Chapter 8: Rearrangement
The Prince of Saijins breathed deeply his dark eyes examining his son with a scrutinizing expression. "How are you feeling?" the half-breed questioned lowly, keeping his voice in check as he smiled reassuring. The brunette said nothing, instead his gaze slowly shifted to the other person in the room, his eyebrows knitting together, the black orbs burning with emotion. Shaking for an indistinguishable reason, Vegeta raised his hand and pointed to the door. In a strong, unfaltering, voice he growled, "Get out."
Goku could practically feel the color drain from his face. He understood now that he'd only partly succeeded in his mission. He kept his promise, however, and despite his wishes to explain himself, to help the elder understand his actions, he obeyed the command. He bowed his head, slowly composing himself and rose from his seat. "I'm sorry," Goku whispered, turning his gaze from the royalty to slip out of the room silently.
Only when the door clicked shut did Vegeta turn his attention back to his son. "Trunks," he said his name simply, not giving a hint at all to what his feelings might've been at the moment. "Father, I'll go get the doctors," the young man offered, beginning to stand when Vegeta grasped his wrist in a surprisingly tight hold. "No," the elder instructed, his face sickly, but stern, "I wish to speak with you." Following Vegeta's wishes, Trunks reclaimed his seat, his curiosity as well as other various emotions sparked. For long moments they did not speak, but merely looked at each other thoughtfully, as if analyzing. Finally, the prince moved, his hand raising higher till he halted its progress. Extending his fingers, he lightly traced the hybrid's brow, drawing down to caress the cheek presented. Then pulling back, it rose again to rest on Trunks's head, softly feeling the lavender tresses.
"I know you do not understand me, Trunks," Vegeta drew his hand back and pressed his index finger against the teen's lips when he attempted to speak. Once he was certain the boy wouldn't interrupt, he replaced his hand up top his head, "The only thing certain to you is the predictability of my actions. I train, I eat, I sleep. You know nothing of me, but this is not your fault." Vegeta sighed at the sadness and regret the crystal blue eyes radiated, then insisted, "Do not feel guilty for my mistakes, Trunks. I wish to tell you why I was not at your mother's funeral." Trunks became solemn again, listening intently to his father as he spoke.
"I was out being an idiot. I destroyed some landscape out in the middle of nowhere. After I felt like I'd done enough damage, I went to visit her. I fought Kakkarot. I instigated the fight. I made him hurt me like this, Trunks, it's not his fault." He raised his other hand, gesturing for Trunks to stay quiet, who achingly did so. "I realized something last night, Trunks. Something that you won't agree with, but it's essentially true. I am worthless, Trunks. I could have contributed so much more, I could have made Bulma.." He choked for a moment, wincing slightly, "I could have made your mother very happy, but I didn't. I failed again, Trunks. What's pride when you can't even make yourself happy? Or the people you feel for about happy? I've done everything wrong and I can't go back and fix it. Damn it all... Damn it all, Trunks! It's not fair!"
In a swift motion, he tossed the sheet back, swishing his legs over the side of the bed and getting up, staggering slightly. "Father!" Trunks yelled out, concerned. With a growl, Vegeta tore the tubes from his body, ignoring any damage it inflicted, "Trunks, I am not weak! I am not weak! I do not need help!" The demi-Saijin approached his father with his arms extended, "I know, father! I know! I just care about you!" Vegeta pivoted around to face his son, giving him an offended glare, "You let Kakkarot get close to me! Trunks, do you have any idea what he was doing!? Running around in my head, fucking with my emotions, my memories, and without permission!!"
"Dad.." Trunks tried feebly, letting his arms fall to his sides, "..he was just trying to help. I..made him promise to help."
"I can't stop being who I am," Vegeta said flatly, his gaze directed at the cold floor beneath his feet. At the pause, Trunks took the opportunity to unplug the heart monitor. Neither spoke, only a soft dripping sound disrupted the awkward peace of the room. "I have been this way for so long, I cannot change now. I will always be Vegeta, the Prince of Saijins," he watched the small pool of red slowly expand below him.
Finally, with a sigh, he sat down on the edge of the bed, Trunks merely watching him. "I have been a poor father," Vegeta admitted bitterly, his eyes narrowing into two obsidian slits, "But I thought that if I ignored you, then maybe I wouldn't hurt you as much." Trunks sat beside his father, lightly leaning against him. "I know, papa," Trunks murmured, closing his eyes, "I know you're never good at expressing your emotions. It's ok. I love you too." Vegeta sighed silently, deeply, and let his cheek rest against the mop of wispy purple.
"I've dishonored you, as well," Vegeta replied, his voice a whisper, "Choosing favorites with my children." He closed his eyes in shame, trying to drown out Trunks' reassuring words. He didn't deserve such treatment, not for all that he'd done. Trunks had so much of his mother in him, in that sense.
He thought, though, that maybe, just maybe, now that he'd exposed all this, and got it off his chest, it might move towards resolution. He thought that maybe, just maybe, he could fix some of the mistakes that he had made.
***
Once the door closed completely, Goku looked down the empty hospital hallway, staring into space. He closed his eyes, feeling a hint of disdain aimed towards himself for his stupidity. How could Vegeta ever accept him? It seemed that his plan had been working, until...
The black-haired man headed towards the elevator numbly as he was wrapped up in mixed shock and disappointment. He had pushed the limits, and caused all his work to crumble into nothing. He shouldn't have tried to make Vegeta aware of his attempts consciously. He should've waited and explained the situation to the prince at a later date when he would've been able to digest it properly. Now he'd probably done more harm than good, and it was uncertain exactly what level of contempt Vegeta held for him now. He fell to his knees and leaned into the corner of the elevator, once inside. 'I was stupid!' he thought, knocking his fist against the side, not only denting the metal, but lightly shaking the entire device. The other passengers looked at him in a mixture of pity and confusion.
And then, suddenly, everything became so clear. Like an overcast sky blown over, he inhaled, feeling refreshed. He couldn't help Vegeta, in fact, he did all that he could. He could not force the prince to comprehend his ideals and reasoning, that was up to the brunette to do. He did his part, and if Vegeta failed on his, then it wasn't that bad of a humiliation then, was it? Was he supposed to pine over Vegeta? What sense did that make? The elevator dinged as it opened, and he shoved past the people as he abruptly burst into a run. He felt so trapped, like he was suffocating in this place. He never liked hospitals. Hospitals had needles. Hospitals indicated pain. He didn't want this pain, so he fled its grasp before it consumed him, crushed him. The automatic doors up front parted for him, and he leapt into the air, taking to the sky, ignoring all bystanders.
Vegeta hated him. He had denied the prince everything, even escape from his life. Was it his right to judge and take other people's lives into his hands? He'd done it so many times, but not quite like this. The prince was suicidal, if not sado-masochistic, Goku could see that now. Now that he thought about it, he was almost entirely positive that proud man was mentally disturbed beyond repair. If the brunette could not, and would not, consciously face reality, there was nothing more Goku could do for him. The elder was doomed, and quite possibly, could have been doomed for a long time. Fate. Such a funny thing. Piccolo had spoken about it, but did he believe in it himself? No. Fate was simply a scapegoat, something to blame in a depression. Or a weapon of insult if something should go well.
He shook his head, the sensation of his thoughts muddling up frustrating him. And as easily as it had come earlier, he felt a new sense of recognition. He had no family, no friends, no one relying on him any longer. He was alone, and he could do anything he wanted, but he lacked direction. It didn't matter what happened to him now. He was wayward, with no purpose. He felt his ki flaring, his head spinning. He felt nauseous, his body trembling, acid lingering in the back of his throat. He was a golden inferno, a humanoid phoenix with accomplishment after accomplishment piled onto his reputation. His name was so clean, so unblemished, so perfect. He was an anomaly; he was unnatural, a fluke. And if he hadn't been born? Earth would be long gone, the universe thrown into the clutches of Majin Buu, perhaps? Mirai Trunks' future would have never come to be. This would never have come to be. Fate?
"No," he choked out, denying it as his eyes went sightless. He heaved, he screamed, he struggled, he gasped. What was he fighting? Himself? He refused destiny, denied the inability to make choices, forced away the thoughts. His mind felt like it was swirling in a mass of liquid spikes, black spots dotting his vision. Flashes from unseen lights blinded him, stealing vision for moments, giving him only fragments. Fragments of blood and bitter tears. Fragments of broken bones and shattered pride. Bits and pieces of humiliation, degradation, pain, and failure. He felt wind curving around his body. He was falling again. Then all was silent.
The Prince of Saijins breathed deeply his dark eyes examining his son with a scrutinizing expression. "How are you feeling?" the half-breed questioned lowly, keeping his voice in check as he smiled reassuring. The brunette said nothing, instead his gaze slowly shifted to the other person in the room, his eyebrows knitting together, the black orbs burning with emotion. Shaking for an indistinguishable reason, Vegeta raised his hand and pointed to the door. In a strong, unfaltering, voice he growled, "Get out."
Goku could practically feel the color drain from his face. He understood now that he'd only partly succeeded in his mission. He kept his promise, however, and despite his wishes to explain himself, to help the elder understand his actions, he obeyed the command. He bowed his head, slowly composing himself and rose from his seat. "I'm sorry," Goku whispered, turning his gaze from the royalty to slip out of the room silently.
Only when the door clicked shut did Vegeta turn his attention back to his son. "Trunks," he said his name simply, not giving a hint at all to what his feelings might've been at the moment. "Father, I'll go get the doctors," the young man offered, beginning to stand when Vegeta grasped his wrist in a surprisingly tight hold. "No," the elder instructed, his face sickly, but stern, "I wish to speak with you." Following Vegeta's wishes, Trunks reclaimed his seat, his curiosity as well as other various emotions sparked. For long moments they did not speak, but merely looked at each other thoughtfully, as if analyzing. Finally, the prince moved, his hand raising higher till he halted its progress. Extending his fingers, he lightly traced the hybrid's brow, drawing down to caress the cheek presented. Then pulling back, it rose again to rest on Trunks's head, softly feeling the lavender tresses.
"I know you do not understand me, Trunks," Vegeta drew his hand back and pressed his index finger against the teen's lips when he attempted to speak. Once he was certain the boy wouldn't interrupt, he replaced his hand up top his head, "The only thing certain to you is the predictability of my actions. I train, I eat, I sleep. You know nothing of me, but this is not your fault." Vegeta sighed at the sadness and regret the crystal blue eyes radiated, then insisted, "Do not feel guilty for my mistakes, Trunks. I wish to tell you why I was not at your mother's funeral." Trunks became solemn again, listening intently to his father as he spoke.
"I was out being an idiot. I destroyed some landscape out in the middle of nowhere. After I felt like I'd done enough damage, I went to visit her. I fought Kakkarot. I instigated the fight. I made him hurt me like this, Trunks, it's not his fault." He raised his other hand, gesturing for Trunks to stay quiet, who achingly did so. "I realized something last night, Trunks. Something that you won't agree with, but it's essentially true. I am worthless, Trunks. I could have contributed so much more, I could have made Bulma.." He choked for a moment, wincing slightly, "I could have made your mother very happy, but I didn't. I failed again, Trunks. What's pride when you can't even make yourself happy? Or the people you feel for about happy? I've done everything wrong and I can't go back and fix it. Damn it all... Damn it all, Trunks! It's not fair!"
In a swift motion, he tossed the sheet back, swishing his legs over the side of the bed and getting up, staggering slightly. "Father!" Trunks yelled out, concerned. With a growl, Vegeta tore the tubes from his body, ignoring any damage it inflicted, "Trunks, I am not weak! I am not weak! I do not need help!" The demi-Saijin approached his father with his arms extended, "I know, father! I know! I just care about you!" Vegeta pivoted around to face his son, giving him an offended glare, "You let Kakkarot get close to me! Trunks, do you have any idea what he was doing!? Running around in my head, fucking with my emotions, my memories, and without permission!!"
"Dad.." Trunks tried feebly, letting his arms fall to his sides, "..he was just trying to help. I..made him promise to help."
"I can't stop being who I am," Vegeta said flatly, his gaze directed at the cold floor beneath his feet. At the pause, Trunks took the opportunity to unplug the heart monitor. Neither spoke, only a soft dripping sound disrupted the awkward peace of the room. "I have been this way for so long, I cannot change now. I will always be Vegeta, the Prince of Saijins," he watched the small pool of red slowly expand below him.
Finally, with a sigh, he sat down on the edge of the bed, Trunks merely watching him. "I have been a poor father," Vegeta admitted bitterly, his eyes narrowing into two obsidian slits, "But I thought that if I ignored you, then maybe I wouldn't hurt you as much." Trunks sat beside his father, lightly leaning against him. "I know, papa," Trunks murmured, closing his eyes, "I know you're never good at expressing your emotions. It's ok. I love you too." Vegeta sighed silently, deeply, and let his cheek rest against the mop of wispy purple.
"I've dishonored you, as well," Vegeta replied, his voice a whisper, "Choosing favorites with my children." He closed his eyes in shame, trying to drown out Trunks' reassuring words. He didn't deserve such treatment, not for all that he'd done. Trunks had so much of his mother in him, in that sense.
He thought, though, that maybe, just maybe, now that he'd exposed all this, and got it off his chest, it might move towards resolution. He thought that maybe, just maybe, he could fix some of the mistakes that he had made.
***
Once the door closed completely, Goku looked down the empty hospital hallway, staring into space. He closed his eyes, feeling a hint of disdain aimed towards himself for his stupidity. How could Vegeta ever accept him? It seemed that his plan had been working, until...
The black-haired man headed towards the elevator numbly as he was wrapped up in mixed shock and disappointment. He had pushed the limits, and caused all his work to crumble into nothing. He shouldn't have tried to make Vegeta aware of his attempts consciously. He should've waited and explained the situation to the prince at a later date when he would've been able to digest it properly. Now he'd probably done more harm than good, and it was uncertain exactly what level of contempt Vegeta held for him now. He fell to his knees and leaned into the corner of the elevator, once inside. 'I was stupid!' he thought, knocking his fist against the side, not only denting the metal, but lightly shaking the entire device. The other passengers looked at him in a mixture of pity and confusion.
And then, suddenly, everything became so clear. Like an overcast sky blown over, he inhaled, feeling refreshed. He couldn't help Vegeta, in fact, he did all that he could. He could not force the prince to comprehend his ideals and reasoning, that was up to the brunette to do. He did his part, and if Vegeta failed on his, then it wasn't that bad of a humiliation then, was it? Was he supposed to pine over Vegeta? What sense did that make? The elevator dinged as it opened, and he shoved past the people as he abruptly burst into a run. He felt so trapped, like he was suffocating in this place. He never liked hospitals. Hospitals had needles. Hospitals indicated pain. He didn't want this pain, so he fled its grasp before it consumed him, crushed him. The automatic doors up front parted for him, and he leapt into the air, taking to the sky, ignoring all bystanders.
Vegeta hated him. He had denied the prince everything, even escape from his life. Was it his right to judge and take other people's lives into his hands? He'd done it so many times, but not quite like this. The prince was suicidal, if not sado-masochistic, Goku could see that now. Now that he thought about it, he was almost entirely positive that proud man was mentally disturbed beyond repair. If the brunette could not, and would not, consciously face reality, there was nothing more Goku could do for him. The elder was doomed, and quite possibly, could have been doomed for a long time. Fate. Such a funny thing. Piccolo had spoken about it, but did he believe in it himself? No. Fate was simply a scapegoat, something to blame in a depression. Or a weapon of insult if something should go well.
He shook his head, the sensation of his thoughts muddling up frustrating him. And as easily as it had come earlier, he felt a new sense of recognition. He had no family, no friends, no one relying on him any longer. He was alone, and he could do anything he wanted, but he lacked direction. It didn't matter what happened to him now. He was wayward, with no purpose. He felt his ki flaring, his head spinning. He felt nauseous, his body trembling, acid lingering in the back of his throat. He was a golden inferno, a humanoid phoenix with accomplishment after accomplishment piled onto his reputation. His name was so clean, so unblemished, so perfect. He was an anomaly; he was unnatural, a fluke. And if he hadn't been born? Earth would be long gone, the universe thrown into the clutches of Majin Buu, perhaps? Mirai Trunks' future would have never come to be. This would never have come to be. Fate?
"No," he choked out, denying it as his eyes went sightless. He heaved, he screamed, he struggled, he gasped. What was he fighting? Himself? He refused destiny, denied the inability to make choices, forced away the thoughts. His mind felt like it was swirling in a mass of liquid spikes, black spots dotting his vision. Flashes from unseen lights blinded him, stealing vision for moments, giving him only fragments. Fragments of blood and bitter tears. Fragments of broken bones and shattered pride. Bits and pieces of humiliation, degradation, pain, and failure. He felt wind curving around his body. He was falling again. Then all was silent.