Trunks walked up and down the hallway, his hands clenched tightly behind his back. It was a ridiculous request, there was no way he could ask. They would laugh at him, they would yell at him, they would disinherit him. Even if he had normal parents they would disown him for such a thought, but his parents? He would be lucky to escape with his life!

The five year old turned down toward his bedroom, but only managed to make it three steps before freezing with fear. No, he could not go back there. That was where the problem was in the first place. Maybe there was somewhere else he could go. Maybe he could hide in the living room or the kitchen or the rec room. Maybe there was some place he could go to wait for his problem to simply go away on its own…

/

"Good lord, is he seriously still out there?" Bulma grumbled, barely lifting her face from her soft pillow. "It's almost one in the morning!"

Beside her, Vegeta tried his best to ignore the woman. She was building that tone that always led to a request, followed by an order, followed by a fight, followed by sex. As much as he enjoyed that last step in the process, the prince was too exhausted from a brutal training session to feel the fight to be worth it. All he wanted at that moment was to fall asleep and stay that way for at least four hours, and the first step was ignoring the blue haired brat.

"Something must really be bothering him," the heiress went on, sitting up slightly higher. With a grunt, she turned and looked at her lover's shoulder blades. "Someone should really go help him."

It's a trap, the prince quickly reminded himself. If I tell her to do it, she knows I'm awake and will make me deal with the boy. Don't say anything, don't move more than necessary, keep breathing steady…

Bulma let out a soft sigh. "I'm soooo tired though," she whined. She slowly lay back down, nuzzling her face blissfully against her soft pillow. "After all, I've got that loooong meeting in the morning. I need to get a lot of good rest if I'm going to have the energy for it."

Sucks to be you.

"And you know," the woman sighed, closing her eyes, "if I don't have any energy for the meeting, there's no way I could have energy for anything else after the meeting."

Don't fall for it, don't fall for it, don't fall for it…

Frowning, Bulma cracked one eye back open. Usually the promise of sex in exchange for a favor worked fairly well on him, but like all things in life, it was not a sure thing. It appeared that the evening was offering a rare miss for her best shot. She knew perfectly well that he was awake and could hear her, but he was not going to get up.

"Fine," the heiress grumbled. She got out of the bed, deliberately throwing the blankets back hard enough to remove them from the both of them on her way. While she certainly loved her son, and would do anything at all to keep him happy and safe, midnight runs were not fun. Like most mothers before her, sleep was a necessity of life that had virtually disappeared. Over the years, as Trunks had started sleeping through the night, she had managed to get more and more of it, but the past several nights had sent her mind right back to his infancy days.

Still upset with her lover, Bulma opened their bedroom door all the way, allowing the hall light to flood in and onto Vegeta's face. "Serves you right!" she called out as she left.

Worth it.

Walking down the hallway, Bulma quickly found her young son as he headed down the stairs. "Honey?" she called out. "What's wrong?"

Trunks slowed down, but he did not come to a complete halt. "It's nothing, Mom."

"Trunks," the heiress softly said, coming around in front of the boy, "you're wandering the halls at one in the morning. That means that something's not okay. Now we did this last night and the night before, too, sweetie. You haven't told me what's bothering you yet, and I can't help you until you tell me." She wrapped her arms around him in a tender hug, gently asking, "What's bothering you?"

The little boy paused for a moment, seriously contemplating telling her. After all, she was his mother, and mothers could make anything better. But the problem he had just did not seem like one that his mom, no matter how awesome she was, would be able to fix. "It's nothing, Mom. I'll go back to bed."

Bulma frowned, pulling back to look at her son. It was the same routine they had done for the past few nights, and she was starting to get concerned. He wandered the halls, she would try to talk to him about it, he would insist that everything was fine, and he would escort himself back to his bedroom. Gee, I wonder which solitary, paranoid, insomniac parent he got this from, she sarcastically thought. Determined, she grabbed his shoulders and smiled at him. "Well, tell you what. Since sending you back to your room has only gotten you to walk around more, why don't you come back with me to my room?"

Trunks went rigid in his mother's grip. "That doesn't seem like the brightest idea you've ever had, Mom," he honestly told her.

"Nonsense," Bulma dismissed with a wave. "One night of good sleep will probably do you wonders."

Raising a purple eyebrow, the child asked, "Did you forget that Dad's in there, too?"

Bulma let out a small huff. "You know, if he'd wanted a vote on how to handle this, he should have gotten up himself. He who stays in the bed is he who's stuck with the outcome. Now come on, young man, I'm not taking no for an answer." Both of them were well aware of how Vegeta would likely react to such a scenario. That was exactly why Bulma offered it. It was not a kind strategy, but Bulma figured it was worth the gamble to getting her son to explaining what his problem was.

"But Mom…"

"No buts, mister!" his mother commanded. "Either you tell me what the problem is or you're coming back with me. Take your pick."

Trunks scowled. "You're evil."

"Yes, I am," she calmly answered. "Now what's it going to be, young man?"

The five year old sighed. "Those are my only two choices?" he pitifully asked.

"Those are the only ones," she replied with a smile.

Trunks looked down the hall, glancing from his door to that of his parents. It had to be a trap she was setting him up for. She was very good at setting them, and he was still too young to be able to avoid them most of the time. "I really can just go back to my room…"

"Not unless you tell me the problem," his mother firmly said. "Now, it is one in the morning, and we're both tired. Whichever you pick, do it quickly."

Another look down the hall, and the little boy sighed. "I'll go back with you."

Bulma's left eye twitched at the answer. Whatever was bothering Trunks, it had to be enormous if he would rather face the sleep deprived wrath of Vegeta over admitting to it. "Okay," she slowly answered. "Come on, then. Let's go back to the room I share with your father."

Trunks gulped, but refused to give up. That one eye twitch had told him clearly that his mother was not looking forward to that solution any more than he was, and maybe, just maybe, he would be lucky enough to have her cave first. It was a long shot, but it was all he had.

"Let's go," he nervously said.

The walk down that hall was the longest and slowest one either one of them had ever taken. It was truly remarkable how little each one could move with a step. It was only a few dozen feet that had to be traveled, but between the two of them, they managed to drag it out for several minutes. Each time they lifted a foot they hoped the other would fold, and each time the step was planted they feared more that the other would not.

After several agonizing minutes, they found themselves in front of the door. "Well, here we are," Bulma said.

"Yep," Trunks gulped. Trying to turn odds in his favor, he offered a modest bow and said, "After you."

Bulma's blue eyes widened. "No, that's okay," she informed her son. "Go on in."

"After you."

"No, you."

"No, you."

"No, you."

"No, you."

"No…"

Suddenly the door flew open, starling the two blue eyed Briefs. "That's it!" Vegeta shouted. "I am sick of both of you! Woman, you get in here now. Boy, to your room!"

Regaining her composure, Bulma approached her lover and pulled him by the arm. "Something's bothering him and I am not going to bed until I find out what it is," she hissed. "Now I don't care how grumpy you are. It's been three nights in a row!"

Vegeta glared at the woman. "Third strike, you're out. Now get in bed," he growled at her. Turning, he grabbed his son by the back of the neck and firmly directed the boy back down the hall. "March!"

Trunks barely managed to keep his wits about him as his father steered him. "Um, I can go on my own…"

"Clearly, you cannot," his father interrupted. Without easing up his grip for a moment, Vegeta got his son down the hall, in the room, and on his bed. "You will inform me immediately what the hell is disrupting your slumber so that I can know what you keep disrupting my slumber." With one last shove, the boy was flattened on the bed.

"It's nothing…"

"Now, boy!"

The five year old squirmed uncomfortably on his bed. Suddenly he found himself wondering which was going to get him in more trouble: the truth or a denial? Unfortunately for him, his father was not a patient man, and that telltale growl meant that he was out of time. Dropping his eyes to the ground, Trunks mumbled something incoherently.

"Speak up, boy!" his father commanded.

Still leaving his eyes on the carpet, Trunks quietly muttered, "The closet."

It took a significant amount of willpower for the pureblooded Saiyan to keep his ever shortening temper in check. "Do you mean to tell me that the entire household has been lacking sleep for three nights because of a sub-room in which you store your clothing?"

Trunks rubbed his arm nervously, and he crossed his legs on the mattress. "It's not the room," he quietly admitted. "There's…there's something in it."

"Other than your crap?" the prince bit out.

"Yes!" Trunks insisted. "Dad, there's something alive in there!"

Pinching the bridge of his nose. "What the hell are you talking about?"

With the cat out of the bag, Trunks found himself slightly bolder than he had been a minute earlier. "I keep hearing something moving in there, and it keeps making this scratching noise."

"Then why have you not removed it?" Vegeta demanded.

"Well I don't know what it is!" Trunks insisted. "It could be a monster or something!"

Vegeta rolled his eyes. "First off, boy, the monsters that you speak of are nothing more than mythical fairy tale creations. They are not real. Therefore, they cannot be in your closet. And secondly, there is nothing indigenous to this planet that holds a higher power level than you do, so what the hell are you afraid of?"

Trunks blinked up at his father. "What does 'indigenous' mean?"

"It means native to the area," the prince bluntly bit out, "and that you need to suck it up, boy."

The five year old shifted his eyes to the closed closet door. "What do you think is in there?" he quietly asked.

"I neither know nor care," Vegeta replied. "Get off your ass, open the door, and look for yourself."

"But…"

"Do it!"

With a gulp, Trunks nodded. Slowly getting to his feet and turning on the light, the boy looked the shut door up and down. As soon as the light had flooded the room, the scratching had started again. Turning, the five year old shot him an I-told-you-so look.

While Vegeta could certainly acknowledge that there was, in fact, something in the closet, he was not about to let the boy off the hook. No son of his was going to be too afraid to open things in his own damn room.

Nervously, Trunks locked eyes with his father. "You're going to be here, right?"

Again, Vegeta rolled his eyes. "Just shut up and open the damn door, boy."

"But what if it's a…"

That was as far as the child got before he found his jaw in a vice-like grip. "Listen to me, boy. You are going to turn around, you are going to open that door, and you are going to see that there is nothing in there that is half as scary as I am! Do you understand me?"

It was an odd sensation, but strange as it was, those words actually were a comfort to Trunks. His father was right. There was nothing in the closet, the world, even the universe, that was half as intimidating as the man holding his jaw. And no matter how terrifying Vegeta could be, Trunks knew that at the end of the day, the man had his back. When things really seemed down, he always managed to be there.

Boldness filled the child's soul, and Trunks smirked at his father. "Yes, sir!" he firmly answered. Brimming with confidence, he turned and marched soundly for the closet. After all, how bad could it really be?

Trunks flung the door open and jumped back, falling automatically into a fighting stance as he waited for some great unseen force to strike at him. What he was ill prepared for, however, was the black cat that practically flew past his ankles and out the bedroom door. "What the…"

"Oh, that poor kitty!" Bulma said, catching the frightened animal at the doorway. "You've been trapped in that teeny, tiny closet for three whole days?"

Vegeta glared at the woman. "I thought I told you to return to the room!"

"Have I ever listened to you?" she casually answered, still studying the frightened creature. "Poor little thing must be starving. And look at it! It's so scared that it's still shaking!" Cradling it gently, she turned a glare on her young son. "I can't believe you, young man! How could you do this to Kitty? Honestly, what is wrong with you?" With that the heiress walked away, offering comforting words to the still shaking cat in her arms.

Left behind in the room, Trunks stared, baffled, at the spot his mother had recently stood in. "What the hell just happened?" he asked.

"Your mother's question has been answered, you are no longer afraid of your closet, and it would appear that no one in this house is ever going to sleep," he father replied in a monotone voice. "Now either get in your bed or get in your training gear."

A little smirk appeared on Trunks. "Can we turn on the gravity?" he asked.

"Hn."

With a giddy little squeal, the boy was immediately deep in the closet that had terrified him only minutes earlier. As the boy dug around for his training materials, Vegeta rolled his eyes. It never ceased to amaze him how his son could be quaking with fear one minute and making absurd noises of joy the next. It convinced him once and for all that the boy was insane, that the woman was insane and had passed it on to the boy, and that he was the craziest of them all for putting up with it.

But, he supposed, that was why he stayed in the first place. After all, insanity was an awful lot of fun.