Hidden Links, Part 2
~ShinraWepn~


 There was a faint tinge of power to the air, a ki signature. Trunks had passed by this place. Apparently he was heading north. What was out in that direction? Nothing but barren land as far as the eye can see, Vegeta thought, answering his own question. Why would the brat go there? It was unlikely that his son had taken up doing night training. I'm just not that lucky to have a son so motivated, the prince sighed, taking off once again, adjusting his course slightly.
He hadn't expected to feel the way he had when he'd heard Trunks tell him to get out, that he wasn't wanted nor invited to stay. It felt like someone had punched him in the stomach, only worse. It was an unusual feeling, one he wasn't sure he cared for. He'd experienced it only a few times in his life. The first was when he'd faced Freeza, stupidly thinking himself a Super Saiyajin. He couldn't believe his defeat. He'd cried at the feet of Gokou, that feeling churning in his stomach like a wriggling mass of butterflies. The second was when he'd learned he was to be a father. Another time was when the shy, powerful warrior with the lavender hair appeared and he'd learned that it was his son from the Future. It happened again when Mirai Trunks had been killed right in front of him. The last time had been when Gokou had told him that Maijin Boo had destroyed Bulma, his precious, however precocious, mate and absorbed Gotenks, half of whom was his own son. The feeling made his breath stop, his heart pound, the world slow to a standstill with darkness threatening to swamp his vision. He had expected to be furious after such disrespect to him from Trunks, but the rage didn't come. Instead, there was something deeper, more personal, something he didn't want to think about but was there anyway.
He had stood there in the doorway for a moment, watching Trunk's back. He was too absorbed with his own curious emotions to have noticed the tense way the boy had held his shoulders, his white-knuckled grip on the windowsill, the spread-legged stance to keep his small body from shaking. He had turned silently, leaving his son to his own devices. The tightening in his stomach had slowly warmed into a ball of fire, fueling his temper a bit, making him waspish. The stupid little monster had no right to talk to him that way. He had walked into the kitchen, not meeting Bulma's inquisitive gaze. "He's a spoiled brat," was all the explanation she had gotten out of him. "You know where to find me, if you need me." Vegeta had gone outside and into the gravity room, then had shut the door, leaning his back against it, thinking.
Bulma had been right. There was something wrong with Trunks, but for the life of him, he didn't know what it was or how to deal with it. He wasn't sure if he even really wanted to try. He didn't know how to act around Trunks when he was this way. Bulma always handled these type of problems. That thought made the knot in his stomach harder and larger. This emotion he recognized. It was guilt. Guilt for not being there for Trunks most of his life. Oh, he had been there in body, but not in soul. That had always stayed unattainable behind curtains of pride and arrogance. He had pushed Trunks at arm's length, never trying to understand the boy who had helped save him as Bulma had saved him from the darkness in his own heart. Vegeta thought back to one of the last times he'd talked with Mirai Trunks before he'd returned to his own timeline. "Life is a sacred thing," the young man said, "Don't take things for granted, just because you're too proud to admit you care. You never know how much some things mean to you...until they're gone." He had gotten mad at that comment. That brat of a boy giving him, the Prince of the Saiyajins, advice...Unthinkable! But now...
Then Bulma had come knocking. He hadn't realized that he'd stood there doing nothing for so long. Besides being a place where he could work out frustrations, boredom, or just train for fun, Vegeta used that room for a place to think and meditate. He was already feeling guilty enough and the urgency of her knock could only mean one thing: trouble. He knew he had been a little harsher then what he had intended to be when he opened the door. It was like a smack in the face when Bulma had informed him that Trunks was gone. So, the brat had decided to run away, had he? The momentary feelings of concern were replaced seconds later by the anger and hurt he had experienced from his ejection from his son's room earlier. If Trunks wanted to be a baby and sulk, let him. It was below Vegeta's dignity to go after one temperamental child. All the prince had wanted to do right then was lash out, to hurt something. Bulma hadn't helped things any when she had snapped back at him about his lack of parental responsibility. He had slammed the door on her retreating form, the guilty feeling in his stomach making him feel sick. He hated this feeling and damn both Trunks and Bulma for making him feel this way.
For the next few minutes, Vegeta had used the gravity room to work out his tension. He was in a dangerous mindset. Whole planets had been known to suffer because of a Saiyajin's rage and it was safer for everyone if he mastered his temper in the privacy of that room, rather then accidentally release it and do something he'd regret later. Once he was sure that he was in control of himself again, he had tossed a towel around his shoulders and gone in search of Bulma. He saw now that his earlier statement about Trunks being able to take care of himself might have been a bit hasty.
When he had gotten close enough to the house that he heard Bulma on the phone with Gokou's family, Vegeta experienced another small flash of anger which he quickly stomped on. Why did Kakarrot have to be involved in this? It wasn't any of that low-class warrior's business to know what went on in their private affairs. Vegeta had opened the kitchen door that lead to the backyard and had entered the building. Bulma had been unaware of his presence as he had stood there, listening to her frightened voice as she explained the situation to Kakarrot's youngest son. Vegeta had felt his lip curl up in disdain. If Bulma thought to enlist the help of Kakarrot, she was very much mistaken. Vegeta could deal with this problem himself. He didn't need interference from lowborn fools who were unfit to wipe his boots, let alone give assistance to the Prince of the Saiyajins. And because I'm so much better then the only other Saiyajin on this planet, I am now out here looking for my wayward offspring, Vegeta thought sourly, veering sharply to the left as he sensed Trunk's power level in that general direction. I bet Kakarrot never had to deal with this issue before, the lucky idiot. Surely there has to be an easier way to live. Life was so less complicated when my only thoughts were about what planet to conquer next and how I was to go about defeating Kakarrot. Having a brat really messes a person up!

Trunks landed next to the still lake that he and Goten had sat by earlier that day, his power gradually getting fainter until the slight glow that surrounded his body while flying vanished. The moon was reflected in the calm water, as were the multitude of stars. The vastness of the lake and the perfect reflection on it's surface made Trunks feel almost as if he were looking at another universe embedded into the Earth's crust. Why he had come to this place, he didn't know. But it was a nice place, and so, he sat by the water's edge, as close as he could, and looked down into the black depths. For a second, he nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw Vegeta's face looking back at him. But slowly, Trunks realized that it wasn't his father at all, but his eyes playing tricks with his own reflection.
His hair was unmistakably Bulma's, from the soft texture and way it laid against his head, not in spiky clumps, to it's color. His eyes, too, were inherited from the inventor. They were a clear, stunning blue that could easily make one believe that this child was far wiser then his young years. But his face...That was all Vegeta's. The angular shape to the chin, the form of the jaw and cheek bones, the way his brows were often trying to draw together into a scowl, even when he was smiling. Unlike Goten, who could look innocent no matter what expression he wore, Trunks always looked like he was up to some sort of mischief. The way his eyebrows accented his eyes gave them a sharper, more narrowed appearance. Gohan, Goten's brother, had once remarked that it must be because he was partly of Vegeta's royal blood that gave him that almost haughty expression whether he wanted it or not. Right now, his face was tight, brows drawn down low over sparking eyes that looked like tiny wisps of blue fire in his face. His scowl was a perfect imitation of his father's. He hated that look on his own face. Furious, he smashed a fist down into the water, the impact distorting the image. The tears that had been seeping slowly from his eyes poured out now in a rush, despite his best efforts to control them. He clenched his jaws tightly to stifle the wracking sobs that shuddered out of his little body. Stop it! he told himself sternly in his head. You're being weak. Never be weak. You're being a crybaby! You're the son of a prince! Try to act like one. But to what end? For who's benefit? Who cared, way out here in the middle of nowhere, if he cried his heart out? The sobs tore loose and he choked on them, coughing. The rippling water of the lake slowly returned to normal, once again making it a mirror for the sky. It just wasn't fair, Trunks thought. He'd tried everything he could to get Vegeta's attention. They had trained a bit together before the last World Martial Arts Tournament. Vegeta had seemed surprised but not overly unhappy when he had learned that Trunks could turn Super Saiyajin with ease. And Trunks knew that he had won some sort of approval when he had beaten Goten during the tournament, even if it was only in the children's division. He knew of the rivalry that went on between Son Goku and his dad and he knew he had scored points for Vegeta that day. But that was all. Hadn't anyone told Vegeta about the way he, as Gotenks, beat the snot out of Maijin Boo before getting absorbed along with Gohan and Piccolo? Granted, he had help, but up till then, no one had really been able to lay hands on the slim pink monster. It just seemed to Trunks that no matter how hard he tried to impress his father, the less he seemed to do so. Inside, he felt sure that even if he died right in front of Vegeta, his cold and distant parent wouldn't even blink. It was coming down to the point where he was starting to say, why bother anymore? Slowly, he took deep breaths to calm himself.
It was as he was thinking this that he became aware of the high power level that was swiftly heading his way. He realized that it had been coming for a while now but he'd been so absorbed in feeling sorry for himself that he missed it until it was almost right on top of him. Trunks sighed, still having a little bit of grace to feel slightly embarrassed for making someone come out looking for him. The power was too high to be one of Gokou's friends and too low to be Gokou himself. There was only one person on the planet with that sort of ki reading. Oh, well. It was too late to try and hide his own power reading. He'd most likely been targeted already and to run was futile. Besides, if Vegeta was in bad mood, running would only make his temper worse. However, Trunks thought idly as he waited for the inevitable, if he wants to punish me, he'll have to fight me to do it.
A bright light appeared in the sky, looking like a shooting star over the vast expanse of the sky. The light was an electric blue shade. At least he's not Super Saiyajin, the boy commented to himself, wiping his drying tears off of his face. That meant that either Vegeta was taking this extremely well or that he was only waiting for the chance to find Trunks before he exploded with rage. The light snapped to a halt and hovered high above him before plummeting like a stone. Vegeta slowed to a halt about five feet from the ground and merely looked at Trunks, his face a mask, unreadable as a block of ice. Trunks, still sitting on the ground, glared defiance at his parent. He's trying to intimidate me, the boy thought. He wants to see if I will back down before him, if I will fear his anger. He wants to test me to see if I'm weak. Well, this is one test I will not fail. The staring contest might have gone on all night, except that the prince saw the steel behind the eyes of his son and recognized it to be the steel in his own gaze. Releasing his tightly clenched will, he landed, his boots making little sound as they touched the ground.
"You," Vegeta said in a carefully controlled voice, "are in a lot of trouble."
That statement prompted a little surge of anger in Trunks. "Yeah, so? I've been in trouble before." He got to his feet and crossed his arms, mocking his parent. "What're you going to do about it?" Trunks knew there was going to be an attack but he was completely unprepared when he blinked and suddenly found himself looking up into Vegeta's cruel black eyes. He had no time to block the knee that drove up into his stomach, doubling him over his father's lap with a gasp of agony. Winded, his head dropped down and he found himself getting a look at the word from upside down. He barely felt the blows on his backside, so great was the pain in his belly. When Vegeta was satisfied that Trunks wouldn't be able to sit for a year, he negligently tossed the boy onto the ground. Trunks landed with a thud, coughing, trying to regain his breath, his lungs burning.
"Half of that was for making me have to come out here and find you. The other half is for making your mother worry." He crossed his arms over his chest, watching his son struggle to his feet, arms wrapped around his waist to hold the throbbing flesh and hopefully ease the pain. "I'm not going to go into just how stupid your actions have been this evening. You should be able to figure out why you deserved to be punished. If you ever pull a stunt like this again, you'll have more then a few sore muscles. I can guarantee that when I'm done with you, you'll be waking up a week from Tuesday."
"In your dreams!" the boy suddenly shouted, catching Vegeta completely off-guard. Turning Super Saiyajin, Trunks lunged at his father. The prince caught one wildly thrown punch, grasping Trunks hand in his larger one, blocking it. The fist that connected under his chin snapped his head up and back but it surprised him more then hurt. Trunks was screaming something incoherently, his golden ki blazing with each word he spat out. If it had been anyone else, they might have been concerned about Trunks and looked past his layer of rage to see the hurt within him. However, Vegeta was not that sort of person and so, all his thoughts were directed to the fact that his own offspring had dared to hit him. Raising his arms above his head, Vegeta clenched his fists and with a cry, he brought them down tight against his sides, his hair flaring bright yellow. The next volley of punches and kicks he blocked and then countered with backhanded slap. The force sent Trunks skidding backwards into the dirt. The lavender haired boy lost concentration and so his power slipped, making him return to normal.
"What's gotten into you?" Vegeta demanded, walking over and gripping his son by the front of his shirt, hauling him upward and setting him down gently on his feet. His own ki dissipated, the golden glow leaving his hair. Almost tenderly, he started to brush the dirt and grass off his son's clothes and hair. "I can understand a tantrum or a flash of defiance but this is too far." Trunks looked at him through tearing eyes. There was a heat on the right side of his face where Vegeta had hit him. He was sure that there would be a welt for at least a week.
"Stop acting like you care," he said at last in a tired, defeated voice that throbbed with his emotions. "I know you hate me. I'm not stupid. I know you just want me to go away. I know that you don't care if I'm alive or dead. I thought you might have, once, but not anymore. I'm tired of trying to make you proud of me. You never notice me anyway. I'm not the son you wanted. I know you wish I was Mirai Trunks. He was strong and powerful, like you. I've tried my hardest to be the way you want me to be, to get you to notice me and to feel proud of me and to tell me you love me, but it's no use. I give up." His head lowered and he started crying again. This time it wasn't the frustrated sobbing he'd had earlier. They were quiet tears of despair, resignation, acceptance that this was how his life would always be with Vegeta. The hand on his shoulder squeezed firmly, but not painfully so, and the hand in his hair continued to stroke long after all the dirt and grass had been cleaned off.
"Trunks...I never have hated you." The words were soft, barely audible. In them, there was a slight sense of wonder, as if Vegeta were just now realizing that this was true. "And I have always been proud of you. You are my son, the last vestige of my bloodline, even if it is mixed with human blood. I would destroy anything that would jeopardize your life. You're living proof that even someone like me can get a second chance. When I look at you, I feel like I have finally done something good for a change. You have the best of both your mother and I inside of you."
Trunks looked up. Vegeta wasn't looking at him, but rather, up at the stars. He had a softer look on his face, introspective almost. His hard eyes were showing something that Trunks never thought he would see. It was love. Not the same love that Gokou had for Gohan and Goten, but something deeper, stronger. And suddenly Trunks understood. He felt the bond between him and his father. It was like a psychic link in his brain. It was like a warm wire running through his mind, stretching out until it connected with Vegeta's. He hadn't been aware of before, but there it was. He blinked and seemed to suddenly see Vegeta in a whole new light. It was suddenly so obvious why the prince never spoke his affection. He didn't have to. Trunks could feel it through that psychic link. He could feel the darkness, the cold, haughty demeanor that Vegeta chose to show to the world, but under that, if he chose to look for it, was the true way the man felt about things. It was a way he could show how he felt without losing face to the world. Trunks could now see why he had felt so clearly when Vegeta had died at the hands of Maijin Boo. He'd been tapping into the psychic link without knowing what it was.
"I see you finally understand," Vegeta stated. "I thought you had known about it before, but I guess you just weren't ready to figure it out yet. I wasn't able to figure out what was bothering you because until you realized about the link, it's like running into a brick wall." He looked down at Trunks and smirked. "Does this mean everything is fixed now and we can go home? I'm sure your mother is probably working herself up to bitch at the two of us when we get back. I seriously need to limit her time spent around Kakarrot's harpy of a mate. Her bad habits are rubbing off onto my property and I don't like it."
"Better not let Mom hear you call her 'property.' I don't think she'd like that," Trunks said, managing a smile. Everything would be all right from now on. His fears were put to rest. Impulsively, he threw his arms around Vegeta's waist, hugging him. He pressed his cheek against the hard planes of his father's stomach. "I love you, dad," he whispered. "And I'm so glad you're alive again." Awkwardly, the prince patted his son's back and then pushed him away.
"Okay, that's enough sentimental crap to last me the rest of my life," he remarked, falling back into his normal behavior. "Let's go." Vegeta covered up his emotions with the mask of arrogance he always wore and once again seemed the perfect figure of cold Saiyajin control. But Trunks knew otherwise. The psychic link had grown warmer when he'd told his father that he loved him and he knew that somewhere deep inside, Vegeta had been secretly pleased. Together, father and son headed back towards Capsule Corp.

~Fin~