It jolted into spin cycle that minute. Soon a pair of white pants joined Gohan’s pants on the floor.

“Ohh fuck Gohan,” Trunks groaned.

“Please be my guest,” Gohan panted, his ivory skin flushed with rose.

“Mmmm, I shall, Sexy,” Mirai purred, loving how Gohan’s sensitive fingers stroked along his cock in just the way he liked. Gohan’s back slammed against the wall as Trunks grabbed his ass and squeezed it. Tilting back Gohan positioned himself so Trunks could lick his fingers and teasingly poke them into his opening.

“Gaaagh Trunks… that feels so… sinfully good how you spread me,” Gohan grunted, his dark eyes smoldering with inflamed desire.

“Hhehehe,” Trunks chuckled, dropping to his knees. Slowly he thrust two fingers into Gohan’s hole while he slipped his mouth over his husband’s cock. Deftly he lapped up the precum that was weeping on the broad crimson head. Gohan watched transfixed at Trunks tongue licking and suckling before he plunged into dark warm heat. The combination of Trunks fingers spreading his anus and the blowjob brought him teetering to the edge. His fingers gripped the enamel of the washing machine tightly, it’s buzzing like an enormous vibrator.

“Please Handsome just… just fuck me already,” Gohan hoarsely growled. Trunks released Gohan’s cock with a slight smacking sound and bobbed up so he again stood between his lovers legs.

“I can’t refuse that, because I’m about to lose it myself,” whispered Trunks, grabbing his tip and guiding it to where his fingers were thrusting. Gohan felt the pressure of Trunks fingers squeezing and massaging his ass, then the sharp forward stab of his husband’s hard cock.

“Oh yes,” Gohan shouted, wrapping his legs around Trunks tanned hips. The washing machine jolted and bumped against the wall as Trunks slammed into his husband repeatedly. Gohan rocked his hips to meet each stroke, his voice hoarsely crying Trunks name repeatedly.

“Fuck me hard and good…” Gohan yelled, spurring Trunks on. Hearing such crude language coming out of Gohan’s lips indeed encouraged Trunks to grit his teeth and slam deep inside before exploding in a stream of white-hot sticky bliss.

“Uuuuggggghghh Gohan,” Trunks snarled, leaning forwards and kissing his husband hard as he came. They both shuddered together, Gohan’s fingers clawing at Trunks shoulders and almost leaving bloody nail marks.

“Now are we done with chores?” Trunks whispered against his lips, before claiming them. Gohan hungrily opened his mouth to Trunks probing tongue. Gasping with relief, he swept his tongue into his husband’s mouth and hungrily feasted on the kiss.

When they parted for air, Gohan pressed his forehead to Mirai Trunks and rasped, “Are you going to continue screwing me on the washer, or someplace else?”

“I think… we need to strip the bed first,” Trunks panted, his blue eyes radiant with sexual desire.

“Strip… the bed, or me?” Gohan gasped, rocking his hips against Trunks.

“Damn it that does it,” Trunks growled, grabbing the backs of Gohan’s legs. Gohan gasped, and wrapped himself around Trunks to feel as much as he could. Fastening his mouth to his husband’s, Trunks swung him around and carried Gohan towards the stairs. Effortlessly he dined on his spouse’s lips while bearing Gohan wrapped around his body. Thrill filled Gohan, loving being carried and dominated by Trunks. It had been far too long.

They landed against the wall, Gohan’s back pressing to the expensive wallpaper as Trunks ravaged his lips. He nibbled a trail down his neck, licking Gohan’s collarbone. Gohan panted, “Bed?”

“Mmm hmm,” Trunks got out, rolling over along until they tumbled through the doorway. He almost dropped Gohan on the floor but caught his balance. Gohan wrapped his arms around Trunks neck, kissing the top of his husband’s head. Shakily Trunks managed to carry Gohan to the bed and drop him on it, his legs unsteady because of the blood rushing to his erect saiyanhood. Gohan laughed, looking up at Trunks hovering over him and sitting on his hips. Grabbing a handful of hair Gohan dragged Trunks down, connecting their mouths. Hot breath commingled, and Gohan bucked his hips up against Trunks body.

Tangled together they caressed their backs, Trunks sliding his hands down Gohan’s back as he rolled him over. They now faced one another side to side on the vast bed. Panting they caressed each other’s cheeks, petting their muscles and meeting lips in a mad frenzy of deep kisses. Fingers tangled in hair, and Trunks felt as if Gohan was everywhere.

“I want you so much Gohan, it hurts,” Trunks panted, his lips near Gohan’s ear. Gohan slid his hands between them to squeeze Trunks bulge, while Trunks did the same. Now Gohan took his time to admire the lovely lavender hair that graced his lower body, his erection full and hard.

Turning Trunks over Gohan nipped the back of his neck. Trunks groaned, feeling Gohan’s teeth sinking in and his hands reaching around to grab his erection and rub it. Blood roared through Trunks veins, his hips shifting as Gohan’s head slid teasingly along the crease of his buttocks. Gasping Trunks parted his legs, reaching between them to feel Gohan’s saiyanhood as demanding and swollen. If he looked down, he could see the red tip engorged with blood.

“I want… need you,” Trunks moaned, heart pounding hard like a hammer against his breastbone. Gohan’s chest stuck to his back, his teeth still fastened into Trunks neck. Grabbing Gohan’s hand Trunks plunged it into his mouth, lubricating and sucking on his husband’s fingers. Without letting go of his mouthful of Trunks delicious flesh Gohan slid his sweat-coated fingers into Trunks tight opening.

“Gahhh,” Gohan grunted, thrusting up and spreading.

“Oh Kami, more,” Trunks panted, his eyes squeezing shut. The world narrowed down to the incredible sensations Gohan’s fingers provided up inside his body. When he felt them replaced with a much larger harder object, he almost lost control.

Still Gohan’s hand pumped on Trunks erection. All Mirai could do was brace his hands against the comforter and holler as Gohan stabbed deep inside. Rocking their hips in tandem, the married couple writhed in bliss. Still Gohan’s teeth clamped down, sinking in deep enough to draw Trunks blood. Arching his back Trunks slammed down to meet his lover’s thrusts, gasping and panting Gohan’s name with each push inside.

“GoHAAAN!” Trunks howled, feeling the tremors in his body and the impending burst of white light in his mind. Hot liquid spurted and seeped over Gohan’s hand.

“Ggggggmmmmmm!” Gohan howled through the mouthful of his husband’s skin, stabbing deep into Trunks body. Eyes squeezed shut he tasted the tang of blood, along with the molten heat of Trunks surrounding him. His love exploded along with his seed, spurting in a hot stream. Hearts slammed as hard as their hips did together and then they lay there panting in a tangled mess of arms and legs.

“Oh DAMN,” Trunks gasped, his head racing and spinning. Gohan released his hold, licking his lips and wrapping Trunks in an embrace from behind.

“I love you, Handsome,” Gohan whispered, kissing his ear.

“Oh damn Sexy that was the best. I love you, Gohan,” Trunks swallowed hard, tears of joy stinging his eyes. He rolled over and squeezed Gohan tightly to him, not wanting to let go. Having claimed one another in turn, they felt fully sated and reunited in their passions.

***

Time passed while Gohan admired the sweaty sated body of his husband lying alongside him. He lost himself in Trunks cobalt depths, having the luxury of a time to glimpse the depths of love they held. Deeply he inhaled draughts of air, his heart slowly returning to some semblance of normalcy. He enjoyed dragging his fingers along the slick sweat contoured muscles, worshipping Trunks as they caught their breath. Simultaneously Trunks basked in the afterimages of their incredible mind shattering orgasm. Its intensity floored him, for he realized they had not achieved such mutual joy for a long time. Few experiences in recent memory in their sex life had rated so high above a perfect ten. No, this was definitely an eleven, Trunks decided.

“There are no words to describe how beautiful this experience has been, Trunks,” Gohan said, running his fingers through the sweat soaked chunks of his lover’s hair.

“Agreed my love,” Mirai nodded, ruffling the shorter hairs on Gohan’s head so they stood up on end. “It makes you think doesn’t it?”

“About? You don’t need to prompt me to contemplate anything,” Gohan completed, curious about the thoughtful look in his spouse’s face. After years of marriage, he intimately knew his husband’s slight variations in facial expressions and the meanings behind each. He rolled off the bed and planted his feet on the floor.

“No Gohan, that wasn’t quite what I meant,” said Trunks scooting to the edge of the bed as Gohan stood up. “Rather that ever since we have been trying to simplify our lives, our sex life has improve dramatically, that’s all.”

“I see. So you are saying that we are improving our marital bond by the day as we undertake more manual labor?” Gohan asked, reaching under the bed to get the cardboard box. Reaching inside he pulled out the last two pairs of pants.

Trunks nodded, pleased that his husband seemed to grasp his intent. He took the pair of pants that Gohan passed to him, and slid them over his legs, sitting on the edge of the bed. Then he stood up and tugged them up, fastening them. Covering Gohan’s lips in another kiss he whispered, “What say you that we strip the bed and wash the sheets.”

“How about the rags we used to polish the floor? I was thinking we should clean them by hand, don’t you?” Gohan suggested, zipping up his pants.

“You mean you’re impatient to try what we bought before,” Trunks said, his eyes gleaming. He winked at Gohan, knowing the there was another inherent reason that was readily apparent. It was another modification of their routine that brought them closer to touching more of the material world. Everything they touched had greater significance, instead of being one-step removed and allowing others and technology to do the works of their hands.

Gohan tugged at the elastic end of the sheet and regarded Trunks. “It’s hard not to want to make love to you again seeing you so gloriously nude before me.”

“Later, Gohan. Let’s just get this bed made first and dinner too,” Trunks scolded him gently, standing by the linen closet. Already he had pulled out a stack of freshly starched and ironed sheets. In silence, he tossed one corner over so his spouse could hook it around the edge of the mattress. Then both of them smoothed out the wrinkles to adjust the cover sheet. Next came the top sheet with its reversed side facing up. They worked as a precision team, Trunks anticipating where Gohan needed an extra hand at lifting the mattress or unfurling the comforter they shook the folds out of. When they repositioned the silk pillows atop, Gohan arranged them just so in a manner that made Trunks chuckle. With everything, Gohan left his fingerprint of orderliness.

Having made the bed afresh the demi saiyan couple then left their bedroom, or what had served as their bedroom until now, Gohan reflected. Although they had made love on it, they would not sleep there, but rather in a more mundane manner. Trunks out the window to the back yard, knowing it would soon hold a blanket they would both curl together upon. Body heat served in aid of the fluffy comforter they had just smoothed out.

“We left our pants downstairs with the rags,” Trunks informed him.

“I could clearly see the pile when you were fucking my brains out during spin cycle,” Gohan quipped, staring at Trunks backside now covered by his white pants. They resolved to tramp downstairs as fast as possible. Nevertheless, Gohan still stole glances of Trunks ass through his pants, falling behind his husband so he could do so.

“Like the view?” Trunks smirked, reaching the bottom step first.

“Always,” Gohan answered, with a sultry grin. Still nude each of them reached down and grabbed the basket of rags. Trunks retrieved their pants and they turned to one of the large sinks beside the washer and dryer. He tossed the dark blue pair to Gohan along with the white pair, so Gohan could throw them into the basket with the rags.

Gohan fetched a metal tub they had purchased from a street vendor a week before, and filled it with water. He heard the click of the dryer as Trunks opened it and tossed the load of laundry from the washer inside. The loud buzz grated on both their ears before Trunks shut it and pressed the button to activate the dryer.

Now that the tub was full, Gohan easily dragged it from under the tap and hoisted it onto his head, balancing it there. Trunks grabbed the basket of cleaning rags and followed his husband up the stairs once more. They diverted through the downstairs hallway, heading towards the back yard. Two French doors gleamed in the evening sun, and Gohan regarded the polished glass with pride. He and Trunks had earlier done all the windows to perfection. Reaching down with one hand while balancing the water on his head with the other he carefully opened the door.

Trunks continued to watch his husband exit into the soft trimmed grass of the back yard. IT felt cool under his tanned toes, moist with evening dew. The slight grit of moist earth caressed his souls with each step taken after his husband. Gohan stopped beside the clothesline they had erected, and set down the tub. Water sloshed, dripping cold on his bare ivory feet.

Already hard calluses were forming on the balls of their feet and their heels. A few days of walking on hard pavement and the driveway with sharp gravel toughened them considerably. It felt good to Trunks to have his feet free of the confining dress shoes and grip the earth with his toes again. They had found less risk for athlete’s food subjecting their skin to the fresh air. Sweat could not accumulate and Trunks felt his feet cool and dry, free of the nasty biting foot fungus that plagued him. Even Saiyans could suffer from such aliments.

Around his shoulders Trunks hair hung, drying from the sweat that had moistened it from their lovemaking a while ago. Still his skin tingled from the aftereffects and he saw Gohan’s skin was still goosepimply as well. Gusts of evening wind lapped their bare shoulders. Crouching near a ring of rocks Gohan removed flint and steel, striking them together. Already wood was carefully piled, chopped yesterday from the large yard of trees that had fallen from the storm a few days ago.

Trunks piled up the wood in an A frame while Gohan started the fire. They set the tub of water to heat carefully over it, while Trunks returned to the house and filled another tub of cold water from the garden hose. On the back lawn, they dropped the cleaning rags into the fire heated boiling water, almost scalding their hands. Gohan set an old scrub board that he had brought from his home when his mother used to do laundry the old-fashioned way. Trunks ran the rags over its metal-ridged surface, loving how the soap squelched through his fingers. The simple store bought all-purpose soap had a simple scent that was clean and fresh, devoid of the perfumed detergents that money could buy.

Once he had scrubbed them, Gohan dipped the clothes in the cold water to rise then. He then cranked them through a series of wringers before snapping each cloth. Then he draped them over the clothesline and pinned them with simple wooden clothespins. When they came to washing their pants they took the same care and reverence with their simple garments Soon the entire line was covered with fluttering rags spotlessly white. In their former life, they had been bed sheets. Alongside them hung the two pairs of pants, now fresh and clean.

“All right, we’re done here,” Gohan announced.

“Let’s start dinner shall we?” Trunks nodded fondly to his husband. Reaching for Gohan’s hand, he led him towards the shed not far from the back yard. Gohan went back when he saw the fire dwindling down, so Trunks turned from him and opened the slatted wood door. Searching among the metal shelves, he found a wooden cardboard tray filled with cans. He carried the entire tray with him towards the fire.

He spotted Gohan lugging a metal pot over and setting it on one of the rocks. Trunks set the beans nearby and tossed one to Gohan. Catching it, he pulled out the can opener and stabbed it into the first can of beans. After he opened it, he dumped it into the pot. Trunks took out another and tossed it to him. Soon the whole pot was filled with baked beans. Gohan lifted it up and set it on the three rocks positioned over their fire. It burbled and rumbled over the dancing flames growing brighter in the oncoming night.

Gohan’s stomach rumbled with the increasing aroma of beans. He eagerly stirred the deep pot, watching Trunks empty out the residual wash water into the storm drain. Then his husband sat next to him, carrying two tin scout mess kit plates. Gohan dipped out portions for himself and Trunks who held out the battered containers for him. Next to one another, they sat on the smooth rocks, eating their simple repast in silence.

“You’ve got some juice on your cheek,” Trunks smiled, reaching over to rub his finger along Gohan’s chin.

“Oh?” Gohan asked, raising his hand. Trunks set his plate aside and leaned over to lick off the moisture.

“Delicious. You go well with baked beans, Sexy,” Trunks rumbled. Gohan kissed him back, tasting the beans on his sweet lips. His stomach already felt pleasantly full from the simple fare.

It did not take long for the beans to disappear and the pot to empty. It was simple for Gohan to use some of the remaining soapy water to clean it out and tip it over to dry overnight. Trunks in the meantime watched him while he carried two blankets neatly rolled up from the house. The wool was scratchy to the touch, much like their pants were, and he smiled at the thought of being curled up in them. Gohan turned to watch him, his eyes narrowed against the gold sun beating through the trees that was eclipsed by his husband’s shadow.

For a second Gohan swore that it formed a halo, before it slid out of sight. Already Trunks shadow stretched towards the fire, almost touching Gohan’s feet. Grass under his feet felt cooler and the so did the ground beneath them. Muscles twitched in the quickening chill of night setting in on them.

Wordlessly Trunks tossed an end of the blanket to Gohan, and they spread it out. The other blanket was stretched out and lay atop so they could crawl between them. Near the fire, they both sat on the blanket, feeling the reassuring itch of the wool fibers on their bare feet and hands. Gohan curled up across from his husband, who pulled the other blanket on top of them. Pressing their fronts together, they tangled their legs playfully.

“Good night Gohan, I love you,” Trunks whispered, kissing his husband’s lips softly.

“I love you too, Trunks,” Gohan answered, sliding his arms around his husband and pulling him tightly to his chest. Pressing their fronts together, Trunks slipped his legs over Gohan and pillowed his head on his lover’s chest. Gohan sighed with delight and pulled Trunks silky hair to tangle his fingers in it. Glancing up Gohan saw the pinpoint of stars emerging in the blue fading to dark black. Only some scant light from the town nearby blotted out the river of bright stars stretching overhead. They were familiar friends that seemed to blink and wink at the married couple underneath.

Author’s Notes: This story is based on an idea proposed by Lord Truhan and developed with help from him! This is a rewritten version of the original story. We hope you’ll enjoy the improved version.

Certain days of the week made Gohan feel as if he were training under one hundred times gravity. All the piles of paper stacking up on his desk seemed to weigh him down even more. Not to mention the number of emails popping up on his computer screen. Instead, he swept his eyes over the desk calendar not far from the keyboard of his laptop computer. He snapped up his head when he glared at the red X’s precariously close to one penciled in Date, Wedding Anniversary.

“What the heck am I going to do this year for him?” Gohan wondered aloud.

Across the office, the door clicked open, admitting the spiky haired head of his brother Goten. Peering around it, he waved to Gohan, asking, “Hey bro, you busy?”

Gohan glanced up at his younger sibling and smiled. He was grateful for the distraction from the impending date weighing down on him. “So, Goten what brings you here? Other then lunch?”

“Just had it with Trunks,” Goten shrugged, carrying a stack of colorful paper under one arm. Gohan pushed his glasses further up his nose, examining them closely.

“So, um, those don’t appear to be reports. But… brochures?”

“I need your input on something, Gohan,” Goten said with a hopeful grin. He plopped the stack down right on top of Gohan’s desk calendar, generating a puff of air that sent other papers flying.

Gohan felt himself sinking further under the combined weight of this nuisance along with the papers and the impending date. He wondered next if the ocean in the brightly colored pictures would wash over him next in a tidal wave, as those surfers on the cover of the top brochure were fond of braving. Resting his elbows on the desk front, Goten’s face bobbed inches from Gohan’s. Now his brother was a bit of an assault on the senses. He scooted his chair back and said, “Um Goten, what exactly is all this?”

“I need you to put that brain of yours to use. C’mon Gohan, its way more fun than those numbers you’re crunching now. Thought it’d be a nice break,” Goten chuckled, tugging up a char behind him and plopping down.

“All right, what have we here,” Gohan sighed. At that moment he realized Goten had a point. It was far preferable to play travel agent than engineer because at least the notion of bright light and smiling people walking along the beach reminded him of outdoors. As he glanced at his hand reaching for the top travel leaflet, he noticed how pale his skin was compared to his brother’s.

“These are all from the Travel Agency. I was wondering if you’d taken any of these with Trunks. You know ‘your trunks?” Goten asked.

My Trunks. The words conjured up images of bubble baths and candlelit dinners. Groaning Gohan realized this was not the distraction he wanted at all. It only reminded him of the penciled in day in red glaring pen like a warning. Flipping through the first brochure, he saw the words “Gold Star package,” and thoughtfully ran his finger over it.

“Yeah,” he admitted shyly, glancing over his glasses at Goten’s eager eyes. “This does sound familiar.”

“I knew it!” Goten clapped his hands together. “So, what do you recommend?”

“Goten, I’m sorry, but you see that pile of papers there?” Gohan sighed, eager to plunge into them rather than a travel recap. Such things evoked painful doubts that recently surfaced.

“Yeah, so, this will only take ten minutes, I swear,” Goten pouted, chewing on his bottom lip. “Don’t be a square, bro!”

“But can’t this wait?” Gohan pouted back.

“I bet you haven’t even taking YOUR lunch break yet,” Goten retaliated, leaning up out of his char and shoving the pile further across the desk, causing Gohan to want to scoot away from it like it was a dangerous illness.

“Fine. Ten minutes, no more, Goten,” he relented. Mentally he scolded himself for being such a pushover. Ever since they were kids, he couldn’t turn away from some things. One was helping his mom do the wash, and the second was pacifying his younger brother.

“Aww you’re the best, Bro!” Goten cheered, his face breaking into a smile that relieved some of the weight on Gohan’s heart a bit.

“Okay, what have we got here?” he muttered, opening several of the other brochures. On a number of pages were similar pictures of people in skimpy bathing suits clutching various glasses. Alternatively, others he turned to held images of people hanging on fake walls with various protuberances.

“Rock climbing, shuffleboard, dance contests,” Gohan read off. Hearing his own voice, he realized it was as lifeless as a stock report. A loud clacking sound caught his attention again, and he saw Goten’s fingers wrapping around one of the silver balls of a desk toy.

“Isn’t it great? Did you and your hubby do all that? Or did you just laze around sipping margaritas and think of parrots?” Goten asked. He released the end sphere of the toy, letting the balls clack into the other sets. This set off a repetitive chain where the six balls swing in alternating sets of two and three.

“Well, some things I’d prefer to leave up to YOUR lurid imagination,” Gohan answered, giving Goten a ‘wait till your older look’ that he knew would rile the boy up.

“Yeah yeah, pretend I’m seven again. That’s how you always get. Gohan, loosen up a bit? I mean when was the last time YOU did this for your anniversary huh?”

“Two years ago,” Gohan confessed, feeling a surge of guilt at the thought of having made no concrete plans for this year. This sent him spiraling slightly downwards, contemplating all the possibilities he had already nixed for the perfect getaway. All of them seemed as contrived as the booklets he thumbed through now.

“See I’m doing you a favor! I figured if you helped me plan a cruise for Trunks and me… my trunks you’d come up with some great ideas for yours!” Goten said.

“No wonder you’re VP of sales and marketing,” Gohan reflected dryly, tugging his glasses off. He chewed nervously on the end of them, his stomach filling with butterflies. Shortly he diverted his attention to the blue and yellow striped tie hanging loosely knotted around Goten’s neck. His brother’s long hair was equally relaxed framing a face free of worries that he was sure his must have been creasing with.

“While you’re at it, maybe you can suggest some of the hotels you stayed at?” Goten further pressed, both hands poised on the desk. He picked up one of the paperweights and started to roll it from one hand to the other.

“Goten, look, I’ve got other things to worry about rather than cruises. I appreciate you thinking about this, but I’d rather do something quiet and low key for my anniversary, okay? It’s not always about outdoing the year before,” Gohan snapped, feeling a bit frustrated.

“Yeah, you’re happily married. You’re just as much an old fuddy duddy as Mom and Dad. Sheesh I swear,” Goten teased, plunking down the paperweight.

“I am not!” Gohan retaliated, his voice rising in pitch. At the sound of this, he realized he was livelier in these ten minutes than he had felt all day. Arguing with Goten often had that effect on him. He mentally thanked Dende for annoying little brothers to stir him out of complacency. Yet even then, he still felt ten tons dragging him down. Words like Low key tumbled through his head, adding to the snowball effect rolling down a long hill.

Just why was he getting angry at Goten? Shifting blame to a younger brother for his own shortcomings seemed an easy way out, Gohan scolded himself for. Suddenly the piles of brochures seemed as pointless as the multiple email balloons popping up on his screen. There seemed no end to them.

“Gohan?” came Goten’s voice amidst the clacking of the toy.

“Sorry,” Gohan apologized, snapping awake.

“You spaced out there. You sure you’re okay. I could have lunch sent. Y’know how you spaz out if your blood sugar drops,” Goten said, reaching for the phone. He hauled himself up on the desk corner to reach it better.

“No it’s okay,” Gohan replied, darting his hand out to grab his brother’s wrist. Carefully he pushed it down along with the phone receiver.

“Why? It’s no biggie. Keeps the delivery people paid, so why not? I mean we generate jobs from our lifestyle.”

“Sounds like something Trunks would say,” Gohan rolled his eyes, releasing his hand from Goten’s. Papers crumbled under his brother’s posterior, poised on the edge of the desk.

“Hey, thanks!” Goten grinned, squeezing his eyes shut and rubbing the back of his neck. For a moment, Gohan thought he looked too much like Goku, and cringed. Was his family doomed to have at least one in each generation? Hadn’t giving him responsibility pounded some sense of a work ethic into his younger brother?

“You got to lighten up and enjoy your wealth, you know? Good thing you’ve got me and Trunks to remind you old married men about that,” Goten teased.

His words suddenly slammed down on Gohan, stopping the thoughts cold. His stomach churned twisting his guts into uncomfortable knots. So Goten HAD learned the value of hard work. Just as long as the end goal was enjoying the fruits of labor. He only knew of the benefits money could buy, not the intrinsic value of the hundreds of people that worked for them.

Gohan blinked, pushing his glasses on again. Just how many people DID work for them again? A few clicks of the keys brought up the figures, but the number was meaningless. Intangible. What did he have to show for an afternoon of paper pushing? Something boiled up inside him inciting his temperature and blood pressure to raise at least ten notches. Goten tossing the paperweight back and forth suddenly pissed him off, as well as the casual way in which his brother just sat on a stack of reports it took him hours to review.

“Goten, that was the wrong thing to say, and you picked a hell of a moment to say it,” Gohan panted, his face wrinkling in anger. Slamming his hands down on the desk, Gohan shoved himself out of his chair. It shot backwards from the opposing force.

“Gee… what did I say?” Goten asked, leaping off the edge of the desk. Warily he took a few steps back, his eyes filled with surprise and shock.

“You’ve got no sense of what all this money means, do you?” Gohan asked, inhaling deep breaths to calm himself. He realized his temper was disproportionate and snapping at his brother was not a healthy means of release.

“Whoa, settle down! I didn’t mean to piss you off! I’m sorry!” Goten waved his hands in an X in front of his face as if to banish the tension roiling between them. It took Gohan nearly a minute to damp down the rising ki surging around him, stirring up papers in a tempest that caused Goten to assume a defensive posture.

Is this what I’ve come to? Am I so out of touch with reality and my feelings that I need to flip out over something so minor? On the other hand, is it so minor? Gohan debated, unclenching his fists and dropping back into his chair. He willed away the hostility, forcing himself to stare at the calm blue seas in the brochures. Thought of crashing waves and pounding surf washed away the pent up aggression.

“I’m sorry Goten. Look, it’s just that it seems superfluous to go on a ship with all the comforts of home, to escape well… all the comforts of home. I mean what is the point?” Gohan laughed falsely in an attempt to clear the air.

“Well, I hadn’t thought about that,” Goten confessed, scratching his neck. He closed the gap between them and scooped up all the brochures scattered her and there. Gohan meanwhile rose to his feet and collected the strewn papers.

“That is the precise problem. You don’t always think, Goten,” Gohan mumbled, bent over double adding more papers to his stack under one arm.

“You think too much Gohan,” Goten countered, sticking his tongue out. He slowly began to help Gohan with his picking up. Grumbling Gohan realized his brother pushed another button. Luckily, the approaching small ki responsible for the knocking on the door was well timed.

“Excuse me?” called the voice. “Is it all right to come in, Mr. Son?”

“Yes, please do,” said Gohan, swinging up from his crouch. He set the pile of papers he’d already collected down on the desk in a neat pile, and watched Goten open the door.

“Oh my goodness is everything okay?” Miss Thyme asked with wide eyes. Why did Goten stop helping the moment the secretary appeared and started straightening up papers?

“Nothing,” Gohan said, bending over again.

“Uh see you later, Gohan! I got to go!” Goten said, glancing at his watch. He darted around Miss Thyme and left his brother and the secretary to straighten up his mess. Gohan realized his brother had made only a half-assed attempt to pick up papers, and it didn’t help sooth Gohan’s nerves.

***

Unknown to Gohan, Mirai Trunks also wrestled with an internal debate. His calendar was turned to the same page as Gohan’s, and he pushed paperclips around on his desk just thinking about the implications. Grabbing a legal pad and a sharpened pencil, Mirai Trunks started to scribble a list down.

1. Cruise
2. Candlelit dinner and hot tub
3. Skydiving
4. Sex in space on Capsule’s new station
5. Bungee jumping followed by a dip in a mountain river.

Once he read the list, Trunks snatched the end of the paper and tugged it across. The sheet made a satisfying ripping sound. Between his hands, he balled and crushed the paper before hurling it in a perfect arc towards the wastebasket. It hit the rim, and then bounced out. Mirai Trunks frowned, shaking his head. If that were the only thing that went wrong today, he would be happy.

The trilling phone broke his mood and he seized it. Bringing the receiver to his mouth, he said, “yes?”

“Mr. President, the VP of Finance wants to see you,” said the voice of his secretary.

“All right, send him in,” Mirai said, tapping the eraser end of his pencil on the now empty pad.

Stacks of papers were neatly arranged here and there, and Mirai felt the sweat soaking through his shirt. So much for a paperless office, he inwardly reflected. His ears perked up at the sound of the doorknob clicking, and the familiar blue ki shimmering. Chibi, or rather this reality’s Trunks opened the door, leaning casually in to peer at him. That smug look plastered on his other self’s face pushed away Mirai’s hopes for a diversion.

“Hey there, Nii-san,” Trunks grinned. “Hope I’m not interrupting anything?”

“Depends on what you mean, Chibi,” Mirai grinned, trying to use his facial expression to change his inner turmoil. Running his hand in a half arc, he signaled it was all right for Trunks to enter. With a stack of colorful pieces of paper under his arm, his younger namesake strutted in as if he owned the place.

All Hail the Prince, Mirai reflected sarcastically. His majesty already stood in front of the mirror where Mirai straightened his hair, running his fingers through it to make sure he was preened to perfection. That moment snapped into Mirai’s mind, a painful reminder of how extreme his vanity could become.

Since when had his younger self become such an uncomfortable foil?

“All right, what brings you here, Chibi?” Mirai asked, folding his hands on the desk before him.

“Well Nii-san, I thought I could ask your advice. I’m planning a cruise with Goten, and wondered if I could talk about time off?” Trunks said, wandering over to the lacquered cabinet under a small marble counter. He faced with his back to Mirai, which really irritated him.

“Time off? How much time off are we talking?” Mirai asked, not liking where this conversation seemed to be heading. Turning his head slightly to the side Trunks glanced back, his eyes narrowed a bit. A quick glance down on the glossy wood desk gave Mirai the answer to this reaction. His sour expression.

“You look like you’ve sucked a lemon. It’s no big deal. I’ll make it a working vacation,” Trunks said, reaching into the cabinet for a glass.

“Um, all right. But you still haven’t told me how long,” Mirai said, watching his younger self open the fridge. He tugged out a few bottles turning them over. Selecting one, he twisted at the cap of the bourbon.

“I was thinking three…” Trunks said, suddenly putting the opened bottle back.

“Three weeks? I suppose that would be all right,” Mirai said, wincing at the actions of his younger self. Great, 200 zenni down the drain. He was saving that bottle for a special occasion, Mirai complained inwardly.

He grabbed another bottle, of the scotch and plunked it down letting the fridge snap shut. Two ice cubes clinked in the low glass that Trunks selected, followed by the seltzer swishing and the gurgling of something being poured.

“Sorry I meant months, not weeks,” Trunks said. Turning around he held one drink, swirling his scotch and soda as he strode towards the desk.

Mirai felt the muscles in his eyes taxed to their limits. He was sure they must be the size of saucers now when he stammered out, “Three MONTHS?”

“Don’t look so shocked! I had considered six, but thought that’d be a bit too much,” Trunks said as he sat down, one hand stretching out to calm his other self down presumably. However, Mirai taxed his eye muscles again by narrowing them to mere slits with the rest of the scowl marring his handsome face. Great, so much for that advice his beautician gave him about excessive worry lines. The pen he was holding in his hand sudden cracked.

“That, that’s just not a good idea,” Mirai said, swallowing his distaste. He licked his lips, and dropped his pen in the trash.

“I said it was a working vacation. I’ll make sure I take my laptop and assistants with me, okay?” Trunks tried to reassure him.

“But still, for three months. What’s to prevent them from participating?” Mirai asked, hoping he was hearing this right.

“Hey, don’t be such a big brother. I can handle my own assistant you know,” Trunks glanced at him, with a slight look of frustration.”

“It’s just so sudden and inconvenient. Especially in light of the fact that well… I have many important clients scheduled that you will need to meet with during that time. What if some emergency comes up?” Mirai asked, grabbing a paperclip and twisting it in his hands.

“Well that’s not a reason to micromanage me. I am a big boy and I can run my own division. Maybe you need a vacation so you can back off a little bit,” Trunks said, before taking a big gulp of his drink.

“I… micromanage? Someone has to keep you in line since Mom is the CEO. I have half a mind to call her up,” Mirai grumbled.

“So you’re going to run it by mom to make sure she has my permission? WHEN did I need YOUR permission to do something as simple as take a working vacation eh?” Trunks asked, swilling more of his drink.

“It’s simple protocol. I’m the president; you’re the VP, Chibi. All such decisions naturally go through me,” Mirai said, twisting the paperclip around his forefinger.

“I’d like to think you have more trust in me than you’re showing,” Trunks pouted, glaring at his ‘older brother’.

“That’s not it; it’s just… that I would like to know your rationale behind such a decision. Think of the implications. I mean you’d have to rearrange THEIR work schedules too, not to mention I have to find people to fill in and… it just makes MY job more complicated even having to think of it,” Mirai sighed, pushing his bangs out of his face.

“So go ahead and call mom and whine about it. I dare you,” Trunks snorted.

Mirai stopped his hands inches from the phone. Instead, he waggled a finger and opened his mouth to say something. Unfortunately, that bored unimpressed look Trunks gave him only stopped him short. “See what I mean? You’re going to give me the ‘responsibility and hard work lecture.’”

“Well sometimes you act like you need reminding,” Mirai stammered.

“I know you just as well, maybe even BETTER than you think. Hell, if you’re what I’m going to become I’m glad I’m someone else,” Trunks smugly shook his head.

“Now what does that have to do with anything?” Mirai spluttered, shuffling his papers around. “Don’t try and change the subject.”

“Oh you’re worse than MOM is! You’re just proving I’m right!” Trunks laughed.

“Right about WHAT? What’s your point and what does this have to do with my first question, huh? What is your justification for a cruise at this time? You haven’t come up with a better answer, so spit it out, or explain it,” Mirai requested, rubbing his face with his hands.

“That you should give me more responsibility and freedom. Stop acting as if you’re a Prince, and let one of your subjects have some slack. I mean I am just as much a ‘prince’ of this corporation as you are.”

“Now that’s not necessary, you know,” Mirai protested. “I’m not the one acting like a royal brat you know. Take a good look in that mirror…”

“You look in it enough, so what does that matter?” Trunks countered.

Deflated, Mirai suddenly felt his arguments crumbling to pieces. This kid was so frustrating he sympathized with his mother at how much she put up with sometimes with HIM as a kid. How he was so much alike and so much different. What did Chibi know about real suffering and hardship? Growing up with such abundance made him soft. Intensifying his stare, Mirai said, “Okay, fine. At least I know what it was like NOT having all this money. I know the value of hard work!”

“Yeah, yeah, sure. But I’m the one who crunches the numbers, Nii-SAMA,” Trunks said, using the end as an insult rather than a term of respect. “Your Royal Highness wouldn’t be half as well off if I didn’t find ways to SAVE money and improve profit 10 percent since last year!”

“All right, you’ve got a point,” Mirai relented, struggling to stuff down his temper. “Now tell me what are you going to do for three months even if you DO have a working vacation? Not just sip margaritas and stare into your boyfriend’s eyes I hope!”

“Come off it, Prince Perfect,” Trunks sneered. “Don’t tell me you haven’t wanted to run away with your husband? I figured I’d do you a favor bringing some travel brochures since you seemed to have FORGOTTEN your own anniversary and…”

The stack of brochures slid over the desk, where Trunks tossed them. One of them glided right in front of his laptop and Mirai felt his pressure skyrocket again. Just how their mother had dealt with two of them amazed him at this minute. Hell, he wondered how he had dealt with his younger self all these years. Some very uncomfortable buttons had been pushed and he was smarting from the verbal jabs.

“Prince perfect huh? So now, we’re reduced to name-calling. If you’re trying to show me your maturity level, you just blew it, kid,” Mirai said with a slight smirk.

“Oh yeah, so what? I’m not the one making it impossible to reason with here. And the fact remains you probably have no clue what you’re going to do this year, do you?” Trunks said.

“What I do with my husband is my business, got it? Stop trying to dodge my question…” Mirai managed to ask. He hated to admit that his younger self had perfectly valid points.

“I was right, wasn’t I?” Trunks said with a smirk of triumph, downing the rest of his drink. Rising from his chair, he strode over to the bar again, and bent over to root through the fridge. Seeing this caused Mirai to yelp, “HEY, stop drinking that!”

“Relax! I was only getting a drink!” Trunks grumbled, spinning around. He glared at Mirai, holding two glasses in his hand.

“You wasted an expensive bottle and didn’t even DRINK from it! I was saving that for my anniversary and you didn’t even THINK to ask my permission if it was okay!” Mirai huffed, feeling his face flush hot.

“Big deal. I’ll buy you another. Don’t tell me that’s what has got your panties in a wad, Nii-Sama!”

“And stop calling me that! It’s getting on my nerves,” Mirai added.

“I am only addressing the Prince of Capsule by his honorific since he’s acting the part,” Trunks sniffed, dragging his feet as he sauntered over to the desk and plunked a glass down by Mirai’s elbow. “And I was TRYING to be nice bringing YOU a drink but now you’re acting all MOODY.”

“You’re exasperating,” Mirai threw up his hands and turned his chair away. He suddenly felt exhausted from trying to reason with what seemed a brick wall. Every point was being rebuffed and he had no answers that weren’t retreads of something their mother would say.

“Look, I’m just trying to prove a point. You need to relax and stop trying to outdo me. I’m not trying to do that same. We can both run this company without being so damn competitive,” Trunks said with a sigh.

“I’m not competing…” Mirai started, and then snapped his jaw shut.

“You are. I’m not saying anything that isn’t true, Nii-san,” Trunks said gently. Mirai noticed that he had returned to a more familiar honorific.

“Chibi, I’m just overworked and tired. I’m sorry I blew my top, but this isn’t a good time to bring it up, okay?” Mirai muttered, turning around to face his younger self. He shoved his hands in his pockets, unable to meet the other’s gaze.

“Look, I’ll talk about it later. Why don’t I just leave you alone when you’re in a better mood,” Trunks relented, and backed out of the office. Future Trunks simply glanced down at his shoes, unable to say anything else. Instead, his hands sagged deep in the pockets of his designer pants. As if he was reaching for something that wasn’t there in the first place. Seeing Chibi’s frivolous use of his booze was far more disturbing because it reminded him he could easily have done the same.

Why do I give a shit about a 200-zenni bottle of liquor when it could easily be a ten-zenni bottle from the liquor store? Is it that big a deal? Doesn’t he care how much things cost, and how many people it takes to…?

I don’t know the answer to that, Mirai realized soberly.

Catching sight of his reflection in the glass of the huge window, he wandered over to stare out of it. Multiple curved high rises and skyscrapers obscured the sky while others he could see the roof of. All of them were intact thanks to Capsule’s providing jobs. Yet the window washer he saw on another office building swing easily on his swing, polishing merrily in front of him. He hadn’t looked down for an instant since Trunks occasionally watched him.

“How many windows has that guy washed, and why does he seem more focused on that job than I am now?” Mirai asked himself.

Why did the secretary behind his desk seem so focused and busy? Instead of trying to escape and chatting about vacations like his younger self was. Why were they all so anxious to get away from it all? To make money to buy more things like 200 zenni bottles of liquor, designer pants, and manicures. Mirai added this when extracting his hand and staring at his flawless nails.

“Shit, I am a Prince,” he muttered and then laughed at the irony. His majesty, the Ruler of Capsule.

“I should be called Nii-sama,” he chuckled, and sighed. “That’s all I seem to have been. Shouting orders day in and out. Riding his butt because I thought it was for his own good.”

Why do I bother? What does it all mean? I can’t even answer how many windows there are in all the Capsule buildings to wash. Nor how many window washers have done them to perfection. On the other hand, how many people it takes to keep Capsule running day to day. What else don’t I see anymore, blinded by my wealth?

***

Dark brown eyes glued themselves to the clouds wafting lazily below. The first dozen times Gohan thought riding in their own corporate jet was fun, but now it was just another mundane activity. IN reality, he preferred flying so he could feel the wind hitting him in the face, using his own power. Diverting his eyes from the nearby window, Gohan shifted to sit on the plush sofa. It lined the back of the private compartment, in front of a built in bookcase loaded with binders and tomes.

Trunks shifted behind the simulated wood grain desk, snapping shut his laptop. He glimpsed at two velvet-lined seats that faced each other across a sizable dining table fused into the side of the cabin wall. Running his fingers over the smooth desktop, he glimpsed his reflection there in the highly polished polymer.

“Ready for the meeting?” Trunks called over.

Gohan flipped through the plastic sleeved pages holding pie charts. Overtop his glasses he regarded Mirai, answering, “As ready as I’ll ever be. All the facts and figures on R and D spending are committed to memory.” Here he tapped the side of his temple, earning a smile from his husband.

“Gohan you don’t have to memorize them,” Mirai laughed, rising from behind his desk. Abandoning his chair, he walked over and sat down next to Gohan on the sofa.

“I know. However, it is just a force of habit. I always crunch the numbers after I look at the pie charts while you get the draft proposals together for the meeting with our clients. It’s always better to know the information than go hunting through stacks of paper,” Gohan reminded him.

“Yeah, mom trained you and I pretty well didn’t she?” Trunks patted his husband on the thigh. He saw Gohan’s dark eyes fixated towards the line of windows again.

“Hey, what’s bothering you?” Trunks asked, nudging Gohan’s knee.

“Just thinking about how easy it would be to fly there under our own ki,” Gohan said reflectively.

Trunks tapped his chin, intrigued by Gohan’s thoughtful state that seemed far from the business at hand. “Well, you know that wouldn’t work, Gohan. Think of all the people we’d be meeting. It’d be pretty lousy for business and drawing attention to ourselves for them to see two of us flying in our suits now wouldn’t it?”

“I know,” Gohan, sighed, resting his hand atop Mirai’s, and squeezing it. “It’s just that well… flying by corporate jet makes it too easy.”

Mirai narrowed his blue eyes, frowning. He heard the ring of truth in Gohan’s words. Yet again, the same thoughts came rushing back from the first time he had heard them. Life was too easy because others were doing the work. When was the last time…?

“Yes I know what you mean. It’s just as you said. It’s too EASY,” he answered, intertwining his fingers with Gohan’s. When he saw the clarity in Gohan’s gaze, he felt a huge weight lifting off his chest.

Gohan felt his heart skipping when he noted the sparkle present in Mirai’s eyes. For the past few weeks, Gohan noticed Mirai wandered about as if he were just a windup toy or a robot going through a series of subroutines. Guiltily he admitted he had felt much the same, when they woke in the morning, got ready, worked, and then collapsed into bed only to repeat the process. Feeling his fingers digging into Trunks hand Gohan knew his husband must be on the same wavelength.

“It’s a huge relief to hear you say that too, Trunks,” Gohan exhaled, his own body feeling free of gravity. Just putting a name to the reason behind the cause brought it to the surface.

“Ah, I know that look too well Gohan,” Mirai clicked his tongue. Raising his free hand, he rubbed his husband’s temple and scalp.

“What look would that be?”

“The ‘we’re sharing the same thought but we didn’t talk about it till now’ sort of look,” he answered.

“I had wanted to say something before, but things… well life…” Gohan glanced away, feeling his face flush hot with shame for not saying something sooner.

“Got in the way didn’t it? It was too easy to bury ourselves in day to day workaday matters than face what we’re both feeling, Gohan,” Mirai reassured him, turning Gohan by his chin to look him in the eyes. In Gohan’s glasses lenses he saw his own reflection.

Sighing, Gohan pulled his glasses off and folded them in one hand. He tucked them and hung them by one temple from his blazer pocket. Somehow looking at Trunks without them seemed far easier. Meeting Mirai’s glance he slowly said, “That’s right. We’re using work as an excuse to escape from this feeling of unease that we should be taking action.”

“Against this… this… something that is bugging both of us, huh?” Mirai said.

Gohan turned his face to the side, depositing kisses on Mirai’s hand. Lightly he ran his tongue over the palm, causing Trunks to murmur a bit. “Yes, Trunks. Don’t you feel as if we’re missing something? That we’ve possessed wealth for so long that we’re feeling empty?”

“Yeah,” Mirai answered, stifling his moan. “So I agree with you. We’re both feeling the same thing, so what are we going to do about it?”

“That’s the question, and the dilemma,” Gohan mused, focusing on the curve of Trunks’ face. “We need a strategy. Because this won’t go away.”

“Ignoring it sure hasn’t worked. So any plans, genius?” Mirai gently teased.

“Sadly no. Aside from running away to some remote location? Running away to train in the mountains?” Gohan halfheartedly suggested.

“Well we are whining about life being too easy. Just what makes it too easy?” trunks mused, his face scrunching up in that thoughtful way Gohan loved.

“Perfect. Let’s analyze the problem by breaking it into its most elemental and constituent parts,” Gohan confirmed. He reached for his glasses again, and sucked on the temple, letting them dangle from his lip.

“Such as when did we first start feeling like this?” Trunks asked. “For me it’s just been building steadily over time you know… little by little.”

“Indeed. Same for me,” Gohan nodded, feeling a pang of familiarity. “Does the fact that we both don’t know what to do for one another’s anniversary perhaps act as a catalyst?”

“That doesn’t help matters,” Trunks sighed. “In fact it was when Trunks started nagging me about taking a vacation… excuse me a WORKING vacation…”

“You mean specifically when he drank your expensive liquor, the same day when Goten asked me to play travel agent?” Gohan chuckled, his smile a welcome sight to Trunks to break the somber mood a bit.

“You got it. I realized then and there that I didn’t know our employees names,” Trunks reflected, shifting so he rested his head against Gohan’s sturdy shoulder. He sighed as Gohan lifted his arm and he felt the weight of it settle comfortably there.

“We’ve both not been ourselves lately. In fact you’re onto something when you said get away from it all,” Trunks muttered, something crossing his mind. Just the smallest inkling and tickling of his brain of an idea. Almost like seeing dawn before the sun rose.

“Quite true. So far, we have the recurring feeling of emptiness, and a loss of self-identity. Not to mention how it’s impacting our behavior and our… relationship to each other,” Gohan tentatively said, feeling a spurt of fear.

“You mean it’s why we’re bickering with each other a bit more lately,” Mirai supposed, remembering how often lately he was more prone to snap at silly things.

“That’s part of it, Trunks. Another component is how no matter what you and I do, it’s as if life itself has… become tasteless. Lost its flavor.”

“You hit it exactly Gohan. Whenever you and I’ve had time alone together things, we once found to be great fun aren’t as enjoyable anymore. I enjoy the time with you but there’s something missing, as if the spark is gone.”

“Don’t forget how short we’ve been with Trunks and Goten lately,” Gohan also reminded him, feeling Trunks rubbing his thigh slowly.

“How could I forget,” Mirai chuckled, remembering the bickering over his liquor stash.

“There may be a good reason for that too,” Gohan mused, Trunks watching his dark eyes grow even more serious. “Maybe it’s out of jealousy.”

“Jealousy? You mean because they seem to be enjoying themselves far more in all this luxury than we are?” Mirai said carefully, not liking the revelation.

“Unfortunately, they are, Trunks.”

Mirai sighed, resting his head on Gohan’s shoulder once more. “We’ve changed. We’ve lost touch with what’s important. And you saying that just now…”

“Confirms it. Right. This leads us to the question, of what course of action to undertake. Just how it is possible to recapture that lost element and rediscover our sense of purpose, and in so doing, find the answer.”

“That’s it exactly, Gohan,” Trunks sighed, smiling at Gohan’s steady and calm voice reassuring him. It always felt good when his husband could apply words to unknowns, somehow making them quantifiable and solvable.

“You said something regarding me being onto something?” Gohan asked, resting his head against the top of Mirai’s.

“Getting away from it all. Well what if we DID get away from it all, or at least tried to find the value of things again?”

“Sounds like a quest for self awareness through giving up luxury,” Gohan surmised. “Why don’t we take this to its logical conclusion? Say, giving up Capsule Corps entirely, and living in very Spartan conditions where money is limited but we have far more freedom in return. Living like hobos do, working simple jobs and enjoying life’s simpler pleasures?”

Gohan felt gravity no longer pulling him down so much. The air itself seemed far lighter, and the crushing weight on his chest had lifted enough so he could breathe. Mirai lifted his head off his husband’s shoulder, warmth spreading through his body as well. Yet he did feel the need to point out, “That sounds nice but giving up capsule entirely? That would be a bit extreme.”

“Yes, I agree. We wouldn’t necessarily do it all at once. We do need a plan of action, and need to contemplate the phases of this… undertaking,” Gohan clarified. He saw the relief filling Mirai’s face at that second.

“Like a strategic plan, and a vision,” Mirai said, rubbing Gohan’s back. “Where do we start? What should be the steps in our process?”

“We could take it one step at a time, by gradually introducing ourselves to the lifestyle with small changes. Giving up pieces of luxury till we reach the goal, while finding someone else to run capsule for us,” Gohan continued, drawing Mirai closer to him. Now they sat face-to-face, hands on one another’s shoulders.

“You mean like eating in normal restaurants, and perhaps cleaning our own home? Not having our dinners prepared for us for starters?” Mirai suggested.

“Exactly. That’s a good start. We can continue to wear our own clothes to work, but we’ll need to go to ‘normal’ stores and get clothing ordinary people would wear for off hours,” Gohan nodded.

“Perhaps we could even try and get a normal job too?” Mirai mused, pursing his lips. “One we’d interview for by looking in the paper.”

“A menial job,” Gohan agreed, a smile beaming across his one pale face. Trunks eyes sparkled with each new suggestion, and it was a welcome sight to see. “We could live like that for a time, with the eventual goal of phasing down to more manual labor involved jobs requiring far less thought and education.”

“Sounds like we’d be phasing out riches, and paring back.”

Gohan nodded, leaning over to kiss Trunks on the cheeks softly, marveling at the shimmer in his husband’s blue eyes. “When we’re comfortable we’ve weaned ourselves off depending on Capsule’s wealth, it would be time to give up the apartment, the ‘regular’ job, and adopt an itinerant lifestyle of hobos. Involving traveling from place to place with only a blanket to sleep on and the most basic of necessities. We could try it for a time and see how we like it for perhaps six months, then return for contrast’s sake.”

“Sleeping under the stars in the woods eating beans?” Mirai queried his smile mischievous. “Would we be wearing nothing but pants barefoot by then?”

“You’re reading my mind, Trunks,” Gohan purred, mental images of Trunks gloriously bare chested dancing in his head. “That’s absolutely the plan. You and I letting our hair grow. Enjoying one another without the interference of all this technology.”

“To have you all to myself all day sounds far better than anything at this point,” Mirai sighed with pleasure. “Just the thought of getting away from meetings is making this sound closer to a dream.”

“It’s an admirable dream,” Gohan added.

“So when do we begin?” Trunks asked, leaning forwards for a kiss. Mentally Gohan checked his schedule, envisioning a time frame.

“I think in seven days would be good,” Gohan answered, opening his mouth and covering Trunks with his own.

Author’s Notes: Just a little DBZ chick lit. “Present” timeline. This story is based on an idea suggested to me by the one, the only Lord Truhan — many, many thanks! It seems to be taking a different path than I originally envisioned, but I’m having fun with it so I’m gonna run with it :) Hope you enjoy.

Chapter 15

Trunks returned to the apartment he shared with Gohan on Sunday evening after dinner with his parents. It was clear that Vegeta had filled Bulma in on their little father-son chat because she looked at him all through dinner with concern and sympathy, gave his arm a reassuring squeeze every time she passed by, and repeatedly promised that she loved him ‘no matter what.’ And even though he had answered with an embarrassed ‘Mother, stop,’ in reality his parents’ support meant a lot. Bulma had suggested that the teen stay at Capsule Corp. for awhile, but he wanted to go back home. He couldn’t just curl up and sulk while his mommy took care of him forever. He was a grown man after all.

Besides, what if Gohan came back?

But by Thursday night, there was still no sign of his roommate. And with each passing day, the royal demi’s hope of making amends dwindled. He could have sought Gohan out, and the thought had crossed his mind many times during the week. There were only so many places the other man could be. But Trunks knew that if Gohan hadn’t come home, it was with good reason. The elder Son wasn’t the type to hide from his problems, so his absence could only mean one thing: that he decidedly did not wish to see the teen prince.

Trunks had thought about cornering his roommate at Capsule Corp., too, but he just didn’t have the energy anymore. It felt like he had been running at full speed for weeks. First, running away from his problems with Goten, and then running straight into new ones. Now everything had caught up with him and he was just plain tired.

Tired and alone.

The silence of the empty apartment was deafening and it had tormented him for the last four days. It gave him no choice but to reflect and face truths he should have faced weeks ago. Before their fight, Trunks had done everything in his power to avoid admitting that his world came unglued when Goten left. And the desire to fill the void his absence created had rendered nothing off limits; least of all Gohan. But Trunks had never considered how his actions might affect the two brothers. And even though his roommate had become so much more than just a convenient distraction, the teen’s own recklessness had likely doomed them before they had a chance to begin.

As for the younger Son, when Trunks thought about him now, it was with cynical resignation. What lay ahead of them was a daunting uphill road to recovery. Each would have to pick up the pieces of his life and put himself back together.

Separately.

Two distinct and unconnected individuals where a strong unit had once been.

Goten would have his wish of individuality fulfilled but at what cost? Trunks wondered. He doubted if the two of them would ever be friends again. Still, he couldn’t help but feel that the road would be easier for Goten somehow. He’d already found someone new to help him down that path. The demi-Saiyan prince, on the other hand, wasn’t sure he would ever find his way. A lifetime of memories shared with the youngest Son that had once defined him now held him back; stopped him from being able to make the commitment he wanted to make to Gohan. That he needed to make if there was ever to be any chance for them.

The first cut was deep, it seemed, and he resented his old friend for leaving him stuck in this prison; unwilling to go back yet unable to move on.

As for the two brothers, Trunks was sure they had repaired their relationship by now. He imagined them comforting each other by mutually agreeing on what an insufferable bastard he was. Neither one had made any attempt to contact him and so, if the last week had been any indication, it looked like he really was the expendable one.

The teen slumped over the papers that were strewn about the dining room table and read the same sentence for what must have been the millionth time. Tomorrow he was supposed to make his presentation to Capsule’s would-be investors and it was too late to ask someone else to cover it. He had spent weeks becoming familiar with the numbers and projections regarding the company’s proposed research. It would be difficult for someone less familiar with it to answer the questions he was sure the venture capitalists would have.

In truth, it was good to have something to take his mind off recent events, but his inability to concentrate was frustrating. His first mistake had been choosing this particular chair at the table. The last time he was in it, he’d been straddling his roommate. And yes, the empty apartment had left him with plenty of time to think about <i>that</i>, too. Trunks leaned back in the chair and shoved his hips toward the front with an exasperated sigh, running both hands through his hair. Then he picked up a pen and tapped it agitatedly on the table, willing himself to focus.

The royal demi was on edge and jumped when the telephone rang. The shrill sound cut harshly through the silence he had become accustomed to. He watched the red LCD light on the phone blink in time with the ringer as he crossed the dining room.

“Hello?” the teen was tentative as he lifted the receiver to his ear.

“Sir, I’m calling up from the lobby. You have a visitor here. A young lady.”

Trunks sighed, knowing he should be happy that someone cared enough about him to come by, but lamenting that it wasn’t the person he so badly hoped would do so.

“I’m not expecting anybody and I’m very busy. Please, tell whoever it is I’m indisposed.” With that, he dropped the phone back onto its base and started across the dining room to where he’d been studying his notes. He’d barely gotten to his seat when the phone rang again. This time, sure that it was no one important, the teen answered with a distinct sense of annoyance. “Yes?”

“I’m terribly sorry, sir, but she’s quite insistent. It’s a Miss Kim. Says she’s a school friend—.” Trunks heard the sounds of a struggle on the other end of the line. “No, Miss, you can’t—!”

“Trunks!?” A female voice that he immediately recognized took the place of the older gentleman. “Where have you and Goten been all week? I’m worried about you guys and I’m not leaving until you tell me what’s going on! I’m sorry to just show up at your door, but I don’t have your phone number and I don’t know where Goten lives. I just need to talk to you for a few minutes,” she promised. Then added, “Please?”

The royal demi was taken aback for a moment by the urgency of her tone. He hadn’t set foot on campus since the Thursday before except for five minutes on Monday morning to submit his withdrawal letter. Bulma didn’t know about that part yet, but there was just no way he could continue going to school with Goten. And apparently the other demi had much the same idea.

“Earth to Trunks! Are you there?”

“Yes, yes,” the teen shook his head, bringing himself back to the present. “I’ll come down to the lobby. Just wait for me there. And, geez, try not to make any more of a scene!” he pleaded before hanging up.

Trunks made his way down the hall to his room deciding to ignore the rest of the note cards that were littering the table. It wasn’t as though he’d been making any progress anyway. He smoothed his hair in the full-length mirror that hung near his closet and was just pulling on his second shoe when the phone rang demandingly yet again. He hopped down the hall on one foot, trying to pull the leather over his heel and nearly lost his balance reaching for the receiver.

“I-am-com-ing!” he accentuated each syllable with marked irritation, and there was a moment of surprised silence on the other end of the line.

The caller cleared his throat. “Trunks Briefs?”

“Uh . . . .” The demi-Sayian’s eyes darted back and forth across the empty room as he hesitated. “Yes?”

“My name is Basil Goddard, dean of sciences at Weston University.”

Trunks slapped the palm that wasn’t holding the phone to his forehead. What a royal asshole these people must think he was by now! Really, if there was any mercy in the world, Dende would strike him dead right where he stood.

“I hope I’m not bothering you?”

“Uh, no,” the teen squeaked out, embarrassed, and moved the hand on his face to the back of his head in a nervous habit. “No, not at all!”

“Well, in that case, I’d like to inform you that you’ve been accepted for admission into our prestigious engineering program. Normally we just send out a letter,” he said dryly, “but I suppose because you’re such an important legacy the university president asked me to call you personally.”

“Wow,” Trunks couldn’t hide his surprise. “Thank you so much.”

“Oh, it wasn’t my decision,” the dean quickly informed him. “But apparently the admissions committee believes that test scores and family connections are more important than essay answers.”

“Heh . . . lucky me,” the teen replied sheepishly. This guy sounded like he had a real chip on his shoulder and Trunks vaguely wondered how miserable he would be able to make him as head of the department. But at the moment, it was the only bit of good news he’d had in what felt like forever and he clung to it. “I really look forward to starting in the spring.”

“Your admission packet should arrive in the mail within a few days. Fill out all of the enclosed forms and return them to me as soon as possible. You’ll report to my office the first day of the semester.”

“Yes, sir.”

After they said their goodbyes, Trunks hung up the phone with a glimmer of hope. So the guy was a hardass, but at least he could start at a new school in a few months. Perhaps he could move into the dorms and start a new life there, make some new friends, forget that Goten and Gohan ever existed and live a miserable, empty life as a shell of his former self!

Yes. Fantastic.

The glimmer of hope was, needless to say, fleeting.

Trunks grabbed his jacket from where it hung near the door and made his way down to the lobby. “Oh my god, you’re alive,” Kim observed as he stepped out of the elevators. But she regretted her sarcastic tone as she took a longer look at her one-time classmate. The dark circles under his eyes made his face look blanched and the redness surrounding the irises darkened formerly brilliant blue eyes. He didn’t fill out his bootcut jeans or clingy linen sweater as well as she remembered either. “Boy, you don’t look so hot.”

“Filters, Kim. Filters.” The girl had an annoying habit of saying whatever was on her mind and the last thing he needed was to hear about how awful he looked at the moment. “I’m just tired,” Trunks informed her, then motioned so that she would follow him outside.

“I can’t imagine why you’d be sleep-deprived, considering you’re not attending school anymore.” While they walked briskly down the street away from the apartment, she produced the latest copy of the WCU Reporter. Once again, there was a picture of him on the front page that Trunks didn’t remember anyone taking. The headline read, ‘Not Good Enough for Trunks?: Ambivalent Heir Withdraws from WCU.’

The teen rolls his eyes. “That’s ridiculous. I am not—.”

Ambivalent. Actually, he was . . . . Quite.

He waved the paper out of his line of vision with one hand. “Whatever. They don’t even know me.”

“Well, no,” Kim said matter-of-factly as they stopped on the sidewalk in front of the North Side Diner. “No one does.”

Even as Trunks pulled open the glass door for her and they stepped into the noisy restaurant, he figured the people who didn’t know him should probably consider themselves lucky. He didn’t exactly have the best track record with friends. And, of all the qualities he had inherited from Vegeta, being a bit standoffish was probably the least offensive one. Still, he didn’t appreciate the subtext in the coed’s remark; the insinuation that he was some stuck-up rich boy who didn’t play well with others. The truth was that, no matter how friendly he might be, no one could really know him anyway. No one could really understand the things he had been through or the things he had seen. No one, that is, besides the other two people in the world who were exactly like him.

But seeing as how those two were M.I.A., he decided to give the girl a chance.

“Look, if you really want to know me,” the demi-Saiyan began after they were seated in a booth near the back and had ordered various types of fried food for dinner, “then I’ll give you an exclusive interview. You’re wondering why I withdrew from school this week?” He nodded toward the newspaper that now lay on the table. “It’s because Goten and I had a fight. We’re not friends anymore and since he was the only reason I came to WCU in the first place, I’ve decided to leave. I was planning to wait ‘til the end of the semester, but things have changed.”

“I knew it!” Kim declared, snapping her fingers. She saw the quizzical look on Trunks’s face. “I mean, when school first started, I got the impression that you guys were sorta . . . closer than most best friends. I told Tiffany that I thought you came here to be with Goten but she didn’t believe me.”

“Insight doesn’t seem to be her strong point.”

The coed played with her hair anxiously before continuing. “So, then, I’m gonna go out on a limb here and guess that you weren’t kidding that day in class when you said that . . . uh, that Goten had, um . . . .” Her already tanned skin colored noticeably and Trunks squinted at her trying to figure out why she was having so much trouble finding words. Then he remembered the last day he attended classed with Goten and how the girls had giggled at his lascivious announcement about his abused ass.

The teen broke into a sudden smile. “No,” he laughed but then reconsidered it. “Well, I guess I was half kidding. Let’s just say it’s been a long time since Goten cared enough about fucking me to make it hurt.”

Kim blushed deeper at her suspicions being confirmed in such detail, but Trunks could honestly remember a time when things had been so much more passionate between them. He shrugged it off. “Anyway, that was the last time we were together. He had barely rolled off of me before saying that he wanted to see other people. Told me he needed to ‘find himself’ or something, and by Monday, he was making out with your roommate in the library.”

“So do you think . . . I mean, does Goten like girls?”

“I don’t think he discriminates,” the Capsule heir conjectured bitterly. “He’s an equal opportunity asshole.”

“Trunks!” Kim admonished him. “Don’t talk about him that way.”

The teen looked across the table at her, surprised by the protectiveness in her tone before he gasped in sudden understanding. “Oh my god. You like him, don’t you? That’s why you want to know.” He clicked his tongue, but his tone was amused. “You little hussy. Falling for your roommate’s boyfriend.”

“Shut up, I don’t like him! It’s just that he was at our place all the time and, I dunno, I guess he kinda started to grow on me. A little.” She rolled her eyes as though she was annoyed she’d let it happen. “It doesn’t matter anyway. I’m not trying to get involved in this screwed up little triangle you guys have going on.” She lifted one finger and motioned towards Trunks, implicating both him and Goten and whoever else they might decide to get involved from one affair to the next. “Besides, unlike Tiffany, I don’t date gay guys.”

“That’s a smart move sweetheart,” the waitress said as she put their respective plates of food down in front of them. Kim laughed feebly then dipped her head so that the long, straight bangs that weren’t swept up in her ponytail hid the embarrassment on her face. Waitresses always had the best timing.

But Trunks was too caught up in his thoughts to notice the interruption. “You know, I think Goten actually believes I tricked him into being with me. He acted like he needed to get away from me to figure things out or something. But he forgets that he was the one to kiss me all those years ago. That he was all a-fucking-bout it when we were growing up. Then he just freaks out on me after everything that—.” He reigned himself in, glancing almost sheepishly at his company. He had no idea why he was telling her all this.

“I know his change of heart must have been really hard for you to deal with,” she said gently when the server was out of earshot. “But when you were younger he might not have understood the significance of what you guys were doing, or realized that it made him different. Maybe when he figured out that he would be labeled for being with you he wanted to make sure it was real. Not everyone is as comfortable laughing in the face of social norms as you seem to be.”

“I just wonder if he realizes what he gave up to make his mommy happy. Because I really loved him. I would have done absolutely anything for him.”

“Hmm. But that’s not really true, is it?” his companion asked artlessly. “Cause he asked you to let him go. And that was something you weren’t willing to do.”

She chewed and swallowed a battered mushroom then shrugged while Trunks stared at her. “It just seems like things might’ve turned out differently if you’d given him the chance to recognize that he loved you all on his own. It didn’t take long. In the end, he even told Tiffany that he’d made a mistake.”

“What do you mean ‘in the end?’”

“When he broke up with her last weekend,” Kim explained as though it should have been apparent. She licked some crumbs off her fingers. “If they were still together, don’t you think I would have asked <i>her</i> where he was? She deleted all of his contact information from her phone in post-break up hissy fit.”

The Capsule heir dropped his eyes to the table. “Last weekend?”

“Yeah. I’d left them alone to go get Sunday brunch at the cafeteria. But she came running in crying ten minutes later.”

Trunks spoke softly, as though he was talking to himself. “Goten came to my place that day.”

“To make up?” Kim inquired in an equally low tone.

“I dunno. We never got that far. I was sort of . . . .” He blinked his way out of the trance-like state he seemed to be in. “I was with someone else when he showed up.”

His classmate grimaced apprehensively. “You mean WITH with?” and the lavender head nodded affirmatively.

“And that’s not all.” The teen chewed on his fingernail. “Do you remember when you taught me how to make that stir fry for my roommate?”

“Oh, yeah, of course.” She laughed shortly. “I remember thinking that the last time a guy had tried that hard to impress me he was trying to get into my pan—.” She stopped suddenly. “Oh! Is that who you were with?”

He nodded again.

“But, wait, didn’t you say that your roommate was . . . Goten’s . . . ?” He could see the gears in the young woman’s head turning before she put two hands over her mouth. “Oh, Trunks. You didn’t.”

“You can save the lecture,” he insisted preemptively, leaning back against the booth where they were seated. “Because I’ve already lost the only two people who ever meant anything to me and I can’t imagine a harder way to have learned my lesson.”

Still, she insisted on adding insult to injury. “Did you . . . do it on purpose?”

“No!” the demi-Saiyan cried, the question reopening an all-too-recent wound. How so many people could think him capable of such a thing was beyond his comprehension. “I would never . . . .”

“I believe you,” his classmate promised after seeing the hurt flash in his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

Trunks soon became resigned. “Anyway, the point is it happened, and if Gohan ever shows up at our apartment again it’ll probably be to move his stuff out. As for Goten and me . . . . Well, I think you can see why we can’t go to school together anymore. I don’t know what’ll happen when we see each other again. He broke like six of my ribs the last time.”

“You must be kidding.” She made a face. “I don’t see Goten as much of a fighter. And besides, you seem fine.”

“It’s obvious you don’t know either one of us very well. But since you’re so interested, I’ll tell you the truth. See, our fathers are aliens descended from a warrior race called the Saiyans. And since Goten and I share some of that DNA, we’re actually really proficient fighters. We can also use technology developed on our fathers’ home planet to heal much faster than a normal human could. So that’s why these circumstances may not seem to make sense to you. But I assure you, he really did a number on me.”

Kim just stared at him for a long moment. Then she threw her arms out in defeat and decided she was done trying to figure this kid out. “Well, now I understand why you don’t talk to the newspaper. You probably want to keep it on the down-low that you’re out of your damn mind.”

Trunks smirked.

“So,” the coed spoke again after a few quiet moments, “what happens now?”

“I don’t know,” Trunks answered. “I found out tonight that I got into Weston, so I’m leaving. Starting over, I hope,” he sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I have no idea what the other two will do. What about you?”

The girl lifted her palms again, this time in a helpless gesture. “What can I do? Besides just keep on going to school, hope that Goten comes back at some point, and try to stay friends with you, him, and Tiffany, despite the fact that all of you hate each other.”

“I bet you regret the day you ever introduced yourself to us,” Trunks guessed, shooting her a discerning smile.

“Nah. Strangely enough, I don’t. Hey, and you know, it’s funny. I almost went to Weston, too.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I mean I got in but didn’t go. Kinda like you.”

“So what’s your excuse?”

“Mine is simple. Couldn’t afford it. It’s just me and my dad at home and he’s already working two jobs to put me through city college. I never told him that I got in because it would have made him feel too bad. It was just something I needed to prove to myself.”

“It’s a shame,” Trunks lamented. “Sure would have been nice to know someone else there.” His eyes lit up after a moment’s contemplation. “Hey, you know, Capsule has a scholarship program!”

“Don’t do me any favors, Briefs,” Kim said, bristling. “I’m not about to give you something like that to hold over my head. The first time you get mad at me, I’ll lose my funding!”

The demi-Saiyan huffed. Honestly, first Gohan and now her! These people had no idea how to recognize gratuitous generosity when they saw it.

“I wouldn’t fit in with all those prep school types anyway,” Kim continued before he could voice his protestations. “No offense to you personally. But I’m happy at WCU.”

“Suit yourself,” he pouted.

“Oh, come on now. You must be really excited,” his classmate coaxed him. “I’ll take you out for a drink after this so we can celebrate your future in the Ivy Leagues properly.”

Trunks momentarily brightened at the invitation, not caring if it was issued only by way of apology. But he quickly reconsidered. “Nah, I’d better not. I have a big meeting in the morning with some high profile investment bankers. We’re really depending on their financial support for our newest department and I don’t wanna screw it up.”

“Okay. Another time then?”

“Sure.”

“Hey, what does Capsule need those guys for anyway? Couldn’t your mom just fund the department herself?”

“Well, yeah, but you never want to tie up your own resources in corporate enterprises. There are liability issues to consider and the possibility of liquidation of your personal assets if the venture fails—.

Kim held up one hand. She was already getting a headache. “Forget I asked! I’ll just take your word for it. Sounds to me like you know what you’re talking about.”

The teen sighed, slightly less confident. “Let’s hope they see it that way tomorrow.”

***

By the time 10:00 a.m. rolled around, Gohan had been staring at the clock in his office for at least forty-five minutes willing the hands to stop moving. Trunks’s presentation would start in a few minutes and he had avoided seeing the royal demi for as long as possible after speaking with Goten earlier that week. He had firmly decided to sublimate his growing feelings for his roommate and focus his energy on helping the boys to repair their friendship. His recent actions, however unwittingly, had hurt Goten and he was sure that he could never make it up to his brother. If there was one thing he couldn’t bear, it was letting down the people he loved and he only hoped that this self-imposed penance could quiet his screaming conscience.

Gohan had already confessed everything to Vegeta when the oldest Saiyan sought him out the weekend before. The prince told him that, when Trunks named both brothers on the list of people who’d never forgive him, it hadn’t been hard to figure out what happened. But he hadn’t assuaged Gohan’s guilt at all, conjecturing that, ‘When the Woman asked you to take care of him, I don’t think that’s what she had in mind.’

But when Vegeta had shared his opinion that the boys wouldn’t get hung up on such ‘petty, stupid things’ if they had real problems to worry about, it gave Gohan an idea. Something that he hoped would give the two teens enough of a push to get over this hurdle. Piccolo helped him work out the details and Vegeta went along with it mostly because he was in disappointed with the general lack of excitement on Earth in the last ten years and how it had contributed to his son’s ‘slack attitude.’

How the Saiyan prince had gotten Bulma to agree, Gohan had no idea. But now that the plans were in place, there was no going back, and he was sure that it was the best way to orchestrate the younger demis’ reconciliation.

Provided that nothing went wrong, of course.

Now it was his duty to lure the teen to Bulma’s lab so they could set things in motion. Despite his apprehension at seeing his old roommate, Gohan had volunteered for the job, hoping it would give them a few minutes alone to have the talk he knew they needed to have. And besides, he had long ago promised Bulma that he would attend this meeting to provide backup for the teen and, regardless of everything else that had happened, Gohan knew Trunks had worked hard on this project and wanted to see him succeed.

His biggest source of unease as he stood up and shrugged off his white lab coat in favor of a navy blazer, was whether he’d be able to keep the promises he had made to himself when he finally saw Trunks again. Those walls that he’d once constructed with so much success had proven no match for the demi-Saiyan prince, and Gohan wasn’t quite sure how to isolate his unwelcome feelings now. Trunks had been able to tear down his defenses before, and he feared that the emotions he’d been determined to bury might betray him when face-to-face with the teen.

Unable to put things off any longer, Gohan made his way across the room. Before leaving the office, he straightened his shirt and tie, then loosened the tie a bit and ran a hand through his spiky black hair. He looked at the clock again, took a deep breath, and headed out of his lab for the elevators. When he had made his way nearly to the top of the corporate high rise, he came upon the reception area outside the conference room. There was a buffet of breakfast foods set up and, though he shied away from it due to the queasy feeling in his stomach, he gratefully accepted the bottled water Meena handed him as he entered.

The dark-haired demi was tense as he pushed open the double glass doors to the board room. There were about a dozen men and women milling about and making conversation with each other before the presentation began. Trunks was there, of course, at the front of the room. Standing behind the podium, he looked more serious than Gohan had seen him in a long time—maybe ever. Totally absorbed in his slides; probably looking them over one last time. He was well-dressed in a grey suit, royal blue shirt, and tasteful striped tie. Lavender bangs fell over blue eyes that were narrowed intently and Gohan couldn’t help but watch him as he frowned at the screen, drowning out everyone else in the room while he concentrated.

Outshining everyone else in the room without trying at all.

Gohan wondered if it was because he hadn’t seen Trunks in so long that he was having trouble taking his eyes off of him. Perhaps the teen simply looked different to him in some unascertainable way now that Gohan had known him so intimately. Or maybe it was just as it had been that day in the dressing room. He had been unable to deny even then that the boy was hard to resist. And he was, Gohan had since learned, even harder to forget.

“Alright, let’s get started.” Trunks spoke authoritatively from the podium without looking up and Gohan was surprised that the sound of his voice had a similar effect as did seeing him again. Despite how hard the elder Son tried to concentrate on the subject at hand, he found himself neurotically wondering whether Trunks had thought about him in the last week and how the other demi would react to seeing him for the first time since the morning after. Gohan cast his eyes at the floor and cursed his own ridiculousness. This was exactly why he wasn’t a one-night-stand sort of person!

As it turned out, though, he didn’t have to wait long for his answers.

“If anybody has any questions before we begin I’ll be happy to field them qui—.” Gohan looked up when the teen dropped off midsentence to find that Trunks was staring at him wide-eyed. “Quickly,” he finished softly, eyes still trained on Gohan’s face.

While the two of them regarded each other, oblivious to their surroundings, a tall blond man in the front row stood, apparently taking Trunks up on his offer to entertain questions.

“Kit Duncan, Goldman, Sachs, New York,” the blond introduced himself and his company gruffly. “I’ll ask the question everyone wants to know before we bother to sit here for the next hour. How soon will we see a return on this investment and how large can we expect it to be? What’s the bottom line for our clients? That’s what we’re all here to find out, am I right?” A few low mumbles of agreement could be heard around the room.

Trunks didn’t seem to have heard anything despite the fact that he was only a few feet away from the guy and Gohan panicked as he realized his presence was not helping Trunks at all. Rather, it was having the opposite effect. The teen seemed transfixed. As the noticeable silence in the room stretched to an awkward length, the older demi stood up and cleared his throat. He could remember portions of the presentation from the day he tried to lift it from Trunks’s computer and was familiar with the numbers from working closely with Capsule’s research team.

“As one of the people overseeing the development of the new robots, I may be able to shed some light on that,” he offered tentatively. “I can tell you that raw materials for the prototypes have been easy and inexpensive to get, so we don’t anticipate any holdups putting the new products on the market. And because of the low cost of supplies and the high demand we’re expecting, investors should see quick and sizeable returns. But,” he glanced back at the Capsule heir, “I’m sure Mr. Briefs will go into more detail on that.” He tried his best to reassure the other demi with a nod of encouragement. “Presently,” he added with some exigency.

“Er, right,” the younger man agreed. “I was just getting to that. Thank you, uh, Doctor . . . Son.” The teen dragged a hand across his forehead to wipe away a few drops of perspiration then turned to face the projection screen. “Would you hit the lights for me please?” He didn’t turn around.

By the time Gohan had returned to his seat, Trunks appeared to have recovered and began what sounded like a well-practiced speech on his financial projections, supplemented by various illustrations, graphs, and charts. He avoided looking in the other demi’s direction again and, while no one else in the room would have noticed, Gohan was keenly aware of the deliberate behavior.

But when the hour was over, and the assembled investors stood up, clapping enthusiastically and talking amongst themselves about their optimism regarding the enterprise, Gohan found himself smiling all the same. Trunks had done well, and he would run the company one day perhaps even better than Doctor Briefs or Bulma had. Because more than being just a scientist, he had demonstrated a business acumen that neither his mother nor his grandfather had. Gohan was sure the bankers didn’t plan to take the teenaged successor seriously and perhaps expected to intimidate him with their superior experience. But the queue of eager businessmen lining up to introduce themselves to Trunks made it clear he had proven them wrong. And Gohan felt an inexorable swell of pride both at how far Trunks had come and his potential to go further.

“Mr. Briefs, I’m sorry to interrupt,” Meena stepped in the door just then, silencing the room with her announcement. “Your mother’s just called and you’re urgently needed downstairs in her lab. You, too, Mr. Son,” she said, switching to Gohan briefly before addressing Trunks again. “I can leave the gentlemen with your business card if you’d like.”

“Okay,” the teen agreed, looking surprised and a bit worried. He apologized to those who had assembled and shortly followed Gohan out of the room. “Did she say what was wrong?” Trunks inquired when he reached Meena, but the secretary shook her head in the negative. He turned then to his estranged roommate. “Do you know what this is about?”

Gohan mimicked the woman’s answer, shaking his head emphatically and hoping he wouldn’t have to speak. Everyone knew he was a horrible liar. Trunks peered at him with what Gohan could swear was suspicion, but turned towards the door after a moment, apparently deciding to investigate for himself. The elder Son followed close behind and as they left behind the din of the reception area, the rhythmic sounds of their footsteps started to ring in his ears, emphasizing the uncomfortable silence.

“You did a great job in there,” Gohan said sincerely, deciding to break the ice finally as he watched the younger boy press the call button at the elevator.

Trunks blinked lavender eyelashes before shooting him a sidelong glance. “And you have damned fine timing. I’ve been waiting five days to hear from you and you show up now?” The teen’s eyes were narrowed but he sounded more indignant than angry. “Where have you been, Gohan? I’ve been at the apartment every day just—.” Training his eyes on the elevator doors again he clenched his jaw, either unwilling or unable to finish the thought.

“I’m sorry, Trunks,” Gohan said, and he meant it more than the other could know. But it would have been a horrible idea for him to go back to that small apartment where he’d be around the royal demi all the time, not knowing if he’d be able to refrain from crawling into his bed and making it clear just how sorry he was. “I didn’t think it’d be a good idea to see each other,” was all he said as the bell for the lift chimed and they stepped inside together.

Trunks’s demeanor changed as quickly as their surroundings. “Gohan, if it’s because you were mad at me, I need you to know that what Goten said wasn’t true! I would never do that, I swear,” he implored the other man. “You know, you were the only reason I got out of bed most mornings. After he left.” The royal demi’s voice wavered, but as Trunks focused on the digital display in front of him and watched it count down the floors, he realized what precious little time he had to articulate everything he’d begun to comprehend in the last week.

“Being with you, it . . . it meant something to me. More than something, really. It meant everything. And I know I’ve fucked shit up beyond belief,” the teen proclaimed miserably, unable to hold it in any longer even if he’d wanted to. “But I never meant to hurt you. It’s over between me and your brother. I just—I wasn’t ready yet. You were right about that just like you were right about all the other stuff. But I’ll get there,” he promised urgently, trying to catch the older man’s eyes. “I’ll get there for you. And we can take it slower this time. Give Goten a chance to get used to us—.”

“Trunks.” Gohan felt compelled to stop him, though his own voice was strained. He struggled to hide the emotions his roommate’s words evoked. Much as Gohan had suspected, he was unprepared for this encounter. He knew all too well that, one-on-one, Trunks wasn’t the self-assured aspiring CEO that everyone recognized. He was the person Gohan had fallen for; passionate and spirited, troubled if not hopelessly insecure. And the teen’s expression at the moment was just as it had been when he’d blinked up at Gohan from the dining room table, offering the heart on his sleeve. The older demi looked away before the other’s vulnerability could destroy his already failing resolve. “There is no us.”

Undeterred, the Capsule heir reached out and yanked on the elevator’s emergency break, stopping their journey to the ground with a jolt and a loud screech.

“Will you look at me? I’m far from perfect, but something’s changed in me these last few weeks. I don’t know what it is, but I can feel it. Even though I screwed up at almost every turn, I feel like you were the one thing I got right in all this. And I know you feel it, too. I saw it,” he insisted, “in your eyes that night.”

Gohan tensed almost imperceptibly but it was more than enough to convince Trunks that he was right. He scrutinized the other man, wondering why it was that he was so utterly bent on self-denial. “Are we right back where we started?” the teen demanded, desperation beginning to creep into his words. “Building walls again?”

Gohan matched the young prince in his stubbornness. “I wish things could have been different, Trunks. I really do. But I just can’t do that to Goten.” That was what it came down to in the end and there was really nothing more to say. The elder Son reached out to disengage the brake and the elevator began to move again while Gohan clasped his hands behind his back. His posture resolute, he glanced at Trunks one last time. “I won’t.”

The tone left no room for argument. But the younger demi found it hard to believe that he had sealed his fate when he was eight; kissing Goten behind a palm tree in Capsule’s indoor garden. An act whose significance he could not possibly have foreseen. The doors opened and the lavender-haired man stepped into the hall first. At last, he turned with a pointed look behind him as they approached their destination.

“Does Goten even know how much you sacrifice for him?”

The teen didn’t expect an answer. He didn’t need one. He already knew his words wouldn’t change anything. To Gohan it didn’t matter if Goten knew. He didn’t do it to gain his brother’s gratefulness or praise. He did it purely and unselfishly for his brother’s benefit. But Trunks was unimpressed.

“Your altruism is flawed, Gohan. Who’s to say that he deserves happiness any more than you? And what about what I want? Or have you already decided that for me?”

The dark-haired demi just stared at the boy obtusely. Why did Trunks insist on challenging him when he was so sure he’d settled on the best course of action? How did he manage, with a few simple questions, to shake Gohan’s very world view to its core? And why in the hell couldn’t he think of any satisfactory answers right now?

Gohan turned his back to the teen, refusing to indulge his misinformed musings. That’s all they were anyway, right? Just Trunks’s way of trying to get to him, he told himself.

“We’d better go,” was all he said before pushing through the swinging doors that led to Bulma’s lab. Leaving Trunks and all of his impudent questions in the hallway, Gohan seriously hoped that the old adage would prove true. The teen would soon be far out of sight and, hopefully, just as far out of mind.

Author’s Notes: This story is very alternate-universe.

Chapter One: Whatever Happens

Rain was pouring, pounding on his poor bloodied head without mercy. He wrapped his arms around himself in a desperate attempt to keep warm in the blistering cold. He kept his head down as he walked along the empty, barely lit streets. It was the dead of night. He was all alone. What happened? He couldn’t remember. Where was he? He didn’t know. Did he have a family? Where did he belong? Who did he love? Did he love anyone? Did he even have a home? An acquaintance?

All of these questions drew a blank in the small child’s mind. He twisted his wet raven locks around a petite finger. What name did he go by? How old was he? He looked at his tiny hands and formed them into a fist, then poked one out at a time. What the heck was he doing?

He couldn’t remember how to count. The gestures and symbols and words all felt so distant. Could he still speak?

“Ahhh….” he sighed. “Aaaahhhh…” he sighed again. What should he say? “My head hurts.” Good. He sill knew how to speak. What about the alphabet? “A B C D E… K… N…” He sighed again. What was next? Nothing. A blank. Empty space. He looked over his shoulder and stared out at the frighteningly dark road. Something clattered from an alleyway nearby, as if a tin can falling off a dumpster. The boy jumped and began to run. His frightened sprint came to a halt, however, when he collided with a pair of legs.

“Hello?” another voice questioned. “Are you okay?” The little boy looked up to see a man with bright purple hair and an umbrella, shielding his head from the unforgiving storm. He immediately held the umbrella over the child and placed a gentle, warm hand on his shoulder. The boy shivered and held himself tighter.

“I don’t know,” he answered, noticing his own condition. Blood, scratches, and large, swollen, throbbing bruises covered his body. “I think I got hurt really bad.” The man nodded and ripped his silky white shirt, dabbing the wounds with care.

“How did you get out here?” he asked. The boy shrugged.

“I don’t know.”

“Where are your parents?”

“I don’t know.”

“How did you get hurt?”

“I don’t know.” The man seemed to be at a loss. He bit his lip and tore off his sleeve, wrapping it around the boy’s head.

“Well, do you remember what your name is?”

“Ahh…” the boy struggled. “Ahh… I’m um…” What was it? He sighed, frustrated. The man patted the boy’s shoulder and inspected him closer. He noted the various cuts, burns, and bruises littering the child’s tiny body. He had to be no older than five. His bright brown- nearly orange- eyes glowed beautifully like precious gemstones in the rainy street-lamp-lit light. The man let his eyes travel down to inspect the child’s ripped clothes. He furrowed his purple eyebrows as something on the boy’s shirt caught his eye.

“Prince,” it said, stitched with love across silky, expensive fabric. Is he a prince?

“Um… I’m Goh… Goh… ughhh,” the little boy growled and pulled at his hair, feeling anger rise up in his chest. The man gently pulled the boy’s hands away and rubbed his arms, not even flinching when the blood smeared between his fingers. “I can’t remember. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” the man said gently. He let his fingertips brush across the boy’s ripped clothing. The boy looked up at him, eyes wide and afraid. The man smiled. “My name is Trunks Briefs,” he informed. The little boy nodded. “You can call me Trunks. Why don’t you come home with me? I can take care of you until we can find out whose son you are.” The boy’s eyelids dropped and he slid his amber irises back down to the ground. Trunks’s heart dropped with them, feeling the sadness radiate off the kid’s skin. “Can I call you Prince?” he asked gently. He brushed his fingers underneath the boy’s chin and lifted his head back up.

The boy hesitated, entranced by the warm gesture and comfort of Trunks’s dazzling blue eyes on his own. “…Would you… call me your son?” the boy asked tenderly, as if afraid of the answer. Trunks’s eyes widened. Son? He tilted his head slightly, eyes filled with concern.

“Would you call me your daddy?” he asked, just as softly. A smile crept across the boy’s lips.

Trunks stood back up and reached out to take Prince’s bloodstained hand. “I can’t wait to show you… your new home. Everything will be all right,” he assured.

“Daddy?” Prince asked softly, letting the man grip his tiny hand tenderly. “Whatever happens, don’t let go of my hand.”

As the raven-haired boy that Trunks had so delightfully named, “Prince,” followed his new caretaker, hand-in-hand, the rainy street suddenly took on a new appearance. Prince looked over Trunks’s shoulder and smiled. The world was suddenly so beautiful.

Author’s Notes: Begins roughly one year after Mirai Trunks returns to his own timeline; he defeated Cell 3 weeks after defeating the androids, rather than 3 years. Present timeline setting will be roughly one month after the defeat of Majin Buu. Warning in advance that there will *eventually* and *probably* be sex and some violence. There will be depressing discussion of canon deaths and possibly a few new ones, but the boys are safe.

[Retcon: In the first chapter I wrote that Trunks would be traveling to late April. I also wrote that he was going to arrive shortly after the defeat of Buu. Buu was defeated in May, canonically. Pretend all references to “late April” or any variations thereof are now “early June”. ]

Chapter 2: Un-straight Priorities

Gohan finished pulling the knot on his red belt closed before reaching down to lift the frayed cloth handles of his purple duffle bag. He’d gotten up and eaten early for a Saturday. His body was still in the rhythm of rising at dawn from his old school schedule. He walked as quietly as he could to the door and eased it open. He knew he could probably blow up the house without waking anyone, but he did his best to be considerate anyway.

As he reached the foot of the stairs he was unsurprised to see his parents’ door slightly ajar. His mother was already awake. He grabbed a biscuit from the counter as he headed for the front door. Closing it gently behind him, Gohan saw his mother a short way away in the yard, taking clothes off the line.

“Morning, mom,” he said brightly. She turned and smiled at him as he took half the biscuit in one bite.

“Good morning, Gohan! Off to Capsule, I suppose?” she asked. Gohan nodded. “Well, alright then, but don’t be gone all day this time! Remember, Videl is coming over for dinner tonight.”

“Right, mom,” he said; he’d have to beat Vegeta a bit harder than usual to appease his mother today. “I’m gonna head out now, see you tonight,” Gohan said, hopping onto Nimbus.

“Good-bye, Gohan!” she called as the fluffy, yellow-orange cloud carried him off into the sky. “Give that meathead a thrashing for me!”

Gohan chuckled as the wind whipped against his face. He was glad he finally had some time off. It wasn’t long ago that his mother would have clubbed him to within an inch of his life for even suggesting the idea of going off to train every weekend. He’d never admit it to her but he was pleased with the effect being eaten by Majin Buu had had on her attitude. His acceptance to every university he had applied to didn’t hurt in that respect, either.

Martial arts training was something he’d always enjoyed, even if he wasn’t overly keen on real competitive combat. After his humiliation aboard Babidi’s ship Gohan wasn’t going to make the same mistake by letting himself slip – most powerful fighter in the universe or not. He knew all too well just how fleeting that title could be.

On the whole, though, he had to admit that he wasn’t displeased with the unintended consequences the most recent threat to all life in the universe had on his life. For one thing, his father and Vegeta had finally gotten over their rivalry. That meant the Saiyan Prince begrudged Gohan significantly less as well; in fact, he seemed to hold a degree of respect for the young half-breed.

Then there was his father. His resentment over some of his father’s decisions aside, Gohan was elated to have him back. His mother had been exceedingly lonely in the years he was gone, and she turned all of her immense energy on her two sons. Goku was about the only person who could keep up with her on most days. Gohan was also glad that his little brother finally had a father. He’d tried his best to fill the void himself, but he had his own life to be getting on with. He was getting married later that year, and going away to college – he couldn’t be around for Goten forever.

Videl was another of those unintended consequences. The experiences at the tournament and afterward had brought them even closer together. Her father gave up his objections when he learned that Gohan was the one he’d been stealing the credit for defeating Cell from. Just two weeks after Majin Buu’s defeat, he’d proposed to Videl at his mother’s insistence. He wasn’t entirely sure he was ready, but he was happy nonetheless.

He smirked as Nimbus began descending toward the Capsule Corp. dome. Gohan didn’t mind, either, that thanks to the Elder Kai he was now able to trounce both his father and Vegeta – without transforming into a Super Saiyan.

He hopped lightly off of Nimbus a few feet off the ground. He gave the soft pillow of cloud a gentle pat before it zoomed off into the sky. The sun had fully risen now, so it was likely the Saiyan Prince was awake as well. Reaching out a hand as he reached the glass front doors, he pulled the cool metal handle only to find it was locked. Peering inside he saw that there was nobody in the lobby. A twinge of annoyance at their house doubling as a misshapen office building dissipated as Gohan smirked to himself.

Majin Buu had never had anyone escape his body after being absorbed, and for that matter, he’d never absorbed anyone as strong-willed as Gohan and Piccolo before. It had taken all of two days’ meditation for the latter to learn that the link which allowed Buu to tap into their power had worked both ways. He alerted his demi-Saiyan friend immediately. The Namek had an idea that while they were suspended inside of the pink beast’s body they may have subconsciously reached out and taken something from him.

It had taken the better part of a month before Gohan was able to unlock anything, but it was well worth the wait. Just five days prior he’d discovered he was able to instantaneously move from one place to another in a way very similar to the Kais’ technique. He hadn’t had much opportunity to test it out, so he was glad for this chance. Homing in on the familiar energy signatures he could sense inside, Gohan focused his energy inward as his body slipped into the dark void of nothingness.

***********************************

The surrounding room was swimming in and out of focus. His head felt like it had been cleaved cleanly in half. Eyelids blinked lazily over weary blue eyes, each opening bringing a fresh pounding of pain to his forehead. Slowly the rotating blades of the ceiling fan above came into view. He felt queasy.

Trunks sat up carefully and swung his legs over the edge of his bed. As he looked around at the bare room, however, he realized that this wasn’t his bed. This wasn’t his room. In fact, he didn’t recognize it at all. He tried to remember how he’d gotten there, but his aching head protested forcefully enough to convince him that it could wait. There were other ways to figure out where he was, after all.

His stomach gave a loud grumble.

There were also more pressing needs than knowing where he was and how he got there. He eased himself off the bed. As he stood, he felt a distinct weight shift at the side of his left leg that signaled something was stretching his pocket downward. He reached in and pulled out a small, white, rectangular case. Aware of what it was, he wasn’t surprised to find five capsules inside; he was surprised, though, that they were custom storage capsules and that he had them in the first place. He hesitantly placed them on the bedside table, hoping he wouldn’t forget they were there like he’d forgotten how he got them.

The carpet felt stiff under his bare feet as Trunks padded toward the closed door, as if it had scarcely been walked on. He stepped out into the cold tiled hallway to a most peculiar sight. It was familiar in dimension; certainly it resembled the inside of the Capsule compound. The walls were shining in early morning light, painted a soft peachy color rather than the familiar dull white. The walls that should have been bare were adorned with a number of – in his opinion – hideous, abstract paintings. This was odd.

The room he just exited was at the end of the corridor, so he made his way gently toward the opposite end, where it split two different ways. About halfway he heard the sound of chattering voices and slowed his pace. Trunks didn’t know where he was and how he got there. If he could glean anything from their conversation before he revealed himself he might not appear so vulnerable to these strangers with the bad taste in art.

As he inched closer, Trunks caught the scent of food. Scrambled eggs. Toast. Fried tomatoes. Sausage. His mouth watered as the speaking voice became discernible.

“…better drink all your milk young man or you won’t see Goten for a week!” He knew the voice of his mother at once, but it was still somehow different. It was more energetic and fiery, and he had no idea who she could be talking to or why she was even in this place. And what was a Goten? The questions raced through his mind and he leaned closer to listen.

“But it tastes like feet! I hate it!” the child shot back at his mother; Trunks privately agreed. Then he said imploringly, “Dad, help me out here!”

The background scraping noise Trunks hadn’t noticed stopped as a third voice demanded, “Drink your milk or I’ll beat the tar out of you.” The voice was harsh and gruff but muffled by what he assumed was a mouthful of food. He thought it sounded familiar, too, but he couldn’t place it as the scraping and clanking of dishware continued. He heard the young boy groan in defeat.

“So why do you think he came back this time?” asked the voice of Bizarro-Bulma. Her voice sounded curious, but also concerned.

“Perhaps to warn of a new threat,” the man grunted, still chewing. “Probably Majin Buu, in that case.”

“Oh, I hope not!” she cried. “Don’t you think he’s been through enough?”

The man said nothing and for a while only the sounds of eating could be heard. Trunks only felt more confused. The pain in his head was subsiding, but the conversation he’d overheard made no sense and he couldn’t get over the familiarity of the man’s voice. He was sure that if he could just hear him speak without food in his mouth he’d be able to tell who was speaking. Then perhaps he’d be able to piece something together. As the minutes dragged by, however, he teetered on the edge of showing himself. He was growing impatient.

There was a sudden disturbance in the room around the corner. Trunks held his breath, attentively listening for anything that might clue him in. Then a fourth voice spoke.

“Morning, everyone!” It was also strangely familiar, yet different. He knew who it sounded like, but knew it couldn’t be him. His thoughts didn’t go any further than that as speech broke out again.

“Hi, Gohan!” cried out the child and there was the distinct scraping of a moving chair. Trunks tensed up at the spoken name. There was a scuffling sound and a strangled yelp before the chair scraped again.

“Milk,” came a dangerous growl.

“Good morning, Gohan,” the female said happily. “How was your week?”

“Pretty hectic, actually,” he admitted. “Last exams before I head off to college in the autumn. Assuming I figure out how to pay for it, that is.”

“What?” she asked, incredulous. “Weren’t you offered any scholarships?”

“Not enough,” he said uncomfortably. “Unfortunately they don’t give out big scholarships for saving the planet,” he laughed nervously; a shiver ran down Trunks’s spine. “On the bright side, now that Summer’s here I’ll have a lot more time to train!”

“You’ll be here every day,” barked the older man, “or I’ll blast you to pieces!” Trunks knew the voice too well, but he couldn’t believe it. How could it be? Was he dead?

“Gohan, you’ll never guess who showed up last night!” The youngest one burst back into the conversation, blurting out the words he was apparently dying to say.

“Who?” asked the newcomer, audibly amused.

“Me! I did!” he shouted, ready to burst from the excitement. “Me from the future!”

“What?!” said the older boy in disbelief. His voice became sharper when he asked, “Why?”

“I don’t know,” said the gruff voice. The dawning realization that it belonged to his father was stifled as Vegeta said mockingly, “Why don’t you ask him? He’s been standing around the corner eavesdropping for at least ten minutes.”

Trunks sighed. Unsure whether or not he was dreaming, he knew that either way there was no point in trying to deceive his father. He stepped forward and into the entryway to the large kitchen, smiling sheepishly and blushing.

His eyes swept the room. He saw his mother at the sink, smiling brightly back at him. Her hair was much shorter, around ear-length, and she looked at least a decade younger. He saw his father seated at the table. Vegeta looked just as he always had and was smirking, staring fixedly at the future version of his son. Then, Trunks let his eyes come to rest on Gohan. His eyebrows lifted and he inhaled sharply.

He looked so much different than Trunks remembered. His hair was longer and stood up in long, straight spikes save for a bit in the front that hung over his forehead. The scars on his face were gone and he had both arms. His body was slighter and leaner, garbed in a loose, pale blue training gi. Trunks knew it was Gohan when blue eyes met black. The cheerful grin lighting up his face was unmistakable.

“Sorry,” Trunks managed to mumble, not tearing his eyes from the tall half-Saiyan standing across the room.

His mother was here, but she looked and acted differently. His father and Gohan were alive. Trunks furrowed his brow in concentration. He felt a tug at his side and looked down into eyes slightly smaller but identical in color to his own. He gasped as he saw the lavender hair and the face identical to what his had once been.

He was in the past.

Memories came flooding back, temporarily dissolving the room around him. The lake, reflecting the stars above; the inscription passing under his fingertips; the window, flecked with raindrops and illuminated by flashes of lightning; his mother, crumpled on the floor; a mug of tea swirling in his hand; blue eyes, streaking tears down a pained face. Trunks clutched at an adjacent countertop to hold himself up as understanding struck him.

***********************************

Gohan couldn’t help himself. Actually, he rarely could. His lips stretched outward as his face split into a broad grin.

He beamed at the time-traveling demi-Saiyan as he stepped into the kitchen, looking thoroughly embarrassed. Gohan was extremely glad to see him again; after all these years he’d stopped believing that he ever would. He looked exactly as Gohan remembered from the days of the Cell games, with his long lavender hair; vibrant, azure eyes; tall, lean frame; and sharp, regal features that disguised his kind and gentle nature.

The older version of Trunks had been an awe-inspiring figure for young Gohan. He had endured tragedy that Gohan could not fathom and arrived fortuitously to save his father and the planet from the same fate as in his own timeline. He was the consummate survivor who had conquered even time itself. He had been the first to tell Gohan that he could and would become a Super Saiyan, and he was the first to prove that Goku was not the only one capable of the feat.

Whenever Gohan had been feeling insecure or unsure of himself, Trunks always had a story about his future counterpart to reassure him. Gohan had found the older boy’s storytelling fascinating and a great source of motivation; the suffering that Trunks described drove Gohan like nothing else, not just to prevent it from becoming his reality but also to ensure that the time traveler’s trip was not in vain.

What Gohan found most alluring about him, though, was his empathy. Trunks always seemed to understand the frustration Gohan was experiencing in pushing his limits. Where Piccolo or his father would always give him training tips or some kind of advice Trunks gave him something else entirely: empathy. He didn’t make any further demands on Gohan, he didn’t tell him to push harder or how to do it. He simply listened to the younger boy and related how he’d experienced similar problems. Trunks had been a friend who Gohan could relate to and from whom Gohan felt no pressure.

Gohan was drawn back to the present as he heard a gasp. Trunks was looking at him. There was a moment where Gohan simply grinned at Trunks’s startled expression before the latter smiled sheepishly.

“Sorry,” he mumbled to the silent room. Gohan saw him processing the scene before he looked down at Chibi Trunks, who was eagerly tugging at his pants to get his attention, his eyes full of wonder.

The taller of the two lavender-haired demis gasped. His expression was one of horrified shock. He quickly grabbed the countertop to hold himself up. Gohan surmised that seeing himself at that age was something he hadn’t expected and that it held some untold implication for how and why he was in this timeline. The possibilities buzzed inside Gohan’s head until Trunks croaked, just loudly enough for the room to hear.

“What is the date?”

“The eighth of June,” Bulma said uncertainly, glancing at Vegeta. He was staring unsmiling at the elder Trunks.

“What year?” Trunks asked, his voice still quiet and croaky.

“Seven-seventy-four,” Bulma replied.

Gohan could practically hear the whirring of the time-traveler’s brain at work. Trunks’s knuckles were white with the strength of his grip, his eyes were moving rapidly from side to side under quick-blinking lids, and his breathing was shallow. He didn’t look surprised at the fact that he’d just jumped more than a decade back in time as much as frantic.

“Where is the time machine?” he asked suddenly. Gohan looked up. His voice was much calmer and he appeared to have quickly regained his composure. He was standing unsupported now, though he continued to stare at the floor. After a moment Gohan noticed that his eyes were flicking frequently at Vegeta; Gohan chanced a glance as well to find the pureblood still wearing that same impassive expression, his arms folded.

Bulma hesitated before answering. “Well,” she began. “Most of it is on the ground out behind the compound. Vegeta put out the flames before he pulled you out, and I think one of the engines might still be stuck in the tree.” She wrung her hands nervously around a towel. “I was going to haul it in but I thought you’d better see it first, I didn’t want to make things any worse.”

There was another long interlude of silence before Vegeta clicked his tongue impatiently. “Well? Aren’t you going to tell us why you’re here, or did you come all this way just to be a statue to adorn this kitchen?” he mocked, ever the gentleman.

“Vegeta!”

“Vegeta!”

Bulma and Gohan voiced their outrage in chorus at his gruff treatment. Trunks was unfazed.

“I…” he hesitated briefly, “I don’t know. I can’t remember.”

“Oh, well that’s just fantastic. We’ll hope that it’s not some horrible new threat about to destroy all life on Earth that you wanted to warn us about while you take your sweet-ass time,” Vegeta spat irritably.

“It’s not,” Trunks was quick to assure him. “That much I do remember.” He furrowed his brow in concentration, his eyes shut tight. “Trust me.”

“Hn,” was all Vegeta could offer. Gohan glanced their way to see Bulma giving her husband a quelling look. Then, she turned to speak to the future incarnation of her son.

“So, Trunks,” she began.

“Yeah, Mom?”

“Yes?”

The lavender-haired namesakes looked at each other quizzically before breaking into near-identical grins.

“Mirai Trunks,” Bulma specified. She looked apologetically at the elder of the pair and asked, “I hope you don’t mind the nickname?”

“Not at all,” he said. There was a loud rumble of what sounded like thunder and Mirai blushed furiously. “I’m the one imposing, after all.”

Bulma slapped her forehead in mock exasperation. “Four Saiyans!” she sighed. “I’m going to have to hire a cook!” She smiled and indicated the table, “Go ahead and sit and I’ll get back to it. You must be starving!”

“Thanks a lot,” he said, genuinely grateful. She winked.

Gohan watched with his own trademark grin spread across his face. He was always amazed at how Bulma could diffuse the tension of a conversation, especially where Vegeta was concerned. The blur of little Trunks leaving the room, grateful for the distraction, did not escape his notice. He had a feeling his little brother would soon know of Mirai Trunks’s arrival.

“Only three Saiyans, woman, if all goes as it should today,” Vegeta chimed in. He didn’t see Bulma’s rotating figure, her eyes rolling at him as he turned to address Gohan. “My son will be eating your remains for dinner,” he declared. Gohan yawned pointedly, leaning his chair back on two legs with his eyes closed.

“If you keep starving the kid he’s never going to grow into that enormous head of his!” Gohan said. He opened one eyelid and the dark iris it concealed swept over the Saiyan Prince as he paused. “Well, like father like son I guess.” Vegeta smirked.

“Is that why you wear that clown suit, Gohan?” he asked.

Crash. Gohan had fallen backward in his chair, his feet kicking the table’s underside. He scrambled to his feet and shouted at a laughing Vegeta, “IT IS NOT A CLOWN SUIT!”

“You tell him, Gohan!” Bulma screamed while brandishing a still-sizzling frying pan. “It’s the pinnacle of modern fashion!”

Gohan blushed as he got back into his seat. Vegeta seemed to be satisfied with his provocation and was now back to smiling quietly as he stared at the ceiling. Gohan saw Trunks looking simply aghast at his father before realizing that he was staring and looking back down at his lap. Gohan couldn’t help but grin. This Trunks was so very different from the one he’d become familiar with. He was polite, innocent, reserved, and modest. As sometimes happened Gohan’s thoughts transferred to his mouth without filter.

“Man, it’s really great to see you again, Trunks,” he said. Trunks looked up.

“You too,” he said. He started to choke another syllable; as if he was going to address the person he was talking to by name but decided not to. Gohan noticed that the other demi didn’t seem to want to look at him. His grin faded a little.

“So, how long are you planning to stay?” he asked. Immediately he regretted it, remembering the wrecked time machine stuck in a tree.

“I’m not sure, it depends how long it takes for me to get the time machine working again. My mother invented and built it mostly on her own, so I don’t know how much I can do. Could be long-term,” he said, staring at his lap again. He spoke evenly, but the concern was evident in his face. “Could be forever,” he finished under his breath. Gohan thanked his Saiyan senses.

“Well, you’re welcome to stay here as long as you like,” Bulma said as she heaped mounds of scrambled eggs, fried potato cubes, bacon, French toast, and assorted berries in front of Trunks. “We’ll help any way we can.”

Trunks’s eyes lit up at the sustenance placed before him and he gave a hurried, “Thank you!” before digging in. He ate slowly and composedly for someone of his heritage, Gohan thought, and wondered why the boy sitting across from him felt the need to use table manners with them.

No one spoke for a long while. Trunks, oblivious to everything around him as he ate, did not notice Gohan’s eyes fixed intently on him. Gohan still couldn’t land on an explanation for his fascination with the time traveler any more than he could stop himself grinning. Memories of some of the most fulfilling days of his life were swelling inside him: watching Frieza be defeated, preparing for the androids, training to become a Super Saiyan. As he came to the last, an idea struck him.

“Trunks, why don’t you train with us today?” he blurted out. Vegeta made a startled movement and Gohan looked warningly at him in case he tried to protest.

“Hm, yes,” the pureblood said thoughtfully. He smirked. “You can help me beat this brat once and for all.” Vegeta jerked a thumb at Gohan, who was in turn grinning at Trunks, who was in turn looking like a deer in the headlights. He swallowed the remaining food in his mouth hard.

“Well, alright,” he said tentatively. There was a scraping sound as Vegeta abruptly got to his feet.

“Let’s go, then. We’ve wasted enough time,” the prince commanded. Gohan also got up from his seat, which unlike Vegeta he tucked back under the table. They were standing shoulder-to-shoulder, staring down across the table at Trunks. With a start he also raised himself out of his seat and tucked it in, then stood waiting for them to lead him to wherever it was they were going.

“Step over here, please, Trunks,” Gohan said.

“Um, alright,” Trunks replied as he walked around the long, rectangular table to where his father and Gohan stood. Still not wanting to look the latter in the face, his eyes came to rest somewhere he knew they had even less place in being. Yet as he gazed at the firm area that crowned the back of Gohan’s muscular thighs he found he couldn’t look away. More surprising was what Gohan said next.

“Grab on.”

Trunks gave a start and couldn’t help himself. His fiercely-blushing face looked into Gohan’s, which was smiling kindly. The darker-haired demi was indicating his own shoulder with one hand.

“Ah, right,” Trunks said. He hesitated a moment before resting a hand on Gohan’s shoulder, gripping only lightly. He was again averting his face, his head spinning at what had just happened.

“I still hate this. It’s emasculating,” Vegeta said as the sound of rushing air filled the room. With a soft whistle the short Saiyan prince, the tall, dark-haired teenager, and the thoroughly embarrassed lavender-haired time-traveler vanished on the spot.

***********************************

Trunks’s knees buckled as they slammed hard into solid ground. It was all he could do to stop from falling flat on his face. His skin was tingling and he felt slightly winded. Looking around he noticed that the experience didn’t seem to bother Vegeta or Gohan: they were already stretching. This wasn’t their first time traveling by Instantaneous Movement and he supposed that they were accustomed to the sensations by now. Trunks wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to it.

“First time’s always the worst,” Gohan reassured, holding a knee to his chest as his boot grazed his spiky hair. Trunks looked away quickly, not trusting himself after the incident at Capsule Corp. just a few minutes earlier. Surveying the rocky, barren landscape he had the odd feeling that he’d been here before.

“This place looks familiar,” Trunks commented off-hand.

He knew it was pretty unlikely, and he couldn’t quite place just what it was about this place. He might have been more inclined to trust his instinct had he seen the panicked look on Gohan’s face as the dark-haired demi clapped his hands to his mouth to stifle a yelp. All he caught was a dismissive grunt from Vegeta as he continued warming up, furthering Trunks’s doubts.

“I guess these volcanic deserts in the middle of nowhere all tend to blend together after a while,” Gohan said in an abnormally high-pitched voice. Trunks chanced a glance to see that trademark grin as Gohan rubbed the back of his head absently. He looked away again quickly.

‘They look so alike,’ Trunks lamented to himself. He was almost instantly distracted, then, by an enormous, swelling energy. Looking up at the noise of impatience his father made he watched as Vegeta transformed. The Saiyan’s hair grew a bit longer and flashed as it turned a bright golden blonde. As the wind whirled around the man, sending puffs of dust outward, Trunks noticed that his father looked a bit different in this state than he remembered to go along with his drastically increased power level. When little electrical sparks began dancing in the glowing aura, Trunks gaped.

“You…” he blurted, pointing at Vegeta. “You’re like,” he paused, then moved his pointing finger in Gohan’s direction. “Like him?” he finished. He’d only sensed power of that kind once before.

“Hell no,” he spat, sticking his nose in the air and folding his arms. “I am a warrior, not a clown.” Trunks continued to stare in disbelief at Vegeta before the latter clarified, “But yes, I have ascended to the second level of Super Saiyan.”

“Wow, Father, that’s amazing!” Trunks gushed. He supposed the man’s trademark dedication must have paid off in the years since Cell.

“Hnh, don’t be too proud of me,” Vegeta said, the air still crackling around him. “As always, the Clown family is one or two steps ahead. Ready, Gohan?” he addressed the dark-haired demi-Saiyan, and Trunks was surprised to hear that gruff voice uttering his master’s name.

“Sure.” The nonchalance in Gohan’s voice broke Trunks’s reverent reverie. His aura was glowing faintly and the air seemed to be rippling his loose gi, but he hadn’t ascended to Super Saiyan. Trunks tried to reach out for his energy level, but found it indistinct and difficult to read. “Care to join in, Trunks? We could have a three-way!” Gohan suggested eagerly. Trunks hoped that he wasn’t blushing at the social naivety that exceeded even his own.

“I think I’ll just watch for now,” he said. “I just ate, and I’m still feeling a little woozy.” It was true, though the feeling had nothing to do with his explosive arrival at Capsule.

“Alright then,” said Gohan, crouching back into a defensive stance. “Ready when you are, Your Highness.” He was smirking confidently.

Trunks leapt a few dozen yards backwards just in time as Vegeta launched himself full-force at his sparring partner. He moved so fast that his son could barely keep up, and when he caught sight of the battling pair between clouds of dust he saw Vegeta putting up a vicious frontal assault.

To his astonishment, however, Gohan was blocking and dodging every punch and kick the older Saiyan threw at him – with one arm behind his back. Yawning, he vanished and re-appeared a few hundred feet in the air. Vegeta pursued him relentlessly, kicking up the intensity until––

WHAM.

Gohan had brought his unused right arm down on Vegeta who crashed straight down. Awe-struck, Trunks almost didn’t notice the dark-haired fighter he was staring at grinning and waving in his direction. How was this possible? He hadn’t even transformed into a Super-Saiyan. There wasn’t much time to ponder it, however.

Gohan did a vertical back-flip and kicked away a large ki blast that was approaching behind him quickly enough to meet with his forearms the blows of a not-so-large Vegeta that appeared in front of him. Vegeta was attacking with renewed vigor, and the two of them were becoming increasingly difficult for Trunks to follow. On the occasions that they did stay in one place briefly, he always caught a glimpse of Gohan giving him a thumbs-up or a two-fingered “victory” sign. The fifth time this happened, Vegeta had had enough.

“Stop toying with me!” he roared as his fury propelled a punch past Gohan’s defenses to connect with his jaw. The fighting paused as the taller fighter recoiled a little before quickly regaining his stance. He said something that Trunks could not hear from such a distance.

The ground began to vibrate slightly. Dust whirled around the ground below the airborne Saiyans. Gohan let out a short scream. A blast of heated air hit Trunks and, simultaneously, the wave of Gohan’s energy signal crashed over him. It was unfathomable, beyond anything he’d ever felt or imagined by far; yet, he still wasn’t a Super Saiyan. Trunks fell backwards into a sitting position.

Trunks felt another rush of hot air before the two started clashing with thunderous crashes. They were now moving too fast for him to follow, save when Vegeta was sent hurtling into the ground or a rock face.

Trunks sat on his hands and haunches, dazed. As the distracting shock of his father’s and Gohan’s newly-attained power subsided, his overall predicament returned to the front of his mind. He inclined his head to the sky and squeezed his eyes shut.

His mother’s last words to him rang dully in his mind. Vegeta had asked him why he was here, which he had answered truthfully – he didn’t really know. How he was here he had pieced together from the memories of the previous night, though they felt like a lifetime ago. Did she really think that sending him into this past where he would be constantly reminded of everything he never had would make him happy? He could hardly look at Gohan’s or Bulma’s counterparts in this timeline. And what about the effect his presence would have on his own counterpart?

Still, there was a persistent fear tugging at him. Maybe she had simply said those things to spare his feelings. He had seen the fear in her eyes that night; maybe she had sent him back to a time where there were people who could keep his strength in check. Trunks didn’t want to believe his own mother capable of that kind of betrayal, but he couldn’t rid himself of the thought any more than he could suppress the feeling that such would have been justified.

Now that he was here he had no idea what to do next. He wasn’t wanted in his own time, but he didn’t want to impose and interfere in a place where he didn’t belong. He wasn’t sure he could bear living here, no matter how many times he reminded himself that this wasn’t “his” Gohan. Just hours after silently promising him that he would move on, Trunks had already resumed dwelling on his deceased master’s memory. He knew he should’ve been looking over his destroyed time machine at this very moment, but he’d been utterly unable to say no to that grin which he knew so well. It disarmed him completely, and he wasn’t sure he trusted himself not to do something incredibly stupid.

Almost as bad was seeing his parents together, living with his younger doppelganger, much happier than any of them had been in his own time. It was hard not to resent the differences in how things had turned out. It did nothing to help him move on from the immense losses he continued to struggle with.

Lost in thought, Trunks mulled over his predicament and tried to sort everything out in his head. Consequently, he’d become oblivious to the battle that continued to rage nearby – not that he could follow it, anyway. It took him a moment to realize, therefore, that someone was shouting his name.

***********************************

“As you wish, milord.”

Gohan knew mockery to be an adequate way to irk Vegeta in defiance of a demand to take things more seriously. He smirked in satisfaction. Vegeta needed a little humiliation for making fun of his Saiyaman outfit. And for being insensitive towards a clearly troubled Trunks, of course. Gohan was the only one – aside from his unwilling father – who could teach the Saiyan Prince these lessons in a language he understood. That is, the fist. He wouldn’t go all the way, that was quite unnecessary, but he at least wanted to give Vegeta a roughing up to tire him out. He had the welfare of his surrogate younger brother in mind. Even the energy and enthusiasm of an 8-year-old demi-Saiyan couldn’t hope to match the Prince’s intensity.

“That’s more like it!” Vegeta said with apparent relish as he, too, pushed his power level upward.

Gohan’s muscles tensed as he ceased suppressing his energy and instead began focusing it. The comfortable warmth flowed through his muscles as he powered up. He let out a roar to match its intensity that signaled he was ready to move past the playful first stage of their sparring match.

Gohan looked quickly at Trunks, smiling at the bewildered look on the older demi’s face as he began to match Vegeta blow-for-blow. Soon the course of their training consumed his attention, though he found himself occasionally casting glances toward the figure on the ground some distance away. What he saw was concerning him.

Far from the looks of awe that had lit up his face a short time ago, Trunks now wore an expression of pained contemplation. Given his behavior at breakfast earlier, Gohan was getting an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach about the time-traveler’s arrival. There could only be a handful of explanations for why Trunks might lie about the reason for his return to this timeline.

These drifting thoughts were jarring Gohan’s concentration. Vegeta seemed to have noticed, too, as he landed a number of significant punches and kicks that Gohan should have blocked with ease. On the sixth such occasion, Vegeta relented in order to speak.

“You’re sloppy today, Gohan,” he said.

“Nah, I just feel bad. It must get boring never being able to hit me,” Gohan responded, waving his hand airily.

“If you want to fight us both so badly you should have asked. I’m sure he’d be happy to oblige,” Vegeta said. To Gohan’s horror he turned to regard the lavender-haired demi sitting on the ground below. “Trunks!” he barked.

“Vegeta, don’t!” Gohan hissed. He knew all the good it would do, but he was desperate.

“Trunks!” he repeated. “Hey, pretty-boy, I’m talking to you! Trunks!” Vegeta continued, more agitated. It yielded the desired result as Trunks came out of his trance, getting to his feet and looking quizzically at his father and Gohan. The latter smiled apologetically; he half-heartedly hoped that this would at least distract the other demi from whatever was troubling him.

“Get up here and help me––” Gohan still thought these words sounded strange in Vegeta’s harsh voice, “––kick the crap out of this brat!” Trunks looked taken aback for a moment. Then he shrugged.

“Alright,” he said. “But I don’t think I’ll be able to keep up with the two of you.”

Again the ground began to shake as a golden aura grew brighter and brighter around Trunks. His hair sprung up in blonde spikes as a circular wind whipped the sand off the ground around him. He was gritting his teeth and completely tensed up; Gohan realized that the older demi was pushing himself to his limits. A raucous scream echoed off the rock faces as Trunks gathered every ounce of his strength.

“Hn. He hasn’t gotten any stronger since he left,” Vegeta said. Gohan merely glared.

Vegeta was right, but he wasn’t going to validate his derision. It was clear that not as much time had passed in Trunks’s timeline as had in theirs. Trunks was still immensely powerful by any measure, moreso than either Goten or the younger Trunks by quite a margin. With a final burst of energy he launched from the ground and was at his father’s side. He was wearing a cocky smile so extraordinarily like the one next to him that it made a muscle twitch in Gohan’s cheek.

“Well,” Gohan said slowly, drawing himself up into an unnaturally straight posture and sticking his nose in the air. “I suppose it’s only fair that I give you the first punch,” he said, looking down at Trunks. He extended his hand in a gesture of “come-get-some”.

His opponents looked sideways at each other and, with a brief nod, vanished. Gohan caught Vegeta with an elbow to the stomach. The elder Saiyan had been trying to grab him from behind. Then the wind was knocked from his lungs as a fist met his stomach and arrogant teal eyes met his stunned dark ones. Gohan seized the opportunity. Trunks crashed to the ground, his head in agony from the brutal blow it had suffered by a genetically-hardened Son skull.

There was no time to celebrate as Gohan spun around to catch a kick from Vegeta, who was throwing a relentless barrage of punches that took quite an effort to block. Not enough effort to distract him from the ki blast quickly approaching from behind him. Smiling at Vegeta, he vanished with a whoosh and a whistle as the Saiyan was blasted by his son’s attack.

“I hope I didn’t give you a headache,” Gohan said thoughtfully. Trunks, whom he was standing behind, made a jerk of surprise. He spun around and made an all-out frontal assault. The expression of cockiness had been replaced by one of fierce determination, which might’ve made Gohan drift off with nostalgia if Vegeta hadn’t been aiming a two-footed torpedo-kick at his head.

Holding off Trunks’s punches with one hand, Gohan reached out and grabbed Vegeta by the ankles, swung him around, and clubbed him into Trunks’s side. Father and son slammed into a cliff a kilometer away. A drop of sweat trailed down Gohan’s forehead and onto his nose. He crossed his eyes to look at it.

“Wow! Guys, look! You made me break a sweat!” he called. “Hey Vegeta, maybe if you can get the rest of your family out here you can actually give me that beating you keep promising!”

Had Gohan not been laughing jovially at his own great humor, he might have observed that they had both been down far too long and were clearly up to something. Unfortunately, this did not occur to him until dozens of ki blasts started issuing from the ground below. He knew as very few of them went for him precisely what attack this was, and watched as they began to hang in mid-air around him. He sighed.

As the balls of energy made their sudden inward movement to blow him up, Gohan disappeared once more, reappearing with a whistle some distance above the explosion.

“Like I’m that slow,” he said with exasperation.

“Just in the head,” Trunks shouted as his foot connected with Gohan’s jaw, sending him flying to the ground.

“Nice hit,” Vegeta said, coming to a mid-air rest a few feet behind his son. “We seem to be getting quite a few of those in on him.”

“Thanks,” Trunks said. He blushed faintly. Praise from his father was a rare treat. He was glad his back was turned.

“That boy is not on top of his game today,” Vegeta went on, thinking aloud. “Maybe it would be better if––” he trailed off for a moment. “Yes,” he said firmly.

Before Trunks even registered the apparently incoherent conversation his father was having with himself, Vegeta was above him, his arms raised high and his hands clamped together in a double fist. He slammed down hard on a stunned Trunks, who hardly had time to react, and smashed into the ground. Vegeta hung in the air, cackling like a maniac.

“That was a cheap shot,” Gohan said. His voice was stern, not angry, but the emotion showed in his face.

“Yes, it killed me to do it but if you’re going to go soft on him then what use is that? He will benefit from a real challenge more than either of us,” Vegeta explained in a low voice. Some things about Vegeta would never change, it seemed.

“You two will fight me now,” Vegeta called so that Trunks could hear as well, ignoring Gohan’s admonishing glare.

“As you wish, my liege,” Gohan growled. Vegeta had the shortest of moments to contemplate whether he’d made a mistake before Gohan was on him.

A punch to the stomach; a kick to the ribs; a knee to the face; a punch to the jaw; Gohan grabbed Vegeta by the ankle and threw him, reeling in pain, far off to the side. Gohan was waiting for him, and kicked him hard, further into the sky. Again, Gohan was waiting for him. He grabbed onto Vegeta’s back and took him into a vertical dive. He flew as fast as he could, far faster than gravity could have pulled him, and at the last possible opportunity let go of his prey. Vegeta blasted into the ground with a deafening crash.

Gohan, unsatisfied, was already several hundred feet above the still-forming Vegeta Crater. He crossed his hands over his forehead and focused his energy to that point.

“Masenko––” the first word was quiet, but the last syllable came out in a mad scream. “––HAAA!”

A short but vast, intense beam of energy shot from his palm as he thrust his hands downward. It was far from enough to kill him, or even cause him serious harm, but Gohan hoped that Vegeta would get the point from the unusually vicious attack. Saiyan or no, getting the crap kicked out of him missed the point of a spar. It didn’t do him – or anyone – any good.

Gohan sighed and lowered himself to the ground, landing beside Trunks. The other demi looked shocked and at a complete loss for what to do. He knew Trunks could sense power levels and thus that his father wasn’t dead, but he was all too aware that it probably looked like harsh treatment. This Trunks had an immense respect for Vegeta and Gohan was suddenly uncomfortable that he might have trodden on the wrong ground.

The mount of rubble began to tremble and was blasted away in an outburst of golden energy. Vegeta, hanging amongst the falling dust and pebbles, eased himself back onto even ground and stood facing Gohan and Trunks. There was blood trailing from his forehead and lip. He looked sour.

“I think we’d better leave it there for today, Vegeta,” Gohan said. He eased his eyes towards the sky and continued, “It’s well past noon already and I’m getting kinda hungry!” As if on demand, his stomach grumbled, and he brought his hand up to absently scratch the back of his head, grinning apologetically.

“Fine,” he spat. “My son needs to stop lazing about the house, anyway.” Gohan’s eyes met Vegeta’s; he hoped his intention of wearing the older Saiyan down didn’t backfire. The only thing worse than a fresh Vegeta was a cranky one. Vegeta merely jerked his head and spit out a bit of blood. “Same time to-morrow, then?” he asked.

“As you please,” Gohan sighed. With that, Vegeta took to the sky and was soon far out of sight.

“It’s like having a child, with him, sometimes,” Gohan said wearily. Nevertheless, he was grinning. Trunks avoided his gaze, instead continuing to stare in the direction his father had disappeared.

“How did you do that?” he asked.

“Do what?” Gohan replied, puzzled.

“My father ascended to the next level of Super Saiyan yet you completely dominated him. You weren’t even trying the whole time, that was nowhere near your best, and you didn’t even transform. I didn’t think it was possible,” he explained. There remained a hint of that skepticism in his voice.

“Oooh, wow,” Gohan said, scratching his chin. “That’s going to take a long time to explain! Well, the short version is that I don’t need to transform into a Super Saiyan to channel my energy anymore,” he hesitated. He had reservations about telling the rest, but if Trunks was going to be here a while he’d hear it somehow. Gohan still felt he needed more time to think about how to lay it all out. “The long version can wait a while, I want to wash up and get something to eat!”

This time it was Trunks’s stomach that grumbled on prompt. Gohan grinned.

“Well I can’t say no to that,” sighed the lavender-haired demi. Gohan assumed he was talking about his stomach.

“Let’s go get washed up, then,” Gohan shouted over his shoulder as he ran to scoop up his somehow-unharmed duffel bag. He leapt back over to Trunks in one, graceful arc. His face alight with excitement he said, “Come on, I know just the place!”

Before Trunks could even think, Gohan had him by the forearm and he was overcome with a sick, swirling feeling. A short second that felt like a lifetime and his feet slammed hard into the ground. Again, he managed to keep himself standing but he felt distinctly winded, his skin tingling.

“You need to give me a bit more warning when you’re going to do that,” Trunks complained.

“Oh, sorry about that!” Gohan laughed. He was already pulling his shirt over his head.

They were standing on the edge of a vast lake. It sat nestled in a valley almost completely surrounded by mountains, lush greenery growing around much of the shoreline. Across the lake was a grassy slope down to the lakebed, bare except for a single, ancient tree whose broad-leafed canopy cast a vast shadow on the ground below. The water rippled slightly in the breeze and sparkled deep blue under the afternoon sun.

As Gohan tossed his shirt aside onto the bag in which he kept his change of clothes, a thought occurred to him. Trunks didn’t have a change with him – actually, he wasn’t sure if Trunks had brought anything with him from the future. He didn’t generally swim naked, but he also didn’t want his friend to feel uncomfortable doing so. Without a second thought Gohan dropped his pants and boxers, then slid the boots off his ankles.

“Last one in’s a rotten egg!” he shouted as he gave a great running jump and dove into the center of the lake.

***********************************

A thousand thoughts flitted through Trunks’s head. This was the place. He had just been here. That tree, slightly shorter and less broad, was still unmistakable. The incorrigible sounds of life that filled the trees and hills of the valley beneath Mount Paozu were all too familiar. Gohan, this Gohan, had no idea what he had done in bringing him here. How could he?

It was like every event was shaping itself to make Trunks’s fulfillment of his master’s last request as difficult as possible. He shuddered as a breeze whipped through his hair. He had to pull himself together. If he didn’t maintain his presence of mind in the here and now it would only create more problems for him. He took a deep breath.

Trunks looked around, intending to nonchalantly ask Gohan where they were, and he only caught his jaw mid-drop. Perhaps returning his focus to the here and now wasn’t the best plan. Gohan was running towards the lake, completely naked.

“Last one in’s a rotten egg!” Gohan shouted, jumping 20 feet into the air and diving straight down into the center of the lake.

It was a good thing the other demi-Saiyan was underwater, Trunks thought, or he might have noticed the deep, calming breaths the older boy was now taking. Or worse, the shifting fidgets of his legs. He glanced over to make sure he’d seen right, and all of Gohan’s clothes were indeed shed and piled near his bag. He groaned. Then Gohan surfaced with a splash.

“Whew!” he exclaimed. “The water’s perfect,” he called, slopping water over his head.

Trunks pulled his shirt over his head, taking care to fold it meticulously. Aside from the distraction, it provided him with precious seconds to get himself under control. He silently damned Gohan’s oblivious innocence. He sat on the ground and slowly unlaced his boots. Slipping them off, he stood back up and untied his pants. He stepped out of them, folded them carefully, and took a couple of deep breaths. Stacking his pants on his shirt, beside his boots, he slid his boxers off his hips, kicked them unceremoniously to the side, and ran at the lake. Imitating Gohan he jumped into the air, then dove in feet-first.

Trunks’s body screamed in protest as he plunged into the frigid depths. Maybe he just wasn’t used to bathing in mountain lakes like the Sons, but he had to wonder how Gohan had managed to move in the ice-cold water. He wouldn’t have to worry about any betrayals from his groin, at least. He popped his head back above the surface, his hair sopping wet and clinging to his face, to find Gohan grinning broadly. Damn him.

“You call this perfect?” Trunks said, his teeth chattering.

“No doubt,” Gohan said without breaking his grin.

Trunks wondered if Gohan was still referring to the water temperature. Instead of letting his mind convince itself of what it had wanted Gohan’s words to mean, he began shaking his head vigorously. Huge droplets of water went flying from his hair in all directions, and Gohan disappeared under the water with a playful yelp. Trunks stopped, feeling dizzy. Holding the sides of his head in a vain effort to steady it, he didn’t hear the other demi emerging silently from the water behind him.

Feeling himself dunked underwater by the forceful hand on his head, Trunks’s first instinct was to squeeze his eyes shut – he was afraid of what he might see down there. His second instinct was to mentally mope that his hair was now soaking wet again. It always took so long to dry. The pressure was released, and he kicked back to the surface. Gohan was laughing madly.

“I’ll get you back for that,” Trunks spluttered, his mouth full of water and hair. He knew he wouldn’t be able to make good on the threat now, when Gohan had his guard up, but that was fine. Trunks knew how to wait for vengeance.

“I’ll be waiting,” Gohan laughed, splashing an exasperated Trunks as he tried to wring water out of his hair. “How about that food, then?” Gohan asked cheerily.

“Alright,” Trunks said with an embellished growl. “I don’t blame you for wanting to get out of here before I drown you.”

Before he knew it, Trunks was plunging downward again, the other’s hand planted atop his head. His eyes raked over the bluey-green-tinted chest, stomach, hips… eek! He closed his eyes at once and as quickly as it had come, the hand forcing him down was gone. He shot back to the surface to see Gohan doing a graceful (and revealing) backstroke towards the shore. Blushing furiously, all he could do was grumble under his breath as he swam in the same direction.

Gohan was blasting and evaporating the water from his body with little waves of ki. Trunks tried to do the same, but found his hair kept simply dripping all over him. With a sigh he flipped his head forward and squeezed as much water out of it as possible, then tied it into the best ponytail he could manage. His unruly bangs still curtained his face.

Gohan was now wearing khaki pants, a beige shirt, and a rather hideous yellow sweater-vest. Trunks tried not to snigger, but failed, and had to cover it up with a fake sneeze. His pajamas-turned-training clothes weren’t exactly the pinnacle of fashion this season, but he’d never honestly believed anyone would dress… like that. A flutter of a memory of the morning’s beakfast made him wonder if this was the “costume” his father had referred to.

“Come on, this way,” Gohan said, walking around the edge of the lake. Trunks groaned inwardly. Of course, it was his favorite place in the whole world too. They were the same person to an extent, after all. Trunks followed along silently.

“Here we go,” Gohan said, coming to a stop on the edge of the shade the tree provided from the sun, still high in the sky. “No better place for a picnic!” he assured.

“Is that so?” Trunks asked absently. He was avoiding looking at Gohan again. ‘This is too much,’ he thought to himself, gazing with unfocused eyes towards the mountains beyond the lake.

“Yup!” Gohan affirmed, now resting his head in his palm. “Now, where to get food…” he trailed off for a moment. “No, no, no,” he said slowly to himself. “No, ah – wait! He’s not training so he must be…” Gohan snapped his fingers with a look of triumph and said, “I will be right back, with food!” Trunks felt a slight whooshing of air and a low whistle as Gohan vanished completely.

It felt so strange being here, not just because it was a different time. If he looked over the hill he’d see the house still inhabited and kempt, the road paved, the scene cozy. Even as he sat here the tree beside him looked healthy, the whole world seemed more alive, happier. Or perhaps that was what he perceived as the difference, because in one world he visited this place without Gohan and in the other he visited with him. It was alarming what an effect this simple locale could have on him.

Gohan reppeared as suddenly and in the same fashion as he had disappeared. He was smiling broadly behind a tablecloth he was holding in his teeth. In each hand he balanced a plate stacked high with fat sandwiches. Pressed between his arm and his side was a bottle of what appeared to be red wine. Yet, something wasn’t right, here.

“Gohan, where did you get all this and why is your back smoking?” Trunks asked, as there was indeed a trail of smoke issuing from behind his shoulders.

“Uh-jee-ah,” he managed from behind the tablecloth. “Hel’,” he said, offering the two plates to Trunks, who took them. Gohan set the wine down as he spread the tablecloth wide over the grass. Trunks put the plates down and sat.

The dark-haired demi had other plans, though; looking momentarily stunned he shouted, “Idea!” and again vanished from sight. He reappeared in the same spot moments later, cradling two dozen huge, red apples in his arms and looking the pure embodiment of glee. Trunks, who watched from the corner of his eye in spite of himself, couldn’t help but smile, too.

“You really like that teleporting trick, don’t you?” Trunks asked.

“Of course,” said Gohan, looking up curiously from the apples he was stacking into a neat pyramid. “Every kid’s favorite toy is his newest one!” he said. Trunks chuckled after a moment.

“I guess that’s the sort of analogy I’d expect from someone who has teddy bears on his underwear.”

“At least I don’t wear my hair like a girl,” Gohan remarked as he triumphantly placed the last apple on top. Checkmate.

Trunks pulled a few locks of hair in front of his eyes. “You think so too, huh? Maybe I should cut it,” he said, crestfallen.

“Nah, I was only kidding,” Gohan said, visibly surprised by the sudden change in Trunks’s demeanor. “I think you look better with longer hair. It makes you look older and more, er… warrior-like,” he said, fidgeting a little. Breaking the tension he grabbed an apple and took half of it off in one bit. “And don’t worry, the teddies forgive you,” he said as he looked to select a sandwich.

Trunks picked up a turkey and swiss sandwich on rye as he pondered that. So was that how Gohan viewed him? The sword-wielding Super Saiyan warrior from the future? He wasn’t sure what to make of that. He supposed Gohan had been young and impressionable by figures that seemed larger than life. Trunks had a hard time thinking of himself in such a way.

“Hey are you going to finish that today, or what?” Gohan blurted. Trunks looked up to see him holding a sandwich in each hand, his mouth bulging. “You better eat like you mean it or you’re not going to get any!”

Trunks chuckled. “Master Gohan always used to tell me that if we were going to train like Saiyans, we ought to eat like humans,” he explained, taking another measured bite. Gohan nodded.

“My mother’s words, almost exactly,” he said. “I used to live by them, too, until Goten came along. I’d have starved to death long ago if I didn’t get used to eating like this,” Gohan explained before swallowing another sandwich whole.

“Goten?” Trunks said, bemused; that was twice he’d heard about this person now. Gohan slapped his palm to his forehead.

“Of course! Goten is my little brother––” Trunks gasped as Gohan went on, “––who was born shortly after you left, after the Cell games. He’s about a year younger than you, in this timeline. Looks a lot like Dad. Eats like him, too,” he said, rubbing his chin as he thought of his family.

The change in dynamic stunned Trunks into silence; Gohan had a real brother. The small alterations to history in this timeline were already sending ripples that would go on forever through the fabric of time. It was unnerving to have exerted that kind of influence almost unwittingly.

They went on eating, Trunks a bit more hastily, and passing back and forth the bottle of wine for some time. Trunks wondered just how much else had changed. When the food was gone he was ready with a barrage of questions, but Gohan seemed to think it was his turn now. They both laid back, their arms folded behind their heads and stared at the spots of blue sky visible between the gaps in the tree’s branches.

“So what happened?” he asked abruptly, catching Trunks off-guard. “When you returned,” Gohan clarified. “We were worried when we didn’t hear from you again.” Trunks felt a wave of guilt overcome him.

“I did it,” he said simply. “I killed them both. Quickly. I destroyed Gero’s lab, and when Cell came a few months later, I killed him,” he said, unable and not really wanting to keep the hatred out of his voice. “With both timelines safe I didn’t want to risk intermingling them again. I kept the time machine safe at my side where it could be protected and intended to never use it again,” he went on. The bitterness in his voice was almost tangible, heating the air.

“But you did,” Gohan said gently. “Why?”

“I already told you all, I don’t know why.” Trunks gulped. His throat was tightening and urging him. “It wasn’t my choice,” he croaked.

“Ah,” said Gohan. “Then, do you have any theories on why or how you fell from the sky over Capsule Corp. this morning?” he asked. There was no pressure in his voice. Trunks damned the younger demi’s compassion and his insight.

“Several.”

“Do you want to talk about them?”

“Not really.”

“Okay.

Trunks felt horrible for being so terse. Gohan was the one person here he wanted to open up to most and also the one person that he could never allow himself to open up to. There was too much potential to cause confusion for the both of them, and while he knew his own life couldn’t get much more destroyed, Trunks wanted to spare that of Gohan.

“Trunks?” Gohan prompted suddenly, rolling onto his stomach to look into those radiant azure eyes. “Does it have anything to do with why you’ve refused to look at me all day?” he asked, not waiting for an acknowledgment. Trunks’s blood went cold. Of course he’d have noticed.

“I, uh…” Trunks stammered. Words failed him. He cast around for the right words, but as none came, Gohan spoke again.

“It’s okay Trunks, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked, it was just bothering me,” Gohan said quickly to diffuse the sudden tension.

“No, it’s fine, it’s just that, well, you look,” Trunks paused and took a deep breath. He sounded like an idiot. “You just remind me of him. My master, Gohan. You look and act a lot alike. No surprise there, I guess,” Trunks said and he gave a feeble laugh. Gohan didn’t smile.

Trunks sighed and went on, “He meant a lot to me. He was my father, my brother, my best friend, my mentor. He was everything to me, and he gave everything for me. Killing the androids and Cell didn’t bring me any kind of closure, and when I see you it’s a reminder of all that I lost.” Trunks had said more than he meant to, but the feelings bubbled so close to the surface that they flowed easily from his tongue.

“I’m sorry,” Gohan said. “For bombarding you with all of this. I didn’t mean it to be some kind of interrogation, you just look like you’ve got a lot on your mind and it doesn’t do to keep too many secrets. Just thought you might need to talk.”

“Thanks, Gohan. Maybe I’ll take you up on that when I’m not so confused myself,” Trunks said.

“Oh, speaking of that, I promised you a lengthy story, didn’t I?” Gohan asked, his chin in his hands. Trunks nodded, though he still didn’t make eye contact.

“Well,” Gohan began, “I guess it all started about a month ago, now, at the 31^st World Martial Arts Tournament. Dad was resurrected for a day…”

***********************************

“…Now all that’s left of him his Good Buu, who most of us just call Buu. He lives with Videl’s dad, Mr. Satan, in hiding for now. Dad promised that when a year has passed and we can use the Dragonballs again we’re going to erase all memory of the whole incident so that he can live here in peace.

“So that’s the story! All in such a short span of time, too, it’s almost hard to fathom – and I was there!” Gohan said. His voice was getting hoarse but he was still full of energy. “So, any questions?”

“Mr. Satan? Really?”

“Yeah, if you can believe it!” Gohan chuckled. “He turned out alright in the end, really, helping Dad and Vegeta, pacifying Buu. He even gave his blessing for me to marry Videl,” Gohan said cheerily, scratching the back of his head without realizing what he was doing. Several long moments of silence passed.

He looked down at Trunks, who was just laying back, frowning slightly, too taken aback to express any serious thought. Gohan had warned him that it was a long story, hadn’t he? He shifted uncomfortably. This was Bulma’s son, he hoped he wasn’t thinking of exactly what Gohan was afraid he was thinking.

“Why did you say Babidi came to Earth again?” Trunks asked. Yep, that’s what he was thinking.

“To resurrect Majin Buu,” Gohan said nervously.

“But you said Majin Buu was sealed away and hidden,” Trunks said. Gohan could’ve punched himself.

“Did I?” he said evasively.

“He was hidden on Earth, wasn’t he?” Trunks asked quietly.

“I – uh, yes,” Gohan conceded. “Yes, Bibidi had placed the sealed Majin Buu on Earth before the Supreme Kai killed him. Supreme Kai hid it deep underground, near the planet’s core, hoping it would be safe.”

“But it wasn’t,” Trunks said, his voice straining. “And this happened …”

“Millions of years ago,” Gohan finished his sentence for him with a sigh. He knew the conclusion Trunks had reached. The lavender-haired demi got up and began pacing.

“Well, my mother’s intentions aside, at least now I know the real purpose of this little encore tour of mine,” Trunks said savagely. “No good deed goes unpunished!” Gohan stood up, alarmed by his friend’s anger.

“Trunks, calm down,” Gohan said, placing his hands on the other’s shoulders and forcing eye contact. If he was going to remind Trunks of his old master, he could at least exploit it for his own good.

“That’s very easy for you to say, Gohan! You don’t have to live with the guilt of not being there to protect them, of maybe never knowing what became of your world,” he lashed out. “And it’s all because of some stupid, nearsighted …” he trailed off into incoherent grumbling for a moment.

“Listen to me, they need an enormous amount of energy to resurrect Majin Buu. As the strongest person by far on Earth in your timeline, you were in danger and endangering the entire Earth without even knowing it. And if Majin Buu was somehow resurrected, you would have simply been killed, along with everyone on Earth,” Gohan said. His voice was honest and gentle but authoritative.

“This is not your fault, any of it. You won’t get anywhere blaming yourself for anything that has happened or might. Now, there’s only one way you’re getting back there, right?” Gohan asked.

“The time machine, yes,” Trunks said, looking at his feet.

“On which you can set the precise date and time you wish to arrive, no?”

“That’s right.”

“Then relax; it can be set to return to the very day you left, if necessary. We’ll figure out a plan. You saved this world, Trunks, and we’re not going to let yours burn,” Gohan reassured him. He took his hands off of Trunks’s shoulders and looked up. The sun was getting pretty low in the sky, he’d need to head home very soon.

Gohan watched as Trunks paced some more, then retreated towards the tree. He sat at the base of the trunk, his knees pulled to his chest as he watched the small ripples across the darkening lake. He was repressing so much, Gohan was sure, and must be in agony. He’d gleaned that Bulma had sent him against his will back to this timeline, apparently without a reason, and that struck him as very odd. As he watched the expressionless, unblinking face, he couldn’t help himself.

“Will you be alright, Trunks?” Gohan asked.

“Fine,” he said flatly. Gohan wished he wouldn’t do that.

“Alright, well, I’ve got to head back to the house or my mother will murder me. I’d invite you for dinner, but, well, it’s not the most comfortable and relaxing event – especially when Videl is over,” Gohan rushed. He felt horrible. “Why don’t you head back to Capsule and you and Bulma can look over the time machine?” he suggested.

Trunks didn’t respond. He simply continued to stare ahead, hardly blinking, not a muscle twitching. Gohan, defeated, began climbing the hill back to the Son home.

“Good-night, Trunks,” he said sadly.

“Do you mind?” Trunks asked, and Gohan turned around, letting silence convey that he did not understand. “If I just stay here, by the lake, for a while? It’s nice here,” he said. His voice was dreamy, distant, and calm. Gohan grew more worried.

“Sure thing. If you need anything, well, you know where the house is. Anything, Trunks,” Gohan said, and he began to turn back towards the house.

“Thanks a lot, Gohan.”

“Any time.”

As he reached the top of the hill, Gohan turned and looked back at the unmoving figure whose side was just barely visible at the base of that lush old oak. He heaved a sigh and headed for the house. Before he found out about Trunks’s arrival that morning, Gohan had been looking forward to dinner tonight and hearing about Videl’s most recent plans for what he was told would be the happiest day of their lives. But now he wondered how he would focus on that considering everything he and the time traveler had just been discussing.

He had his father back, and so did Goten. He was going to university and getting married, his mother’s greatest dreams fulfilled. Yet all Gohan could think about was the lavender-haired demi-Saiyan curled up beside the lake.

[[ End-notes: Okay, I know what you’re thinking, and yes. That was a little bit longer than the first one. I took the most common complaint and I tossed it out the bloody window! Sorry! I tried to listen to every other criticism, so please by all means leave me a lot more if you hate something or other.

Many many many many huge thanks to Veronica for all her help with this one. There were certain scenes that I just hated and she really bounced me along. Always a source of ideas and inspiration. Oh, and she even beta-read. Seriously, how cool is that? ]]

Author’s Notes: Just a little DBZ chick lit. “Present” timeline. This story is based on an idea suggested to me by the one, the only Lord Truhan — many, many thanks! It seems to be taking a different path than I originally envisioned, but I’m having fun with it so I’m gonna run with it :) Hope you enjoy.

Chapter 14

Gohan opened his eyes when the boys’ fight was through.  “Wow, they sure are angry at each other,” Dende said from alongside him.  They sat high above the clouds, their feet dangling over the side of the Lookout.

“Yeah,” Gohan agreed.

Although they hadn’t been able to see the action from where they were, both had been able to follow things well enough by sensing the power levels involved.  Now they knew that the younger demis were safe in the care of their fathers.  Gohan could feel Vegeta hurtling towards Capsule Corp. with a still-declining Trunks in tow.  And he was aware of Goku and Goten ITing to the vicinity of the Son house.  He tensed when Dende placed a green hand on his shoulder as he started to stand up.

“I don’t think you should go down there yet, Gohan.”  The young Namek had picked up on his intense desire to go to his brother and the demi’s eyes darkened when realization dawned on him.

“Of course.  I guess he probably doesn’t want to see me.”

“It’s not that, Gohan.”  Piccolo’s voice rang authoritatively from where he’d been standing a few feet behind them.

Neither Piccolo nor Dende had asked him why he showed up at the Lookout unannounced and shaken, or why the boys were fighting.  Gohan was always vaguely aware that Piccolo watched over him and he had long ago gotten over his shyness at the idea.  The upside of hanging out with the Guardians of the Earth was that you didn’t ever have to explain anything.

“Your instincts were right when you came here.  They need to finish working this out on their own.”  But what the tall Namekian didn’t say was that he was also worried about Gohan.  As long as Trunks and Goten were bent on hurting each other, he was bound to be their unintended victim.  In response to Gohan’s questioning eyes, Piccolo shook his head, his expression assuring his protégé that he knew what was best.

“Well, okay,” the demi agreed reluctantly with one last glance over the side of the enormous platform.  He was worried about Goten, but Goku was with him and he supposed it couldn’t hurt to let things cool off for a bit.  “I guess I could lay low here for a while.  That is, if you don’t mind me hanging around.”

“Of course not, Gohan!”  Dende put one arm around his childhood friend.  It was always a pleasure for Dende to see him, even though – more often than not – they met under disastrous circumstances.  “Mr. Popo’s just finished preparing lunch and, considering Piccolo and I don’t even eat, I was really hoping you’d join us.”

“That’d be nice, Dende.”  He accepted the invitation to spend some time with his old friends despite the fact that the last thing he wanted to do was eat.  Their calmness was comforting, and here he could clear his thoughts, sort out his feelings, and decide what – if anything – he could do to make things right again.

***

“Let’s go to bed, Trunks.  I’m sleepy.”

“’Kay.”  The royal demi pushed away an enormous bowl that, ten-minutes ago, had been filled with ice cream.  Both boys yawned and stretched before getting up from the table and dragging themselves up the stairs.  They’d had a long day of exploring in the woods near Goten’s house.  And when they flew back to Capsule, expecting a big dinner and a nap, they found a keyed-up Vegeta who had other plans.  They had fused no less than six times while sparring with him.  And, even though SSJ3 Gotenks looked like the sure victor by the last round, the fusion always seemed to wear off just before they could finish the job.  And once they separated, they were no match for the Saiyan prince at all.

“Your dad’s a total maniac,” Goten said as they slipped under the covers in the Capsule heir’s room.

“Tell me about it.”  Trunks’ eyes were already drooping closed by the time he settled his face into the comfortable crook of Goten’s neck.  “It was fun to fuse, though.”  They hadn’t done it since soon after Majin Buu was destroyed five years before.  He placed a kiss on the familiar-smelling skin in front of him.

“Hey.”  Goten sat up and put a hand to his neck where the lips had just been.  “What was that for?”

The other boy shrugged.  “I dunno,” he said honestly.  He supposed he was just feeling close to Goten after a full afternoon of being the same person.  “Sorry.”

After a moment, the younger demi settled back into bed alongside him, propping his head up on his hand.  Goten stared at his friend breifly before leaning down to touch their lips together.  They hadn’t done that in five years either.  And it felt a whole lot different this time.  For both of them it was their first kiss, but it felt natural enough that they knew what to do.

Trunks opened his mouth and Goten’s tongue slipped inside.  It was still cold from the ice cream, but his lips were warm.  It was a sensation the lavender-haired boy would not soon forget.

“Trunks.”  The youngest Son pulled away after a minute, a bit breathless.  “This is making me feel funny.  Like, in my stomach and . . . stuff.”

Trunks smiled drowsily and reached down in between them to touch the front of his friend’s pants.  “I think that means you like it, Goten.”

***

The demi-Saiyan prince stirred as he became aware of the warm, gel-like substance swirling around him.  He could hear the muffled sound of machinery running and breathed in fresh air from the mask that covered his nose and mouth.  There was no pain, and he vaguely realized he was in the regeneration tank, though he couldn’t remember why.  Eyelids fluttered as the teen fought for consciousness and lost.

***

“Are you mad at me, Dad?”

Goten watched his father kneel on the bank of the lake at Mount Paozu.  Goku had taken the teen’s shirt and was trying to scrub the stains out of it in the frigid water.  He had long ago learned that Chichi didn’t take kindly to blood-soaked clothing in the hamper.  As per his father’s instructions, Goten also splashed some of the water onto his naked torso, rubbing away whatever evidence of the fight still remained on his skin.

“No, not mad, Goten.”  The pureblood rubbed the fabric rapidly between his fists.  “Just disappointed, son.”

After he finished cleaning himself Goten sat back on his heels and looked at his father.

“I taught you better than to attack an opponent when he’s not fighting back.  It’s just bad form.”

The teen scoffed.  “But, Dad, it’s not an opponent!  It’s Trunks!”

“It’s even more important to be at your best when you’re facing a friend.”

Goten rolled onto his back in the grass and spread his arms and legs out in exasperation.  Training advice was the last thing he needed from his father and the only thing he ever got, from the moment he had met Goku until now.  “Anyway,” he sighed, “he didn’t fight back cuz knew he deserved it.”

“Now, son,” his father admonished gently.  “No one deserves a surprise attack.”

“Ugh!”  Goten buried his fists in his hair.  “You have no idea, Dad!  You can’t even begin to understand what he did.”  Goku turned his head and looked quizzically at his son and Goten realized he was waiting for him to elaborate.  But as much as the teen wanted his dad’s help, he found himself at a loss as he stared into those wide, unwavering eyes.  He wondered when it was that his relationship with Trunks had gone from being an exciting secret to something that was just too horrible to say aloud.  “He really hurt me,” the teen concluded lamely, turning his eyes back to the sky.  In his mind, he drifted again to the events of that heartbreaking morning.  “And he said the most awful things.”

“Like what?”

Goten sat partway up, supporting himself with his hands on the ground behind him.  “He said he wished he lived in Mirai Trunks’ world because of the fact that I was never born there.”

Goku made a face at the thought that Trunks would joke about such a thing.  He could only conclude that the teen had been speaking foolishly in anger.  “He wouldn’t say that if he had any idea what it was like where Mirai came from.”  The pureblood turned back to his task and the sounds of his fists splashing around in the water resumed.

“He also said that I was just like you,” Goten admitted, watching his father’s silhouette closely.

The older man stopped his movements again and wondered how the comparison could have made Goten angry enough to lash out at his own best friend.  Was it possible that Goten so detested the idea of being like him?  Goku glanced at his son again.  “What did he mean by that?”

“He said that I dropped him like a bad habit and that made me just like you.”

The teen waited to see what Goku would say in his own defense.  Gohan and Chichi had made countless excuses for his long absences over the years when Goten had prodded them.  But he’d never confronted his father directly.  The earth’s savior still seemed larger-than-life to him; almost untouchable in that peculiar way that celebrities are.  But at this point, Goten figured he didn’t have much left to lose.  And while he was coming to terms with his feelings, Goku might as well come to terms with them, too.

“Well . . . .”  The pureblood faltered as he suddenly realized just what his son apparently thought of him.  “I’m sure you guys will make up,” he said quietly.  “It’s . . . just a fight.  Boys’ll be boys, I guess.”

“Yeah.”

Uncomfortable silence reigned until Goku stood up and wrung out the shirt before turning towards home.  “I’ll see you at the house, Goten.”  With that, he walked away, the t-shirt he still held leaving a trail of wet droplets in its wake.

The demi-Saiyan took a deep breath as he lay back on the ground.  He could feel the last of the warm tears he’d been holding back cut watery paths down his temples and into his hair.  Whether Trunks had done it on purpose or not, one thing was for sure.  He felt more alone than he ever had in his life.

***

“I can’t believe Chichi made you wear that on the first day of high school.  How does she expect you to make any friends?”

“What’s wrong with it?” Goten asked as the boys walked side-by-side after meeting up when their respective schools let out.  He glanced down at the khaki pants and dress shirt he wore with a pair of scuffed loafers that were Gohan’s hand-me-downs, a vest, and a bowtie.

“For starters, you look like a waiter at a really lame restaurant.”

“Take it back!  I do not!”  Trunks held his arms up to fend off Goten’s playful blows.

“You gotta stop letting your mom pick out your clothes, Goten.  When we get back to Capsule we’ll raid my closet.”

“Oh, I can’t,” the other’s face fell.  “Mom made me get a job at some place called Burgertown.  I’m supposed to work there every day after school.”

Trunks gasped in annoyance.  “Well, that really screws up my afternoon plans!”

“Sorry,” his friend shrugged helplessly.

But Trunks crossed his arms and lavender brows furrowed.  “Just let me think for a minute.  There’s got to be a way to get out of this.”

Soon they were approaching Capsule Corp. and the young teens could see Bulma on her back on the ground, the upper half of her body hidden beneath the outdoor gravity chamber.  Trunks leaned in close to the younger boy.  “Alright,” he whispered, “just follow my lead.”

Trunks skipped up to the gravity machine.  “Hi, Mother!” he called out.  “I had the best first day at school today!  I hope you have time for a long story because it all started in homeroom when we found out that Naoki got a new car over the summer.  He’s the oldest person in our class and he just turned sixteen.  So of course everyone was sucking up to him to try to get a ride home, but I didn’t because I wanted to walk with Goten anyway.  Besides, I’ll be sixteen soon, and then I’ll have my own car.  Right, Mom?”  He paused for only a second.  “Anyway, on my way to homeroom I saw some upperclassmen picking on a freshman so I stepped in on his behalf.   You know, took him under my wing and all.  And by lunch time, we—.”

“Trunks!”  She half-shouted his name as she dragged herself out from underneath the machine and he shot her a hurt look.  “I’m sorry, hon, I really want to hear about it but I’m very busy right now.  Your father insists that I fix this thing and I have a ton of my own work to do this afternoon, too.”

“This is cool!” Goten exclaimed, picking up a delicate-looking tool from the ground alongside the blue-haired woman.  “What’s this for, Bulma?  Pounding nails or something?”  He pulled his arm back as if he planned to hit the side of the gravity chamber with it.

“NO!”  She threw her arms up to block him.  “That’s a very fragile diamond-tipped cutting tool, Goten.  You don’t want to—.”

“Oh, okay,” he put it down and grabbed another.  “What’s this one?”

“Look, boys.”  She reached into her pocket.  “Here’s twenty zeni.  Go see a movie or something.”

“Cool, thanks mom!” They trotted towards the house and Trunks’ eyes sparkled as he closed the front door behind them, holding up the money.  “If we do that every day, and you just take the cash home, Chichi’ll think you’re working.  It’ll be like it’s your job to hang out with me!”

“This is so perfect!” Goten giggled, taking his friend’s hands as they performed a short victory dance.  “Hey, but wait.  What if Burgertown calls my house when I don’t show up?”

“Hmm.”  The two stopped spinning and Trunks pulled out a cell phone.  He winked at Goten.  “Uh, hi, Burgertown?” he asked in as deep a voice as he could manage.  “This is Son Goku calling.  My boy Goten won’t be coming in today.  Actually, uh, he quits.  And he has his mother’s full permission.  So don’t bother calling her.  Okay, bye!”

And it had lasted an entire week before Gohan busted them.

***

Vegeta watched his son twitch in suspended animation.  A barely visible smile crept over the boy’s features and he knew the teen was dreaming.  His vital signs were getting stronger and his heart was actually beating quite fast.  Trunks took a few labored breaths and bubbles rose through the gelatinous solution around him.  The royal Saiyan was aware of his own shoulders relaxing as he watched the monitor that reported his son’s condition.  But the sense of relief did not last long.

“Oh.  My.  God.”  Bulma’s shrill voice rang out from behind him.  “What have you done to my baby!?”

The prince closed his eyes, annoyed that the regeneration tanks were located in Bulma’s private lab.  He would much have preferred keeping her out of the picture until Trunks was healed.  But, unfortunately, she never stayed away from the lab for long.  Now she stood in the doorway, taking in the view of her son’s unconscious body floating in a gelatinous solution of Saiyan DNA.  His clothes were lying nearby on the floor and she did not fail to notice the wide, vertical stripe of fresh blood decorating the front of the shirt.

She marched in the direction of the tanks.  “I told you not to train him so hard, Vegeta!  It’s not like the earth is under attack.  You’re just bored and you take it out on Trunks!”

“I didn’t do it,” Vegeta stated calmly, opening dark chocolate eyes again as she neared.

“Is this about your stupid rivalry with Goku?  Because that’s your burden to bear, not the kids’ and I won’t have you breaking every bone in his body until he’s stronger than Gohan.  It’s just plain crazy—.”

“Bulma!”  The pureblood’s voice was louder this time as he turned to face her.  “I said that I didn’t do it.”

It had the intended effect of quieting her momentarily.  “Well, what happened?”  Her brow creased in worry as she looked away from her longtime companion and back to the regeneration tank.  “Will he be alright?”

“He’ll be fine in a few hours.”  Vegeta hoped the promise would be enough to calm her because they seriously needed to talk.  His voice took on a more somber tone as he crossed his arms over his chest.  “Listen, Bulma, has he ever said anything to you about Kakarott’s youngest boy?”

“Well, sure.  We talk about Goten all the time, Vegeta.  I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific.”

He craned his neck in her direction with a knowing look on his face.  “Specifically about the nature of their so-called friendship?”

“Alright, alright.  I know what you’re getting at and the answer is no.  I’ve had my suspicions, too, but if there’s anything to tell, he’ll come to us when he’s ready.  Until then, it’s none of our business.”  She lifted her nose to indicate that the conversation was over.  “And if you have a problem with it, you can just keep it to yourself.  I don’t want you making him feel bad!”

“For gods’ sake, Woman, I could care less what the two of them do!” he retorted defensively.  “But would you think it was our business if I told you that Kakarott’s boy is the one who put him in this condition?”  He thought it unimportant to mention the fact that Trunks could have brushed off Goten’s attack if only Vegeta hadn’t broken his ribs the day before.

“No way!”  Bulma’s blue eyes widened with shock.  “I knew they weren’t getting along lately, but . . . .  Wow.”

The Prince grunted at the mention of their apparent bickering.  “If you ask me, the problem is that these kids have nothing else to do but fight with each other.  They need something more important to focus on than their own petty squabbles.  They’ve been far too pampered for far too long.”

“Oh and I suppose they’d be better off if Planet Vegeta was never destroyed and they spent their whole lives conquering faraway galaxies and destroying their helpless inhabitants?” she quipped.

“A boy needs a hobby.”

Bulma sighed.  “Well, what are we going to do?  Should I have a talk with Goku and Chichi about it?”

“No,” he said without hesitation.  Then he scratched his chin thoughtfully.  Bulma waited as patiently as she could for him to clue her in to whatever he was thinking.  But it seemed the Saiyan prince had already forgotten she was there.

“Well, as long as he’s going to be okay, I guess I’ll get back to work then.”

“Hn.”  Vegeta acknowledged the announcement distractedly, walking up to the DNA pod and resting a hand on its cold metal surface.  He leaned forward on his palm, watching the dozing teen and Bulma didn’t bother to hide a sentimental smile.  For as much as Vegeta reprimanded her for coddling Trunks, she knew she wasn’t the only one of his parents in whose eyes he was everything.

***

Goten picked up a flat, purplish stone from the edge of the lakebed.  He held it in his hand a moment, letting the sunlight that it had absorbed warm his palm.  Then he tossed it sideways and watched it skip across the lake.  It hopped on the water and landed with a barely audible clunk on the other side.  He looked on as the resulting ripples faded and, when the lake was smooth as a piece of glass again, he picked up another stone.

He had been hypnotized enough by the repetitive task that he didn’t even feel his brother approaching until Gohan landed soundlessly on the grass a few feet away.  Goten looked up and their eyes met for a brief moment.

“Thought you might want this.”  The older demi held out a red hooded sweatshirt, which his brother gratefully accepted.  Goten hadn’t bothered to go back to the house after Goku left, even though he was shirtless and had to be freezing.  And when it became apparent to Gohan that the teen wasn’t accepting their father’s help, he had blown off the guardians’ advice and insisted on seeing his brother.

“Piccolo?” Goten asked, staring at the large symbol on the back before pulling it over his head.

Gohan smiled.  “It’s not designer, but he can materialize some decent quality stuff.”

“It’s warm,” Goten agreed before an uneasy quiet settled over the valley again.

“Goten, I’m so sorry,” the eldest Son began, though he didn’t really know where to start the apologies.  He was sorry for being so dense and failing to notice the clear signs that Trunks and Goten were more than just friends.  He was sorry he didn’t know how much Goten was struggling to come to terms with it, and that he wasn’t there to help.  Then there was, of course, the obvious . . . .

He looked away to hide the inevitable pinkness that colored his cheeks when he thought of the things he and Trunks had done.  “For everything that’s happened,” he finished tactfully.

“It’s not your fault, Gohan.”

“Yes,” he stressed the words, “it is.”  In the hours he’d had to ponder their situation since that morning, Gohan realized he couldn’t let Trunks take all the blame, even if the prince had been out for revenge.  Whatever the teenager’s intentions were, Gohan should have known better than to let things go so far.  Trunks was still very young, and he was on the rebound.  From the very beginning, it had been apparent that he was trying too hard to move on, was misdirecting his feelings, and was one stop away from an emotional train wreck.  Now that the eldest Son had learned the true depth of the boys’ relationship, he could see just how badly Trunks must have been wounded by their parting.  And in hindsight he couldn’t believe he’d given in so easily to the misguided desires of a teenager, no matter how genuine they had appeared.

“Oh, come on, Gohan,” Goten challenged, confident in his knowledge, gained over eighteen years of friendship, of the way Trunks worked.  “Tell me he didn’t manipulate you from the very beginning.”

Gohan opened his mouth to disagree, but he couldn’t deny that Trunks had tried every possible way to get closer to him, to get his attention, and gain his favor.  He had talked Gohan into sharing a bed, appealed to his desire to get over Videl, and even tried expensive gifts.  But in recent days, he had seemed so different.  Though Gohan couldn’t help but wonder now if the prince had simply learned a better way to get to him.  After all, Trunks had pushed him, studied him, learned what made him tick.  And, like any good businessman, he knew how to play vulnerabilities to his advantage.

“Thought so,” Goten concluded.

“No, wait.”  The older demi shook his head in an attempt to clear his thoughts.  “I think I know what you’re doing, Goten, but you can’t just demonize Trunks so that you won’t have to be mad at me.”  Although the thought of losing Goten’s respect was devastating to him, Gohan thought it was about time they all stopped building psychological walls to avoid dealing with their feelings.  But the look on Goten’s face told him it was an illusion he didn’t want to let go of.

“Goten, listen to me.”  By now he was close enough to put his hands on his brother’s arms, holding onto him by the shoulders.  “I’m not perfect.  I make bad decisions, too.  All the time, in fact.  You have to recognize that, okay?  Because I don’t want you to make the same mistakes that I have.  Especially when it comes to relationships.  Do you understand what I’m saying, Goten?”

The younger boy looked unsure, but nodded hesitantly.  Gohan held onto him for a long moment before letting go and motioning for his brother to sit down.  They both settled onto the bank and Goten had created a sizeable mountain of pulled-out grass before Gohan brought himself to ask the question on which everything depended.

“So, why did you leave, then, Goten?  Don’t you love him?”

The teen played with the strings on his hoodie for a moment.  It occurred to him that their entire downward spiral had started with that question.  He wished now like he’d wished then that there was an easy answer.  He could remember a time when it had felt easy.  When leaning on each other was the only way they knew to survive.  When Trunks was the only one he could see and before doubt made him question what once felt so natural.

When all the happiness in the world was wrapped up in three little words.

‘You and me.’

And before those other three words had even entered their vocabulary.

But all that seemed far away now.  And he was no more sure how to respond to the question than he had been the day he gave Trunks the scripted answer he knew he wanted.

“What does love feel like, Gohan?”

“Well, it’s different things to different people.”  The older demi pondered it a moment wondering if he could put the sentiment into words.  “Mostly I think it’s when everything you do is more exciting because of the person next to you.  And that person is the first one you run to with good news, and the first one you turn to when it’s bad.  Real love, it . . . reinvents you.  Makes you want to be a better person.”

“Does it ever make you feel like,” Goten gestured demonstratively while searching for the right words, “like your heart’s been ripped out of your chest and you’re forced to function with nothing inside?  Like the further you get from that other person, the more empty you feel?”

Gohan had to smile regretfully at his brother’s honest description.  “Sometimes,” he nodded.  “That’s the other side of it, I guess.”

“I know I messed up when I left, Gohan,” the younger boy admitted quietly.  “But things were just getting so intense.  And Trunks, god, he can be so . . . demanding.  I couldn’t give him what he wanted and I felt like I was lying to him.  I just needed a break, ya know?  Because there was only ever us,” he insisted, hoping to make his brother understand.  “And I wanted to be me.  To find out who I am without him.”

“Goten, I think you already know who you are.  What I don’t understand is why you fight it so hard.  Don’t you see, little bro?  It’s okay if Trunks is a part of you.  It doesn’t mean you’re any less you.”

The impact that the statement had was reflected in the teenager’s blinking eyes and Gohan realized just how much value the younger demi put in his opinion.  It only underscored how easily they might have averted disaster if only they’d talked sooner.  Still, as Goten digested his brother’s words, Gohan looked at him with some measure of hope.  The two teenagers were resilient, and he was convinced now that they had all they needed to recover from this, if only they could be in the same room long enough to acknowledge it.  And if being with Trunks could make Goten happy, then that was what Gohan wanted.  His own feelings for the royal demi, whatever they had been, could stay locked away in that tiny little box.  And as he reached out to help his brother up from the ground he swore that this time he really would throw away the key.

***

Trunks remembered finding Goten after the competition had ended sitting on a bench between two rows of lockers.  The dark-haired demi was listless, feet planted on the floor and fingers wrapped around the front of the bench on either side of him.  He stared at his shoes.

Keeping a close eye on his friend, Trunks began to change from his gi into street clothes.  “Man,” he said tentatively, “I thought with your dad out of the tournament one of us might have a shot at winning but I guess Vegeta can still kick our asses, huh?”

Goten made a short sound like a half-hearted laugh.  “Yeah.”

“Anyway, you wanna go out tonight?  It looks like there’s a pretty decent scene in this town—.”

“I probably better go home.”

“Oh.”  Trunks couldn’t help but think of what a nightmare it would be at the Son residence tonight.  “Are you sure?  I mean, your mom’s got Gohan to look after her and . . . Gohan’s got Videl.  Why don’t you come stay over at Capsule?”

“Maybe.”  The younger boy sounded distracted.  Trunks didn’t know what else to say, so he turned away and shoved his thoroughly destroyed gi into a gym bag before retrieving a clean outfit from his locker.

Goten’s quiet voice interrupted him as he was buttoning his trousers.  “Do you think that . . . maybe . . . if I had spent more time training, he would have stayed, Trunks?  I mean if I hadn’t goofed off so much and was a better student—.”

“Stop, Goten.”  The prince’s voice was surprised but stern.  “You can’t blame yourself for his decisions.  You’re not his student, you’re his son.  You’re supposed to goof off!”  But the forlorn expression that still marred Goten’s usually exuberant features made it clear he had his doubts.  The prince closed the gap between them and sat on the bench next to his best friend.  “It’s just the way he is, Goten.  He sees a challenge and needs to go after it.  It’s not personal.”

“But . . . it should be.  Shouldn’t it?”

The younger teen didn’t look up from the floor and Trunks was happy that he was spared seeing the hurt that would have been written all over his face.  He hardly ever saw the youngest Son without a smile, and as he watched clear droplets accumulate on those long, dark lashes, dripping to the floor when Goten blinked, he knew he would have dragged Goku back kicking and screaming by himself if he could.  But all he could do was wrap both arms around the other boy and beg.

“I hate it when you cry, Goten.  Please, please don’t cry.”

The dark-haired demi did his best to hide the sounds, but his trembling shoulders gave him away.  “He loves you,” the prince promised, with as much conviction as he could muster.

“No, Trunks, he doesn’t.  I don’t think he knows how to.”

“Well . . . I love you, Goten,” he responded quietly.  “So, who needs him anyway?”

His friend’s head turned and brown eyes searched Trunks’ face at close range.  “Do you mean it?”

The teen prince nodded and Goten kissed him then, holding onto him with one hand fisted in lavender hair.  It was a desperate kiss and as it deepened, Trunks could taste the salty tears that had fallen from his best friend’s eyes and down his pale cheeks.  He just kept repeating the confession between sloppy kisses.  “I love you, Goten.  I love you.”  Then he leaned back to push his friend’s wild black hair off his face.  “Don’t you love me?”

“Yes,” the other managed to sniffle before they pulled apart at the sound of approaching footsteps.

“Then stop crying, would ya?” Trunks joked anxiously.  “Listen, you don’t have to go home tonight if you don’t want to.  Stay with me at Capsule, okay?  Stay with me, Goten.”

Stay with me.

Azure eyes opened slowly.

Memories of their relationship flooded his mind as though his brain was subconsciously mourning its passing.  All the things he hadn’t allowed himself to remember, all the feelings he had refused to acknowledge for weeks now assaulted his senses; Trunks being unable to ignore them any longer.  His defense mechanisms had begun to fail when he found himself face to face with Goten that morning.  Bombarded from the inside by the unanswered questions, insecurities, and loneliness the other boy had left him to deal with, he had cracked.  And all the lofty ideals he had about them being friends again went out the window in that split second.

The images of their life together faded away now, along with the liquid that was draining through the bottom of the regeneration tank, until cold reality was all that remained.  Gohan had been right when he warned Trunks against trying to replace Goten.  The happiness he had found with the elder Son couldn’t heal the wounds left by his brother.  He had wanted Gohan to make him whole again, but Gohan deserved more than just what was left of him when Goten was through.  And he knew now what Gohan had meant when he talked about not being ready; not having enough left to give.  What Trunks didn’t realize then was that he was in the exact same broken state.  And where they were now was the inevitable result of his refusing to take no for an answer, his having pushed for too much too fast.  As it stood, he had hurt both brothers and there was little chance of getting either closure from Goten or a second look from Gohan now.

Trunks shivered and his father passed him a towel.  He used it to wipe his face and hair before standing up and wrapping it around his waist.  Shakily, he stepped out of the pod and the liquid that remained on his skin began pooling into ever-growing puddles at his feet.

“We need to talk, son.”

Trunks swallowed.  Something in Vegeta’s tone gave him a good idea what this conversation would be about.

“Tell me what’s going on between you and Kakarott’s youngest one.”  And the prince added pointedly, “Don’t lie.”

Trunks supposed he’d always known this moment would come.  But for all the times he had insisted he was confident about his sexual identity, he felt like a pathetic, hypocritical coward at the moment.  What if Vegeta hated him?  What if he was disappointed?  Trunks’ only aspiration in life was to make his father proud and right now he couldn’t help but feel as though he’d been born to fail.

His blood rushed in his ears and he let out the breath he now realized he’d been holding.  When it came right down to it, it seemed he really was no better than Goten.  He was terrified to speak the words.

“Out with it, Trunks.”  Vegeta didn’t beat around the bush.

The teen squared his shoulders and met his father’s eyes, readying himself to face the consequences.  He only hoped that, if Vegeta responded negatively, it would be with his fists and not merely quiet contempt.  The former, Trunks thought he could handle; the latter, he knew he could not.

“We were . . . best friends, Dad.  With benefits, I guess you could say.”

“Were?”

“Not anymore,” he absently ran the fingers of his right hand over his ribs on the left side.  “Obviously.”

“Hn.”  Vegeta paced from left to right then back again.  “It’s as I suspected then.  You were lovers,” he concluded, and Trunks was surprised that his tone was somewhere between indifferent and amused.  “Damn, I should have talked Kakarott into a wager.”

Trunks couldn’t suppress an offended gasp.  He and Goten had always been so careful.  And surely Vegeta couldn’t have picked up on everything that was going on from just one fight.  “Wha—?” the demi-Saiyan began.  “Is it that obvious!?”

“I know my own son, Trunks.”

The teen closed his mouth, thinking that he should probably just be thankful the announcement had gone over so well.  Even if his dad did just practically call him flaming.

“You know that I met you—or, a version of you—before you were even conceived here in our time, don’t you?”

“Huh?”  The sudden apparent change of subject confused him.  “Uh—yeah, of course,” he managed.  Bulma had told him the whole story of Mirai Trunks’ time with the Z-fighters when she thought he was old enough.  And his father had even taught him a few of the time traveler’s best fighting moves.

“We spent an entire year locked in that Time Chamber together.  And even though he thought I paid no attention to him, I saw enough to eventually realize that he was . . . was in love with his late master.  Gohan,” Vegeta specified, with a quick glance at his son.  “It only makes sense that, in this dimension, you and Goten might have a similar relationship.”

So Vegeta had known all along!  The teen blinked in amazement.  And his future self was in love with Gohan?  Trunks realized he really did envy Mirai.  At least for him, the choice had been easy.  His father’s voice drew him out of his thoughts again.

“I’m not proud to admit that learning that about Mirai was part of the reason I treated him so badly even after I found out he was my son,” Vegeta admitted gravely.  “But then, when he was killed by Cell . . . .”

The Saiyan prince trailed off, but Trunks knew the tale by heart.  Bulma had sugarcoated some of the less pleasant parts, but the Z-fighters loved to reminisce about the old days whenever they got together, and he had pieced together most of the details over the years.  The story went that Vegeta flew off the handle when Mirai died, recklessly attacking the super android though he knew it was an exercise in futility.

“That type of loss makes you realize how ridiculous it is to let such nonsense come between you and your only son,” Vegeta finished solemnly.  “It’s probably because of him that I’ve been any kind of father to you at all.  And I’m grateful to him for that.”

The demi-Saiyan just stared at the prince.  Vegeta maintained his regal air of aloofness but Trunks could hear the conviction in his words.  He blinked when his father put a hand on his shoulder as he stood there, naked as the day he was born save for the towel he held at his waist.

“I probably don’t tell you enough how proud I am of you, Trunks.  But I don’t know where you ever got it in your head that you let me down.  Burning myself to a crisp when you were a child was the best way I could think of to tell you that I loved you.  And for gods’ sake, boy, it should have been enough!” he insisted.  “It didn’t tickle you know.”

The teen could no longer hold at bay the rising sea of contradictory emotions that threatened to destroy the last of his composure.  An overwhelming sense of relief clashed with profound feelings of loss, and he couldn’t have pinned down the cause of the tears in his blue eyes right then.  His father was so close, and for the second time that day, he fell against the older Saiyan, clinging to his only remaining ally.

“Dad,” he whispered, his head bowed over the other’s shoulder, “you can’t imagine how I’ve screwed up.  Goten, Gohan . . . they’ll never forgive me.”

The pureblood didn’t retreat from the awkward embrace.  Far from being affronted by the display of emotion, Vegeta knew that for both he and Trunks, it was their passion that made them great warriors.  The teenager hadn’t yet learned how to direct his stronger feelings and the pureblood made a mental note to start him on an ultra-intense mind and body training regimen once all this nonsense got worked out.  But for the time being, he just wrapped one arm around his son’s back.

“Trunks, if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that it’s never too late to make up for your mistakes.  I’ve personally attempted to kill Kakarott about a half dozen times.  And that brainy kid of his, too.  Believe me when I tell you, it is not in that family’s DNA to hold a grudge.  They don’t think like we do, son.”  He snorted.  “That’s why they can ride on that damned yellow cloud and we can’t.”

Trunks let out a short laugh in spite of himself.  With a hint of that old sparkle in his eye, he leaned back from his father.  “I thought you couldn’t ride it on account of all those civilizations you ruthlessly destroyed.”

“Smartass.”

“Dad . . . .”  Trunks’ tone was entirely serious this time.  There was so much he wanted to say.  “Dad, I—.”

“I know, son.”  Vegeta squeezed his shoulder before letting go, his dark eyes softer than Trunks had seen them before.  He tried to memorize the image, knowing it wouldn’t last long.  “Now go and get cleaned up.  We’ll have dinner with your mother in a few hours.”

The teen nodded, turned, and strode out of the lab pulling the towel from around his waist and using it to dry the last of his tears.  In his cathartic haze of gratitude, he barely noticed the surprised yelp of one of his mother’s assistants, who pressed herself to the wall, red-faced and staring as he passed.

The pureblood watched his son go but didn’t follow.  Before dinner, Vegeta had a few errands to run.  He closed his eyes and focused.  When he located the demi-Saiyan he was looking for, he pushed through the heavy double doors that led outside and took off in his direction.