Hmm...first attempt at a DBZ fic. =) Please read and review. No, I don't own any of the characters, so nobody sue, 'cuz all I have is five bucks pocket money and a bunch of lint. Revising the story. Yay!!! *calms down* Okay, this is GT (Grand Tour) Trunks we're dealing with. I know, it's kind of weird. The father-son stories are mostly done on Vegeta and Mirai Trunks, but I wanted to take a look at Vegeta and GT Trunks. Let's give this a shot…

"You like to think you're never wrong,
You like to act like you're someone,
You want someone to hurt like you,
You want to share what you've been through…"
-Linkin Park, "Points of Authority"

The silence was deafening. Trunks felt it become something he could taste and smell, something that stripped away flesh and bone and a complex web of emotions, leaving behind a naked inner core. He listened to it, a thousand questions forming a vortex in his mind, adding their screeches to the quiet that thundered in his ears. But the one question that refused to go away, that did not flicker back and forth but remained constant gnawed at him. He glanced over at the figure seated to his right, and smirked even as the inquiry burned itself deeper into his mind.

What the hell is he doing here? Had nothing better to do than kill time with me? Than to come out here and do nothing but sit? There's got to be a reason. She kick him out of bed again? Most likely. No...that can't be. It's broad daylight. Why would he leave the house to plunk himself down next to me and do nothing but stare into space?

A frigid breeze violated his train of thought, running cold fingers over exposed flesh. He sat back and allowed the draft to seize his lips in a kiss, to envelope him in its savage embrace. He lost himself for a moment, in the arms of recollection.

"How long have you been sitting like this?"

Startled, Trunks glanced up.

Did the Almighty Prince of Saiya-jins just speak to me? he wondered, wry amusement washing over every other emotion. Not that his father never spoke to him.

Yeah, he talks to me, Trunks mused. Once every ten years. He repressed a snicker that dwelt somewhere in the spaces between bitterness and exasperation. When he looked up again, he noted the irritation written on Vegeta's face. Irritation at lack of a reply.

"Uh...not that long. I'll be headed back soon."

Vegeta said nothing, just continued his staring match with empty air.

Trunks couldn't help but stare for a moment, at his father's side profile. The little illumination that remained made the Saiya-jin prince appear as a sort of creature made from both shadow and light.

More shadow than light, I suppose. I wonder what he's thinking right now?

Trunks narrowed his eyes, concentrated. A prince, son of royalty who'd clutched at his birthright through the stormiest of weather. A mortal, desperately trying to overcome the challenges this world presented to him.

Haven't ever seen the "mortal" side. The way he acts...it's like he's unkillable.

But he saw something else behind his father's eyes, as well. Memories of some unfathomable, disturbed past that he'd never heard of. Questions, fears, wonder. And Trunks marvelled.

The wind sighed once more, and his father seemed to sigh with it, though he made no sound at all. Rising, Vegeta began striding from his sitting place, leaving Trunks to stare after him, eyes narrowed.

Shadow creature. Illusive, something not of this world. I'll never understand you, will I?

A bird called, mocking his unspoken words. He glanced upwards, then leaned forwards, grasping his knees to his chest, reveling in the quiet of eventide. Vegeta was gone.

Why had he arrived in the first place?

Hey. Wait a second. What's this?

He reached over and grasped it, turning the object over and over in his hand.

Somewhere in the distance, thunder rumbled, and the first drops of rain made their mark. He stood, hesitated, then tucked the object away and began heading for home, the breeze soughing in his ears.