Chapter 29- A Breach of Faith
Things had settled into a routine. Vegeta would leave the apartment early in the morning—often before sunrise. Trunks would wake up later, get his own breakfast, and then head to school. Trunks would return home in the late afternoon, often with Han'nei or another one of his friends in tow. If Vegeta came home within a few hours, Vegeta and Trunks would go to Pop's for dinner together. On the occasions when Vegeta was forced to remain late at the palace—or not go home at all—Trunks would go to the arcade for dinner with his friends.
The weeks had flown by since Trunks' arrival on Iro, and Vegeta had seen that Trunks was slowly becoming accustomed to living on the new planet. He no longer walked around fidgeting with his clothes, staring around nervously, and blushing whenever he locked eyes with someone. He didn't hesitate anymore when presented with a new dish. He knew Pop well enough to know that nothing he served would be unpalatable. He even went to school without grumbling—something that could not be said of the time he'd lived on Earth.
That was why Vegeta was puzzled that morning when Trunks had approached him looking downright terrified.
He'd appeared in the dimly lit kitchen with a simple word. "Dad."
Vegeta had turned in surprise to see his son awake so early. A quick glance out the large windows assured him that it was still before dawn. Vegeta was further surprised to notice that Trunks was already dressed for school. He furrowed his eyebrows and glanced at his watch, wondering if Iro had periodic days of night. No. It was before 1-H.
"What are you doing up so early?" Vegeta asked turning back around to see if his coffee was done brewing yet.
"I need…I…" Vegeta looked back toward his son, noting again his nervousness and pallor. His Ki was off as well. Finally Trunks managed a sentence. "Can I talk to you?"
Vegeta just blinked. He couldn't remember Trunks ever asking that particular question. It was disconcerting, and he didn't know what to say. The simplest answer would be "yes." Vegeta could see no reason not to talk to his only child. And yet something in Trunks' demeanor was telling him that he should just say "no" and quickly evacuate the premises.
Vegeta settled on neither. It was better to test the waters first. "About what?" He hoped that this wasn't going to lead to "the talk."
"My history class."
Vegeta blinked. And again. "What?"
Trunks shifted his weight. "Yesterday…in history class…we…the teacher…" He paused and swallowed before visibly squaring his shoulders. "We talked about you."
That was not what Vegeta had been expecting. He could feel his back growing rigid, his muscles tensing, and his hackles raising in defense at the mere notion of the conversation that Trunks clearly wanted to have. Now. It was too early for this. To early in Trunks' life…and definitely too early in the morning.
He glanced at his watch again before reluctantly giving Trunks props for planning ahead. There was no escape. Neither one of them had anywhere to be for at least an hour. Vegeta had no way out of the conversation—barring just walking away. But that would be cowardly.
Vegeta sighed, and turned his back on his son with the excuse of pouring himself a cup of coffee. In reality, he was finding it hard to look at the boy. He swallowed to try to quell the odd feeling that was building in his stomach before speaking evenly. "And what? Why are you telling me?"
"I…" They were going to get nowhere fast if Trunks kept pausing during each sentence. "I don't know. I just…I thought I should."
"I see." Well if that was all he wanted…
As soon as the thought flitted through Vegeta's head, Trunks was speaking again. "But…why didn't you ever tell me?"
Vegeta snorted. "Why should I have?" He tried to keep the bitterness out of his voice. "It was none of your concern. It's all in the past…" He paused and then reluctantly added. "And besides, your mother thought it would traumatize you or some such nonsense if you knew what I'd been."
"Mom knew?" Vegeta turned back to Trunks and leaned against the counter, nursing his steaming mug between his two hands. He narrowed his eyes almost harshly.
"Of course. They all do. Kakarott, Krillin, Piccolo. Even Gohan. They don't know everything. But they have a general idea."
He could see that his son was mulling over that last statement, biting the inside of his lip just as his mother sometimes did.
Vegeta let him think for a moment before speaking. "I have a feeling that there are other things you wanted to know besides why I didn't tell you." Some nagging voice at the back of Vegeta's head was telling him that it was better for Trunks to hear these things from him. There was no telling, after all, what strange stories Krimzon historians may have concocted. Still Vegeta wasn't quite comfortable telling Trunks the truth.
Trunks slowly raised his eyes to meet his father's darker ones and then nodded.
Vegeta sighed. "This will take a while." He concluded in a murmur that was mostly for himself. He could be late to work today. He would be doing Kurenai's bidding for the next week anyway. What would a few hours hurt? Vegeta nodded to the table. "Sit down."
The moment's hesitation Trunks displayed at the order earned him a growl and a snapped "Sit!" Trunks quickly obeyed, sliding into a chair. It wasn't lost on Vegeta, though, that the boy was still on guard. It was offensive
Vegeta took another calming breath. He hated this. He would have gladly fought against a hundred Majin Buus to avoid this conversation. Alas, it had to be done—even if the look of nervous uncertainty now present on Trunks' face would forevermore be the expression he donned when he looked at his father. Even if Trunks rejected him outright. There was no turning back.
"Before you ask anything, I want it to be clear that nothing that I say is to be repeated to anyone. Not to your mother, not to Goten, and certainly not to any reporters." He raised his eyebrows at his son as if waiting for his acknowledgement of the terms.
Trunks just nodded, the tenseness never leaving his shoulders and the wariness still in his eyes.
"You can stop being so nervous." Vegeta snapped bitterly. "Just because you know what I was doesn't mean I'm going to suddenly decide to kill you. If I haven't done it yet, I'll hardly do it now, don't you think?"
Trunks' face flushed and he looked somewhat guiltily down at his lap. "Sorry."
Vegeta just leaned back and took a sip of his coffee before reluctantly asking. "Do you have any specific questions?"
Trunks opened his mouth, thought for a moment and then closed it again before flushing and shaking his head.
Vegeta could judge from his demeanor and from his memory of the order of questions Bulma had asked him when he'd finally opened up to her, that Trunks was wondering one of two things. "Which would you like to know first: if I enjoyed it or if I regret it now?"
Trunks stiffened, and Vegeta knew that he had pegged at least one of the things that had been bothering the boy.
"Umm…the second one…I guess."
"I assume you want to know if I regret killing literally billions of innocent people."
Trunks tensed and swallowed, and Vegeta couldn't help but feel a flash of anger. Who was this boy to be so disgusted by his actions? When had he ever been put into a situation where he had to kill or be killed? This was why Vegeta never wanted to have this conversation. It was so easy for people who knew nothing of the universe he had lived in to stand on the outside and judge him for his actions. He hated it. He was tempted to leave—to just stand up and walk out. But that would be cowardly. Vegeta was many things—as Trunks would soon learn—but he was not a coward.
He had stood before armies of thousands of hideous creatures, all dead-set on killing him, and he hadn't batted an eye. He'd betrayed the most powerful warlord in the universe, and he'd done it from right under the ugly lizard's nose. He'd spent years wading through the wreckage of his life, with no friends, no family—with nothing but his enemies to keep him company. He'd finally come out on the other side, and found a better life. It was ironic that the fates threw this at him just when he'd been beginning to find peace. He would have to have a "talk" with the Kais the next time he saw them.
Vegeta looked back at Trunks. His pride had carried him through harder situations than this. It would support him now as well.
"What do you think?" Vegeta finally asked, before he could stop himself. "Would you?" A moment after he'd said it, Vegeta cursed himself. That was not the direction he wanted the conversation to take. He didn't want Trunks's sympathy or empathy or whatever the hell the Earthlings called it. And yet, Trunks's instant reply angered him.
Trunks nodded.
Vegeta cocked an eyebrow. "Even if it meant your own survival?"
Trunks hesitated.
"Would you have spared them at the cost of your own life?"
He almost immediately nodded.
Vegeta snorted a derisive laugh. "And that just shows how naïve I've let you grow up to be. I guess it can't be helped living on Earth, so far detached from the actual universe." He shook his head. "I thought you learned about this in your history class." He turned to stare out the window, trying to think of a way to end this conversation without actually divulging anything. It seemed almost impossible. Perhaps, though, if he hit him with the cold, honest truth, Trunks would be disinclined to question him further. "The people I killed were slated to die. There was no saving them. If I hadn't killed them, someone else would have. My dying wouldn't have saved anyone. So no. I don't regret that I chose to kill them."
"But—" Vegeta fixed his son with a challenging glare, and Trunks immediately shut his mouth.
"So you would have just thrown your life away rather than sully your precious little honor? In case you didn't know, in a world where there are no dragonballs, there are no second chances. When you're dead, you're dead."
Trunks didn't know what to say.
"I'm not trying to justify my actions. I had a choice, and I chose to kill rather than be killed. A person like you could never understand. You're spoiled rotten, and death means nothing to you." It was a low blow, but Vegeta wasn't above such things—especially at times like this.
He could see Trunks' face flush again, but this time not in embarrassment. The boy was angry now. His mouth opened, and Vegeta knew that he had to stop this before they both lost their tempers.
He just sighed and held up a hand. "I can see that you're not going to let this go. You're too much like your mother. Fine. I'll tell you all you need to know. And then after this, we do not speak of it again. Understand?"
Trunks swallowed and nodded. His eyes were still narrowed, his jaw clenched, and his shoulders still tense. There was no mistaking whose son he was.
Vegeta stared at him for a moment and then realized that he couldn't look into the boy's eyes while to told him of what he had been. He couldn't risk seeing what the boy was thinking. As much as he didn't want to admit it, Trunks' opinion meant a lot to him. Trunks was one of the only two things that made his life worth living. He didn't know what he would do if the boy turned on him. The way this conversation was going though, it looked like that would probably be the case.
Vegeta crossed his arms and fixed his eyes on a spot on the wall. Then, he started to speak.
"When I was younger than you, I was given the choice of slaughtering the inhabitants of other planets or letting my father and everyone on my own planet be killed. I've never pretended to not be a selfish person. I cared nothing for the people on planets that I had never seen, and if it was to keep my family and planet safe, I had very few qualms in killing them. Even after my planet was destroyed, it was the thirst for vengeance that kept me doing what I was doing.
"Back then I regretted nothing. I knew what I was fighting for, and I knew why I continued to live in that hell-hole. I'll admit that I considered just giving up a few times, but it's not in my nature." Vegeta turned his gaze to the window, carefully avoiding Trunks' gaze again. Down below, the city was coming to life. Lights were flickering on, and trains were already whizzing between the tall buildings, carrying their tired passengers to their destinations. Vegeta saw none of it. His thoughts were elsewhere. "My father told me when I was just a boy—before he handed me over to Frieza—that one day, I would become a Super Saiyan, and I would defeat Frieza and save all the Saiyans from their bondage. After Frieza killed my father and destroyed Vegetasei, that was all I cared about. I would survive no matter what it took—no matter what I had to do and no matter what happened to me. I would become strong—just so I could kill Frieza and avenge my father and my people."
"So you killed billions of people for revenge?" Trunks asked.
Vegeta actually chuckled. "That was part of the reason, yes." There was no way that Vegeta would tell Trunks that the other part was that he wanted to be free from Frieza's rule. It was hard enough to admit to himself that he had once been almost entirely subject to that monster's will. He couldn't very well admit it out loud.
Vegeta couldn't see it yet, but he would later reflect that the conversation was getting out of hand. At the moment, his only concern was that Trunks became satisfied enough with the answers Vegeta gave him to never ask about his past again. He also wanted to make sure that Trunks didn't pity him. He refused to accept pity from a mere child—and especially from his own offspring.
"At the end of the day, I was just as evil as the next mass murderer. My reasons for what I did did not make up for what I was doing. I have no illusions about it. Both times I died, I was sent straight to hell with no questions asked."
Trunks tensed again, and Vegeta could see his knuckles turn white from being clenched so much. Oh well, today wasn't the day for coddling.
"And in answer to the other question, yes, over time, I did learn to enjoy killing." He couldn't help looking now. A quick glance confirmed that Trunks' face was white as a sheet, and Vegeta could detect a bit of red under his eyes. "Make no mistake. The Krimzon try to paint me as a martyr—as someone who suffered for years for the good of the universe and then came around to save it. That's all bullshit. I've never cared about the rest of the universe. I stayed alive to kill Frieza true, but it wasn't for the good of anyone but myself and my own people."
Vegeta's coffee was gone. He needed another. Standing, he crossed the kitchen to refill his mug. "I see things somewhat differently now. Life on Earth has changed me. I understand the value of life enough now to see the wrongness of taking it away. Back then, I couldn't see that. Life was just as much a hell as the afterlife was rumored to be, and I was too devoid of emotions to truly understand the pain of loss. In a nutshell, I regret that billions of innocents had to die." He paused a moment to think. "And yet, still, I can not regret what I did."
Even to his own ears, that last statement was wrong. What he'd wanted to say was that every single one of his actions—every beating he took and every one he dealt out—had brought him to where he was today. His life had turned him into a monster, but then it had somehow brought him back. It had brought him to Earth. It had gotten rid of Frieza and given him a family. It was more than Vegeta could have ever hoped for, and if he had simply given up and allowed himself to be killed, he would never have seen any of it.
Looking back at Trunks, though, he could tell that the boy didn't understand. He was only upset by what Vegeta had said.
Suddenly, Vegeta's communicator starting buzzing. He glanced down at it to see that it was Kurenai, and then quickly rejected the call. In so doing, however, his noticed the time. His eyebrows rose in surprise. Surely, they hadn't talked that long. He looked out of the window just to be sure. The sun was already rising, casting the early morning sky in a deep red and silhouetting all of the tall buildings in black. Everything was alive. Trains were whizzing between the buildings and disappearing under the ground. He was sure that if he opened a window, he would hear all the noise of the city. As it was, with his superior saiyan hearing, if he concentrated hard enough, he could hear the buzz of the trains below.
"We will have to continue this conversation some other time." Vegeta said, feeling relief suddenly wash over him. For better or worse, that torturous conversation was over. "You have to leave for school soon, and we have to set a few ground rules before you go."
Trunks had apparently been deep in thought. His head snapped up at the last statement. "Ground rules?" Trunks blinked. "Go?"
Vegeta just nodded. He had a nasty feeling that after just having told his son of all the horrible things he'd done in his younger days, he was not a good figure to be setting rules. "I'm leaving today for another planet, and while I'm gone, you will be on your own."
Trunks just blinked. He was clearly still trying to process all of what he'd just heard.
As Vegeta began listing rules and emergency numbers, he could see his son's changed demeanor. He was no longer comfortable. No longer trusting.
It left him wondering if anything would be the same again. He would dwell on that later, though. At the moment, he didn't have the time.
It was with relief that he finally saw Trunks out of the door. There had been no well-wishes. No goodbyes. Without a word, the boy was off to school—no doubt to learn yet more information that would shake the foundations of his world. Vegeta should have been at the palace an hour ago, but he didn't feel like going now.
He rejected another call from Kurenai and dropped onto the couch in front of the vid chat. He stared at the black screen for a moment. He needed to talk to Bulma right now. He wasn't entirely sure what he wanted to say to her, but he hadn't liked the look in Trunks's eyes before he'd left.
Without even realizing it, he leaned forward and punched in a call to Bulma.
Bulma's face appeared on the screen. She was smiling that special smile that she reserved only for him. Vegeta couldn't find the time to think about that though. The minute she'd appeared, he blurted out. "I have a problem."
"Hm?" Her smile disappeared instantly. That was clearly not what she'd expected to hear the moment she answered the vid chat. As rare as it was for Vegeta to admit that he needed help, it was rarer still for him to admit it without hours of pestering. This must be serious indeed. "What's wrong?"
He just sighed and threw himself back into the soft cushions of his sofa, running a hand through his hair.
"Well don't make me guess." Bulma snapped after a moment. "Out with it! Is it Trunks?"
He rolled his eyes before reluctantly admitting. "Yes."
"What happened?" And then, she was leaning forward, pressing her face closer to the screen as if she might see her son somewhere just off-screen wrapped in a body-cast.
"He's fine. He just left for school."
"Well…then what…?"
Vegeta massaged the bridge of his nose, where a headache was already forming. "His history class is talking about the fall of the Kold Empire. Apparently, the Krimzon think that I played a large enough role in that to talk about me."
"Oh." Bulma looked at him sympathetically. She seemed to understand what that meant. "And…what did Trunks say?"
"Not much. He wanted to know why I never told him before. He also wanted to know if I regret it. I don't think he liked my answer."
"Oh, Vegeta." Bulma sighed.
"Don't be like that, woman." He growled. "I told the truth."
She took a deep breath and released it in a huff. "What exactly did you tell him?"
He thought for a moment. "That it's unfortunate that all those people had to die, but I don't regret that I killed them rather than be killed myself." He crossed his arms defensively. "It's not my fault that the boy's been so sheltered all his life that he can't understand that."
Bulma rolled her eyes. She knew that she had to tread carefully. This wasn't the kind of conversation that Vegeta excelled at, and he was agitated already. She closed her eyes for a moment before opening them again. "Vegeta, can you try to see it from his perspective. He probably feels betrayed that we never told him. It's possible that he thinks we tried to hide it because you were completely at fault. And I'm sure that your approach to the conversation didn't do much to convince him otherwise. Did you at least hint at the fact that you weren't given much choice in—"
He cut her off with a growl. "Woman, don't start…" His eyes were narrowed now.
She held up a hand and plowed on. "Vegeta at some point you're going to have to admit that for a large part of your life, your actions were not entirely in your control. It wasn't really you doing those things because you had no choice in the matter. I know it's hard for you, but I think that admitting it—at least to Trunks…well, it will make things easier."
His communicator started buzzing again. This time, grateful for the interruption, he picked it up. "I have to go." He said. "I'm going off-planet, so you won't hear from me for a few days."
She huffed. "Again? Don't they have someone else to handle their problems?"
"Apparently not." He stood and dusted off his trousers.
"This conversation isn't over." Bulma warned, pointing a threatening finger at him. "I'll talk to Trunks, but when you get back, you need to sit down with him and tell him the full story. And then, you and I are going to have a nice chat."
He just snorted and, without responding, switched off the call.
A warm fire flickered cheerfully in the campsite. Parked several meters from the road—a long bumpy dirt path just wide enough for their vehicle to fit through—the dragonball hunters' trailer was alive with cheerful music, a warm fire, and enough hot cocoa to last all night. Despite the chilly wind, the four were sitting outside, laughing and chatting.
Thankfully Chichi had thought to pack marshmallows.
They were close to the fourth dragonball—close enough to smell it. They had tracked the ball to a lake nearby. The lake was full of large fish. They had caught some of them earlier. One particularly large one was roasting atop the fire. The ball, though, had eluded them. It was as if it was moving. They had searched and searched the lake until their fingers and toes were pruned and their lips were blue.
When the sun went down, disappearing with their last source of warmth, the four had called it a day and retired to camp. They would find the ball tomorrow. It had been quite a while since they had swum without their Ki to warm them. There was no point in risking falling ill.
The camp was alive with "do you remember that one time" and "ahh the good old days, when…"
Goten was slowly nodding off to the old stories. His belly was full, and even the promise of one last fish wasn't enough to keep him awake. Puar was curled up at his side, fast asleep and purring. Goten would dream that night of small blue emperors and giant monkeys, of strange martial arts tournaments held back before anyone knew how to fly, and of a mysterious martial arts master named Jackie Chun who had beaten his father once.
Yamcha nudged Goku when he noticed that Goten had finally succumbed to slumber. "Poor, kid. He's tuckered out."
Goku looked over, seeing Goten slumped over and lightly snoring. "Yeah." He smiled. "I remember when hunting dragonballs really took it out of you."
Yamcha laughed. "Don't I know it."
Goku chuckled along, and then leaned back on his hands to stare at the sky. His eyes adopted that look that Yamcha had been seeing a lot lately. It was the searching look. Goku was looking for something.
Yamcha figured that it was now or never. "Hey, Goku?"
"Hm?" Goku started as if he had just been pulled out of a deep reverie and looked over at his old friend.
"Umm…" Yamcha hesitated for a moment, and in the dim flickering light of the campfire, Goku could see a pink blush spread across his cheeks. He just raised a curious eyebrow, intrigued. Yamcha cleared his throat before speaking. "When uhh…when you go into space, would you mind if I tagged along?"
"Go…?" Goku looked surprised at the question for a moment, and then smiled a little sheepishly. "That obvious, huh?"
Yamcha chuckled slightly. "Everyone knows."
Goku seemed surprised again to hear that, but before he had a chance to comment, Yamcha was speaking again.
"When do you plan on going?"
His near instant reply let Yamcha know that he had been considering this for a while. He probably had everything planned out. "As soon as we've fought off this wave of Tik and the Earth is safe again." He turned his eyes toward the sky, where stars were shimmering cheerfully. "Vegeta was right from the start. There's no point in sitting here and trying to fight back wave after wave of Tik attacks. We'll only lose. We need to find Hui."
Yamcha nodded.
Goku pulled a knee up and laced his fingers around it. "It'll be nice fighting side-by-side again, don't you think? Let's just hope that Hui is powerful. It would be a shame to go through all this for nothing."
Yamcha couldn't help but laugh. "Well hopefully not too powerful. We wouldn't want to lose."
Goku grinned and glanced over at Yamcha. "We can't lose."
The confidence with which he said it almost made Yamcha believe him. At the very least, it gave him enough confidence to declare. "It's settled then. I'm going with you."
He stepped out onto the elaborately-colored landing pad in the Mantioch's capital. A large landing party was waiting for him, all wearing extravagant waistcoats and frills. Everything was a jumble of gold and bright colors. The walls of nearby buildings were all made of expensive-looking stone. Large marble statues of ancient and more recent Mantisi heroes and kings lined the pathway. Interspersed between the statues were large, colored glass sculptures. The explosion of color on the ground was oddly juxtaposed to the dull, gray sky. He could not distinguish clouds in the sky, and yet the very air seemed to be oppressive and dreary.
The bright surroundings and cheerful faces of his greeting party were not enough to brighten his mood. As soon as he'd safely cleared the landing area, the Mantisi king— Ethward, a tall man that greatly resembled a preying mantis—came forward to greet him. He was followed by three other Mantisis. Vegeta could not tell the males from the females, neither by their builds nor by their attire. Vegeta couldn't say that he liked the fashion of the planet. The inhabitants seemed to have a fanaticism for lace. He'd heard rumors—or jokes really—before of Mantisi style. Men and women alike bedecked themselves in frills, high collars, and wrist cuffs.
"You must be tired after such a long journey." King Ethward said, giving Vegeta a short bow. Vegeta was glad that hand-shakes were not the custom on this planet. He didn't know if he would have been able to touch the insect king. The very thought was revolting.
Vegeta responded with a short not and just enough cordiality to keep Mantioch-Krimzon relations in tact.
He was not in the mood for playing diplomat. His head was a jumble of dark thoughts, and he had a sort of nervous energy that he couldn't seem to shake.
And in any case, Vegeta did not much care for Ethward. The young king had no reputation for being a great leader, and Vegeta had heard nothing of him to incur much respect. Though Ethward's father was a stern but generous man, his son was rumored to be spoiled. Ethward was not a fighter—though Vegeta supposed that wasn't a sin in itself—but nor was he a scholar…or anything else really. He was little more than a lay about—letting his advisors run the planet and squandering the kingdom's wealth on personal pleasures. Since his father's death—a natural death due to old age—two years prior, the Kingdom had suffered.
Vegeta just nodded his head at the greetings of all the King's followers—advisors he presumed-but said nothing.
He was somewhat distracted. Well, "somewhat" might be the wrong word. The conversation with Trunks was fresh in his mind. For him it had only been that morning. He couldn't get his son's distrustful expression out of his head. He couldn't shake the feeling that his son now hated him, and there was nothing he could do about it. The whole situation was haunting him.
He hardly heard Ethward beckon him to follow him toward the palace. He managed to catch the phrase "…and we have prepared a feast for your arrival." Before he drifted back into his own thoughts. He ignored Ethward and everyone else in the landing party for the entire flight to the castle. It was by no means a long trip. The Mantisi all had wings, and were quite swift fliers.
The palace they arrived at was just as vibrantly colored as the landing strip had been. Purples, reds, golds, and greens, wrapped around the sprawling building, spiraling and splashed everywhere he looked. It resembled nothing so much as a castle made of candy.
Despite the bright colors, however, there was a sort of chill about the place. He'd known before that the planet would be cold, and he'd therefore worn his cloak. Though it wasn't nearly as cold as Frieza's home planet had been, Mantioch was known throughout the universe for its cold weather just as much as for its lace.
Vegeta was shown first to his bedroom—an enormous room draped in silks of far too many colors. Ethward began to describe the origins and value of the materials that made the room—the great stone fireplace, the plush furniture, the silken bed sheets—but when it because clear that Vegeta held no interest for such things, he decided to just escort Vegeta to the dining room.
Vegeta only paid enough attention during his walk through the palace to remember the way back to his room. He cared not for the intricate artwork and décor. With any luck, he would be off the planet in less than two days.
The only parts of the palace that were appealing to him at the moment were the dining room and his bed. He could use a good night's sleep. He hoped that the Tik didn't attack until late the next morning.
He was shocked out of his thoughts when his party reached a large set of double doors. The doors swung open in preparation of their arrival, and his nose was immediately assaulted by the smell of hot food.
His stomach growled, and all thoughts of Trunks and their conversation were momentarily whisked from his mind. At least until he remembered that he hadn't had breakfast before leaving because Trunks had interrupted him.
But the thought of Trunks fled just as swiftly as it had come, when suddenly Ethward appeared before him with what may have been a female Mantisi at his side.
"Prince Vegeta, I would like you to meet my sister, Anastis." The young king announced.
Vegeta stared for a moment before shaking himself and nodding politely. "Nice to meet you."
Anastis glanced nervously at her brother before turning back to Vegeta and saying a quiet, accented greeting.
The bug woman was somewhat wider than the other insect creatures, but Vegeta had no way of judging the race's standard of beauty. She seemed quiet and appeared to be perpetually nervous. Vegeta frowned. Even now, it was a reaction he often got from people. The Mantisi had been connected long enough with the outside universe to know exactly who Vegeta was and what he had done.
Vegeta supposed that he should come to expect some amount of fear from people who knew him as he had been.
He was grateful when Ethward beckoned him to the large table, laden with food.
"Here. Try this wine. It is a delicacy on our planet." Vegeta took it and downed it with little sophistication, accepting a refill almost immediately. Ethward smiled in apparent amusement.
"I must say, Saiyan Princes must be raised quite differently than Mantisi ones."
Vegeta didn't know how to take that so he just glared.
Trunks had gone about for the few days after his conversation with his father in a dark cloud. It was a shame. He had finally gotten accustomed to the new planet. He was finally able to chat with other students in the halls, and no longer needed to keep his schedule with him to find his classes.
He missed his mom sometimes, and was still quite jealous that Goten was out hunting for the dragonballs with Goku and the others, but otherwise, things were going swimmingly. He should have suspected that it was too good to be true, but Trunks had never really been a pessimist, and so he couldn't have known that some things were just too good to last. He couldn't have expected that the man he had called father—who he had almost worshipped when he'd been younger—would turn out to be…evil. A murderer. He'd admitted it. He'd said he didn't regret it.
Trunks was afraid. He couldn't explain why exactly. Perhaps he was afraid that one of his friends would find out the truth. Perhaps, he was afraid that his father would revert to the person he'd been before. Perhaps he worried that his father had never changed from his malicious ways. Or perhaps…perhaps there was a small voice in Trunks's head that reminded him that he was his father's son—that he would have done the same if he hadn't been raised on Earth.
He'd dwelt on it all for the past few days. He'd hardly talked to his friends at school. He'd hardly noticed their concerned glances. He'd only barely heard the worry in Han'nei's tone when he'd told her that he wouldn't be studying with her that night. They all knew that something was wrong. But Trunks wouldn't tell them what.
When Midori checked on him in the evenings, he was abrupt and monosyllabic. The woman didn't know him well enough yet to see that there was something wrong. He was grateful for that.
He'd even ignored the repeated vid calls from his mother.
He simply didn't want to talk about it. Not now. Not ever.
That was why, when the vid chat signaled that his mother was calling that evening—three days after his father had left—Trunks nearly ignored it. He almost passed straight by it and headed into his room. But something stopped him.
He kind of missed his mom. And even if his illusions about his father had been shattered, he knew for certain that his mom had never been a bad person.
It took him a while to respond, but he finally did.
He was sure to keep all emotion off of his face. If she didn't know already, he wouldn't clue her off.
But the minute her face appeared, he knew that she knew. He turned his gaze away and ran a hand through his hair. "I don't want to talk about this, mom." He said.
Her eyes narrowed in determination and she crossed her arms stubbornly. "Tough. Sit down. You need to hear this."
With a glare that left no doubts as to his parentage, he lowered himself onto the sofa.
"Now, your father tells me that the two of you talked a few days ago," She made no mention of what they'd talked about, "and that you didn't take it well."
"How could I take it well, mom. I just found out that my dad was a mass murderer. I tried to ask him what it had been like, and all he could tell me was that he doesn't regret killing billions of people. Am I supposed to just be okay with that?" He paused for a second. "And why are you okay with it?"
Bulma actually smiled slightly. "Oh Trunks, you know how your father is." He tries to make himself out as callous. He will even go so far as to accept the blame for things that aren't actually his fault. All simply because he doesn't want to admit that he wasn't in control of his own life. He doesn't want to be pitied. Especially not by us."
Trunks furrowed his eyebrows. "Why would I pity him?"
Bulma took a deep breath. "Why indeed? I've been trying to explain to him for years that there is a difference between pity and empathy and between pity and admiration. He can't understand it. It's the way he grew up. Surely you've noticed by now that it is difficult for him to let his guard down—especially when he is in a crowd. You've noticed that he'd different from the others. It's all because of his childhood—or lack of one if we're to be specific." She fixed a sad gaze on her son, and Trunks had the distinct impression that she was not seeing him anymore. "Trunks your father does not want me to tell you this, but you need to know it. I don't want you to blame him for what he's done, and I don't want you to hate him. You need to understand what his life was like."
Trunks furrowed his brows. Something in the statement was worrisome. But what more could she tell him? He already knew that his father was a slave to an evil psychopath. He already knew that he was ordered to kill people, and that he'd followed those orders. Trunks didn't think that she could shed much more light on the issue, but he held his tongue.
Bulma smiled that sad smile again and began. "For his entire life before coming to Earth, he was constantly surrounded by enemies. Nearly everyone around him hated him, and would have killed him in a heartbeat if they were able to. He always had to watch his back. I'm sure you've noticed that he is not keen on being touched. As a child, he learned to equate physical contact with pain. He didn't know what a hug was before he came to Earth. That's also why it's difficult for him to be close to people. You've also undoubtedly noticed that he can't joke around and laugh easily. Since nearly everyone around him hated him, they constantly mocked and insulted him. He can't take a compliment, because he still thinks that it's a veiled taunt."
Trunks laced his fingers together between his knees and bit his lip. "Why are you telling me this?" He grumbled.
"Because you need to hear it. Your father only told you part of the story. He told you the worst of himself without explaining the circumstances that turned him into what he was. Your father was never given a choice to become what he was. Yes, he killed many people, but it was either kill or be killed. The people he was assigned to kill were going to die anyway. It's a terrible situation, especially to be addressed so casually, but that's what happened. He survived for years, fighting through the worst situations imaginable, virtually alone. He had no friends or family to support him. He only had two allies. That was it. He was not allowed to show emotion. Any emotion was immediately exploited and turned against him. He was told where to go and when. He was told who to kill. He was punished and starved for disobedience."
She paused for a moment. "It was a harsh, harsh world, and it's one he doesn't like to share. I gleaned this information over the years. Years and years of small things dropped here and there. He tries to act like it's all in the past and that it should stay there. But it still haunts him. He can never forget what his life was like before. He is still wary of making friends, and he still has nightmares about his years working for Frieza."
"He doesn't like to talk of it, because he thinks that people will pity him for the harsh situations he was put in. Perhaps some people would. But those of us who do know—and there are few…Only Goku, Piccolo, and a few of the others know even half of what his life was like—we can't help but admire him for what he's lived through. Your father is a survivor, Trunks. He did what he had to do to stay alive, and his actions ultimately brought about a peaceful universe. If you have to judge him on his past, at least look at the whole picture."
Trunks was silent.
"Do you understand now?" Bulma asked.
He looked away before hesitantly nodding.
"Good. Now one more thing. Was it the fact that he said he didn't regret it that upset you most?"
Trunks nodded.
"Good. That's what I was hoping." Bulma smiled a little sadly. "When he says that, he doesn't mean that he does not regret killing innocent people. He means that he does not regret doing what he had to do to kill Frieza and get where he is today. If he had simply given up, Frieza could possibly still be alive. He would still be terrorizing the universe, killing people and destroying planets. Your father would have never gained his freedom, and would have never had a normal, peaceful life. He would have never had us."
Trunks looked away, seeming suddenly guilty. Bulma's last sentence had clearly hit his mark.
"He thinks I blame him." Trunks mumbled, his voice a bit hoarser than usual. "He thinks I blame him for his past."
Bulma shook her head. "Don't worry about it. I've told him to talk to you when he gets back. It'll be fine."
Trunks just nodded.
Bulma cocked her head, her brain racing to find a new topic to get their minds off the old one. "So how are things with Han'nei?"
Trunks's face flushed red.
The dinner had passed with far too much conversation in Vegeta's opinion. Ethwrd was apparently determined to make Vegeta feel comfortable on Mantioch. Vegeta was finding that a very hard feat, especially given the fact that he was essentially surrounded by giant insects. Anastis had sat beside her brother, darting nervous glances at Vegeta and around the room in general, as if she expected a hoard of Saiyans to suddenly jump out at her.
If Vegeta hadn't been simultaneously absorbed in his own thoughts and agitated by Ethward's constant comments, he might have cared enough to be insulted by her behavior. But as it was, he wasn't. He was only too happy to leave the woman's—and her annoying brother's—company and retreat to his room for the night.
Upon closer inspection, he realized that his room was quite nice. A large canopied bed, silk sheets, a fireplace, sheer curtains, a large balcony that overlooked the palace lake and garden. Vegeta could see that beyond the garden was a hedge maze. He wondered if his father had had a hedge maze back on Vegetasei. As a small child, he remembered getting lost somewhere, but he couldn't remember exactly where it had been.
The fireplace was lit, but Vegeta still felt inexplicably cold. He moved closer to it, and then tossed another log atop it for good measure. The first image of purple hair and a distrustful gaze began to dance in the flames when the sudden sound of a footstep caused him to whirl around in surprise.
A person was on his balcony.
His sharp eyes picked up the silhouette easily through the sheer curtains.
Tall, spindly, somewhat round. The person's wings glimmered as they retracted back into the exoskeleton.
Anastis.
The curtains fluttered in the breeze.
The princess stood silhouetted in the dull starlight. The light seemed to turn her silver shell purple.
He simply gazed at her, wondering what she was doing there.
A princess visiting a prince in his quarters in the middle of the night? It was highly reprehensible even if he wasn't sure that he could have figured out mechanics to actually soil her honor.
Anastis hurried inside, her footfalls making more noise on the marble floor than she'd probably intended. She knew that he'd seen her. The alertness in his eyes, in his stance, was clear, even from the distance at which she stood. But there were things he hadn't seen.
He turned fully toward her, his gaze clearly reproachful. "Why did you come here?" He asked brusquely as soon as she was inside.
"Please, my prince," She said nervously, casting a glance over her shoulder. "I must ask you to keep your voice down."
"And why?" He asked, crossing his arms. For a reason that he couldn't explain, he was starting to feel lightheaded. "This is highly inappropriate. If your brother knew—"
"No please!" She said, stopping him before he could head to the door. "You must not tell him. Ever. I have come here to help you."
He huffed. "As if I would need your help." He could feel himself starting to sweat even as he shivered from the cold, but was confused as to why.
"Prince Vegeta, please." She pleaded. "You must listen to me." She reached a hand toward him.
He backed away, but felt himself swaying. "What…" His vision blurred.
"Prince Vegeta." She cut him off. Her voice was a frantic whisper. "You must leave! You are in danger."
"Wha…?" His head was suddenly too hazy to process what she was saying. The room began to spin. He felt his knees go weak and suddenly he was on his side, on the floor, struggling both to stay conscious and to breathe.
The room was sideways, still tilting and heaving. He saw the princess's long silk skirt, her delicate shoes as she hurried toward him. But then he thought he recognized a vague click. The princess stopped in her tracks, looked toward the door, and then ran back to the balcony. Almost as soon as she was outside, she took flight.
Through his hazy thoughts, Vegeta wondered why. What had she been trying to tell him? Why had she suddenly left him when there was obviously something wrong? Had she gone for help?
The sound of footsteps, hard and urgent, got his attention, and he tiredly tried to focus on whoever was approaching him. He recognized the white kingly boots and golden coat of Ethward and the red coat of his guard. Vegeta stared up into their blurry faces in confusion. He wasn't entirely able to convince himself to feel relieved.
They weren't looking at him.
A third pair of boots made their way into his vision. Vegeta's eyes made their way up the thick, black-clad legs, to stare at the gray and black uniform, and then up into an unfamiliar face. A feeling of dread settled into his stomach. It wasn't at all caused by the face of the person he was staring at.
It was caused by the Tik insignia on his uniform.
A/N: A huge thank you to all of you who gave me suggestions about how to tackle Trunks' and Vegeta's conversation. Your advice was really helpful, especially since I couldn't seem to be able to write a scene that was both logical and in character. I must have written it ten times before I was satisfied with it. It was partially that that made this chapter so long in coming.
In the end, I decided to do "the conversation" in two parts—with this part being the more stand-offish one. Let me know what you thought of it and if you have any suggestions for part-2 of Vegeta and Trunks's conversation.
Thank you so much for your reviews. I really love to hear how many of you are enjoying the story.
