Pictures of You
By, RadioactiveSquirl
Disclaimer: Me no own DBZ, me no own DBZ characters, me not caveman so me stop talking like this now.
A/N: This is just a rough draft/trial, so if you like it then I'll fix it up and continue with it. Enjoy!! =) Review please!!
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Trunks stared out the window of his home at Capsule Corporation as he sat in his favorite chair. It was raining outside. It had been doing so off and on for the past few days. There hadn't been any recent news on what the androids were up to and things had been pretty calm lately. It was practically a miracle. Trunks didn't know whether to consider that a good thing or to worry that maybe this calmness was only a prelude to some big disaster that the androids were itching to throw at the city; the calm before the storm. He prayed that it wasn't the latter.
Ever since Gohan died, it had been up to Trunks to try and keep Androids 17 and 18 under control. He sighed at the memory of his master and friend. He wished now more than ever that he had Gohan to talk to, tell him stories of his adventures before Trunks was born, and to cheer him up. Gohan had been almost like a father to him, but even so, he still wished he had known his real father, Vegeta.
Trunks' thoughts were interrupted as he heard the footsteps of someone entering the room. He recognized the soft, delicate footsteps as belonging to his grandmother. He turned to face the blonde haired woman and smiled.
"Why, hello, Trunks!" his grandmother chimed cheerfully. "How are you today?"
"Hi Grandma," Trunks replied. "I'm doing good, how 'bout you?"
"Oh, Trunks, you're such a thoughtful boy to ask. I'm just fine. I brought you some homemade cookies and milk."
"Thanks, Grandma! Wow, chocolate chip, my favorite," Trunks grabbed five cookies and practically inhaled them within a few seconds. He took a gulp of milk and started on the rest of the cookies. "Hey Grandma," he said in between cookies, "Have you seen my mom anywhere?"
"Oh, I think she's in her lab working on that time machine thing of hers. She is so much like her father, I tell you. Always tinkering with something."
"Thanks, Gran," Trunks said as he grabbed the remaining cookies, shoved them in his mouth, and headed out the door.
"Wow, that boy sure does eat fast."
Trunks walked down the stairs toward his mother's laboratory. He had questions, but didn't know if Bulma would give him any answers. She never gave much information when it came to questions about Vegeta. A pained and saddened expression always came over her face when asked about Vegeta. Trunks hated to see his mother look so sad, but sometimes he just needed to know about his father.
He pushed open the door to the lab and walked in. He walked past the various gizmos, gadgets, odds, ends, and half-finished projects that occupied the room. He heard some tools moving and the familiar humming of his mother and headed towards the noise.
"How's it going, Mom?" Trunks asked.
Bulma jumped, startled. "Woah, you scared me there, Trunks! You're just like your father in that way, always sneaking up unnoticed and then making your presence known in some loud way," Bulma smiled.
"Oh, I'm sorry Mom," Trunks apologized.
"It's not a bad thing, honey. I just find it kind of funny, that's all," Bulma chuckled.
Trunks stood there and watched his mother work on her latest invention: a time machine. No one knew quite why Bulma was making it. When anyone asked her about it she would just smile and say something on the lines of, "Oh, you'll see soon enough." Trunks thought she was finally losing it, at first, but then realized that his mother never did anything without a good reason, or at least some reason anyway. Some of her reasons never really made much sense to anyone and weren't even what some would call reason in the first place. Trunks hoped she had a good reason.
Bulma looked up from the unfinished time machine. She saw her son's far away look. "Is something wrong, Trunks?" she asked, concerned.
Trunks looked up and shook his head hesitantly.
"No, Mom. Why?"
Bulma frowned. Trunks' furrowed brow revealed to her that he was not quite telling the truth. "Come on, Trunks. You can talk to me, you know. What's troubling you?"
"Do you really think I'm like my dad?" Trunks' expression lightened up a bit.
Bulma sighed. Lately Trunks had been asking a lot of questions about Vegeta. She didn't enjoy answering them because it hurt to be reminded of her dead husband. But she couldn't blame her son for wondering. At his age, what he needed most was a father. She wondered how Vegeta would have gone about raising Trunks had he lived through his fight with the androids. She could see Vegeta giving their son some Saiyanly advice on how to throw a correct and effective punch or how to order women around. She smiled and groaned inwardly at the thought, then turned her attention back to her son's question.
"Well," Bulma answered, "in some ways, yes, you are a lot like your father."
"Really?" Trunks asked, excitedly. He was about to ask more but he noticed the pained look in his mother's eyes and decided against it. He turned and headed for the stairs. "Well, I guess I'll let you get back to work, then."
"Alright, honey," Bulma replied.
The phone rang, interrupting Trunks' daily chores. He had just finished vacuuming and was about to begin dusting when it rang. He sauntered over to answer whoever was calling.
Trunks picked up the phone in mid ring. "Hello?" he spoke into the receiver.
"Hi. Do you by any chance," the person on the other end started, "happen to know if your refrigerator is running?"
Trunks was about to say yes, but then realized this was a prank call. He instead answered by saying, "No, I'm sorry. I broke its legs because I got tired of chasing it. Thanks for your concern anyway, and when its legs heal I'll send it on running over to your house so you can deal with it." And with that he slammed down the phone and wiped his hands off. "Stupid people," he mumbled.
He walked over to the bucket of cleaning supplies and pulled out a feather duster.
"Time to dust," he said. "Let's see. All I have to do is dust and then… Nope, I think that's it. Yep, just dust, then I'm done for the day."
Trunks walked over to the mantle of the fireplace and started to dust the worn, red and white bricks. He paused for a moment when he came upon some frames of family photographs. He smiled as he looked at one of him, his mother, and his grandparents at a theme park when he was six years old. He remembered how he and his mom rode on the ferris wheel while Grandma and Grandpa Briefs went to go buy lunch. When they had returned with the food, Trunks had nearly eaten all of it when Bulma commented on how his large appetite was so much like his father's. Trunks had been so excited to learn that he was like his father in some way.
Trunks' mind drifted back to the present and he continued to look at the framed photographs. All his family and friends were in them; Bulma's friends Goku, Tien, Piccolo, Krillen, Yamcha, and his master and friend Gohan; his mother, his grandparents, his fath- no… There was no picture of Vegeta anywhere. Not one of him alone, or with his family. Not one picture of the Saiyan prince was to be found. Anywhere. Trunks had never realized this before. He didn't know what his father had looked like. Bulma had never gotten very far in describing him without chokign back tears.
Suddenly, Trunks was even more curious that ever to know more about his father. He wanted to ask his mother about him, but he knew that that wouldn't get him very far. Besides, he didn't want to see her in such emotional pain.
After thinking about it for a few minutes, Trunks decided to ask his mother one more time. If that didn't go well, he had a Plan B already growing in his mind. But first, he had to finish dusting.