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: 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: 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.

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.

Chapter 1: Behest

Trunks rolled the still-twitching mass of steel over in the soft soil. It deactivated with a defeated sort of whir and ceased moving. He lifted it gingerly onto his shoulder, wincing a bit as the scalding metal touched the bare skin above his black tank top. Then he trudged his way back to the misshapen dome structure on the opposite side of the fields. ‘Third time this month,’ he thought, casting a glance at the robot as he lugged it into the workshop.

Pressing the buzzer to indicate to his mother – doubtlessly busy elsewhere inside the old Capsule Corp headquarters – that he needed to see her, Trunks lifted a hand to wipe the sweat from his brow and re-tuck his silky purple bangs behind his ears. It had been nearly a year since he’d returned to his own timeline and defeated the last legacies of Dr. Gero and his world was well on its way to recovery. His family, or what was left of it, had again taken its place at the forefront of technology and was providing essential robotics solutions to relieve the strains of depopulation and devastation.

It was tedious work that he still felt somewhat unaccustomed to. While he’d spent a far greater portion of his life helping his mother with the various projects she undertook in their underground hideaway, he’d always felt more fulfilled in the short spans that he got to train with Gohan and the Z-Fighters of the past timeline. It was no secret here who had finally stopped the androids’ reign of terror, yet Trunks was vaguely aware of the fear with which people looked at him. He couldn’t blame them for fearing that which they couldn’t understand, but it still unsettled him. He felt like an outsider, even here in the city he grew up in.

The brooding look on his face must have shown as Bulma rounded the corner into the sunlit workshop. “Boy Trunks, if I didn’t know better I’d say you didn’t enjoy this,” she teased with a wink as she approached the defunct model. “Oh, this guy again?” she sighed.

“Yes, again,” said Trunks with an exaggerated grimace. “It only knocked down one row of corn this time, but it also completely totaled two of the harvesters,” he nodded toward a heap of twisted metal that certainly did not look like a corn-harvesting robot.

“Alright, this is the last time. It’s got to be something with the behavioral processor and I want to know what’s wrong here,” his mother’s tone was all business but he could see the grave look as she closely examined the smooth chassis: she was afraid the next malfunction would involve a person. That and she was just a bit too proud, taking any malfunction of her creations as a personal slight. Trunks suppressed a smile.

“This is always my favorite part,” Trunks said as he delicately started to pry what they called the unit’s “head” apart. The part he was looking for was wedged deep inside, connected to over a dozen different modules and took extreme care to extract. His lips parted slightly, and he clicked his tongue in impatience as he continued to wriggle the small module out of place.

Bulma was all too aware of her son’s predicament. He’d lost everyone, with the exception of her, and Gohan’s sacrifice in particular took its toll on the young demi-Saiyan. There was no one left in this world that was like him, with whom he could spar or interact or even simply converse. He missed the company of those his age. Most people looked at him with fear and she knew it ate at him. He had powers that nobody else could – or should, in their minds – attain, and after the androids the possibility of another such being picking up their line of work was alarming. What they didn’t realize was that this boy had suffered just as much as them. Despite his extraordinary talents and intellect, he’d never had a chance to go to school, go to college, to pursue a career, to find love, to simply live. In that regard he was less fortunate than even she had been, and she regretted it deeply.

Of course, this absence of normalcy brought its own experiences: he’d learned things most kids his age would want nothing to do with. He’d built machines and robots of all sorts, and even had the entirely unique experience of traveling to the past in a time machine they had built together. Bulma allowed herself a small smile at the memory of Trunks’s return. He looked so much like a man, but there’d been something else underlying his slightly changed appearance, intangible. As she endured countless hours of him recounting all the things he’d seen in just a few short days in the past – his favourites to tell her about several times daily usually involved Vegeta or the young Gohan – it began to dawn on her just what in his attitude seemed so different.

For the first time she could remember, he was happy.

His mood turned to jubilation when he took his revenge on Androids #17 and #18, as well as the monster Cell. As peace returned to the Earth, however, so did the young prince’s subdued manner. With each passing day set between his present and his exhilarating adventures in time, Trunks withdrew further into a sort of depression. Bulma watched helplessly as his moods became more restrained, his sociability dropped off almost completely, and he spent the days wandering the compound or countryside, perhaps symbolically looking for something to do. She suggested that he visit the past a few times, and while she was sure he wanted to, he would not. Whether for her sake, or because he didn’t want to tease himself, or perhaps because he felt it wasn’t his place, Trunks had never seemed to seriously consider it.

With another sad smile at her son, hunched over the task he’d immersed himself in, Bulma decided it was worth another shot. Trying to sound casual she spoke, “You know, Trunks. You don’t have to stay here forever.”

“Huh?” Trunks responded idly, apparently paying no attention. There was a short pause, a click, and his hands emerged from within the large robot cradling a small rectangular box with many connectors hanging off. He wrapped it in a dingy cloth before beginning to wipe his hands, and asking, “What do you mean, ‘[I] don’t have to stay here forever’?”

“Trunks, you’re twenty-one years old,” her tone was matter-of-fact but her vibrant blue eyes regarded him imploringly. “When I was your age I was in college, I’d had a lifetime of adventures with Goku, I had friends, I had a boyfriend!” she exclaimed, her voice rising steadily, and on the last word she averted her eyes and blushed a little. “I just think that you’ve more than earned the right to live for yourself for once.”

Trunks hesitated and allowed his eyes to rake over his mother’s face. Quietly he asked, “What about you?”

She was prepared for it this time. “What about me? I can take care of myself, and I’m not some big fat anchor holding you in place,” she shot back, inflecting some irritation into her voice. Maybe this could work? “I just want you to be happy, son,” she whispered as she lovingly brushed a few loose strands of silky, lavender hair out of his eyes.

Trunks met the blue gaze so similar to his own. He knew exactly what she was getting at and that she knew it tempted him, but he’d made a promise to himself. He was not so selfish: nobody deserves to be so alone, especially not his mother. “I won’t abandon you,” he said flatly, before giving her a quick hug and heading out the door back to the fields.

‘He’s so stubborn. Just like his father,’ she thought to herself with a sigh of affection. ‘He’ll torpedo his own life until I kick the bucket, or else until I figure out how to make him leave.’ She continued to peer, eyes unfocused, in the direction her son had just departed, until a small look of shock crept up her face, quickly replaced by a devilish grin.

“Oh, Bulma, you are a genius,” she declared to no one in particular as she retreated back up the staircase.

***********************************

Tipping the last misshapen, mountainous block of concrete into the massive dumpster at the edge of the clearance site, Trunks dusted off his hands and looked to the sky. He didn’t give a second thought to the feat of strength he’d just displayed – he never did – which was again eliciting stares of awe from his co-workers. The sky was mostly cloudless, except to the west, and reflected in his blue eyes by the light of fading sunlight. Glancing at his watch, he realized that his shift had already ended. He turned and headed for the short row of lockers where the rest of the crew was mumbling anxiously.

“I’m not so sure; he’s just a kid…” Trunks overheard one of the men whispering before being hushed at his approach.

The young demi-Saiyan pretended not to have heard as he opened his locker. He lifted the unnecessary, bright orange protection helmet from his head, allowing the loose strands of lavender hair that were too short to clump into his ponytail to curtain his face. He pulled a blue Capsule Corp. jacket over the black tank top he always wore as he snapped his locker shut. Giving a brief, absent nod to the men whose conversation he’d been ignoring, he strode toward the gate in the tall white fence that enclosed the worksite.

“Hey, kid, wait up,” someone called out. He heard the voice, but it didn’t register until someone punctuated it with his name, “Trunks!” The lavender-haired youth turned to face his coworker, a look of slight confusion on his face. He seldom spoke to any of them, and he wondered at first how they knew his name before remembering that he was still somewhat famous – or infamous, he wasn’t sure which.

“Hey there, er,” Trunks broke off as it occurred to him that the shorter, somewhat slighter man in front of him was not famous. He didn’t know his name.

“Patrick,” he said with a small grin, holding out his hand. After the slightest hesitation Trunks took it in his and shook. “I know we haven’t talked much, but me and some of the guys are headed over to the pub down on Fifth from here and you’re welcome to join us,” Patrick blurted. His invitation was fast enough to be almost unintelligible. He looked downright uncomfortable.

Trunks considered him a moment, his face expressionless. If he was honest with himself the offer was tempting. He’d never been approached for a social outing like this before and he wasn’t sure he wouldn’t enjoy it. He was on the verge of accepting when reality came crashing back to him: he couldn’t really be himself around these men, a truth reflected when he glanced at the group hovering in the background. There was apprehension etched all over their faces, and he knew why. With a sigh, Trunks shook his head.

“No, thank you,” he said with a cordial smile. “I have an errand to run and I really do need to get home. Maybe some other time,” he finished with a quick look at the group waiting behind Patrick and again turned to make his way.

‘It wasn’t a lie,’ he reminded himself, shuffling his feet a bit on the pavement. He couldn’t blame them for not understanding. Trunks was, after all, the last of a dead race on an alien world. He’d known for years now – since Gohan’s death – that he was completely alone. There was always his mother, of course, but there were things he could never talk to her about. A doting mother was hardly objective company for a demi-Saiyan lacking a sense of purpose.

Purpose was definitely something Trunks had felt like he’d been lacking since disposing of 17, 18, and Cell. His entire life had been defined by the struggle against the androids, the pace set by their rampage against humanity. Now that the world was safe, the cities being rebuilt, and life on the long road to recovery he felt like he’d lost meaning in it all. Certainly, he had learned enough in his years with his brilliant mother to put to practical use, but without the constant pressure in the back of his mind he felt almost restless, like the world wasn’t moving quickly enough.

The world was moving very quickly, though, especially here in New West City. The number of clearance sites where buildings had collapsed or rubble was otherwise obstructing had dwindled to a handful. A majority of the buildings, including the famous Capsule Corporation dome, had been restored, though the few high-rises remained severely damaged and ghostly. The streets were all cleared and open to traffic, and small businesses lined the windows as people put their skills back to work. The progress was extraordinary, as was the way the survivors continued to band together to make the best of what was left, but Trunks wished the rebuilding and reminders would soon be over, and the world returned to normal.

He chuckled to himself at the thought. He was unsure how he defined a normal world when he thought about it. What threshold was there that needed to be crossed so that he’d feel society was sufficiently healed? Perhaps it was when the cities started growing again, rather than rebuilding what was within their devastated limits. Or perhaps he just wanted the world to bury the whole wretched android affair and never be reminded of it again, so that he could do the same.

‘If only it were that simple,’ Trunks thought to himself, not noticing the car that almost ploughed into him at the cross-walk. He didn’t want to forget those who sacrificed their lives against the androids, the life he never had, or the pain that they caused. He didn’t want to forget his best friend, mentor, master, father, brother, and more… But the fits and nightmares were getting more lucid, more real, more threatening, and he didn’t know of any other way he could rid himself of them than to simply put the past to rest for good.

Mulling it all over in his head, Trunks didn’t realize until he’d walked another block that he’d passed the neon purple sign of the post warehouse. Hurrying back, he pushed all thoughts from his mind and concentrated on what he was there for. A small bell tinkled above the door as he pushed it lightly open, entering a small office with two leather armchairs, many small mailboxes along the back wall, and a tall counter behind which stood a very pretty young woman. Trunks blushed a bit, feeling self-conscious about his unkempt appearance in the presence of this girl who was no less than immaculate. She giggled a little as he approached the counter, exasperating his discomfort.

“You must be Mr. Brief,” she said.

Trunks, utterly nonplussed as yet another person he’d never spoken to knew his name, merely nodded.

“You’re just in time before we close up,” she continued, brushing a few strands of auburn hair out of her eyes. “Your mother called this morning and said you’d be retrieving a package for Capsule that was scheduled to arrive today.” She winked at him and pressed on, unfazed by his lack of response, “I’m Evita. Let me have someone check if it’s come in yet.” She practically leapt the distance to the wall where the intercom was mounted, speaking clearly into it, “Delivery check on name Brief, Bulma.”

Trunks began lightly tapping his left foot and drumming his fingers on the counter to ease his anxiety. Aware that she was smiling at him as she made her way back to her chair beside the telephone, he gave her a quick glance, a nervous smile, and said simply, “Thanks.”

He continued staring around the room, trying his best to avoid her gaze which he was all too sure was fixed on him. After a minute or two she cleared her throat softly and asked, “So, you work in the city? Construction, from the looks of it.”

“Er, yeah. Clearance site on the upper East side. Today, anyway.”

“Ah,” Evita responded. She breathed in and was on the verge of speech when the intercom buzzed loudly, prompting her to give a startled yelp.

“Delivery for Bulma Brief, Capsule Corporation. It’s a doozy,” the voice emitted from the speaker was deep and gravelly.

“Great. I’ll just need to see some I.D., please, Trunks,” Evita said, shaking her long hair back behind her shoulders. Trunks quickly produced his Capsule Corp. employee identification, wondering why she hadn’t asked for this sooner, and was soon guided through a door to the left of the counter into the warehouse itself. “Right this way,” she said airily, turning down one of the long rows.

The building was massive, much more so than he had observed from the outside. Trunks followed her tantalizingly slow strides, unable to fathom why someone who sat behind a desk at a warehouse all day would wear high-heeled shoes. Before he could give it too much thought, however, she spoke again.

“Most days it’s just me in the office and the boys who work back here. It can get pretty lonely, most customers that order shipments of the size we handle just routinely pick them up from the back and bypass the office altogether,” she explained, waving her hands at the many crates with a distinct air of boredom. Trunks said nothing and they continued on in silence for some time.

“Here we are,” she said sweetly, and Trunks looked down at his hands to make sure he hadn’t developed any wrinkles. “Looks like they loaded it up already! Just follow me and we can get this put on your truck.”

He simply stared back at the package, dumbstruck. It was as tall as he was, at least eight times as wide, and three times as deep. His mother knew he walked home, so how did she expect him to get this back to Capsule Corp. without attracting attention? He followed Evita’s beeping forklift, trying to figure out how he was going to manage this. He was still grumbling angrily under his breath when it stopped, and he walked into it. Evita gave him a little smile of pity, and Trunks understood that he was starting to give her the impression that he was mentally handicapped.

She pressed a button on the forklift controls which started a massive metal door along its motorized tracks, spilling weak sunlight into the wide opening. She drove the forklift outside and lowered the massive box slightly, then cut the ignition and stepped out.

“Well, here we are. If you can just pull your truck around we can get it loaded up and send you on your merry way,” Evita said with another cheesy smile. Trunks grimaced.

“Could you just uh, put it down? Here. And then I’ll uh, go get my… truck. And load it up. Myself.” Trunks knew at the sight of the grin on her face that it wasn’t going to fly. He wished he simply could.

“Afraid to show me your ride, huh?” She gave a knowing nod. “It’s okay, I drive a beat up old sedan.” She giggled girlishly and Trunks felt nausea gripping his stomach. Apparently she mistook the look of revulsion on his face, however, because she remarked, seemingly in response to it, “You’re so sweet Trunks; strong and silent, just my type! We should go out some time!”

This time, nobody could be thick enough to mistake the look of sheer horror on Trunks’s face as he made repeated attempts at speech. “I uh-… really, that’s… but well… er… very… and so…”

Recognizing his failure at expressing a cohesive thought, his fight-or-flight survival instincts kicked in. He reached up, heaved the massive package his mother had ordered from HFIL for him to retrieve, and took to the air. He flew up and away towards Capsule so fast that he almost didn’t register the shriek of terror as the force of his take-off nearly crushed the beast from which he fled under a toppling forklift.

It didn’t take long for Trunks to regain his sense and realize that he had just screwed up very badly. Unfortunately, before he could even think of what to do, the people below realized this too. With a pang of guilt he heard shouts and screams of terror and, distinctly, a number of people saying the word “android”. He glanced down and saw a number of them running in the opposite direction, with a few simply watching in terror as he flew. Not knowing what else to do, he flew as quickly as he could to Capsule Corp.

He hoped nobody was looking as he touched down, though he knew he probably couldn’t be that lucky. He dropped the massive bulk on his shoulders to the ground a bit harder than he should have, and bolted inside. On his way up the staircase to his mother’s office, he ran into the teal-haired genius, looking quite beside herself.

“Trunks! Thank goodness! What’s happening? They said there’s been an android attack and— ”

“Attack?! I didn’t attack anybody!”

Bulma’s eyes widened in shock. “It was you?”

“Of course it was me! Who else around here can fly? This is entirely your — what’s funny?”

Bulma had broken into a fit of giggles as Trunks shouted at her, his long lavender bangs clinging to the side of his face and looking quite disheveled. “Oh, well it’s just that… they said on the radio. The android that was seen was a girl.” She couldn’t contain herself anymore and doubled up laughing. Trunks’s face soon resembled a tomato and he clenched his fists, taking deep, calming breaths.

“I — do — not — look — like — a — GIRL!” Trunks raised his voice with each syllable, but on the last, as he attempted to shout, his voice broke and instead squealed the word. His mother, howling, rolled down the stairs to the landing below as he held his hands over his throat, considering strangling it for the betrayal. It took several minutes for them both to regain their composure.

“Oh, Trunks,” Bulma finally rasped over his mutinous mumbling. “You are so like your father sometimes. You gotta learn to laugh at yourself kiddo, the ladies will love it!” She gave him a quick hug and a wink, but there was a slight expression of guilt on her face. Eager to change the subject she asked, “Speaking of the ladies, how’d things with Evita go?”

At this, Trunks’s anger subsided as he blinked his bewilderment at her. He had a fleeting glimpse of the word “oops” written across her face before she seemed to become fascinated with the ceiling and started walking back up the stairs. He stared after her a moment and then asked, “What is that supposed to mean?”

When she did not answer, his suspicions heightened and he quickly strode the distance between them, blocking her just before she reached the door of her office. “How is it, exactly, that you know that girl, Mom?” He glared, daring her to confirm what he suspected.

“Oh, well, you know,” she started, shrugging and trying to sound casual. “Penny from accounting is her mother. They lost their whole family, too, you see, and Penny said she could use some company and I thought you could too, so I—”

“Set me up?” he asked shrewdly. He couldn’t explain the anger he was feeling, but it must have shown in his face. His mother instantly became defiant.

“Yes, that’s right! I set you up because I noticed that you refuse to make friends, or talk to anyone, or socialize at all! I thought that maybe you’d be happy to have some company!” She swelled up in indignation and got in his face, and to her surprise, Trunks relented. He simply sighed and started off down the stairs. Bemused, she called after him.

“Hey! Where are you going? I’m not done with you!”

“To socialize,” he spoke back, his voice quiet but clear enough to be heard as he disappeared around a corner at the foot of the stairway.

“Shouldn’t have asked,” Bulma said to herself, closing the office door behind her, looking decades older than she had just moments before.

***********************************

A small ripple spread through the grass where orange boots met softly with the hard clay of an unpaved road up Mt. Paozu. It was overgrown now with all sorts of vegetation but still clearly contrasted against the endless seas of green grass on either side. Winding up the gentle incline of the mountain, it came to an end at the threshold of a weather-beaten home adjacent a small hut with fading blue roof tiles. The windows were grimy and grass grew wildly up the foundations of both dwellings and the well they shared. Two trees had outgrown the small house, casting it half in shadow in the twilight.

The sight was peaceful, Trunks thought. It didn’t look dilapidated or run-down, but merely as if the owners had left home some time ago; a fitting headstone for the two who had indeed left, but whose bodies remained side-by-side under the massive, forlorn willow in the back yard. It was not they who he had come to see, however. With a twinge of remorse he turned away, remembering the tragic passing of the final member of the Son family so shortly after her son’s death. Unlike Trunks, she’d had no one left.

Squinting at the horizon he could just see the top of a wide deciduous tree over the crest of a hill. Burying his hands in his pockets Trunks shuffled forward, his head bowed and his hair obscuring his face. He breathed in the many smells that city life simply did not offer: the damp grass, the various flowering shrubs casting all manner of pleasing aromas, and the growing scent of soaked soil. As he overtook the hilltop and began down the somewhat lesser incline, the familiar lake came into view, its black surface glistening under the brightening starlight.

He approached the ancient tree with growing anxiety, his extremities shaking. The sense of loss was overwhelming, yet he was drawn to this place as much by the good memories as the bad. That was why he had chosen this place; Chi-Chi agreed. As he came around the vast trunk to the side that faced the lake, Trunks purposefully stepped over a broad patch of grass. The outline of the gravesite was etched permanently into his memory. He ran his bare hands along the surprisingly smooth wood: the same bare hands with which he had dug the grave. His fingers lightly traced the inscription he had carved there, worn with time but still unmistakable.

SON GOHAN

757 – 780

Tears stung in his eyes and a lump formed in his throat. He brushed over the name several times before moving along to the letters carved below that. These were somewhat sharper, visibly more recent:

NOT IN VAIN

He gulped at the cool night air, desperately trying to prevent the sobs from overtaking him. Trunks clutched at the tree as if his nails could pull from it the familiar orange gi and return to him the man who wore it. He leaned against the tree with a clenched fist for several minutes before regaining some semblance of self-control. Turning his back on the heart-wrenching epitaph, he sat down at the base of the tree, leaning his back against it and drawing his knees to his chest, resting his chin on his hands on top of them. He looked out across the lake, but his eyes saw nothing, their gaze fixed inward.

Gohan’s first assessment of him had been right, Trunks thought with derision. He was an emotional wreck. He wondered if Gohan would have been able to better teach him how to gain control over his emotions if not for his untimely death. The thought of several more years training with the person he treasured more than any other in his life pierced his heart like a blade. He was vaguely aware of the fresh tears sparkling in his eyes and again cursed at himself. That kind of dwelling on what could never be was not the type of control Gohan would have encouraged.

His entire life he had spent trying to be strong like Gohan, just as Gohan had spent his trying to outgrow the shadow of his father. That last word echoed in Trunks’s mind. Gohan had been his father, for all intents and purposes, but he was also so much more. Yet despite his influence Trunks had never gained the same confidence and sense of self that made the older demi such an inspiration.

Everything in his life had felt like a failure. He had failed to save his family. He had failed to save Gohan. He failed to save his world through his time travels. He had failed to save the alternate past timeline from the androids. He had exposed that timeline to Cell and other untold consequences, and the consequences of these failures were – just as in the theme park – blunted only by the strength of Gohan. The comparison was apt, he thought: in that final battle against Cell the younger version of his master had also lost use of his left arm, even if it was later restored.

Even the defeat of the androids in this time had been Gohan’s doing. It was the pain of losing him that had made Trunks a Super Saiyan. Gohan had foreseen it and had sacrificed his life willingly for that outcome. The high cost and the extremely late timing of his eventual triumph over the pair made the victory much more bitter than sweet. So he failed, too, at that which he wanted more than anything: to be like his master. He realized that this line of thinking constituted a self-fulfilling prophecy and that he would never be like Gohan if he was always putting himself down, but he had no method of dealing with these thoughts. There were no great challenges to focus him, so he simply wallowed helplessly in the darkest corners of his own mind.

Being in this place made Trunks feel physically numb. He sought it out because it virtually drowned him in everything he had left of Gohan. Because of this immersion, he hardly noticed the spider crawling across his vibrant boot, the gentle breeze causing his hair to tickle his face, or the voice that suddenly broke the silence.

“Are you still moping on about me?”

Trunks blinked as he considered what just happened. What he thought had just happened, anyway. It must’ve been his imagination. He’d obviously been thinking so hard about what Gohan would say to him now that he’d imagined actually hearing it. His eyelids drooped a bit at his rationalization as the voice rang again, a bit more sharply.

“Oh, sure. When I’m not there you do nothing but wish I was, but I try to hold a conversation with you and you ignore me!”

Trunks looked up, his eyes wide. He focused for a moment. He sensed no one and jumped dully to the only conclusion he could come up with, saying flatly aloud, “Oh, boy. I’ve finally cracked.”

“No, you haven’t,” Gohan chimed in cheerfully. “I’m in Otherworld, training on the Grand Kai’s planet with the Kai that oversees our part of the galaxy, and with my dad! King Kai is an expert in telepathy, so he lets me check in on you now and then. I’m really not supposed to interfere or communicate with anyone, but I win him a lot of fights so he’s letting me bend the rules a bit.”

“Oh.” Trunks couldn’t verbalize much more than that, afraid to dare to believe this was real.

“Get to the point,” barked a nasally voice that gave Trunks the image of a short, fat, extremely sour old man.

“Right. Trunks, I’m worried about you. It’s been five years since I died and you haven’t lived a day. Since you beat the androids you’ve been back at that spot three times a month brooding over the impossible. Do you remember the mantra that I pounded into that thick skull of yours when trying to get you to become a Super Saiyan?” Gohan’s voice was stern, but also hinted at the concern he was trying to convey. Trunks was overwhelmed at hearing that authoritative voice again and let it wash away all the doubts and fears and insecurities he’d been rolling in.

“Let it go,” he responded simply. His voice was croaky from the tears he could not stop. He felt fourteen again at the admonishing.

“Exactly. I died, Trunks, and I’ve moved on. You need to stop trying to keep me alive and move on, too. You finally beat the androids, King Kai let me watch. The righteousness and purpose in you, I’ve never been more proud dead or alive. But you’ve lost the way, Trunks. You need to find what makes you happy.” His voice softened as he spoke, conveying compassion over the immeasurable physical distance. Gohan wished he could reach out and give the aching young man the contact he desired, but he did his best to suppress this – for Trunks’s sake.

“You made me happy. You’re all that’s ever made me happy,” Trunks whispered, looking up to the sky in the vain hope that Gohan could see the conviction on his face.

“That isn’t true. You know it isn’t.” Gohan’s voice was stern again. “You don’t owe me or anybody else anything, but you owe yourself a decent life after the one of hardship and pain you’ve had so far. You see that etching on the tree you’re leaning against?”

Instinctively, Trunks turned and craned his head toward the spot that he could just barely make out in the starlit darkness.

“Your own words, buddy. Not in vain. So stop feeling guilty and stop feeling sorry for me and for yourself. That doesn’t do anyone any good.” His words hung in the air for a moment. Trunks had a feeling that Gohan had more to say, so he hesitated, unsure of what to say.

Then, King Kai cleared his throat pointedly, “So, can we wrap this up?”

“Well, I guess our time’s up! I hope I know you well enough to be sure that you’ll hang on every word I’ve said, Trunks. I expect you to have a whole lot of stories to tell when you finally make your trip to Otherworld!” Gohan was cheerful-sounding, and Trunks could just envision him in a broad grin, his hand absently scratching up and down the back of his head.

“Thanks, Gohan,” Trunks said feebly. “For telling me what I needed to hear. For letting me hear your voice one more time. For everything…” he trailed off, and again he couldn’t suppress the tears that flowed freely from his eyes.

“I’m proud of you, more proud than you can imagine. Good-bye for now, Trunks.” Even Gohan could not keep the deep sadness from his voice. Trunks was seized by an overwhelming compulsion to put into words just why the past five years had been so difficult.

“I love you, Gohan.” The words came smoothly from his mouth, much clearer than he could have imagined himself capable of in this state. He waited a moment for response, but knew at once that it would not come. He broke down completely, toppling onto all fours and pounding the ground with his fists as tears leaked copiously from his eyes to the ground below. Anger that he had again been denied the opportunity of expressing this innermost secret welled up inside of him and he roared at the stars. “Gohan! I love you, Gohan!”

***********************************

Trunks flew beneath the low clouds, his hands balled into fists at his sides. He hoped the cover of darkness would avoid anyone mistaking him for a flying female android again. He’d dealt with enough he couldn’t see for one night and doubted his own sense of direction at present. He was exhausted in every sense of the word and simply wanted to shut himself in his room and sleep for the rest of the weekend. Hopefully he’d be able to attain a bit more clarity when he was well-rested.

He landed soundlessly on the grass beside the front entrance to the familiar dome, a cool breeze prickling his skin and sending a shiver down his spine. After keying himself in, Trunks skulked his way through the corridors to where his room was. As he reached the final stretch he all but tiptoed his way past the half-open door that led down to his mother’s lab/workshop, which was illuminating most of the attached hallway. His door stood slightly ajar down the corridor on the opposite side, but as he reached it he heard a creak and felt his mother’s eyes burning into his back. With a sigh, he turned to face her.

“Thought you could get away without saying good-night, did you?” she asked indignantly. Her expression softened as she took in her son’s appearance. His hair had been released from its ponytail and now curtained his whole head; it was tangled in a way the wind couldn’t have managed. His eyes were red and puffy, his face covered in red blotches. It looked as if he’d chewed his bottom lip until it bled. What alarmed her most was that he was allowing her to see him like this. He’d always been too proud to face her with the trails of tears on his cheeks, and the defeated expression he wore indicated that he didn’t have the energy to enter their unique version of “communication”.

Immediately she knew something had devastated her son, and she had a good idea what.

With a graceful, fluid movement she was across the hall and embracing him, not knowing what else to do. “Trunks…” she muttered.

He returned her hug for a moment, gripping her tightly, before choking out, “Good-night, Mom.” She recognized the plea and let go, her heart sinking as he closed the door behind him.

It physically pained Bulma to see Trunks suffering in such a way. She didn’t want to lose him, yet she wasn’t sure how long he could go on like this. Her resolve hardened. She had to help him, and soon. Wiping the tears from her eyes and giving a small sniffle, she turned and strode back down the hall.

When he finally heard the door of his mother’s workshop creak closed again, Trunks leaned off the door. Ordinarily, his mother’s reaction to seeing him would have wrenched his heart; tonight, there was simply no further room for pain. He stripped off his filthy clothes and without even bothering to wash collapsed onto his back upon his bed. As he fell quickly into sleep, his ears did not register the soft rumble of distant thunder.

***********************************

The rain came on quickly. The dull plunks of water droplets splashing off the rooftops soon gave way to a continuous crashing sound as torrents of water poured from the skies above. The issuing black clouds crept invisibly across the sky, brief glimpses visible only by the intense flashes of brilliant white light, each bolt producing crackling booms that rattled the windows of the city below.

In spite of the assault on their senses, the people of New West City slept on through the deepest hours of the night. Thunderstorms were a common enough occurrences, and the only dangers they perceived were kept at bay by thick walls and extensive drainage systems.

There was one residence on the edge of town, however, where not all was peaceful and where the rain was dreaded beyond all else. As a particularly violent crack of thunder rattled his bedside window at Capsule Corporation, Trunks sat bolt upright in his bed, his hands clutching the sheet below him. Immediately the familiar sounds filled his ears. His eyes widening, he turned to see the water streaking down the glass. He shoved himself backwards, off the bed and onto the floor, as the room began to spin and dissolve from view…

————

Bulma furrowed her brow as she pounded away furiously at the keys beneath her fingertips. Completely oblivious to the late hour, her red-rimmed eyes were fixed on the luminous screen in front of her. The vigor with which she worked for so many hours straight belied her advancing age. She shifted her gaze and her right hand for a moment as she scribbled a few things down. A small frown of concentration played on her lips before she turned back to the computer. She began typing furiously again and muttering to herself.

“Hmm… April, yes. Leaves a few months. Yes, that should do it.”

She stopped typing and leaned back a bit, smirking a bit. She glanced over her shoulder and then back at the gauge at the edge of her screen. The humming of the various pieces of equipment engulfed her for a moment, and the particularly violent crack of thunder did not faze her as it normally would have. It clicked immediately after, however, as she next caught the sound of a deep, drawn-out scream that she knew all too well.

“Trunks, no!” She couldn’t have stopped the useless shout from escaping her lips any more than she could have stopped herself from launching across the room, almost overshooting the staircase as she dashed up to the hall. Few would have believed a fifty-three year old woman could move so fast had they not seen it for themselves.

Bulma flung open the door to her son’s room and stood in the doorway for a moment to gain a measure of the situation. Trunks was sitting beside his bed on the floor and his back to her, wearing nothing but his boxers. His knees were bent and he was leaning back on his hands, slowly pulling himself backwards and away from the window at which he was staring. He was drenched in sweat and shivering. His sheets were twisted, and from his proximity to the bed she gathered that he had just woken up to the violent storm. If he wasn’t far along, perhaps there was still time to bring him around…

Dashing forward across the small bedroom, she wrapped her arms around him and began whispering soothingly to him. “It’s okay Trunks. It’s okay, I’m here. You’re not alone. Come on Trunks, stay with me.”

Trunks gave no indication that he heard her. His eyes were unfocused and full of tears as he spoke in a small voice, “No… Oh gosh, no! What did they do to you, Gohan…”

“Come on Trunks. Please. Snap out of it. It’s over Trunks, please!” Bulma pleaded, squeezing him, rocking him, tears spilling down her cheeks as feelings of helplessness set in.

Trunks brought his hands up in front of him, pushing her to the side a little as he grasped at something she could not see. As the realization dawned on her of what he was re-living, she closed her eyes in revulsion and renewed her attempts to snap him out of it. Trunks simply mumbled things she couldn’t understand. Then, his body began to shake more violently and the tears flowed more rapidly down his cheeks.

“Gohan!” he shouted. “Gohan!” again, raising his voice again. “Gohan!” this time he released at the top of his lungs, and the last syllable turned into an endless, deep scream of agony.

Bulma clung to her son now out of terror as much as a desire to comfort him. His hands were balled into fists, his nails breaking the skin of his palms. His eyes were squeezed tightly shut, his entire face contorted by the vast extension of his jaw. Purple hair began fluttering around his head, as if caught in a breeze, and Bulma knew what was going to happen.

“Trunks, no!” she cried. “Trunks, stop! Please!” she couldn’t make herself any louder, yet still he did not hear her.

The entire room began to shake and Bulma felt as if a warm breeze was sweeping in from nowhere. The all-too-familiar golden glow was now visible and Trunks’s hair sprung out into a huge mass of spikes as it flashed a bright blonde. His eyes shot wide open to reveal their intense greenish-teal color, still unfocused and unseeing. The pained screaming continued.

Then, quite suddenly, all the muscles of Trunks’s body contracted and an unstoppable force hurled Bulma outward, away from her son. His scream grew even louder and more intense as things fell from the walls and shelves of his room and his mother slammed hard into the wall, crumpling into a heap on the floor.

And as abruptly as it had started, it ended. Trunks’s hair returned to its usual lavender and the irises of his eyes became blue and vibrant with lucidity once more. Panting, his voice rasp as he crawled over to her, he gasped out, “Mom! Mom, are you alright? Oh, please, no…”

He sat on his heels beside her and lifted her into his arms, her head resting lightly on his shoulder. Her eyes were closed and a quick assessment told him that she wasn’t bleeding and didn’t appear to have broken anything, yet she wasn’t responsive. He began to panic. Brushing her hair out of her face he stared down at her, and was shocked to see that she was smiling.

“That tickles.” Her eyes fluttered open. “I hope I didn’t scare you as badly as you scared me. How are you feeling, Trunks?” she asked, lifting herself up on her knees to give him a once-over, her expression full of motherly concern.

“I’m fine,” he said shortly. Then, again panicking, he tumbled into explanation, “Mom, I’m sorry, I don’t know… I couldn’t…”

“It’s alright, Trunks. I’m tougher than I look,” she said. “I’ll be fine. But will you?” she asked. The storm had subsided some and the rumbles of thunder were distant, the rain light.

“I’ll be okay now,” he said apprehensively. Then, realizing his state of undress and how profusely he’d been sweating, he blushed. “I think I could use a cold shower.”

Bulma gave him a stern, appraising look, trying to determine whether he was brushing off his condition to avoid inconveniencing her. Satisfied by the look of embarrassed innocence on his face she said, “Well, if you’re sure. I’ll go out to the kitchen and make tea. Just holler if you need anything, okay?”

Trunks nodded as he stood, then helped his mother to her feet. They hugged for a moment and she headed from the room to make tea. She’d inherited her belief that tea was the cure-all for every ill, physical or emotional, from her own mother. For all the bickering they did, he loved his mother, and the thought that he had almost harmed her tonight drove him to the brink of madness. Sighing, he gathered up a towel and headed into his attached bathroom.

The cold tile against his feet sent goose bumps popping up Trunks’s skin. Closing the door behind him, he looked into the mirror to size himself up. He had to admit, he was a bit of a wreck. The huge bags under his eyes certainly didn’t help. His face was still puffy and pale with red blotches all over, with the drying trails of sweat and tears giving him a somewhat grimy look. Or perhaps that was from the dirt that was variously visible on his forehead, in his hair, and all manner of other places. He was clammy from the effects of evaporation, and as he ran his hands over his skin he noticed that they had been bleeding.

He turned with a sigh away from the mirror and bowed his head as he faced the shower. This prompted another observation. He had not been aware of it until now, but there was something protruding a good distance out the fly of his boxers. ‘A mind of its own,’ Trunks thought to himself. Then he wondered just how long that had been there and whether he’d given his mother a bit more in that hug than he’d intended. Trying to force this from his mind Trunks put the cold water on and stepped into the shower, letting out a gasp as the icy water ran over him.

“What a day,” he muttered, spitting out the water he’d inadvertently taken in. Trunks found his mind to still be staggering through a haze. Visions and memories of Gohan that he knew were real, and very recent ones that he thought were real, swam in and out of focus in his head. He couldn’t understand it. He’d been a mess on other days, why did Gohan choose today to talk to him? His own behavior wasn’t new, so what prompted Gohan to try to intervene from beyond the grave? Was it Gohan’s bringing all of these raw emotions to the surface which triggered his violent outburst? Nothing seemed to make sense, and he groaned as he transitioned the water from cold to warm.

He stepped out of the shower a few moments later and reached for his towel, the same questions without answers tugging at his brain. He toweled himself dry and wrapped it around his waist. He pulled as much of his hair as he could back into a ponytail, though the bangs at the front escaped as usual and took their place at the sides of his face. He stepped carefully across his room, trying to avoid stepping on everything that had fallen to the floor. His eyes and hands brushed briefly over the familiar orange and blue gi he kept in the bottom drawer as he rummaged for some comfortable clothes. He settled on a pair of loose athletic pants and one of his black tank tops, dragging them on and ambling out the door.

Physically he felt much better thanks to the refreshing shower. Emotionally, however, he’d only gotten more confused and frustrated as he tried to make sense of things. He’d gotten past the disbelief – he accepted that he really had spoken to his old master under that tree. He knew that Gohan had been right on nearly every account, as well. Trunks wanted more than anything to take Gohan’s advice to heart, but these flashbacks, nightmares, whatever they were… it was like reliving the source of his pain on a regular basis. How could these wounds heal if they kept being torn open? Perhaps with tea, he mused, as the familiar aroma of his preferred Earl Grey reached him.

Trunks stepped into the open kitchen to see his mother placing a mug down in front of a chair she was reaching her legs around to sit in. What was clearly his mug was already sitting at a place on an adjacent side of the square wooden table on the far side of the kitchen. She gave him a warm smile that invited him to sit down. She spoke as he closed the distance to the table.

“Milk and two sugars, just the way you like,” she told him, indicating his mug. He sat down and took a long draught of the hot liquid, relishing the way it seemed to burn feeling back into him. He looked without expression into his mother’s eyes, wondering what sort of answers she was expecting to glean from the impending conversation. He wasn’t going to try to avoid it this time; she deserved to know what little he could tell her. She broke the silence of their staring contest first.

“Trunks,” she began, and she reached out and took his hands in her own. “I love you so much, more than you will ever know, and I’m so proud of you, more than I could ever say.” She almost seemed to be pleading with him. Trunks squeezed his mother’s hands gently.

“I love you, too, Mom.” He tried to put a lot of meaning behind the words and matched her expression in contact and intensity. She looked nervous – very nervous. The unease in her eyes was almost as strong as the concern, and as if he’d been punched in the stomach Trunks realized why.

She was afraid of him. He could have killed her and just like everyone else, she was scared of what he could do if he lost control.

“Don’t you dare blame yourself, Trunks,” she said. He wished he could stop showcasing his emotions on his face, though he suspected that she’d be able to tell what he was thinking even if he wore a bag on his head. “For any of this. You didn’t choose this life or what it’s thrown at you, so stop putting yourself down about it,” her voice was firm and he knew there was no point trying to argue with her. Trunks merely nodded, looking down at the mug he was swirling in his hand.

“Now, tell me,” she continued, “What happened at Mount Paozu that had you so rattled when you came home?”

Trunks looked up in shock. “How did you—” he croaked, but Bulma interrupted him.

“You may think you’re so stealthy, mister, but do you really think I’ve survived this long by being totally oblivious? Now what happened?”

Trunks shifted uncomfortably. The revelation that his mother apparently knew where he’d been disappearing to all these months was not a bar didn’t surprise him as much as it unsettled him. What was worse is that she seemingly also realized that this particular visit to his master’s grave had been different. He couldn’t tell her. Between his little nightmare and admitting he was hearing disembodied voices he was certain she’d think he had gone completely bonkers. She’d have a good point, he thought. He sighed audibly.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” he mumbled indistinctly, half hoping she didn’t hear him.

“Try me,” she said with burning defiance that made him wince.

He hesitated, but he knew that he couldn’t back away from this one. That glare would bind him to the chair until he spilled the beans, and with resignation he began. “He spoke to me,” he said, barely above a whisper. “Gohan. I heard his voice and it… well, it responded,” he finished.

After a moment, Bulma’s expression softened a bit as she raised her eyebrows and said, “And? What did he say?”

That wasn’t quite the response Trunks had expected and he stumbled to answer his mother’s probing. “He— well, he said… He said he was worried about me, said I needed to,” he paused and swallowed hard before finishing in a quiet croak, “Stop blaming myself.”

She sighed and smiled warmly at her son, “Well I’m glad we reached the same conclusion.”

Trunks was gripped by disbelief again. His brain was getting sluggish and he gulped down the rest of his tea while he tried to think how to verbalize the question that burned at him. “So you… You believe me? I mean,” he paused, mentally trying to kick his mind for its poor performance. “You don’t think I’m crazy?”

His mother laughed at him. “Oh, Trunks,” she said with a grin. “I knew Gohan his entire life, his father was my best friend, we spent months on a spaceship and an alien planet together. I saw and did things you wouldn’t believe with those two,” she paused and laughed again, her eyes misty. “If I told you I was once transposed into the body of an alien frog, wouldn’t you believe me?”

Trunks merely looked at his mother, blinking a couple times as he gained a measure of what she was saying. She didn’t wait for an answer, though.

“If Gohan wanted to speak to you, Trunks, I know a silly little thing like being dead wouldn’t stop him,” she said simply. “Now,” she continued with her voice stern again. “You still haven’t explained why you were so distraught by Gohan simply telling you to stop blaming yourself. Or was it something else?”

Trunks damned his mother’s persistence. He couldn’t keep up with this conversation, let alone jog his memory to properly remember what Gohan had said. His eyelids were starting to feel heavy, so he hastened to explain as best he could.

“He said something, something else. He said I—” he paused, his brow furrowing in concentration as he fought the fog filling his mind. His mother stared at him sadly as he struggled, “I need to start living… Living for myself. Need to… Move on,” he stammered. “But I can’t—”

His mother stood from her chair and then kneeled in front of him, and their eyes locked. The young demi-Saiyan could just see the tears in her eyes as she slid in and out of focus. Then she spoke very clearly in spite of them, “Trunks, there is something I learned from your father. It is the hardest lesson I have ever learned, but please take it to heart.” He nodded.

“Sometimes the things we love most are the things we cannot have, and that separation only intensifies the desire. Trunks, even with those we love most, there comes a time when we have to let go and move on, for their sake and for your own,” Bulma continued as tears streaked her face. Trunks tried his best to absorb the words, to hold on to them as he heard the urgency in her voice. She pressed on, “Let go and move on Trunks, please.”

The aging blue-haired woman leaned up and hugged her son tightly, no longer able to suppress a sob. He returned the display of affection, fighting with everything he had against the onset of sleep. Then she let go and held his hands tightly in hers and spoke, much less composed than she had been just a moment before.

“I love you, my son. Never forget that.”

“I love… you too, Mom,” he stumbled out, giving a faint smile before his eyes rolled into his head and darkness engulfed him.

***********************************

Bulma hurried down the stairs, her feet making pronounced clangs on the metal steps disproportionate to her size. She crossed the spacious workshop in two strides and sat sideways in front of the computer she had abandoned not so long ago. She saw the gauge at just under half, reading 43%. She frowned.

It was enough for one journey. She knew when she’d made her decision that there would be no turning back for either her son or herself, but it didn’t please her nonetheless. It took a 40% charge to simply make the jump, the machine would be running on empty when he arrived. She decided she’d give it as much time as she could and dashed back into the hall, down the corridor to her son’s room.

As she flicked on the light, she couldn’t help but remember fondly when her son’s room was this messy merely because he refused to clean it. Bulma looked around and a great weight fell on her heart. This all seemed surreal, and for a moment she considered calling the whole thing off. Then her eyes came to rest on the cracked wall she’d visited earlier. With a sigh, she set about encapsuling all her son’s possessions.

Digging through this cluttered wardrobe and emptying all his clothes, she came to a sheathed sword leaning against the back corner. She picked it up, gently pulling the blade from its holster, until the shattered portion emerged. She slid it back in and placed it gingerly on top of the piled clothes. He’d never told her where the sword had come from, but she remembered the regret on his face when he informed her that it had been broken by an android in the past.

She moved over to his dresser. His wallet sat between two framed photos: one was of herself holding him close in a hug as he tried to wriggle free. He looked about 6. She looked over to the other, where he sat on Gohan’s shoulder. They both wore delighted grins, standing beside the trunk of what must’ve been an enormous tree, in front of a lake of deep blue. Trunks was wearing a pair of Gohan’s sunglasses that were much too big for him and looked no more than ten years old. Gohan looked about eighteen, but there was still that intangible look of pain behind his dark eyes that gave the impression of great maturity, even in a moment of such happiness.

Bulma removed the three items, a tear splashing from her eye onto the hard wood surface of the dresser, and placed them into a small box of his more delicate possessions. Then she went about removing the clothes and contents of his drawers. Among a collection of old junk which ranged from clothespins to bouncy balls to a rusty tape measure, she found two more pictures. The first made her gasp. There was Trunks, not much younger than he was currently, standing with one hand lifted to chest height in a “victory” sign and the other resting on the shoulder of a considerably shorter man, grinning ear-to-ear. His hair stuck up straight at a slight angle backwards from his head and was completely jet black. He was turned away from the direction of the camera, but his eyes were looking at it, his face unsmiling. One arm was held across his chest, and the other looked like it had been in the same position until he removed his hand, one arm still tucked under the other, making an identical “victory” sign. They wore identical, beat-up versions of what she recognized as Saiyan armor.

She looked at it long and hard before shuffling it back to see the other picture. Again, she was shocked. Here was her son again, apparently on the same day as he was still clad in the battered blue and white armor. He was grinning again, standing under a large tree in front of a lake, with a younger boy sitting on his shoulder. Bulma marveled at the younger Gohan, sitting there with the most innocent grin almost identical to his father’s. He was wearing what must have once been a set of purple gi, though the legs were all torn up and only one arm hole remained over his right shoulder. Shaking her head, she placed the two photos on top of the framed pair, one of which was so eerily similar to the one she’d just seen.

Moving down the drawers she continued to empty her son’s possessions into little containers for transport. She came to the bottom drawer and removed some old clothes she wasn’t sure he’d even wear anymore when, on the bottom, she came to a neatly-folded garment she knew well. It was an orange and blue gi, with blue wristbands lying upon it, and the han kanji in black and white facing upward. She knew he wouldn’t wear this, but she also knew he’d never forgive her if it got left behind. Actually, she wasn’t sure he’d ever forgive her for sending him back like this. She placed the garment at the top of the same box where the photos were and slid the drawer closed.

From inside her Capsule Corporation jacket she withdrew a small white envelope which had been sealed, the name “Trunks” written across the front. Squeezing it a little, as if it was entirely this letter’s fault that she was losing her son…

No, not losing. Giving up. She breathed deeply, and tucked it securely into Gohan’s gi. She knew that if Trunks ever needed closure, he would find it. With a last sweep of the now-bare room, she clicked his worldly goods into their capsules and tucked them into her pocket. Not wanting to spend another second there, she switched off the light and closed the door lightly behind her as she withdrew from her son’s old bedroom.

Suppressing the emotions welling up inside of her, she marched back down to her workshop. She saw with annoyance that the time machine was now at just 46% power, but it would be enough to get him there in one piece. She double-checked the coordinates and made sure everything was set before disconnecting it from the computer system. Brushing her hand against the word “HOPE!!” painted on the side, she encapsulated the time machine and stuffed it in her pocket. She pulled open a drawer on her desk and pulled out two other capsules, then withdrew from the room. She knew if she lingered anywhere too long the doubts would start to set in.

Trunks was exactly where she had left him, slumped over the kitchen table. He was out cold, his mouth hanging open slightly and his bangs fluttering slightly at his breath. She clicked the two capsules she’d removed from her desk and two large, humanoid robots appeared in a whirring puff of smoke. They looked at each other and then at her for instructions.

“Hey, boys,” she said. “Could you pick him up,” she indicated Trunks, “and carry him – gently – out back for me?”

“Of course Ms. Briefs,” they chorused in tinny voices. They immediately set about their task, following Bulma closely through a number of corridors as they emerged into the cool air outside.

The ground was still very wet and the air was humid, but the storm had blown itself out some time ago. Some of the stars shifted in and out of view as the remaining clouds passed rapidly through the sky above. Bulma pulled the time machine’s capsule from her pocket and clicked it, and a short moment later it had appeared in the grass some distance behind the large dome they resided in.

“Alright,” she addressed the robots behind her. “Please seat him in there. Carefully, now. He’s not made of iron.”

The metal behemoths clicked their acknowledgment and set about their task. It wasn’t easy for them, even at their size, to lift him as high as the time machine’s seat. After a brief struggle that got them admonished for mishandling their precious cargo, they managed to slump him into the cramped cockpit. Bulma sighed with relief: moving him once he was unconscious would be the biggest obstacle, she knew.

“That will be all, you two,” she barked. The robots instantly turned back into capsules, giving off a big puff of smoke and a bang. Bulma climbed up the side of the large apparatus toward the cockpit. With no need to hold back she was crying freely now.

For the last time, the mother looked upon her son’s face. She absorbed every feature, admired the perfection she saw in the young man who was apparently sleeping peacefully. She gasped at the air heavily as she pushed some hair from his forehead, brushing the tops of her fingers lightly down his cheek. She leaned in and kissed the side of his face gently, then pulled the small box of capsules containing his belongings from her pocket and slid it into his.

“I love you, Trunks,” she whispered. Then she tore her eyes from him and to the illuminated panel in front of him. She again checked that the data was input correctly and then initiated the launch sequence. She leaned out of the cockpit and jumped to the ground, backing away quickly as the glass top came down. The engines on the side groaned as they thrust downward and the machine lifted slowly into the sky.

Despite the flowing tears, Bulma wouldn’t allow herself to blink as the two greatest achievements of her life glowed blue and vanished into nothingness.

[[ End-of-story notes: This is the first fic I've written in years, my first DBZ fic, and my first fic of this scope and size. I don't know that the forthcoming chapters will be quite as long but I won't rule it out.

I hope for some honest, constructive criticism. I can handle it, and if you're sugar-coating or BSing I'll know. And I'll poke your eyes out.

All credit goes to Veronica for inspiring me to write this, for beta-reading, for being a great person to bounce ideas off of, and all sorts of other awesomeness. Cheers.]]

Author’s Notes: This was based off a dream I had. Will be A Truhan don’t worry about that though it might take a long time. (I don’t really have that much time to be writing this, especially when you consider the other three fics I’m writing). I apologize now that I don’t update often.

Chapter Title: A Chat and a Shower

Gohan went to school the next morning still wearing the collar. He had tried to make it look like a necklace but he really couldn’t do much about it. And Bulma had to drive him because he couldn’t fly there.

All in all the day sucked. Gohan had to deal with people staring at him, and the collar, all day. And more than a few people had tried to hit on him. For instance, the idiot bothering him now,

“Hello. Son, right? You like being collared or something? Cause I got cuffs in my car…”

Gohan had almost punched him. Instead he replied,

“No, it was a bet. You really have handcuffs? Did the cops give them to you after they arrested you?” The idiot left in a huff.

The only good thing that happened that day was that the sex-ed class had been canceled due to a lack of teacher.

Upon returning to Capsule Corps (Bulma picked him up) Gohan once again had Vegeta trying to remove the collar. Vegeta had Gohan sit down on one of the kitchen chairs while he tried to manipulate the collar without actually touching it. The thing was seamless and there didn’t seem to be a way to get it off. Eventually even Vegeta had to admit there was nothing he could do.

Gohan just shrugged it off. He was alive, he hadn’t been hurt, and while he didn’t want to be helpless, now was a great time to work on his technique and strength, without his ki. Not that that made it any better but it gave him some hope.

The day ended after he and Piccolo finished a couple hours of spar time, and dinner. Since the Son’s were still averse to returning home with Gohan in this condition, they stayed at Capsule Corps for another night.

Gohan headed off to his room after dinner finished. Once there he removed his clothing and got into the shower. While he was in there Mirai had come to say goodnight. Unfortunately this was just as Gohan was leaving the shower. Gohan walked out of the shower stall wrapped a towel around his waist and stepped out into his room. Were Mirai was waiting for him.

“Eek!” Gohan exclaimed as he saw Mirai standing there and absentmindedly dropped the towel. Mirai looked away as Gohan picked up the towel, blushing, and rewrapped it. That was not a sight that was likely to ever leave Mirai’s memory anytime soon. Matter of fact he was lodging it away for future use. Not that Gohan knew that. However, Mirai left the room to let Gohan change.

“I am dressed now.” Gohan called out to the hallway were Mirai stood against the wall. Mirai walked in. Gohan sat on the edge of his bed with a brush and the towel, trying to get some of the water out of his sponge like hair. “What did you want?” Gohan asked as Mirai walked through the door.

“Oh, I wanted to say goodnight. And ask how you were doing, we really didn’t get much of a chance to talk yesterday.” Gohan motioned for him to sit down on the chair beside Gohan’s desk, so he did so.

“Ah, I see. Well I am ok. School is definitely not one of my mother’s brightest ideas but…”

“Don’t like it much” Mirai asked leaning toward Gohan a little.

“Yeah, no one likes me cause I am much younger than every one else, and I am smarter than most of the teachers. Nevermind this collar thing that now has everyone teasing me.”

“That would be rather irritating…But there has to be someone you can talk to there. I mean seriously everyone here is much older than you and they can’t always be very good conversation.”

‘Well they are ok, but they still see me as a little kid and as such treat me that way, though Piccolo really isn’t that much older than me, but he still thinks I am the little kid he trained before Vegeta got here. I don’t think he is older than more that five or six years…

I talk to him a lot though, ‘cause he listens to me.”

“I see. Well at least Piccolo is around then” Mirai paused. “You know you can always talk to me too right?” Gohan looked up from his hair and blinked at him.

“Of course I do.” The Gohan that Mirai had left after the Cell Games would have smiled at him here, but that Gohan had changed and become this one. One who never really smiled anymore. However he did nod.

“Good” Mirai smiled. “So I met Goten earlier today.”

“Goten is way too energetic for his own good.” Gohan looked back down at his hair again. “I need a new towel.” As Gohan got up to toss the drenched towel into the wastebasket and get a replacement Mirai thought, I remember a time when you were too energetic for your own good too. What happened to you Gohan? Mirai wanted to ask, but he wasn’t sure Gohan would say, so he waited, hoping that he would find out eventually.

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.

“To lose all my senses, that is just so typically me.”
–Britney

Chapter 13

Trunks opened his eyes, still red-rimmed and blurry from sleep. Morning light poured into the room from the large glass door he was facing, the single gauzy curtain that hung in front of it doing little to block out the sun. But instead of rolling over and pulling the covers over his head to get away from it, Trunks smiled drowsily. He was glad to be awake for the first time in as long as he could remember.

Things were good. Things were really good. He didn’t know exactly why he felt so content, but he let his eyes droop closed again.

Ah, right.

Gohan.

A few pornographic images flickered on the backs of his eyelids. “Mmmm.” He rolled over to face his bedmate, but the other side of the bed was empty. He sat up.

“Morning.”

The other demi was standing near the foot of the bed. He had put his discarded boxer shorts back on and was carefully folding his wrinkled jeans. His expression was indecipherable but his dark eyes glowed like embers in the morning sun. Trunks lamented that the ebony irises were so difficult to read. The prince looked away, glancing towards the balcony and beyond at the tidy, tree-lined streets of the city below.

So this was what people called The Morning After.

“Were you going somewhere?” he asked, keeping his eyes trained on the trees.

“I thought I’d go and get us some breakfast.”

Gohan observed the teen as he turned to face him again, a suspicious look in his blue eyes. One corner of Gohan’s mouth curled into an understanding smile. “Did you think I was running out on your or something?” He had never known Trunks to be the paranoid type. But then again, he supposed the prince’s ego had taken a bit of a hit recently. He moved around to the side of the bed nearest the sliding door and sat down so he was eye-level with his roommate. The mattress shifted under his weight and he reached out to push Trunks’ short hair off his forehead. “I just didn’t want to wake you, that’s all.”

The touch, though innocuous, was warm and affectionate and the teen brought himself to meet his roommate’s gaze. Gohan leaned in to press his lips to Trunks’ temple. When he pulled back, he lingered near the teen’s cheek and Trunks pecked him lightly on the mouth.

The fireworks of the previous night came back to the front of the prince’s mind even at the chaste contact, and he was reluctant to let the other go. He kissed the dark-haired demi again, opening his lips more this time and keeping his tongue to himself only because he hadn’t had time to brush his teeth yet. “Well, since I’m awake anyway, what about having dessert first?”

Gohan chuckled and absently traced along Trunks’ clavicle with his fingers. “It’s tempting. But . . . I think maybe we should talk.” The teen groaned. Why did Gohan always have to think so much? Why couldn’t he just jump in head first like a normal person? “Over fresh cinnamon rolls?” The elder Son attempted a compromise. “I was thinking of hitting up that bakery on Seventh Ave. The one you like so much.”

“How’d you know I liked it?” Trunks tilted his head and Gohan shrugged bashfully.

“You mentioned it when we jogged past there the other day.”

The teen couldn’t hide a smile. “Oh, alright,” he relented, the Saiyan side of him convincing the human side that sugary breakfast pastries were almost as good as morning sex. “Get the kind with real icing, though. None of that drizzled honey stuff. And no nuts.”

“Your highness,” Gohan teased as he stood up.

Trunks stretched his arms out over his head. “Wake me when you get back, babe,” he yawned, settling into the pillows again. He was sure the round trip would take his roommate a good half hour and he planned on spending that time in dreamland. “Oh, and Gohan.” The older man stopped at the door and glanced back at the boy, whose muffled voice drifted from amidst the bedding. “Take a shower first. We don’t want you pulling a Videl on anyone.”

***

Twenty minutes later, a fresh and clean Gohan stood in line at the bakery, enjoying the smell of sweet bread as it came out of the ovens and pondering Trunks’ last words. Aside from being characteristically insensitive, they spoke volumes about the younger boy’s relationship habits. Gohan himself had awakened feeling more relaxed than he had in a long time, and with that touch of giddiness that always came with the promise of something exciting and new. In his eagerness to get breakfast for the two of them, housekeeping issues like showering had almost slipped his mind.

Not that he wanted to break the news to Vegeta or anyone else he might run into by pulling a Videl; not in a million years! Nonetheless, it surprised him that the still half asleep teenager had the foresight to take such precautions; as though they were second nature to him. Gohan realized that in his marriage, he had become rather lax about the whole issue, since no one minded if married people had sex. In fact, family members – human and Saiyan alike – heartily encouraged it, hoping to hear the pitter patter of little feet one day.

Trunks, on the other hand, must have gone to a considerable amount of trouble to hide whatever it was he’d been doing the last few years. After all, he had to have gotten all that experience from somewhere. Yet Gohan had never seen him with a significant other, either male or female. He didn’t know for sure what Trunks wanted from their tryst or where exactly they would go from here. But he did finally know what he wanted for himself, and it did not include secret rendezvous or hidden liaisons. He already felt that he’d lived a lie with Videl, being forced to downplay his feelings for her, and he hoped Trunks wouldn’t ask him to do the same thing.

If they were going to continue whatever it was they had, then he wanted it to be healthy, open, and honest, no matter the consequences. But Trunks would have to decide if he was ready for that or not, and Gohan didn’t want to let things go any further until the young prince made that call.

He was all too aware of what he hoped the teen’s answer would be, and he chuckled at the irony of it all. When had the other demi become such an integral part of his daily life? And, more importantly, when he had started to enjoy it?

“Excuse me.”

The last thing he remembered, he had wanted to strangle the Capsule heir and now . . . . Well, now he just kinda wanted to pin the prince underneath him and get him to moan his name again the way he had the night before. Suffice it to say Gohan had learned there was a very fine line between irritation and attraction.

“Excuse me!” The demi-Saiyan was roused from his thoughts by a finger poking painfully into the back of his shoulder. When he turned around, the old lady behind him shook her giant purse.

“You plannin’ on orderin’ sometime today, Sonny, or would you like to get out of our way?” She gestured to the line of irritated patrons behind her and Gohan realized he must have been daydreaming.

“No! I mean, uh, yes ma’am!” He turned back to the cashier who was waiting impatiently with two hands on her hips. “Sorry,” he apologized, while trying to pull off those puppy dog eyes the Saiyan prince used with so much success. The girl only crossed her arms and tapped the fingers of her right hand against her skin. Gohan sighed. “A dozen cinnamon rolls please.”

***

“Well, hello there, young Mr. Son. We haven’t seen you around here lately.”

“Yeah, I know.” The teen smiled at the conscientious doorman who greeted him as he entered his brother’s building.

“It’s good to see that you’re fully dressed this time.” The older gentleman smiled kindly at Goten and the boy’s cheeks reddened a bit.

“Mmhmm,” he agreed. The last time he’d been there was to borrow a pair of Gohan’s shoes and the doorman had been kind enough to let him into the apartment after Goten had begged him and assured him he had Gohan’s permission.

“I believe your brother’s gone out for some breakfast,” he informed the teen. “Offered to bring me back some coffee and donuts, too. A nice young man, that one.”

“Oh, yeah, Gohan’s the best.” Goten smiled proudly. His older brother had always been his hero and nothing made him happier than when other people recognized the strength of character he had always known Gohan to possess.

“Would you like to have a seat and wait for him to get back?” The older man gestured at the various couches and chairs that furnished the lobby. “Shouldn’t be too long.”

“Aw, you can’t let me in this time?” Goten frowned and the doorman made an apologetic face.

“I’m afraid Mr. Briefs’d have my head if I did that. Bit of a temper, that one.” Goten chuckled at the other’s apt observations, figuring he must learn a lot about the building’s occupants standing there in the lobby all day long. “Last time you were here, no one was home, remember? But I can’t make a habit of letting non-residents into the apartments.” He winked. “Why don’t I ring their rooms and see if I can get your friend for you?”

“Hmm . . .” Goten thought it over for a moment. He had been on his way home from campus when he decided to stop by Gohan’s apartment. He slept over in the dorms the night before, as Gohan had requested, and he thought now would be as good a time as any for that little heart-to-heart his brother wanted to have. Although, if he was honest with himself, he wouldn’t have been in nearly as big a hurry to have their chat if not for the distinct possibility that he would run into Trunks in the process. It might actually be good, he thought, that Gohan was out. It would give him a few minutes alone with Trunks. “Okay,” he agreed finally.

He watched the uniformed man dial the apartment twice then hang up. “I’m sorry, but I’m not getting anyone. I’ll bet your friend is still asleep. I rarely see him out this early on the weekends.”

“That’s true,” Goten agreed, scratching his chin. “You know what? I think I’ll just go see if I can find my brother.” He trotted towards the door that led to the street. “Thank you!”

“Bye now!” The older man waved.

But as Goten exited the building, he had no intention of looking look for Gohan. Instead, he rounded the corner and made his way to the back of the building. Making sure no one was nearby, he soundlessly levitated towards the top floor, careful to avoid flying past any windows as he headed for the fourteenth story balcony.

***

Trunks awoke with a start. He sat up instinctively, sucking in a loud breath of air as he did so. He glanced at the sliding door, the energy signal that had awakened him unmistakable. But what the hell was he doing there? And why did the other teen’s very presence unnerve him so?

As Goten touched down on the balcony, his dark eyes met his old friend’s widened blue ones. It was obvious that he had surprised the prince and, as he recovered from the shock, his features settled into an unreadable expression. Goten immediately deflated under that cold cobalt gaze and tried to remind himself why he had come up here in the first place. Because he couldn’t go on without this person in his life. Because he wanted to fix things, no matter what it took.

Trunks turned away from Goten and reached down alongside the bed to retrieve his underwear. He slid the shorts on before getting up and approaching the door. That was how they found themselves staring through the glass at one another again; the younger boy edgy but finding strength in his purpose and the older one stoic and impassive. Goten’s mind wandered as he remembered the way Trunks used to look at him with so much feeling. He knew it was his own actions that had taken that light out of the other’s eyes. But he would fix it. He had to.

The prince slid the door open. “Goten.”

“Trunks.” The youngest Son couldn’t help but take a sweeping look at his friend. Really, he had almost forgotten so many little details about the other. Like the way he smelled and the timbre of his voice when he wasn’t angry, or the way his muscles moved under that lightly tanned skin when he breathed. Even the way Trunks spoke his name; accentuating each syllable evenly. No one else could make his name sound quite like that, and he realized he missed hearing it. He also realized he should probably explain his presence there on the balcony. “I tried to call up from the lobby but I guess you didn’t hear the phone.”

“Oh, yeah.” Trunks put a hand behind his head and scratched his scalp, seemingly at a loss for words. “I guess not.”

The air was crisp and Goten wrapped his arms around himself as a light breeze picked up. He was only wearing a long sleeved t-shirt and his skin pricked up with goose bumps. “Hey, do you mind if I—?”

Trunks raised one eyebrow. “Oh, so you want to come in this time?”

Goten realized that their reunion would not be as idyllic as he had hoped. But Trunks withdrew into the room, leaving the door open, and Goten took it as an invitation to follow. He stood there awkwardly, just inside, while Trunks walked to his closet and pulled a pair of black wind pants from a hanger. Goten surveyed the room while his friend dressed. It had been some time since he had been there and he hated the way Trunks’ room felt foreign to him now; the way he felt like he didn’t belong, even after they had shared rooms most of their lives. He was painfully aware of the fact that he had chosen to walk away from this and that he might not ever be invited back.

The younger teen’s eyes swept the bed and he blinked when he noticed the bottle of lubricant there, peeking out from under some carelessly tossed about sheets. Although the fresh air wafted in from the wide-open door behind him, he could now detect those other smells that had once been so familiar to him. The smell of sex; and not the way it smelled with Tiffany. The way it smelled with Trunks. A masculine scent. And it occurred to Goten suddenly that someone else may be there.

“Uh—I—,” he stammered, “am I interrupting—?” He didn’t finish the sentence, suddenly floundering at the thought that Trunks had another lover. Immediately, the younger boy chided himself for being so naive. Of course he would have found someone else. He was the campus’s most eligible bachelor, after all. How could Goten have been so stupid to think he’d stay single?

But if he thought about it, he had always expected the royal demi to date. He had even told Trunks when they broke up how many people wanted to be with him. The Capsule heir was the constant object of countless girls’ attention and Goten was sure that, with him out of the picture, Trunks would end up with one of them before too long. What he hadn’t foreseen was that Trunks would find another boy. Another boy to do the things that they used to do. That it wasn’t just a special secret thing that the two of them had shared.

The youngest Son didn’t have to wonder at the churning sensation in his stomach. He knew what jealousy felt like all too well. But this wasn’t the same kind he felt when people paid more attention to Trunks than him, or when Trunks got a Jag XKR for his birthday and Goten got a homemade cake. It was entirely different. He wondered who Trunks was seeing. What they had done to each other. How much Trunks had liked it and whether he panted and squirmed and gasped the other’s name.

The younger boy swallowed hard. That last one really made his stomach churn. “Is—is someone here?” he asked, trying not to let the feelings show. He knew what Trunks would say. That he had no right to be upset.

The other demi pulled a white t-shirt over his head. “Just us, I think.” He glanced over his shoulder at his friend. “Why?”

“Oh it’s just—I mean, it’s obvious that someone was here.” He couldn’t stop his eyes from darting towards the bed. “Recently.”

“Oh. Well, yeah,” he admitted, matter-of-factly. “Actually, Goten, I’ve been meaning to apologize to you.” He turned to face the youngest Son properly. “You know that I was angry when you said we should take a break. But I’ve finally realized that you were completely right. Seeing what else was out there is the best thing I ever did.”

“Oh.” The younger boy blinked. “Really?”

“Yeah. So I’m really sorry for the way I acted towards you. Taking those shoes back and all. It was childish and I apologize.”

Goten pushed his long bangs off his forehead, not sure what to make of the apology. It sounded scripted and Trunks’ face was like a mask. He suddenly wished the prince would look at him with any kind of emotion at all. Anything but that detached indifference that he passed off on everyone else. It made Goten feel like a stranger on the street. But he supposed that’s exactly what he was now. He suddenly felt that he shouldn’t be in Trunks’ bedroom. It wasn’t his domain anymore and although Trunks had allowed him to come inside, he might as well have slammed the door in Goten’s face. “It’s okay,” he muttered. “I think I’ll just wait in the living room for Gohan to get home.”

He quickly rounded the bed and stepped into the hallway, closing the door behind him and feeling numb. He wondered if this was how Trunks felt when he had left. The thought made his heart ache. It ached for Trunks and for himself; for the loss of their innocence; and for the fact that everything between them had changed. It ached for the undeniable truth that their relationship could never be as it once was, no matter what the future held for them.

The youngest Son made his way down the hall towards the apartment’s common area. As he entered the dining room, his gloomy thoughts were interrupted when he noticed Trunks’ jeans in a pile near the table. He recognized them because they were the same Seven jeans he had borrowed the last night that they went out together. And the tell-tale accordion shape they took on the ground indicated that they had been dropped to the floor and stepped out of; as opposed to, say, falling out of his laundry basket on the way to the machine.

Oh god, Goten thought, he did it right there in the dining room? The youngest boy vaguely wondered where his brother had been when that happened. But as he walked further into the room, he noticed Gohan’s Satan City College t-shirt on the floor not far away. Goten rounded the table and picked it up, staring at it as if it could somehow explain to him what was going on. Confused and disturbed, he tossed the shirt onto the back of the nearest chair and went to flop down on the sofa. But in the latest scene in this parade of horribles, he saw a pair of Trunks’ white cotton briefs abandoned on the floor near the suede recliner.

Apparently the lovers had screwed their way across the entirety of the main room! When Goten had been with Trunks, they had been obsessively secretive, locking themselves in their bedrooms even when the house was empty, just in case. So how had Trunks been so audacious as to strip down with someone right there in the living room? And to leave his clothes scattered all over! Surely Gohan had seen them when he left to get breakfast. And why were Gohan’s clothes mixed . . . in with . . . his . . . ?

No, Goten thought, shaking his head as he silently mouthed the word. No, it couldn’t be! Could it? Not Trunks and . . . .

His mouth dropped open as he surveyed the scene and the unthinkable but inevitable conclusion entered his mind. He took a few shaky steps backwards before turning and racing back down the hall to his old friend’s bedroom. He threw open the door without knocking just as the demi-Saiyan prince was coming out of his attached bathroom.

Goten’s frantic brown eyes met the other’s and Trunks recognized the look in them before Goten could even speak the words. “Who was it, Trunks?” the younger boy gestured towards the bed. “Who is he?”

He approached the prince and pushed him into the wall. His eyes were already beginning to prick with unshed tears as Trunks stared back at him, his lack of any appreciable reaction confirming Goten’s suspicions. “Don’t lie to me, Trunks,” he warned in a desperate whisper. “Was it him?”

“Who?”

“You know who!” Goten yelled, pushing himself off the other teen with an angry grimace. He stood back a few inches. “Gohan?”

The prince continued to look him in the eyes but still refused to speak. He didn’t have to. Goten already knew that it was true. He had no idea how it had happened – in what crazy, messed up world it was even possible – but he knew that it was true. “How could you?” he demanded, and both heard the sound of the front door opening then closing and several boxes of pastries being deposited on the dining room table.

The dining room table, Goten thought. Where Trunks had fucked his brother.

The true depth of the betrayal was crashing down upon him. “How could you?” he shouted, now shaking the other teen by the shoulders. “How could you do that, Trunks!?”

“I can do what I want!” The prince finally pushed the smaller boy off of him, his lavender brows narrowed defensively. “Besides, where has your dick been these past few weeks?”

“It’s not the same!” Goten cried.

Gohan was in the doorway to the bedroom in a flash, still wearing his brown leather jacket and holding a set of keys. “Goten?” His tone was questioning as he took in the scene. The two boys were glaring at each other and it was the sound of their voices arguing that had drawn him to the room in the first place. “What’s going on?”

The smaller Son turned his face to his brother. “You and Trunks?” His tone was accusing and his eyes begged Gohan for any answer other than the one he knew he would get. Gohan’s eyes widened momentarily. He hadn’t been expecting to be confronted so directly, but a quick look around the room made it clear what had happened. The sliding glass door was still open and the doorman had told Gohan that his brother came around looking for him. Obviously, Goten had tried the balcony entrance when the front lobby approach didn’t work. He must have come into the room and pieced together the clues from there. Gohan hadn’t really known what to expect from his brother’s reaction, but he hardly expected such unconcealed disdain. It was not like Goten to be so hostile, though Gohan figured it must have come as a particular shock for him, considering all that he had been going through lately.

“Look, Goten, I know it’s probably a little strange for you.” His tone was soft and conciliatory. “I wish you hadn’t found out this way, but it’s true that Trunks and I have gotten very close in the time we’ve lived together. And I want you to know that I care about him very much. I’m sure it’ll take some getting used to, but having your blessing would mean everything to me.”

Goten wanted to cover his ears with his hands. He did NOT want to know how close they had gotten! Thanks to their clothes scattered all over the living room he already knew way too much. And now Gohan wanted his blessing? How could he possibly ask that?

“Gohan!” The disbelief that was evident in his voice made it sound like he was whining as he threw his arms out to the sides. “Would you jump into my grave as fast?”

The older demi was at a loss. “Whaddaya mean, Goten? I hope you know that I don’t mean to take your place in Trunks’ life. I could never do that.” He put one hand over his heart. “Nothing would make me happier than for the two of you to be best friends again.”

“Best friends!?” Goten’s voice rose. He realized how hypocritical he would sound repeating Trunks’ words from weeks ago but he couldn’t stop himself. “Gohan, don’t you think we were a little bit more than that?” The elder Son was silent as he waited for his brother to explain. But suddenly Goten became shy. He lowered his voice. “You know,” he said, gesturing furtively. “You saw what happened on the balcony.”

“Yeah,” Gohan affirmed, “I saw Trunks kiss you and you pushed him away. I know he had feelings for you then and that you didn’t return them. And believe me, at the time, neither one of us knew we had any feelings for each other. It’s just something that’s happened since then that I can’t really expla—.”

“THAT’S what you think happened on the balcony?” Trunks cut him off, speaking up finally. He looked incredulous as Gohan’s searching eyes met his own. The oldest demi looked confused and somewhat panicky. Trunks recognized it as that look a person gets when they know that something is terribly wrong, but they don’t yet know what it is. The teen blinked and lowered his eyes, looking at the floor as the disturbing thought occurred to him.

Gohan didn’t know about him and Goten. He didn’t know.

After a moment, he brought himself to look up at the other man hesitantly, suddenly fearing his reaction. “Uh, that’s not exactly the extent of it, Gohan.”

“Yeah! That’s not the extent of it!” Goten piped in, sniffling.

“Would someone please clue me in right now?” the elder Son cried. “No more cryptic hinting! What the hell is going on with you guys?”

The two boys locked eyes for a second, neither wanting to be the one to explain. Then Trunks took a deep breath. “Well,” he began by pointing an accusing finger at Goten. “He left me that night for that stupid girl!”

“Left you?” Gohan repeated, seemingly to himself.

“You know that I just needed some time to figure things out!” Goten yelled back at Trunks, balling his hands into fists at his sides.

“Quiet, quiet,” Gohan demanded as he glanced from one boy to the other. “You two were . . . together before that night?”

The prince shrugged. “Not according to Goten,” he said dismissively. “We were just ‘best friends who occasionally slept together’.” He made quotations with his fingers in the air.

“For—for how long?” Gohan managed and his brother considered it mutely. “Goten, how long?”

“I dunno.”

“You idiot,” Trunks admonished him. “We’ve been fooling around since we were like ten. Or have you blocked that out of your memory, too, just like everything else we’ve been through together?”

“Don’t call me an idiot!”

“Shut up, both of you!” Gohan’s voice got louder as he put two hands to his head, trying to block out the sounds of their fighting. “Just when—when were you planning on telling me about this, Trunks?” he spat between clenched teeth.

The prince was caught off guard by the way his roommate suddenly turned on him. He stuttered, “I—I thought you knew.”

Gohan turned up his palms in frustration. “How would I possibly—.” But his voice trailed off. Trunks had tried to tell him. After he’d seen the boys on the balcony, Trunks had offered to answer his questions, but he had assumed he knew all there was to know. When he’d asked Trunks who he was with that night after the bar, the teen had even told him it was Goten, but Gohan had blinded himself to it. Certain things were starting to fall into place now and he didn’t like the picture it was painting. All of Trunks’ experience. The way he had everything they had needed in his bedside drawer. The outlandish way the boys had been acting in the last few weeks.

They were lifelong lovers, and Gohan couldn’t quite believe he had been such an idiot. Of course, he should have known that if Trunks wanted his brother, he would have him. Even Gohan hadn’t been able to refuse Trunks, and Goten was his constant and adoring companion.

‘You don’t know anything about anything, Gohan.’

The prince’s words rang in his head and Gohan faltered, leaning one arm against the wall to support himself. “How could you think I’d ever, EVER do what we did if I knew?” He felt bad about how crossly the words came out, but really, what had Trunks been thinking?

The prince’s eyes widened. “I—I don’t know—.”

The elder Son turned to his brother then. “Why didn’t you ever tell me, little bro?” His voice was pained and Goten only shrugged, eyes trained on the hardwood. For the millionth time in the last few weeks, Gohan regretted not having stayed closer to him after he moved out. Here Goten had been keeping this secret all these years, probably believing he was doing something wrong. And now . . . . Oh, god, now . . . .

“I’ll tell you why,” Trunks offered angrily, his voice growing louder as weeks of pent up misery bubbled to the surface. “Because it was all well and good when we were kids but he couldn’t deal once shit got real.” Although the words were supposed to be aimed at Gohan, he stared at Goten while he spoke them, his eyes finally shining with emotion.

“It was complicated.” Goten pouted angrily.

“It wasn’t complicated for me.” Trunks retorted bitterly.

“But we’re different!”

“Yeah, we are different. Because I know who I am, and you just want to be somebody else.” He crossed his arms over his chest angrily. “You’re such a fucking closet case, Goten.”

The younger boy turned and pushed him hard. “You’re so mean, Trunks!” The statement didn’t even begin to express his resentment. And when the prince just rolled his eyes in response, Goten turned away from him in frustration. He couldn’t match Trunks in verbal sparring so he just tried to ignore him and focused on driving away the unwelcome mental images that were burning themselves into his brain.

Trunks and his brother.

His brother and Trunks.

It just didn’t make sense. “I don’t understand how this could have happened,” he mourned quietly.

“Well, you see, Goten, when two boys like each other very much, one boy takes his cock and shoves it—.”

“Trunks!” Gohan cut him off furiously, coming to his brother’s aid. It was painful to see how easy it was for the older boy to devastate him.

“I know how that works! You taught me all about it.” Goten turned to face the prince again. “I was stupid enough to fall for things like ‘haven’t you ever thought about what it’d be like to touch each other?’ and ‘I’m your friend, I care about you, so why don’t we fuck?’” he imitated his friend’s voice scornfully. “But you must have put on one hell of a show to win Gohan over.”

“Shut up, Goten,” the prince warned dangerously.

“I can’t even imagine what you must have said to him; what you must have done to convince him—.”

“Shut up, shut up, shut UP!” the prince roared, the air around him crackling with energy.

“But what I really wanna know,” the younger boy continued in spite of the other’s warnings, “is why him? Why him, Trunks? A thousand people a day fall at your feet and you picked the one person you knew would hurt me. You could’ve had anyone you wanted and you picked him.” There was only one conclusion he could come to that made any sense. “You did this on purpose.”

“The last time I checked, I don’t have to ask your permission. We’re not together. We never were, according to you. Do you remember that? Your words, not mine. YOU left ME! Remember that?”

“Yes,” Goten admitted quietly. “And you got the ultimate revenge, didn’t you?”

Gohan suddenly felt sick. “Oh, my god.” He put a hand to his mouth. Trunks wouldn’t. He wouldn’t go this far. Would he? He couldn’t. Could he? Had Gohan let himself be used in a vengeful plan to hurt his own little brother?

The prince glanced at the other Son and could see the color draining from his already pale complexion. “No, Gohan, that’s not true!” His hand shot out in a “stop” gesture, as if he could somehow stop the other man from believing it, but Gohan backed away from him, stumbling into the hallway. He couldn’t listen to any more; nor could he see any reason to stay. For too long now he had been in the middle of their fight: first as a referee and now, it seemed, as a pawn. It was a fight that seemed to have been brewing for ten years, and he would leave them to finish it without him.

He put two fingers to his forehead and by the time Trunks ran into the hallway shouting his name he was already gone.

The prince turned back to the youngest boy. “Why do you insist on ruining my life?” he screamed. “First you leave and now you drive him away too! I guess breaking my heart once wasn’t enough for you.”

Goten wiped the tears that had sprung to his eyes on his shirt sleeve. “I’d like to break a lot more than that, you jerk.”

Maybe he couldn’t match Trunks verbally, but with the righteous anger that was coursing through his body on behalf of both himself and his brother, he felt sure he could beat him physically. The two boys stared each other down, jaws set, eyes narrowed. Goten’s energy level had spiked to match his old friend’s and the ever-growing field of static electricity between them was becoming downright dangerous.

“Fine,” Trunks hissed. “You and me—.”

“The rematch.” Goten finished his thought.

“The old field. Now.” Both boys spoke in unison and each was on the balcony before he saw the other move. They took off side by side at breakneck speed determined to settle it once and for all.

***

Goku looked up at his wife who was standing over the stove with her back to him. She clearly had not felt their son’s energy spike. The pureblood focused on the signal and felt Trunks there, too. But he didn’t think this was another one of their attempts to go blond just for fun. The energy was dark; darker than he thought either of those two were capable of. And they were flying towards the countryside incredibly fast. Goku concluded that whatever it meant, it couldn’t be anything good.

He hated to leave without his meal, and he could smell that it would be done in a few more mouthwatering minutes. But he hated to miss a fight even more. “Chichi,” he said standing up, “I’m sorry but I have to go. It’s Goten. I think he needs me.” He knew that she wouldn’t argue with him once she heard their son’s name.

She turned around to see him put two fingers to his forehead. “Goku, you be careful!” she yelled, but the room was empty.

***

Vegeta was sitting in an armchair staring at the wall when Goku appeared next to him. “So you felt it, too?”

Goku nodded. “You coming with me?” Their sons’ energies seemed to have stopped moving now.

Vegeta stood up. He snorted as he turned to face Kakarott. He hated when they had to use Instant Transmission and he felt completely emasculated as he was forced to place his hand on the other Saiyan’s shoulder. But he did have one consolation.

“To watch my son kick your son’s ass? I wouldn’t miss it.”

***

The two purebloods appeared on the grassy plain shortly after their boys. Goten and Trunks were facing each other some distance away. They were no longer Super Saiyans but their power levels remained high. Although the day was still, their hair and clothes billowed in an unseen wind. Goku wasn’t even sure they were aware of his and Vegeta’s presence until his son spoke up.

“Oh, Dad, I’m so glad you’re here.” He didn’t cease to stare down the other demi. “You’ll never guess what Trunks did. Or should I say ‘who’?”

Goten only saw a flash of sapphire eyes in his face before he felt the fist connect with his jaw. His head snapped to the side.

“Clamp it, Goten.”

The younger boy held his cheek for a moment. Then he slammed a charged up palm into the other’s chest and Trunks was halfway across the field before he knew the energy blast had hit him. He stood up, dusted himself off and lunged toward Goten at the same time Goten lunged at him. They met in the middle with a loud crash.

“What do you suppose they’re fighting about Vegeta?” Goku asked as he watched, scratching the back of his head. He turned to face his old rival. “Hey, you know, they kinda remind me of us out there, the way they’re going at it!”

“Really, Kakarott?” Vegeta made it sound more like a statement than a question as he turned to the other pureblood. “Because if I didn’t know better, I’d say they were in love.” An amused smirk graced the prince’s features when Goku’s eyes went wide. “I can’t think of any other reason for two people who are normally friends to want to tear each other apart so badly.”

Goku shifted. “So . . . then, uh . . . why do we fight, Vegeta?”

The prince of Saiyans gasped, caught off guard by the other’s unexpectedly astute comparison. “Because you’re a clown!” he yelled before recovering his composure. But despite his answer, Goku took a pronounced step to the left, away from him. “Oh, please,” Vegeta growled. “You can calm down Kakarott. If I was in love with you I’d have thrown you down and taken what I wanted long ago.”

“Ah haha hahaha,” Goku laughed nervously. “Vegeta, you’re such a trip.” But they both turned back to the action when the ground shook with impact. Goten had hit the dirt on his back with a loud thud and Trunks hovered over him, twenty feet in the air.

“You can’t beat me, Goten. Just give it up before you get hurt.” He had always been stronger thanks to his one-year advantage and now he was learning his recent training sessions with Vegeta had paid off. He was faster, more powerful, and a better strategist than Goten, and the dark-haired demi had waged a battle he couldn’t win. “Here’s one my dad taught me, courtesy of my future self.” Trunks’ hands moved quickly as Goten tried to stand up, then he put both palms out in front of him. “Burning attack!”

The younger Son crossed his forearms over his head just in time to block. He volleyed the blast back towards his opponent but Trunks disappeared before it hit him. A split second later, he materialized over his kneeling friend. “My father says that Mirai Trunks’ world is a waking nightmare. But I think he’s lucky. Cuz at least where he comes from, you were never born.”

Goten pushed himself to his feet and smashed into his friend with roar of renewed anger. The prince flew backwards and they slammed against the jagged face of a nearby cliff. The younger boy pressed a forearm to his throat, pinning Trunks between himself and the rock wall.

“How can you say something like that?” he demanded. “I was never born there because my dad died, along with everyone else we know!”

“What do you care?” He clawed at Goten’s arm. “You hate him anyway.”

“And that’s why you went after Gohan, isn’t it? Because you knew that he was like a brother and a father to me, and you wouldn’t be happy until you took away everything.” The prince didn’t respond to the accusations. He only stared back at Goten with darkened eyes. His hands were still clamped on Goten’s arm, but he had stopped struggling. The younger boy relieved the pressure on his neck, resting both hands on the front of Trunks’ shoulders. He still held the teen against the rock, but he was too emotionally exhausted to continue the fight. Goten dropped his head between his outstretched arms and stared at the ground. “But you fucked up,” he whispered, shaking his head as he seemed to fight with himself internally. “Because blood is thicker than water, Trunks. I’ll always love my brother.” He lifted his gaze. “You’re the expendable one here.”

Goten saw the smallest flicker of pain on his old friend’s face before it became exanimate again. “Expendable. Wow. Is that your vocabulary word for the week?”

“Fuck you.”

“I just have one question. How did you forget about me so easily, Goten? After everything we shared, to just drop me like a bad habit. I guess you did learn something from your father, after all.” Trunks hadn’t realized just how many feelings he had been suppressing, or how much anger he’d been holding onto, until it came pouring forth like venom into helpless prey. “You seem to like to blame all of your problems on me, Goten. But it’s not my fault if you don’t like what you see when you look in the mirror. It’s not my fault if, despite your best efforts, you grew up to be just like Goku.”

The younger boy’s eyes flashed with hurt and then they flashed teal. He jerked his knee up between them and Trunks felt it connect with his injured ribcage in a blinding rush of pain. He had only just begun to heal from his brutal training the day before and a searing heat ripped through him as the still-broken bones skewered internal organs.

His instinct was to cry out, but he found that he couldn’t make any noise. Instead he choked on the sound and blood spattered on the pale face of his opponent. He collapsed onto Goten then, falling forward, and heard the other boy’s whisper close to his ear.

“I didn’t forget about you, Trunks. I thought about you every single stupid fucking day.”

The prince emitted a gurgling sound and Goten felt the warmth of Trunks’ blood on his neck. Then he heard his old friend gulp in air before Goku pulled the two of them apart.

“What in the world’s gotten into you, Goten!?” he shouted, holding Trunks up under the arms. Then he turned to the demi-Saiyan he held onto. “Gee, Trunks, are you alright?”

“He’ll be fine, Kakarott. Tend to your boy.” The Saiyan prince appeared alongside his son and slid his arm around the teen’s back, then hooked Trunks’ left arm over his neck.

Goku looked at the other pureblood. He nodded and let go of the royal demi then approached the boy who looked like a younger version of himself. Grasping Goten’s chin with his hand, he turned the teen’s face to the side, examining his bloodstained skin. “C’mon son,” he said sternly, after confirming that he was uninjured. “We’re going home.”

Goten didn’t protest as Goku put a hand on his shoulder and two fingers to his own forehead. A second later, they were gone.

A short-lived silence settled over the valley.

“Really, Trunks, both of them?”

A moment ago, the demi-Saiyan hadn’t thought it was possible to be any more miserable, but he should have known better. Now, not only did both of his lifelong friends hate him, but Vegeta had apparently picked up on the whole sordid business. Had he not cleaned himself off well enough? Had his father heard him arguing with Goten? Trunks spit another mouthful of blood onto the ground and didn’t dare to look the royal Saiyan in the face.

“I know the oldest son of Kakarott is strong, but you’re far superior to the youngest one. Still you fall to both of them. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you had thrown this fight. I hope you had a good reason, boy.”

The pureblood’s tone indicated that the conversation was over and he wouldn’t ask the teen any more questions. Trunks breathed a labored sigh of relief. It was true he had succumbed to both of his latest adversaries. He was just thankful that his father didn’t know it was the case in more ways than one. As he turned to face his father, he wanted to say ‘thank you’ but didn’t trust himself to speak. He feared he would end up confessing everything or, worse yet, start to cry.

Vegeta grunted in a way that sounded almost like understanding. Then he bent down to hook his other arm around Trunks’ legs, scooping the boy up in his arms. Blue eyes widened in surprise and Trunks struggled pathetically against the embrace. “Father, I—I can walk!” He noticed that he had already stained the older Saiyan’s clean blue spandex with some of his own blood and he couldn’t help but think it was a metaphor for his pitiable existence; as though his father would be somehow tainted just by being near him.

“Don’t be a stubborn idiot, Trunks.”

It was the pot calling the kettle black, but it was his father’s way of saying ‘let me help you.’ And the teen had little choice but to accept as the world around him began fading to black. He was quite sure he deserved the pain that Goten had inflicted, but his body couldn’t handle any more and consciousness was beginning to slip away.

“I’m sorry, Dad.”

His amethyst head fell heavily against the oldest Saiyan and Vegeta pressed it to his chest as he took to the sky.

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 12

The next thing Trunks knew, the two roommates were back in their apartment in West City. He was still in Gohan’s arms, but everything around them seemed to be spinning. The teen was dizzy and stumbled away from the other demi, losing his balance. He landed against the nearby dining room table before regaining his senses. Then he shot a look at Gohan.

“When the hell did you learn to do that?!” he snapped. “You could have at least warned me.”

“Aw, I’m sorry,” Gohan’s tone was amused. “You’re just so irresistible, I couldn’t wait another minute to get you home.”

Trunks thought the explanation sounded sarcastic, and Gohan had obviously done it just to fluster him. “I don’t remember Instant Transmission being so turbulent,” he grumbled to himself.

“I’m still working out the kinks,” Gohan admitted, as he approached the younger Saiyan, who was now half-sitting on the edge of the table, collecting himself.

“Well experiment on someone else!” Trunks looked utterly affronted. “I could have ended up as a part of this table or stuck together with you or lost out in space somewh—.”

But before he had the chance to complain further, Gohan leaned down to kiss him again. He did so experimentally, as if he wanted a second bite of a dish he wasn’t sure whether or not he liked. He let himself explore the prince’s mouth this time, massaging Trunks’ tongue with his own, and the younger boy forgot his irritation quickly. He relaxed his jaw to welcome the other’s gentle probing and Gohan enjoyed the sudden silence. He made a mental note that kissing Trunks was an effective and rather enjoyable way to shut him up.

The teen lifted his chin to meet his roommate’s lips. He tried to stand up straight to get closer to that searing tongue he had waited so long to taste. But Gohan pushed him back into a half-seated position and held him there with a firm hand on his abdomen. So far, in their albeit limited sexual history, Trunks had always been the aggressor. He had repeatedly managed to fluster Gohan and Gohan decided that he’d had the upper hand long enough. If Trunks was intent on seducing him, he would not merely be a passive partner.

The younger demi didn’t fight back and obeyed the unspoken command to stay put. When Gohan broke the kiss, the teen leaned back, resting his palms behind him on the table. He stared at the elder Son with glazed eyes. His backside remained perched on the edge of the table, and Gohan found himself looking down over the prince’s half naked form.

They had left Trunks’ t-shirt lying where he had tossed it, somewhere on the floor of Videl’s living room. And, although Gohan had seen Trunks in every conceivable state of undress over the years, it somehow felt like he was looking at him for the first time. He pondered the change as he let his hand explore the firm muscles beneath it.

He traced the lines of Trunks’ abdomen, still showing some signs of Vegeta’s revenge although, in the shadowy half-light of the apartment, the bruises became much less visible. Then, sliding a palm over the bandages that made a wide stripe across his roommate’s ribs, he noticed that this time Trunks didn’t flinch. Gohan figured he was already healing and would be as good as new in a day or two. It might be fun to spar then, he found himself thinking, as his hand moved across the other’s chest. It was something he had yet to get used to, touching Trunks this way. But he couldn’t deny his appreciation for the other’s sculpted form, masculine though it was.

Trunks shivered at his roommate’s ephemeral touch. Gohan’s aimlessly wandering fingers were setting his skin on fire. “C’mere you.” Wanting more contact, he grabbed the front of Gohan’s shirt in his fist and pulled him down until their noses almost touched. “What are you thinking about so intently when you look at me like that, huh?” he asked, his curiosity getting the best of him. It wasn’t exactly desire he saw in Gohan’s eyes. It was more like thoughtfulness, and Trunks wondered at his roommate’s ability to be so analytical in a moment when his own mind was clouded with lust.

“That this is crazy,” Gohan answered him quietly, his warm breath reminding Trunks just how close his mouth was.

“Good crazy or bad crazy?” The prince studied his roommate’s lips as he awaited a response.

“I haven’t decided yet.”

Trunks lifted his chin to close the small distance between them and traced the inside of Gohan’s lips with one daring stroke of his tongue. Taking the bait, Gohan entwined his fingers in his roommate’s hair and turned his head to the side. He dragged his lips along the prince’s jaw before planting a warm, wet kiss on his neck. He couldn’t help but notice the way Trunks smelled; the way he tasted . . . . . And Gohan was suddenly very thankful for his heightened senses as he breathed the teen in. He pressed a few kisses underneath the boy’s jaw and felt Trunks drop his head back, yielding to his movements with an audible breath.

Oh god, Gohan thought, if he didn’t stop this now . . . .

He ceased his ministrations and stared at the cherry wood of the table beneath them, swallowing loudly.

Trunks noticed the sudden change and waited a moment for the other to continue. But Gohan was standing there as if frozen. “Gohan?” he whispered worriedly. “What’s wrong?”

When the older man leaned back to face him, Trunks saw that contemplative look in his eyes again. He blinked up at the older demi as if the next thing that Gohan said would make or break him. As if, at that moment, Gohan held his whole life in his hands.

“C’mon, Gohan,” the teen joked. “Don’t make me beg.”

Once again, the elder Son found himself virtually swimming in pools of blue. But there was desperation there, even as Trunks broke into that overly casual grin he often sported when he was trying to hide his real emotions. Gohan would have thought the demi-Saiyan prince had an ego that could rival even his father’s, but he was learning Trunks was not as self-assured as he often pretended to be. That hopeful yet anxious look in the teen’s eyes begged Gohan for acceptance, for approval, for any clue as to what he was thinking.

When Goten left, the things he said had made their impression on the lavender-haired Saiyan. He didn’t let himself dwell on it often, but deep down he felt that Goten’s insistence on seeing what else was out there was really just another way of saying that anyone would be better than him. Trunks couldn’t help but wonder what was so wrong with him that the younger boy would seek not only to be with someone else, but seemingly to be with anyone else. Indeed, Goten had thrown himself at the first person who showed any interest in him at college. Almost as if he only needed the right excuse to leave. And the sting of knowing that the other boy was so desperate to get away from him hurt like a physical pain to which Vegeta’s fists couldn’t even compare.

Goten had been growing more and more distant in the months before he’d left, and Trunks realized after the fact that he must have been thinking about leaving for a long time before he had ended things. He’d shied away from intimate contact more and more towards the end, so that even before that fateful night on the balcony, Trunks had gotten used to wanting and to feeling unwanted. It had only caused him to hold tighter to Goten and seek his constant reassurances. And the weeks since their parting had done little to remedy those insecurities. If anything, they had been exacerbated.

But at least now he could look back on his mistakes with some clarity. And he thought, really thought, that he deserved another chance.

But even as he perched there in front of Gohan, he was waiting to hear those words he had recently become so familiar with. Waiting for Gohan to tell him to stop; that he wasn’t interested and that this was all a mistake. And Trunks didn’t think he could handle another rejection. No, he was sure he couldn’t.

The teen’s apprehensive eyes drew Gohan in and threatened to drown him. The older demi could clearly see his roommate’s need reflected there, and he already knew he wouldn’t bring himself to deny Trunks this time. The elder Son’s last truly lucid thought, as he closed his eyes and pulled Trunks to him, was that he was in a hell of a lot of trouble. He kissed the prince’s forehead and cheeks before capturing his mouth, knowing that he was giving Trunks everything that he wanted, but it didn’t seem to matter anymore. Somewhere inside he had a weakness for the boy sitting in front of him; and when that satisfied sigh escaped the teen’s lips, Gohan’s worst fears were confirmed. It was captivating.

Dende help him if Trunks ever found out.

The teen wrapped his own left arm around the back of Gohan’s neck and pulled him closer, arching so that as much of his stomach as possible pressed against his roommate’s. He had the sudden feeling that he could not get close enough to Gohan to satisfy himself. Meanwhile, the older demi explored the prince’s back with his hands much as he had the front: running his fingers along the curvature of the boy’s spine, starting at his shoulder blades then tracing down the small of his back and over his ass until the table underneath them stopped his fingers from exploring further.

Trunks dropped his head to the side, breaking their kiss, and Gohan worked his way along the bared neck. The younger man was already breathing heavily and Gohan could feel the teen’s whole body lifting and falling against him. It was a sensation he had not been prepared to enjoy so much.

The prince’s feet dangled on the carpet and he dug his toes into the plush fabric trying to fight the urge to press his hips into Gohan’s. He was burning for the man that stood over him, but he realized that what they were doing must be strange for the other demi. So he made his best effort to keep still and let Gohan set the pace. But it was taking all of his patience and he was aching more with every flick of Gohan’s tongue.

Trunks dropped down onto his elbows, leaning further backwards on the table and increasing the friction at their hips when Gohan bent to cover him. But now the prince could feel that his roommate was in the same state as he. After several weeks of throwing himself at the other man, Trunks was beginning to think he might never come around, and the feel of his roommate’s hardened cock pressed into his pelvis was enough to send a jolt of electricity through his body.

“Mmmm,” Gohan could feel rather than hear the teen’s impatient moan as the sound vibrated between their locked lips. He really couldn’t believe the effect he was having on Trunks. Although he knew the other demi had been pushing for this moment, a part of him thought that if he actually gave in, Trunks wouldn’t want to go through with it anyway. He thought that, like a child, Trunks might be throwing a tantrum only to lose interest when he finally got his way. But instead, the teen seemed ready and willing to make this leap. Now Gohan only had to decide if he himself was prepared to cross this threshold with his long-time acquaintance.

Although, maybe they had already crossed it some time ago.

Trunks had to crane his neck to reach the other’s mouth from his prone position on the table and Gohan’s hand caressed the straining muscles beneath his hairline. Goten’s older brother was a damned good kisser, Trunks decided, and he thought Gohan’s barely-there caresses might melt him into a puddle all over the table.

Gohan’s other hand roamed over Trunks’ body and when he again felt those gauzy bandages beneath his fingers, he lifted himself off the teen with one last chaste peck on the lips. Instead he gave in to the desire to press his mouth to those abused patches of skin, kissing the teen’s chest, then moving down over the bandages that adorned his ribs. Gohan dropped onto one knee to press his lips to his roommate’s obliques, where the muscles stretched into long, attractive lines. He felt Trunks suck in his breath at the touch and didn’t know if it was pleasure or pain that caused him to do so. But the younger demi lifted his hips, encouraging more kisses to his overworked abdomen, and it wasn’t long before Gohan found himself staring at the top of the prince’s jeans.

He stopped his movements then and sat back on his heels, both hands clasping the tabletop on either side of the teen. When he felt Trunks’ fingers snake beneath his own, and wrap around his left hand, he looked up at the other demi. Trunks’ thumb traced circles on his palm, speaking his thoughts to Gohan wordlessly. And then, just in case unspoken words weren’t enough, he guided Gohan’s palm over his jeans, letting the other demi feel just how much he wanted him. Trunks kept his hand firmly planted on Gohan’s and began moving his arm up and down, savoring the feel of the heat through his pants, and encouraging his roommate to touch him.

Gohan was not immune to the younger man’s short breaths and audible sighs. They assaulted his senses and, spurred on by the sounds, he took over; fingering his roommate’s hard length through the fabric as he teased the skin above his waistband with his lips. Gohan traced the outside of the boy’s navel with his tongue, earning a pleasant groan from Trunks. As he increased the pressure of his strokes, he was aware of Trunks’ jeans growing ever tighter under his hand.

The teen lifted his hips off the table. “Take them off,” he gently encouraged his roommate.

When Gohan moved to unzip the pants, he could see that the white cotton BVDs Trunks wore were already stained with several drops of telling wetness near the waistband. He slid the teen’s pants down over his ass and along his thighs. Then he stood up as they fell into a pile at Trunks’ feet and he nimbly stepped out of them.

The younger Saiyan looked over his roommate’s still fully dressed form, and realized it was about time Gohan lost some clothes of his own. Trunks slipped his fingers under the other’s faded grey university t-shirt and made contact with the warm, flushed skin there. Not sensing any protest from the elder Son, he used both hands to pull the shirt over his head then dropped it onto the floor. He gazed at Gohan’s body for a moment before running his palms up the other’s chest, over his broad shoulders and lightly down his arms. Trunks bit his bottom lip, thinking that there was nothing more thrilling than the feel of rock hard muscle under supple skin.

Well, maybe there was one thing.

Without taking his eyes off that body, the teen walked backwards, leading Gohan to the living room by the hand. When they were standing in front of a suede recliner, he nudged the elder Son backwards until he dropped into the chair. Leaning back into the suede, Gohan took in the view in front of him appreciatively. The younger demi’s impressive physique was accented by fine, even pretty features, and the mix of masculinity and attractiveness made Gohan think that he was the very best parts of Bulma and Vegeta all rolled into one.

Trunks dropped to his knees then and, with his hands on Gohan’s waist, he pulled the seated man’s hips towards the front of the chair. He regarded Gohan’s half naked form hungrily, thinking that for all his apparent geekiness, the man was a damned Adonis under those sweater vests. He dragged his hand up the inside of Gohan’s thigh and let his nails rake over the front of his pants, sending teasing vibrations through the denim.

The dark-haired demi felt a rush of anticipation when Trunks began to cover his stomach with fevered kisses. He ran a hand through lavender hair where it tickled his abdomen. Then Gohan dropped his own head backwards, black spikes flattening into the suede behind him as he arched into the contact. He felt himself losing control of his body and lifted his hips unconsciously, trying to position them to get the most friction he could from his partner. But Trunks didn’t plan to make him wait and he soon felt his roommate undo his button-fly with one hand.

Using his last remaining reserves of self-control, Gohan reigned himself in for a moment.

“Trunks.”

He knew they were about to cross a line that couldn’t be uncrossed. He didn’t know if it was the right decision or not, and the uncertainty unnerved him. Gohan was used to doing the right thing. Or at least knowing what was right and what was wrong. But at the moment he had no idea, and it was getting more and more difficult to figure it out as the blood rushed from his brain to other body parts.

Clear cobalt eyes met his as he looked down at the teen. Trunks seemed perfectly calm and, after a moment, he turned back to his task of freeing Gohan from his jeans. When Trunks reached up to pull his roommate’s pants down, Gohan lifted his hips to allow the teen access.

Right or wrong, they were crossing this line together.

Trunks slid the garments down only low enough to gain access to what he wanted. He grasped the other’s cock and reveled at that delicious combination of hardness and elasticity. He stroked Gohan slowly, admiring him. The elder Son was packing, Trunks thought, and he hummed his approval as he slid his lips along the length. He heard Gohan gasp and looked up to see his eyes were closed and he was biting his bottom lip. Enjoying the sight, Trunks teased him, flicking his tongue along the ridge at the head. When he finally closed his mouth over the swollen appendage, Gohan moaned.

He hadn’t really expected the expert way Trunks massaged the underside of him with his tongue while applying a measured amount of suction. All this while pumping closed fingers over his shaft.

“Jesus, Trunks . . . .” The surprise was as evident in his voice as the lust.

Gohan opened his eyes to watch himself repeatedly disappear into the teen’s mouth before crushing his hair into the chair back again. He actually felt Trunks’ lips touch the base of his cock when the younger demi swallowed nearly his entire length in a feat Gohan knew he couldn’t replicate. Not without practice. And he vaguely wondered just how much practice his roommate had had. One thing was sure, the boy was no amateur and he realized he had a lot to learn about the young prince.

But his coherent thoughts were rapidly deteriorating. Trunks seemed determined to bring him to climax as he increased the speed of his movements, adding a roll of his tongue every time his lips graced the tip. It was turning the rest of Gohan’s body to mush even as it made the object of Trunks’ attention ever more rigid. He reached down to touch his roommate’s jaw with a gentle nudge.

“Trunks, I’m going to . . . . I’m gonna . . . .” he panted. But Trunks didn’t shy away from the release. He let his teeth graze the other man lightly and heard Gohan spout a few impassioned expletives at the same time that he felt him pump into his throat.

Gohan was still panting slightly when the teen released him from his mouth.

Trunks wiped his chin with the back of his hand. “I didn’t know you knew words like that, Gohan.” He looked amused.

“I didn’t know you could give a blowjob like that.” Gohan blinked dazedly and Trunks’ smile widened at the un-Gohan-like frankness of the statement. The older demi probably didn’t even realize he had said it out loud. Apparently, in the afterglow, he had very few filters.

“You liked?”

“Uh-huh.” He followed Trunks’ movements with clouded obsidian eyes and broke into a slow grin as the younger boy stood up. The prince found it incredibly disarming. He had never seen Gohan so undone. It was downright cute. He looked just like—.

Trunks’ heart flip-flopped in his chest and the wide smile disappeared from his face.

Just like his brother.

God, that was so weird.

The prince tried to shake it off as Gohan reached for his hips, grabbing him with both hands at the waistband of his underwear. He traced Trunks’ hip bones with his thumbs while eyeing his prominent erection through the white cotton. When the older demi pressed his lips to the tip, he was rewarded by the teen’s immediate whimper. Gohan let his hands roam over Trunks’ backside as he alternated kisses with strokes of his tongue, working his way down the still clothed shaft.

The younger boy laced his fingers through Gohan’s hair, leaning his head back to savor the sensation. But soon he felt the tantalizing treatment cease and Gohan’s warm hand engulf him. His roommate groped the front of the cotton, finally reaching his hand underneath to cup his roommate and massage him lightly.

“I’m, um,” Gohan stumbled, his mind still hazy. “I’m not going to be able to do it the way you did.” He could feel himself blushing faintly and cursed himself for feeling like an inexperienced adolescent all over again. For chrissakes, he was the older one here.

“Believe me, Gohan, it’s not going to take much.” Trunks smiled down at him. He had practically gotten himself off just going down on the other man. Something about being with Gohan was a turn on in itself. He didn’t know if it was because of Gohan’s long history with Videl or his own past with Goten, but all of Gohan’s kisses and touches were like a bite of the forbidden fruit. Something that Trunks shouldn’t want, but that he did want. So badly he could taste it.

In the time they’d lived together, his roommate had come to command his full attention for reasons Trunks couldn’t quite explain. Maybe it was his intensity. Maybe he offered everything Trunks had needed from Goten but never got. Maybe it was his authority; the way he told Trunks what to do that made the younger boy want to please him so much. Or maybe it was just his maturity. The Saiyan in front of him was a man, not a boy; and Trunks was beginning to recognize the difference for the first time.

Whatever it was, it was making him fucking hot. Shit, if Gohan just looked at him the right way he thought he might come all over himself.

Without warning, the older demi spun the prince by the hips and pulled him down into his lap so that Trunks’ back pressed against his chest. Turning the boy’s head to face him, he caught Trunks’ lips in a kiss and then reached down to slip his fingers into the waistband of the teen’s underwear. Trunks lifted himself up and let the other man slide the briefs down to his knees, then he wriggled the rest of the way out of them. Gohan felt the flames of desire already starting to burn again as the prince squirmed, his bare cheeks sandwiching Gohan’s softening organ. It was leading the older demi’s thoughts in a scandalously tempting direction.

He wrapped his right arm around the naked teen’s waist and laced the fingers of his left hand through lavender hair. Tugging Trunks’ head to the side, he nipped the prince’s shoulder affectionately, then reached down to spread the teen’s legs so that he was straddling Gohan’s own thighs. Gohan closed the fingers of his right hand over the younger boy and used the fluid dripping from the teen to slick his palm. He worked Trunks with one hand while tasting his skin, running his tongue along the prince’s ear.

The teen shivered at the talented tongue that was teasing him, the sound of Gohan’s breath on his neck. He could feel his roommate’s wilted erection coming back to life against him and he wanted more, so much more of the other man. He touched his feet to the floor and positioned his palms on the chair on either side of Gohan. Then he used the added leverage to rub himself against his roommate’s body, coaxing him to attention again. “Gohan,” he groaned as if in pain, and the sound of the teen speaking his name in the throes of passion sent a shock of desire straight to the other’s groin.

But he exercised a bit more restraint than the younger demi. After all, they had the whole night to explore each other and it would intensify the experience for both if they took their time. “Shhh,” he whispered in the prince’s ear, quieting him. “Just come for me.”

Trunks dropped his head back with a gasp and reached his climax almost on command. He let go, spilling warm wetness over his own stomach and coating Gohan’s hand. But through the haze of orgasm came an undeniable moment of clarity. He had tried so hard to bring Gohan under his control since they’d moved in together, and yet somehow the opposite had happened. Whether he knew it or not, Gohan had made the teen his in every possible sense of the word.

Trunks gazed up at him adoringly as he caught his breath. The dark-haired demi wrapped his sticky right hand around Trunks’ knees and pulled his legs onto the chair so that he almost cradled the teen. Then he bent over him for a kiss. While they tasted each other, the prince brought Gohan’s hand up to his lips. Breaking away, he slid his tongue between the other’s fingers then took each one in his mouth, licking them clean. When he had finished, Trunks pulled Gohan in for another kiss, letting him taste the slightly bitter fluid that now covered his lips and chin.

Gohan knew his roommate was trying to get him used to the taste and to indicate his willingness, he followed Trunks’ lead, dragging one finger across the younger boy’s coated abs. But just as he did so, a loud rumble echoed from that very direction. Gohan looked up to smile at his roommate.

“Dammit,” Trunks groaned quietly. Of course his stomach would pick this moment to interrupt them. Apparently, now that his sexual needs were satisfied, other basic necessities were taking precedence. “I guess I haven’t eaten anything today.”

“Oh, wow, yeah.” Gohan glanced absently at the ceiling as he remembered. “We went out running, then Vegeta dragged you off to train, then we went straight to Videl’s after that.” He looked back at his roommate. “I guess you can’t live on semen alone, can you?” Gohan teased, earning a sarcastic chuckle from the other man.

“In a perfect world, Gohan.”

“You’re a sick man, Trunks.” But even as he said it, his expression was soft and open. Trunks noticed that even the tone Gohan used in speaking to him had changed slightly. He spoke to the teen softly now, with all the kindness that Gohan normally embodied but with another layer added to it. A sort of tenderness that was undoubtedly born from the things they had just shared. Trunks really didn’t want the moment to end. But when his stomach growled demandingly again, Gohan nudged the teen’s legs off the chair. “C’mon, let’s get you fed.”

The two disentangled themselves and Trunks made his way towards his room, glancing over his shoulder every few steps, as if he thought the other demi would disappear while he was gone. Gohan watched his naked form recede and shook his head, wondering at the fluttering sensation the sight caused in his stomach. He really did feel like some wet-behind-the-ears youth. But he supposed maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing and, as he circled the apartment turning on the lights, he was well aware of the goofy smile plastered on his face.

By the time Trunks returned, Gohan had pulled bread, ham, cheese, and butter from the refrigerator and set a pan on the stove to heat up. Trunks wore a clean pair of blue boxer shorts and held a packet of wet-wipes in one hand. With the other hand, he was wiping away the last traces of orgasm from his body. He had removed the bandages he’d been wearing since they’d been stained during their little romp on the recliner.

“Do you need one?” He offered the packet to his roommate as he stepped into the kitchen. Gohan took one of the soapy cloths, shooting his roommate an odd look.

“Do you normally have baby wipes on hand?” He glanced in jest towards the hallway as he wiped some stray drops of semen from his own body. “You’re not hiding a toddler from me back there, are you?”

“Gohan, please,” the teen admonished. “They’re not baby wipes, they’re wet-naps and everyone should have them. Don’t tell me you’re still wiping with that cotton toilet tissue.” He shot a disapproving look at his roommate. “It’s so unsanitary.”

Gohan put a palm to his forehead, covering his eyes. “I cannot believe we’re having this conversation.”

“I can see I’m going to have to clean you up,” Trunks noted, as he threw the used wipe into the trash. Then he moved to stand beside Gohan at the stove. He grabbed the back of the older man’s jeans and pulled them away from his body. “You’ve probably never even had a waxing, have you?” He peered down the back of the other’s pants until Gohan turned to face him, slapping two defensive hands over his rear.

“No one’s waxing anything!” he cried protectively. Trunks tried to suppress a smile while averting his eyes innocently. “Can we just eat, please?” Gohan asked in good natured exasperation.

“Sure, what are we having?”

“Your favorite.”

“Grilled cheese?” Trunks asked with wide eyes, propping himself on the counter with his elbows, letting his chin rest in his hands. Gohan couldn’t believe how much he still looked like the little boy who used to perch expectantly alongside Goten, waiting impatiently while Gohan would make them sandwiches. He looked away.

“Trunks, you’re freaking me out.”

The younger boy didn’t really have to ask why. He knew it was strange for Gohan to be with him, just as it was strange for him to be with Gohan. He wanted to say he would make his best efforts not to remind Gohan of his nine-year-old self if Gohan would promise not to look so much like Goten post-coitus. But he figured that would only add to the awkwardness. Instead he removed his arms from the counter and stood up very tall, in what he thought was an exceedingly mature posture; hands clasped behind his back. “Is there anything I can do to help?” he asked graciously.

Gohan smiled at him before flipping the sandwiches over. “No, thank you.”

Trunks relaxed then. “So,” he walked over to take a seat at their dining room table. “Does this mean I can sleep in bed with you tonight, Gohan?”

“Yes, Trunks,” Gohan gave an exaggerated sigh in response to the prince’s satisfied grin. But he became more somber as he pushed the sandwiches around the sizzling pan and pondered what exactly they would be to each other after tonight. More than roommates, surely. But . . . were they . . . boyfriends?

A small wave of guilt washed over him. What he had said to Trunks at Videl’s place was true. He wasn’t sure if he was ready for a relationship. Still, Trunks had said being friends and caring for each other was good enough for now. And he certainly did care about Trunks. Very much so. With time, patience, and probably a hell of a lot of compromise, he could see those feelings growing exponentially. Especially when he thought about how much his feelings for Trunks had changed in the last few weeks alone.

He turned away with a quick wink at the prince as the other glanced up from the table and caught him looking.

When the sandwiches were done, Trunks set out tableware and glasses for both of them. Gohan piled the sandwiches onto two plates, giving the majority of them to his roommate, while Trunks filled their glasses with fruit juice. They ate in relative silence since the chattier of the two was busy stuffing his face with whole sandwiches.

Once Gohan had finished, he stayed at the table and watched the younger demi enjoy the rest of his midnight snack. Trunks had his naked legs propped on the table, feet dangling off the side. The plate of food rested on his stomach. Gohan watched the teen eat with abandon, licking buttery fingers between every few bites. He knew the Capsule heir was capable of exhibiting impeccable manners when he wanted to, but more often than not, he was like this. At ease, un-self-conscious . . . .

And completely beguiling.

Finally Trunks became aware of his roommate staring at him. He slowed his chewing and swallowed the last piece of sandwich while holding Gohan’s gaze.

“Hurry up, would you?” The older demi’s eyes were smoldering. “I really think I ought to get you to bed.”

Trunks dropped his plate onto the table and, not breaking eye contact, stood up to walk around to Gohan’s side of the table. Standing beside him, the teen reached out to trace the contours of one pink lip with his thumb. Then he swung one leg around his roommate’s seated form and dropped into his lap, straddling him as they sat face to face. He put his hands on Gohan’s shoulders, rubbing lightly, and it wasn’t long before the older demi leaned forward for a kiss. But every time Gohan tried to capture his lips, Trunks would pull back just slightly.

After the third time, the older demi growled. He knew the teen was teasing him. The word shy was definitely not in Trunks’ vocabulary. But damn, Gohan thought, the boy sure as hell knew how to make someone want him.

Finally he grabbed the back of the prince’s neck and crushed their mouths together. Trunks hummed his pleasure into the kiss, feeling the other’s already hard bulge between his legs, fueling his own building excitement.

He rocked atop the dark-haired demi, grinding into him until Gohan wrapped his arms around Trunks’ waist, holding him still and thrusting his own hips upward to rub suggestively against the boy’s seated behind. Trunks moaned and the longing sound was swallowed up by Gohan’s mouth.

“My room,” he murmured against swollen lips, and Gohan lifted them both up, wrapping his arms tighter around Trunks while Trunks encircled him with his legs. They stumbled down the hallway and the door to the teen’s room banged against the wall as they pushed it open clumsily. The two fell onto the bed together, limbs intertwining, noisy kisses mixing with the sounds of rustling sheets and panting.

“Ah!” Trunks’ breath caught in his throat as Gohan grabbed him through his boxer shorts none too gently. It made the teen lightheaded with desire. He raked his nails over the other’s back when Gohan’s teeth grazed the bared skin of his neck.

“Fuck . . .” the younger boy whined the expletive as he reached blindly through the dark for his bedside table. Pulling the drawer open, he felt around for the bottle he knew was in there somewhere, and when he finally grasped it, he rolled on top of the other man, changing their positions. With a quick movement, he reached down to unbutton his roommate’s pants for the second time that night.

“Sit up for a sec,” Trunks requested. Meanwhile, he propped himself up on his knees and held Gohan’s pants at the waist, sliding them off as his roommate moved into an upright position. Gohan wriggled out of the jeans and boxer shorts and positioned his now naked body upright against the headboard, several pillows supporting his back. He reached out for the front of Trunks’ boxers, grasping the elastic waistband and pulling it away from his skin. The hint was clear enough and the teen stood up alongside the bed to remove the last article of clothing that stood between them.

Straddling Gohan’s legs again, he reached to turn on a bedside lamp. Soft white light outlined their forms, casting shadows over the bed. Gohan watched the prince squeeze a few drops of shiny liquid onto his hands. Then he rubbed them together, warming the gel-like substance before sliding one palm after the other over Gohan’s length, coating him with a slick lacquer.

Trunks shimmied up Gohan’s legs then so that their hips lined up just as they had on the chair, Trunks’ thighs spread on either side of Gohan’s body. He handed the bottle off to his roommate.

“Now you do me.”

Gohan took the bottle and followed his roommate’s lead as Trunks leaned forward, grasping the headboard to Gohan’s left. He arched to present the rounded curves of his rear. The older demi caressed the small of Trunks’ back before letting his fingers roam over his ass, settling into that sensual valley which he could see as he stared over the teen’s shoulders and down his back. After exploring the other demi’s most intimate parts, he lifted the bottle over Trunks’ backside and squeezed out a few drops, watching the clear liquid follow the same path his fingers had. Trunks opened his mouth in silent pleasure as it trickled over his opening, bringing bundles of neglected nerve endings to life and increasing his eagerness.

“Mmm.” He bit his lips when he felt Gohan’s fingers on him again, tracing along the crease and spreading the slippery substance over him. Gohan cautiously fingered the tight ring of muscles there and pressed inside only when he heard Trunks’ encouraging purr at his ear. He explored the depths of the prince’s body while the other whispered quiet commands to him. At the prince’s direction, he added a second finger and his senses flooded with excitement when the teen reacted to his probing motions, bucking involuntarily.

“Ah, yeah,” he crooned at Gohan’s ear. “Just like that.” Trunks reached down between them to stroke himself as Gohan increased the pressure to that spot inside of him. The older demi was a quick learner, it seemed, and he was trying his damnedest to elicit another delicious quiver. Trunks panted into his neck.

“Okay,” he gasped after a few minutes, “I’m ready.”

Putting a hand on Gohan’s chest, he pushed back from the elder Son. Gohan’s fingers slid out of him and across his backside, coming to rest on his thigh. The two men stared at each other, their chests rising and falling in short breaths. Each had only ever been with one other person, and each demi’s thoughts wandered involuntarily now to ponder how different his last sexual experience had been.

Trunks closed his eyes to blot out the unwanted images from his mind and reached his right hand beneath him to grasp Gohan’s erection. He pumped his closed fist over the other man a few times, holding onto what was real and doing his best to forget what was not.

Gohan bit his bottom lip as he felt Trunks positioning him at his entrance. The teen’s eyes were closed, his whole body glistening with a light sheen as he concentrated; bracing then relaxing, and finally pushing his hips back into Gohan and accepting the intrusion quite willingly. Gohan felt himself slipping inside the teen and he gasped at the sensation. Trunks lowered himself inch-by-inch until his buttocks met the other’s hips. Gohan tried to be still, clenching his jaw as he resisted the urge to press forward.

When Trunks opened his eyes, Gohan was looking at him intently. “Are you okay?” he wondered aloud.

The prince reached up to drag his knuckles lightly over his roommate’s cheekbone before leaning in to kiss him. He gripped the headboard on either side of Gohan’s head and savored the intimate connection with the other man. Then he broke their mouth-to-mouth contact to lift himself off the other demi and lower himself down again. His movements were slow at first, but soon became quicker and more passionate. As he found his rhythm, he rocked his hips, drawing gratifying moans from his partner.

The elder Son realized he was digging his fingers into his roommate’s legs and he loosened his grip. But really, the tightness of the other’s body was overwhelming. “Aw, Trunks,” Gohan gasped as he fisted the pillows on either side of them, trying ever harder to keep control. Then, giving up his futile efforts at restraint, he let go of the pillows and wrapped his arms around the prince’s back, burying his face in the other’s neck. The teen continued to rise and fall in his arms and Gohan attacked his skin fervently with his mouth.

Trunks slammed down on the other demi, craving the assault to his prostate as he brought himself ever closer to the edge. His breath coming faster and faster, the younger boy reached down to touch himself again. Gohan disentangled his arms from the teen’s body and rested for a moment against the headboard, just watching Trunks. The lavender-haired Saiyan looked like he was losing himself to the ecstasy, eyes closed, jaw slack. Gohan watched his forefinger spreading precum over the head with each stroke as a thin line dripped from his hand to Gohan’s abdomen.

The elder Son fought down his own impending orgasm, not wanting to finish before Trunks got everything he wanted from him. He felt around for the bottle they had carelessly discarded and, finding it lying nearby on the covers, he coated his hands with the stuff. Then he placed his palm over Trunks’ fist, encouraging him to loosen his grip and let Gohan take over. The prince’s hand dropped to his thigh and the dark-haired demi pumped him with tantalizing pressure and slowness.

Trunks groaned blissfully at the sensation and planted both hands back on the headboard, now putting his full effort into fucking the other man senseless. Gohan pumped faster when he felt the prince pulsating beneath his fingers and the teen emitted a few strangled cries before Gohan felt the warm splash of his orgasm on his stomach. The increased tightness of the other’s spasming muscles and the sounds of his climax were all Gohan could handle. He quivered, grasping Trunks by the hips, and let himself slip over the edge, giving everything he had to the younger man.

When the last of his tremors had subsided, Gohan wrapped his arms around the teen tighter than he probably should have considering his injured ribs. But Trunks didn’t flinch, didn’t complain, didn’t even move as Gohan kissed his shoulder, his collarbone, and at last his lips. The younger demi returned the kiss, but without the former level of fiery infatuation. His kiss was slow, sated, and content. Trunks broke the contact to rest his forehead against his roommate’s as his body became heavy and sluggish. Then he dismounted, sliding his right leg across Gohan’s torso, and landed unceremoniously on the mattress.

Neither one spoke for a few moments as they caught their breaths. Then the older demi reached up to turn out the light. He pulled the comforter over both of them and his arms encircled Trunks as they curled up together.

Finally the prince broke the silence. “I thought you didn’t like to spoon.” His voice was sleepy but playful.

“Huh,” Gohan considered it. “On the list of things I’ve done tonight that I never thought I’d do, spooning with you comes in at about a hundred and ten.” He breathed into lavender hair and both demis smiled in the dark.

“So, what’s the verdict?” Trunks whispered. “Good crazy or bad crazy?”

“How about crazy good,” the other offered. Then he kissed the back of his lover’s head. “Goodnight, Trunks.”

“Goodnight, Gohan.”

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 11

The next morning, Gohan crouched in the living room lacing his sneakers. He wore a long sleeved t-shirt and a pair of basketball shorts. He had indeed gone straight to sleep when he and Trunks got home the night before and he woke up feeling more energetic if no less depressed. It was a sunny Saturday morning, though, and he decided not to wallow in self pity.

The sleepy Saiyan prince appeared in the hallway to his bedroom just then, wearing grey boxer shorts and rubbing his eyes. “Where are you going?”

“Just out for a jog.” Gohan looked him over. “You’re up early.”

“Yeah well, I was in bed by ten, no thanks to you,” he noted. Then Trunks ran one hand down his stomach and pinched the skin there, pouting. “Wait for me. I’ll get dressed and come with you.”

“Uh, okay,” Gohan said, surprised, as he watched his roommate walk back down the hall. Normally it took extreme measures to get Trunks out of bed in the morning, not to mention getting him to do anything productive.

“I’m going to get fat,” he yelled in explanation from the bedroom. “All I do anymore is sit on my ass on that couch.” He grabbed the running pants he had been wearing the night before and a clean white tank.

“I really doubt that,” Gohan said as the teen reappeared, hopping down the hall on one foot as he pulled on his pants. He had just been standing there nearly naked and Gohan thought he looked as fit as ever, despite his lax workout routine.

“Look, do you want a running partner or not?”

“Sure, chubby, let’s go.”

A few minutes later, their feet hit the pavement in time as they jogged steadily towards the park in a nearby part of the city. There were trails there that would give them at least a few miles of warm-up exercise. Then, Gohan had said, they would follow the river north where it ran around the perimeter of the city before turning south and heading for home.

“When will we go out to Mount Paozu?” Trunks inquired after they had been running for some time. He was hesitant to bring up the topic because things seemed so different in the light of day, after a full night’s sleep. It gave him the feeling that the previous night’s events had never happened. But, of course, they had and the two roommates would have to deal with the consequences today.

“I guess after our run.”

“Okay.” At the thought of going out to the Son property, Trunks couldn’t help but wonder about Goten. Would he be there? How would he react to Trunks being there? Would they get a chance to talk? The last time he and Gohan had gone out to the country, Trunks had been relieved to hear that Goten wouldn’t be around. But this time, as nervous as the thought of seeing Goten made him, he almost wished the younger boy would be there. It felt so strange not seeing him on a daily basis; not talking to him at all. Despite having Gohan’s support and friendship, and despite his best efforts to write Goten out of his life, the separation was starting to take its toll on the Saiyan prince.

Gohan didn’t fail to notice that faraway look in his roommate’s eyes. “I, uh, thought I’d tell Goten to stay away this afternoon. Just until this whole mess is over.”

“Oh,” Trunks said, drawing himself out of his thoughts to look at his running partner. “You don’t have to do that on account of me. Actually, I’d . . . .” Shrugging, he looked back at the pavement. “I’d sort of like to see him again. You know, tell him I’m sorry.”

The fact that he wanted to apologize for his actions towards Goten in the past few weeks gave Gohan hope that the teen was beginning to look critically at his own behavior and recognize the effects it had on other people. But even more, Gohan hoped that Trunks was reaching a point where he and Goten could be friends again. It was obvious that each of them needed the other more than either wanted to admit, and he wanted nothing more than to see them work out their problems and rekindle their friendship. But this day would not represent the ideal conditions for their makeup.

“I’m really glad to hear that,” he said. “But it isn’t so much because of you. He doesn’t handle stressful situations like this very well. If he’s there, it’s just another thing I’ll have to worry about. And I really just want to get there, get her shit out, and get gone.”

Trunks chuckled at his roommate’s choice of words. “I can’t blame you there.”

“You should call him, though, Trunks,” Gohan suggested. He thought about his brother staring at the hills and wishing for his best friend. “I know he misses you.”

The prince’s head snapped in the direction of his jogging partner again. Surely Gohan knew his own brother better than anyone, but Trunks hadn’t really dared to hope that Goten actually missed him. He was sure the younger Son had been far too busy in his girlfriend’s bed to think much about him at all. Still he hoped they could at least be on speaking terms again.

They jogged another few miles before either spoke. “Hey, Trunks, about last night . . . .” Gohan kept his eyes trained intently on the trees whizzing by alongside the running trail. “I just wanted to say thanks.”

“Knock it off,” Trunks said, reaching out to playfully slap his roommate on the back of the head. “That’s what friends are for.” Gohan laughed and dodged his attempt, but the older demi was relieved at his roommate’s casual response. He was still getting used to leaning on someone else with his problems and he wanted to say thanks without rehashing all of the emotions of the previous night. He was grateful that Trunks was making it easy on him.

As his feet pounded the pavement, Gohan began to steel himself for the ordeal that the afternoon would bring. He concentrated on putting the defensive barriers in place that he knew he would need to get through it and was startled when he felt his roommate’s hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry, Gohan,” the teen said. “I’ll be there with you.”

Trunks turned his attention back to the pavement, but Gohan let his eyes linger on the Saiyan prince for a few paces. For as much as he seemed to lecture Trunks, Gohan was all too aware of his own flaws; one of which was a serious failure to stick up for himself at times. And at his roommate’s words, he was surprised to feel something like relief. While one could say many things about the Capsule heir, Gohan knew he would defend any one of his friends to the bitter end; whether against a would-be destroyer of Earth or just an ex-girlfriend. The eldest Son was used to people relying on him, not the other way around, and at the moment, it would have been hard for him to express how much that small statement meant. Though he was sure he didn’t need to.

After reaching the northernmost point of the city, the two men turned towards home. They covered the remaining blocks as quickly as they could with the increasing pedestrian traffic that was beginning to crowd the sidewalks. Eventually, the roommates rounded a corner and the yellow walls of Capsule Corp. came into view. They crossed the street and continued to jog toward the complex at a good clip.

Just then Gohan heard Trunks gasp and felt the teen pummel him from the left side. The older demi lost his balance as Trunks shoved him hard and the two fell into a row of bushes along the sidewalk. Gohan’s breath was knocked out of him as he hit the ground and Trunks landed heavily on top of him. “Geez!” he complained in a strained voice. “Maybe you were right about getting fat.”

“Shhhh!” Trunks hissed from above him. Then the Capsule heir tried to peer through the bushes, moving back a few branches with his left hand. “Do you think he saw us?”

“Who?” But Trunks was no longer listening as he slowly climbed to his knees and lifted his head to peer across the top of the bushes. He jumped back with a short cry when his blue eyes met the turquoise stare of Super Saiyan Vegeta.

“Hello, son.” The pureblood’s lips curled into a smirk as he stood above the two entangled boys. “I think we have some catching up to do.”

***

“Ow, Goten! How many times do I have to tell you that’s NOT where it goes?”

The demi-Saiyan propped himself up on his palms. His girlfriend lay beneath him, her legs wrapped around his waist. He looked down between them at the place where their naked hips met on the mattress. Everything seemed to be in place and he couldn’t understand what he was doing wrong.

“Oh, um, sorry,” he looked at her with wide brown eyes. “Which one is it again?” Girls had so much going on down there; he could hardly manage to keep it all straight.

“Not THAT one.” She pushed Goten off as she sat up and he rolled onto his side and watched her reach for a t-shirt. “I’m not explaining this to you again. Take an anatomy course or something!”

Anatomy? he thought to himself. Wow, so one had to take an entire college class in order to understand the female body. He nodded solemnly. “Okay, I will next semester.”

Tiffany sighed. “Let’s just go meet Kim for breakfast.”

Goten brightened at the prospect of food. He had arrived at the dorms in the wee hours of the morning and Tiffany had let him in and then fallen right back to sleep. He slept in the small twin bed with her, while Kim slept in her own bed across the room. When the three of them woke up, Kim immediately excused herself to go and get breakfast. She couldn’t help but feel like she was cramping the lovebirds’ style. The couple had tried to make the best of their time alone together, but it hadn’t worked out all that well. And after both had dressed, they headed across campus to the dining hall.

Goten smiled and waved to Kim when he spotted her inside the bustling cafeteria. Then he followed Tiffany to the buffet. As he surveyed the piles of ham, sausage, eggs, bacon, French toast, and potatoes, Goten thought that prepaid meal plans and all-you-can-eat buffets were the very best parts of college. Not bothering to get a plate, he piled his bare tray high with several servings of everything while Tiffany got an éclair and a coffee. Then the two made their way to the table where the other girl sat.

“Didn’t expect to see you guys here so soon,” Kim commented.

“Yeah, well, someone can’t seem to find the right hole,” Tiff complained, shooting a glare at Goten.

“Tiffany!” The demi-Saiyan turned crimson.

The dark-haired girl blushed, too, out of embarrassment for their new friend. For his sake, she decided to change the subject. “Oh, Goten, I ran into a friend of yours yesterday.”

“Really?” He seemed to forget his self-consciousness quickly enough and dug impatiently into a stack of pancakes in front of him. “Who?” he asked through a mouthful of food.

“A certain purple-haired multi-gazillionaire I think you know.”

Goten looked up at her and then finished chewing his food slowly, trying to figure out how to respond. A whole host of different scenarios ran through his mind. Had they talked? Had Trunks been mean to her, or nice? What might he have said to her about him? About them? Finally, he swallowed loudly and tried not to sound too impatient when he said simply, “Oh?”

“Yeah, I ran into him grocery shopping. Then he fixed my new watch for me and we even had lunch together.” She shrugged unaffectedly, but Goten couldn’t hide his surprise. None of those things sounded like the Trunks he knew. Since when did the Saiyan prince go grocery shopping?

“Really?!” Tiffany perked up. “That’s so cool! So are you guys gonna date, or what?”

Goten glanced at his girlfriend then turned back to Kim immediately, awaiting her response. He wasn’t sure why he felt so relieved at her answer. “No, Tiffany,” she said, not bothering to hide her annoyance. “I keep telling you he wouldn’t be interested in me.”

“Why not?” the other girl asked, shoving a piece of éclair into her mouth. “You’re as pretty as any of the girls here. Present company excluded, of course.”

“Anyway.” Kim rolled her dark brown eyes then turned back to Goten. “I went with him to the apartment that he shares with your brother. Nice place!”

“Oh my god, you were in his apartment and you guys didn’t fool around? What is wrong with you, girl?”

Now it was Goten who shot Tiffany an annoyed look. “So, Kim … did he seem…? I mean, how is he doing?” The demi-Saiyan reached up to play with a lock of hair nervously. “We haven’t really talked much lately.”

“Seemed fine to me,” she said, pretending not to notice his obviously keen interest in the subject. “Says him and your brother get along really great.”

“No kidding? Him and Gohan?” Goten tilted his head to the side in amazement. When they had first moved in together, he had wondered how long it would be before one drove the other crazy. “Weird.”

“Yeah, and I guess the school newspaper will have to find itself a new cover story soon,” she joked. “He said he’s transferring to Weston in the spring.”

“Huh? Transferring?”

“Yeah. Didn’t you know?”

“Unt-uh,” Goten shook his head in the negative and stared at the table. He had not failed to notice that Trunks stopped showing up to the classes they had together. But since his picture was always in the school paper, Goten knew he was still on campus most days. He was sure the other demi had only changed his schedule in an effort to avoid him. Now it seemed that Trunks was leaving the school altogether and Goten couldn’t quite understand why he felt so sad.

But then he realized that hearing about Trunks’ life through the newspaper or a casual acquaintance was strange and unsettling. They had been so close for so long, and now he had no idea what was going on with his best friend. His features creased into a frown as he pondered it. Trunks was grocery shopping and getting along with Gohan; having lunch with Kim; transferring to another school. It was almost as though Goten didn’t know him at all anymore.

Finally he looked up at Kim again. “So, what else did he say?” Goten asked, unable to keep the curiosity out of his soft voice.

“Nothing much, really. Hey, what’s the deal with his dad? Is he, like, crazy or something?”

“Vegeta?” Goten laughed. “No, he’s just . . .” he shook his head trying to find the right words. “He’s really intense.”

“I guess so. Seems like he’s pretty mad at Trunks. Said he was gonna make him regret the day he was born or something like that.”

Goten smiled. “I bet you he skipped training again.” He thought about the last time Trunks had done that. When they were in the storage closet together.

“Goten, are you okay?” Tiffany asked. “You’re blushing again.”

His phone rang then and Goten was thankful for the interruption. Pulling it out of his pocket, he saw his brother’s name on the caller I.D. and flipped it open. “Hey, big brother.”

“Goten, are you at home?”

“No, I’m on campus. What’s up?”

“Is it possible for you to stay there for awhile? Trunks and I are gonna go out to Mount Paozu this afternoon and move Videl out of the house. So I promise it’ll be safe to come home soon. But, until then, you might want to stay with your girlfriend.”

Goten put down the phone. “Hey, is it okay if I stay again tonight?” He looked at both girls. “Please, Kim?” he begged when she gave an annoyed groan. The boy blinked long, dark lashes at her.

“Fiiine,” she relented, lifting her palms in defeat and gesturing in his direction. “How can I say no to that face? You’re damn lucky you’re cute, Goten.”

“Thanks!” His attractive features immediately lit up in a smile. “Okay, Gohan, I’ll stay here tonight.”

“Great,” his older brother said. “Hey, listen. Once things calm down a little bit, what do you say we get together? I’d like to talk to you about everything that’s been going on lately. Trunks, Videl, Mom . . . I worry about you, little bro.”

“Okay, I guess,” Goten agreed. Then he had an idea. “Hey, maybe I could come by the apartment some time!” That way he could talk to his brother and maybe see Trunks, too. If they could just talk for a few minutes, maybe then he could see how his friend was doing for himself instead of having to get his information through intermediaries.

“Yeah, that would work.” Gohan didn’t think Trunks would mind, since the prince had expressed an interest in seeing Goten, too, just that morning. And now that it seemed both boys felt the same way, he could let himself take some comfort in the idea that they may be reconciled soon. “In fact, I think it’d be really good,” he said, more enthusiastically. “So I’ll talk to you later then.”

“Bye, Gohan.”

As he hung up the phone, Goten seriously wondered if there was something wrong with him. Here he was sitting with a very pretty blond who liked him; who wanted to be with him. He had the girlfriend he’d been wanting for so long. He tried to turn his attention to the girls’ conversation about the latest episode of Gossip Girl, but his thoughts kept drifting. He had known when he left Trunks that it would be the end of the road for them, but going cold turkey was so much harder than he thought it would be. Before that night on the balcony, Goten had been obsessed by the idea of getting away from Trunks. Yet now he couldn’t stop thinking about being with him.

He had his freedom. So why weren’t things getting any clearer?

***

Four hours later, the elder Son was just about to leave for the country without his roommate when he felt the teen’s ki-signature approaching the apartment. He headed down the hall for Trunks’ room, curious to see how Vegeta’s punishment had played out. Gohan leaned in the bedroom doorway as his roommate landed across from him on the balcony. As soon as his feet touched down, Trunks collapsed against the glass, as though he didn’t have the energy to move, much less open the door.

“Little help, Gohan?” His voice was muffled by the thick pane of glass and the fact that his cheek was flattened against it and Gohan couldn’t suppress a chuckle at his roommate’s penchant for melodrama as he rounded the bed. When he opened the door, Trunks fell into the room and the older man had little choice but to lean down and catch him, then turn around and drop him onto the bed.

“Owww!” Trunks groaned miserably as he bounced. “You have no bedside manner.”

“I keep telling you that I’m not a doctor.”

“A shame.” He clutched at his left side. “I probably need one.”

“That bad, huh?”

“Worse.” He winced as Gohan sat down next to him and the springy mattress bounced again.

“So, I guess I’ll head out to Videl’s without you, then.”

“No.” Trunks managed to lift up one bruised arm in protest. “No, I’m definitely going.” He pushed himself into an upright position then slowly lifted off the bed and began limping towards the bathroom. “I skipped spending the afternoon in that synthetic DNA thingy so that I could do this.” He leaned against the sink and kicked off his sneakers followed by his socks. “It’s too good an opportunity to pass up.”

“What do you mean?” Gohan asked suspiciously, lifting his chin and staring down the teenager.

“I just want to see Videl.” Trunks’ innocent-sounding voice echoed from the bathroom. “You know she’s always been one of my favorite people.”

“Oh, no, no, no,” Gohan warned, getting up from the bed and shaking his finger. “I hope you’re not thinking what I think you’re thinking.”

What Trunks was thinking was that Gohan managed to look quite sexy when admonishing him. Honestly, it almost made him want to be bad.

“Don’t worry, Gohan. I’ll behave,” he promised. “And if I don’t,” he added with a wink, “you can discipline me.” In the moment before he lifted his sleeveless shirt over his head, he thoroughly enjoyed that dumbfounded expression on the other man’s handsome face. It was clear he still didn’t quite know how to take those casual innuendos Trunks liked to throw around.

But the older demi’s features quickly creased into a frown. “Jesus, did you even try to defend yourself?” Gohan asked. Beneath his shirt, the heir to the Saiyan crown was covered in a striking canvas of deep purples and reds. His torso seemed to have suffered the worst of it but his arms showed a few darkening contusions as well. Gohan reached out to run his fingers over the ribs on the left side of the other demi’s back. “Are they broken?”

Trunks sucked in his breath and involuntarily jerked away from the contact. Then, ignoring his discomfort, he leaned down to turn on the shower water. “Every time we heal, we get stronger,” he repeated his father. “And I’m assuming the beatings will continue until I’m stronger than you. Which is to say ‘indefinitely’.” Gohan continued to look over the younger Saiyan. Vegeta was always a ruthless opponent, and sure, Trunks had baited him. But this seemed rather brutal, even for him.

“Gohan, don’t look at me like that,” Trunks complained, embarrassed, as he dangled his arm under the water waiting for it to get warm. It was not uncommon for him to walk away from a training session with a few injuries and Goten had long ago gotten used to seeing him this way. But the elder Son’s scrutinizing eyes were making Trunks self-conscious.

“Do you know that you can use your ki as a shield?” Gohan offered. “It’s almost like the shield the androids use, but it’s made with your spirit energy. I used it to protect Krillin and Piccolo once when we were fighting this guy named Garlic.”

“As delicious as that sounds, Gohan, it’s not a big deal,” Trunks informed him. “It’s just training. I know I whine about it sometimes, but I’m glad that he cares enough to do it. I committed the worst crime in his rule book when I skipped out the other day,” Trunks continued. “A warrior should want to fight, and to him, it’s like turning my back on my Saiyan side when I avoid training. To be honest, I kind of needed this reminder.” Then Trunks cracked a smile. “Hey, just imagine if he knew I had done it so I could make dinner for your third class ass!”

“I guess you’re right,” Gohan acquiesced. Actually, if he thought about it, his own father had nearly killed him when he was trying to push Gohan to reach super Saiyan for the first time. Not to mention Piccolo’s less than sympathetic training regimen. And back then Gohan had only been four years old! He shook his head and realized he was being far too overprotective of Trunks. He figured it must be the result of the last few weeks. He had gotten much too used to looking out for the kid.

The elder Son laughed then. “Just please tell me that you don’t have the same reaction to Vegeta beating the crap out of you as you did to me beating the crap out of you.” Gohan remembered the teen’s obviously aroused state the last time they had gravity trained together. His roommate was good at flustering him but he thought a comment like that might be enough to get a rise out of Trunks for once.

But the other demi only stared at the floor. “If you must know, Gohan,” he admitted quietly, “the only time I feel truly alive is when I’m doubled over at his feet, gasping for air and choking on my own blood.” Trunks closed his eyes and leaned his head back. “Father. He knows how to make it hurt so good.”

“Are—are you serious?” Gohan gasped, eyes wide.

“No, you dork!” Trunks attempted to slap him upside the head for the second time that day, and this time he hit his mark. “Now go and make yourself useful.” He pointed towards the closet in his room. “There’s Tiger Balm and Ace bandages in there. You’ll have to wrap me. But after that, I’ll be ready to go out to Videl’s..” Turning away, he slid his pants down and stepped into the shower.

The older demi put both hands up in a gesture of surrender. He was pretty sure he didn’t want to hear any more of what went on in that lavender head of his. “You are seriously twisted, Trunks,” he mumbled as he headed for the closet.

“Oh, sweetheart, you have no idea.”

***

The two arrived at Videl’s house a short time later. Trunks approached the door first and was about to ring the bell when he noticed the door had been knocked off its hinges and was only propped against the frame. “Your work?” he asked his companion to which Gohan only looked away, embarrassed. “Niiice,” Trunks said appreciatively, patting him on the back.

The younger demi carefully lifted the wooden door up and pushed it out of their way. “Helloooo?” his voice echoed through the house, which was already looking emptier with furniture covered in sheets and most of the couple’s belongings already put into boxes. “Anyone home?”

Videl appeared on the landing above them and waved in acknowledgement of their arrival. “I’m just finishing clearing off some furniture up here,” she informed them, getting right to the point. “It’ll be ready to come down in a few minutes.” With that she disappeared back down the hallway.

Gohan was glad that she didn’t beat around the bush. As he had told Trunks earlier that morning, he just wanted to get this thing done so he could put this whole chapter of his life behind him. He hoped that after today he would have some closure, and he was eager to get on with the task at hand. “I’m going to go see what I can do to help,” he said to Trunks, then took the stairs two-by-two.

“Sure,” the Saiyan prince said to an empty living room. Then he looked around, trying to decide where he should start. But at that moment a blond man entered from the back part of the house. He stopped abruptly when he saw Trunks.

“Oh, uh, are you here to help us move?”

Trunks noticed the man was rather jumpy. “Yup, guess so,” he said, as he looked the guy up and down. He sure didn’t seem like much. Trunks couldn’t help but wonder what the hell Videl had been thinking.

“So . . . is Gohan here, then?” the blond asked nervously.

“Upstairs.” The teen pointed to the landing just as Videl reappeared there.

“Hi, honey,” she came down, approached the blond, and leaned over to kiss him. Trunks made a face as Sharpener kissed her back. It was so weird to see Videl acting like that with someone else. And to do it right in front of him. He found the whole thing distasteful.

“Ahem,” the prince cleared his throat and Videl looked at him disparagingly. Then she turned towards the stairs again as Gohan came down. He took notice of how close his ex-wife and ex-classmate were standing and paused mid-step. The older demi was holding a desk above his head and Sharpener eyed it apprehensively as he took a step to the left, away from Videl. Still, her hand remained on his arm, rubbing it gently.

“Uh, here let me help you,” Trunks offered, taking a few steps toward his roommate.

“I’ve got it,” Gohan insisted, irritably pushing past the younger Saiyan and heading out the front door to the waiting trucks.

When he returned to the house, Videl and her boyfriend were wrapping various breakables in pages of newspaper and boxing them. They chatted happily about their plans to decorate their new place as though they were any other young couple about to move in together for the first time. Trunks couldn’t believe their audacity and his contempt for them was growing by the minute. But not quite as quickly as his concern for Gohan.

The Capsule heir channeled his annoyance into the task at hand, taking the couches and then the coffee table and end tables outside and hurriedly loading them up. He decided Gohan was right and getting this done as quickly as possible was the best plan of action.

Over the next few hours, Trunks watched his roommate closely as his roommate watched the couple. It was clear that everything about the way they interacted bothered Gohan. Those soft tones Videl used with Sharpener. The way she stood close to him, so their arms touched when they moved. He knew that Gohan didn’t want to see it, but that he couldn’t manage to look away. It was self-defeating behavior that the demi-Saiyan prince was all too familiar with. By the time they had finished loading all of the upstairs furniture and had begun packing the smaller knick-knacks and trinkets scattered around the living room, Trunks had just about had enough.

As he dusted off a painted vase, he watched the lovers stand near the book shelves on the far side of the room. Videl nuzzled the blond’s hair and giggled as he whispered some sweet nothing to her.

“That’s it,” Trunks said to himself, dropping the vase none-too-delicately as he walked towards the two. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Gohan shoot him a look of warning. He could almost hear that stern voice in head telling him not to do anything stupid, but he ignored it. Sharpener was struggling to lift a heavy box of books until Videl relieved him of it and started across the room.

Trunks stepped in front of her. “Please, allow me.” He feigned politeness, but his icy eyes conveyed only antipathy. Videl held his stare for a moment, her own eyes distrustful. But, having no reason to protest, she allowed him to take the box from her hands.

“Thank you,” she said in a tone of forced gratitude and Trunks watched her as she picked up a broom and retreated up the stairs, presumably to clean the now empty bedroom. When she was gone, he turned to the blond man nearby and flashed him an easy smile.

“I don’t think we’ve officially met. I’m Trunks. It looks like you could use some help over here.”

“Oh, uh, sure. Thanks.” He held out his hand hesitantly. “Sharpener.” As Trunks shook his hand, the man eyed the bandage tightly wrapped around the demi-Saiyan’s right elbow. “Hey, you sure you’re up for this?”

“Oh, yeah,” Trunks waved him off. “Don’t worry about me. In fact, I can carry a lot more than this. Why don’t I hold this box and you pile it up with all the books on that shelf.”

Gohan, apparently satisfied that Trunks wasn’t planning anything, left the room and headed for the kitchen to pack up the pots, pans, and dishes. Meanwhile, Sharpener obeyed and in no time he and Trunks had an entire wall of books packed into the waiting vans.

“Aren’t you even tired?” Sharpener had to inquire as the lavender-haired man moved to the next floor-to-ceiling bookshelf and began pulling volumes down. He looked at Trunks inquisitively. He knew Gohan and his friends were strong, but he couldn’t help but be amazed by the displays of power that seemed so natural to both Gohan and the young man helping him.

Trunks wiped his brow. “No, not at all. Getting a little warm though.” He grabbed the bottom of his t-shirt then lifted it over his head and discarded it onto the floor. “So, whaddaya say we get started on this china cabinet?” Trunks pointed over his shoulder.

“Man, what happened to you?” Sharpener asked, a horrified look on his face. Aside from the bandages on Trunks’ arm, the blond now saw that his lower ribs were wrapped in Ace bandages as well, and beneath the dressings was a rainbow of colored abrasions.

“What?” Trunks looked down at his torso. “Oh, you mean this?” Then he looked apprehensively around the room before lowering his voice. “I can’t really talk about it here.”

“Why not?” Sharpener asked anxiously.

Trunks lowered his voice even further until he was whispering, a fearful expression contorting his features. “I don’t want Gohan getting mad. I never know what he’ll do.”

“Gohan did that?!” Sharpener cried, then slapped both of his hands over his mouth.

“Shhhh!” Trunks pleaded with him.

When the blond next spoke it was much softer. He leaned in closer to Trunks. “But he seems so mild mannered.”

The Saiyan prince bent forward to match the other’s semi-crouched position. “I know it’s hard to believe. But he’s under so much pressure all the time. I think he just . . . snaps every once in a while, you know?” Trunks loudly snapped his fingers and Sharpener jumped at the sound. “I just consider myself lucky to be the guy’s friend. I can’t imagine how he’d treat his enemies!”

The lavender-haired demi stood up straight again and walked over to continue piling up books. He cheerfully attempted to change the subject. “But, anyway, enough about me. You never did tell me—how is it that you know Gohan?”

The blond stood frozen in place, the answer stuck on his lips. When he finally found his voice again, he only sputtered, “I—you know, I’ve got to—I just remembered I . . . .” He backed away from the lavender-haired man as he tried to find the right words. Between this surprising revelation and Gohan kicking in the door the day before, he was quite sure that the next time Gohan snapped, he was likely to be the victim. And if Gohan could make someone as strong as Trunks look this bad, then Sharpener didn’t stand a chance! Giving up on verbalizing an explanation, he turned and ran out of the room as fast as his legs would carry him. A second later, the room filled with the sounds of screeching tires and a car speeding down the road and quickly fading into the distance.

Gohan bounded in from the kitchen and stared at the door where the man had just fled. Then he turned with a questioning expression towards his roommate. But at that moment, Trunks was engaged in a staring contest with Videl, who had just appeared at the top of the stairs. Her eyes were narrowed in anger and his sparkled as he barely managed to suppress a laugh.

“What did you do?” she asked accusingly.

“Videl, your boy’s a fucking pansy,” Trunks taunted. He crossed his arms with a shrug. “I think he saw a mouse.”

“You little shit,” she swore at the demi-Saiyan angrily and then raced down the stairs before coming to a halt directly in front of him. “I’d really love to wipe that smirk off your face one of these days.” He looked down at her as if daring her to do so while she looked over the rest of his bruised body. “But it looks like now that you’re all grown up the level of force needed to keep you in line is beyond what I could dish out.”

“Probably,” he agreed calmly. “But then, your specialty is more tearing people apart slowly from the inside, isn’t it Videl?”

“Why you little—!” She gritted her teeth. “Let me tell you something Trunks Briefs. You are nothing but a goddamned, overly indulged, pretty boy fa—.”

“VIDEL.”

There was that ‘don’t fuck with me’ tone Gohan rarely used and it had the intended effect of stopping her tirade mid-syllable. As she turned to face him, Gohan’s eyes flashed with a protectiveness she had seen him display only on rare occasions in the past, when his friends and family were threatened.

“If anyone has been overly indulged here, it’s you,” he accentuated the last two words firmly. “Trunks is a better person than you could ever hope to be and I’d advise you not to finish that sentence.”

She closed her gaping mouth without another word. Catching Gohan’s stare, the Saiyan prince smiled in earnest. He couldn’t care less what Videl thought of him. But Gohan . . . . Gohan had called him a good person.

Not to mention, when they were little, the older demi had always taken Videl’s side against the two boys. Of course Trunks couldn’t blame him for that. At the time, Gohan was trying to win her heart and his little brother and Trunks were just a couple of annoying kids who followed them around. Still, he felt the need to commemorate this little victory and, with all the cheerful animosity of a nine-year-old who’s had enough of his babysitter, Trunks leaned forward, arms still folded over his chest, and stuck out his tongue at her. “Mmnneehhh!”

At the sight, which was so ridiculous after such a tense standoff, Gohan couldn’t help but laugh. It started as a soft chuckle and he put a hand over his mouth to cover it. But soon he broke out into a loud giggle and then outright laughter. After Trunks was done spitting at Videl, he noticed his roommate’s reaction and found himself unable to suppress an amused chuckle of his own. Laughter like that was undeniably contagious, although he had to grasp his ribs harder with every contraction of the diaphragm.

But Videl remained immune to their good humor. She looked back and forth between the two with a series of offended gasps. “Ugh!” she spat disgustedly, then yelled, “you two can have each other!” With that she stormed out of the house after her lover.

The demi-Saiyans made an effort to control their giggling as they turned to watch her go. But when they heard the unmistakable sound of her car screeching off in the same direction as the other man’s had gone, they both doubled over again. “Did you—,” Gohan managed to catch his breath for a moment. “Did you see her face?”

“She’s pissed,” the teen agreed. “Sharpener’s gonna have his hands full tonight.”

“Better him than me!”

Eventually the echoing peels of laughter slowed and tapered off. Still holding his ribs lightly, Trunks made his way over to where his roommate was standing and leaned against a tall hutch, which was one of only a few remaining pieces of furniture in the room. He slapped Gohan’s shoulder affectionately.

“Seriously, though, I’m sorry,” he offered. “I just couldn’t stand the way the two of them were making you feel. We’re better off finishing up on our own.”

Gohan sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “It was that obvious, huh?” Trunks watched him closely as his features turned somber again. “I just—. I can’t—.” He took a breath. “I always thought she wasn’t a very affectionate person. That was how I rationalized the way she acted towards me. And I . . . . I held back so much of what I felt for her. That’s just the way things were between us for as long as I can remember. And then to see the way she was with him.” He shook his head. “Talk about shattering your illusions.”

It occurred to Trunks that Gohan wasn’t really the repressed guy he had accused him of being. One only needed to be near him to know that he was a passionate and loving person. He had simply been keeping his feelings to himself for so long that it must have become second nature and Trunks couldn’t help but think that it was a damned shame. And, even more so than before, he wanted to show Gohan what it was that he had been missing out on all these years. He wanted so badly to give him the affection Videl had denied. He was learning that Gohan was so much more than he seemed at first glance. Everything about him was waiting to be discovered just under the surface.

Lost in his thoughts, Trunks didn’t even realize he had reached out to trace the hairline of the man beside him as the setting sun cast golden shadows on his face until Gohan’s head shot up at the touch and he glanced in Trunks’ direction.

“So that’s what you want then. You’ve figured it out.”

The older demi looked back at the floor. He couldn’t deny it. Who didn’t want that? That intimate connection with another human being. That feeling of meaning everything to someone and having someone mean everything to you. Love in all its various incarnations. Wasn’t that was made the world worth fighting for?

Trunks let his fingers slide beneath Gohan’s chin and pulled him closer, pressing their foreheads together. “Let me give that to you,” he whispered fervently.

“Trunks . . . .” Gohan made a half-hearted attempt to duck his head out of the other man’s grasp. Despite all that they had been through since then, he was sure that essentially nothing had changed since the last time Trunks had tried something like this.

The Saiyan prince could see that Gohan was fighting with himself and he tried to understand what was going on in his roommate’s head. This was Gohan, who never made his own feelings a priority. So, unlike his little brother, he wouldn’t be worried about what people might think of him or what being with Trunks would mean about his sexuality. It didn’t take the teen long to realize that Gohan was only wondering if Trunks knew what he was doing, what he was asking for. He was wondering if the boy wanted him for all the wrong reasons. And that’s why he was holding back.

“Gohan, I’m not a kid anymore,” the younger demi insisted. “You and my mother, you need to stop trying to protect me all the time. Sure, I’ve made some mistakes, but I’ve learned a lot from them. Everything that’s happened, maybe it’s all been leading us here . . . .” Trunks trailed off.

To this moment. To each other.

“Look,” the teen continued after a short silence, taking his roommate’s hand. “I won’t bother you anymore, Gohan. I’ll turn around, walk away and leave you alone if you can honestly tell me,” he raised Gohan’s hand to his mouth and kissed the sensitive skin on the inside of his wrist, “that you’ve never thought about this. That you never think about me when you’re alone.” He returned the other man’s arm to his side and moved in closer to him. “That you’ve never thought about what it’d be like to do this.” Trunks planted a second fleeting kiss on the dark-haired demi’s neck. “Cuz I’ve thought about you,” he whispered, lifting his head up to his roommate’s cheek. “I’ve thought about you a lot. And I know you’re not Goten. I’m in a position to know just exactly how much you are not like Goten. So now you tell me, Gohan.” He pressed their bodies together. “Tell me that I’m not what you want.”

Gohan leaned back against the hutch behind them, moving his upper body away from the other man’s so he could look into his eyes. Azure irises flashed with thinly veiled desire and a part of him couldn’t deny how good it felt to be wanted this way, especially after so many years of detached coldness. And the heat with which the young prince looked at him was becoming increasingly hard to ignore. But a part of him still strongly felt that he had to do so.

“Trunks,” Gohan averted his eyes in an effort to regain some control. “We can’t always trust our bodies.”

“On the contrary, Gohan. Sometimes I think it’s the only thing we can trust.”

He pressed both his lips together to the top of Gohan’s open mouth, gently kissing his upper lip, then pulled back so his nose brushed the other’s. Gohan could feel Trunks’ bangs tickling his face. Those few unruly strands that always crossed in front of his eyes.

“What is it about you, Gohan?” the teen wondered aloud. “You know what’s best for everyone else, but you don’t seem to know how to listen to yourself.”

Finally, Trunks’ lips made the contact he had been craving, and Gohan’s mouth reluctantly opened under his own. The teen let his tongue slip between his lips and moisten his roommate’s. As the younger boy deepened the kiss, Gohan found it easier and easier to ignore those nagging reservations. Thoughts of his brother, his ex, and anyone else were beginning to slip away.

All he could think about was Trunks. The lavender-haired man was invading all of his senses. And it felt good. Too good to shut him out again. Without thinking, he began to respond, opening his mouth further to accommodate the probing tongue, and even reaching up to run two inquisitive fingers along Trunks’ jaw line. He traced the faultless bone structure there, underneath tanned skin, and remembered the way the prince’s ki had enveloped him that night in the kitchen. That intoxicating pulsation and disarming aura. Gohan was falling under the same spell now and it was true he wanted to give himself over to it entirely. But, instead, planting his thumb firmly on the other’s chin, he stopped Trunks from pressing in for another forbidden kiss.

He looked the prince in the face one more time. Could he trust what his roommate said? That he knew what he was doing? Or were they both letting their insecurities get the best of them? How could he know for sure if it was real? And if it was, then where would they go from here?

“I don’t know if I’m ready,” he admitted honestly.

“Aw, don’t worry, Gohan,” Trunks flashed a trademark grin. “I’ll catch if it’ll make you feel better.”

“Wha…?” When the older demi got his meaning he couldn’t suppress another snigger. “That’s so not what I meant,” he clarified, although he had to admit, the logistics of being with another man did make him a tiny bit nervous.

“Batter up, Gohan,” Trunks did his best to lighten the mood, and the two shared another quiet moment of laughter as the dark-haired demi absently traced the inside of Trunks’ arm with his fingers. But he soon became serious again.

“I mean I don’t know if I’m ready to . . . to give you . . . .” He stumbled over his words before finally figuring out what he was trying to say. “To be honest, there’s just not much left of me to give right now.”

“Stop.” The younger man wrapped his arms around the other’s back. “Let’s not try to figure everything out tonight. We’re friends aren’t we? We care about each other, don’t we? That’s enough for now.”

Gohan let the prince engage him in another scorching kiss. Could it be so bad, he thought, to let Trunks have his way just this once?

Entwining his fingers in lavender hair, he pulled the other demi back just a few inches so he could breathe, “Let’s go home, kid.”