I don't really know why I wrote this story, or how I got the idea. Just read it and please review!!!

Disclaimer: I don't own DBZ... bla, bla, bla, yackedy, smackedy...


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Babytalk



The spaceship softly touched down on the neatly kept lawn. The thrusters left burning marks on the field, but he couldn't care less. The door opened with a loud hiss and the muscular figure stepped out onto the bright green grass. It was a few hours after nightfall, the skies where clear and the stars shone brightly overhead.
He took a deep breath. Even though he had no home, it was good to be here. He had gotten attached to this planet; it's blue skies, waving meadows, and dusty planes. Apart from that his greatest rival lived here. If he was to keep up with his strength and eventually even surpass him, he had to stay close to watch him progress.
No thoughts of competition where on his mind now though. As the warm summer breeze stirred his black hair, he looked at the dome that stood a few yards away. He could sense everything that went on in there and everyone for that matter. A great sense of peace had overcome the building, as all it's inhabitants slept. All but one.
Slowly he hovered up to one of the windows. He knew it all to well. Less then a year ago, he'd used it frequently to secretly enter the room behind it. Still the window was open, as if the owner was expecting him back someday. His eyes quickly adjusted to the darkness. He surveyed the room while hovering outside the window. It didn't seem that different from when he was last here eleven months ago. A bed, a desk, a dresser, a chair and a huge closet. There was just one addition: a crib.

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He easily jumped in, over the windowsill. Then he stood still, to make sure the woman lying in the bed hadn't awoken. She moaned and stirred a bit, but didn't seem to open her eyes. He walked over to the crib. After hesitating for a moment he looked in.
The baby was awake and looked at him with big blue eyes; the same color as his moms. A small shock of purple hair fell across his forehead; also something from his moms side. The boys expression on the other hand could have been a mirror of his own. The baby's eyebrows where set in a perpetual scowl, which actually made him look rather funny. The boy didn't cry as the strong figure bend over him and stroke his face. A rare display of affection from this hateful man.
He should kill it now; the living proof of his weakness. It's mother should die as well. The laws of his people obliged him to do so. Then why didn't you do it before? A voice nagged in the back of his head. He pushed it away. He had been to weak then, now, after eleven months of heavy training in outer space, he would be able to do it. He straightened his back and flattened his palm towards the crib. A small ball of energy started to take shape. Then suddenly a soft sound interrupted his attack. Chuckling sounds started rising from the crib, as the baby saw the bright ball of light above him and his small hand reached up to touch it.
He felt paralyzed; the sounds bore deep into his soul to a point only one person had reached him before. He thought he had shut that part of him off for good, but he'd been wrong. The ball of energy faded; never would he be able to kill his own blood, he suddenly realized. He looked into the crib again and then turned to the woman in the bed. He couldn't kill her either, not as long as part of him was still connected to her. He managed to smile a little.
One last time he stroke the boys head. He would never come here again, that was the alternative to killing them. He regretted never knowing the name of his heir. As if she had read his thoughts, the woman suddenly muttered in her sleep. He concentrated to understand what she was saying.
"…Trunks…"
Trunks? Hardly fit for a prince, but it would do. He took of his gloves and bit himself in the palm of his left hand. Warm red blood started to emerge from the wound. He tipped his finger into the puddle that was forming. Then he used it to draw the royal symbol, first on the child's forehead and then on the side of the crib.
Let there be no mistake about his heritage.
He walked to the window and looked back one more time. "Goodbye…" he whispered. "…my son." Then he closed the window behind him; there was no need for it to be open anymore.

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When Bulma woke up the next morning, the first thing she noticed was that the window was closed. She wondered how that could be, since she always left it open in case he would return. She walked over, to look outside, then gasped as she saw the space-capsule standing in the yard. So he had returned. He was probably the one that shut the window as well. But why?
She suddenly remembered her son and rushed over to the crib. She startled as she saw the blood mark on his forehead. He seemed to be okay though. She picked him up and took in the smell of the blood. It was so familiar from the times he'd come into her room straight from his training. She studied the mark again, now noticing it was stamped onto the crib as well. Knowing Vegeta it would probably have something to do with saiyan-royalty.
So he gave him the mark of his own blood.
A smile appeared on her face as she realized that he had fully accepted their son. Her eyes skidded over to the window and filled themselves with tears as she suddenly understood why he had closed it. Never again would she open it for him, for he would not return. She held Trunks close letting her tears fall on his head. They rolled down and faded the bloody mark. He started crying, indicating that he was starting to become hungry; he was already developing a saiyan-appetite. Bulma smiled and dried her tears.
"Come on young man, lets get you something to eat. You're all I have left now, you know, and I don't think your father would be very grateful, if I let you starve."

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