Disclaimer:
Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
I don't own DBZ and I know it,
So there's really no need to sue!
*Blushes and hides under desk* I have to admit, that sucked. Ah well, poetry was never my forte.
A/N: Heeeeeeeeeeeeere's chapter seven, in all of its terrible glory. I kind of went off on a tangent in this one, but maybe you'll enjoy it all the same. I figured we needed a little break from all that heavy plot!
~*~
The room was shadowy and half-lit, but Bulma could sense everything around her with a surprising clarity. The aroma of the sweetly-scented candles that flickered steadily upon the dresser...the scratchy feeling of the rough carpet upon her feet...the pungent odor of her own sweat as she shivered in anticipation.
Anticipation for what, however, even she had yet to find out. Waiting was all she could do at the moment. Waiting...it was just that sense of waiting and incompleteness - that was what was keeping her standing here like this...waiting.
The time seemed to trickle on, trickling more slowly than the bead of sweat that was making its way down her face. She stared at her reflection in the ornate mirror directly opposite her, a disheveled figure with mussed-up hair and a pale, peaked face. ...What was she doing here? Why was she just standing there? What in the world could she be waiting for, what could be so compelling that she just stayed here and allowed time to stand still?
(Or perhaps I should be thinking who,) she thought with a slight shudder as she slowly became aware of a pair of muscled arms twining almost snake-like around her shoulders. She gave a more pronounced shudder as she felt his rough, calloused hands caress her smooth, creamy neck, his warm breath tickle her moist cheek...
She inclined her head slightly to face him. "What on earth took you so long?" she almost whispered, staring directly into his impenetrable black depths.
"What does it matter?" was the soft reply, albeit a little muffled as his mouth made a slow trail down from her face to the hollow at the base of her neck, causing her to whimper.
"But it took so long - I've been waiting so long-" she whispered faintly as he gently pulled her towards the bed. Again, she shivered in anticipation...she knew exactly what to expect there.
She had no urge to resist as she was pulled against him; the thought of separation from his warm, well-toned body was almost too much for her to bear at the moment. Instead she just moaned as she was treated to the feel of his lips roughly brushing against hers, of his hands constantly roaming all over her body. It felt so wonderful, yet it was all such pure torture to her...his teeth lightly raked the tender skin around her jaw, causing her to moan in rapture. He had always been infuriating like that - giving her just enough to make her want more-
***
"VEGETA!" she suddenly yelped, sitting straight up in bed, one hand clamped firmly against her chest as if to keep her rapidly beating heart from popping right out. She stared wildly around the room, as if to find some semblance of her dream still hanging around, but nothing was there, everything was as usual. Sunlight was streaming through the high, sheer-curtained windows; nothing from her dream was to be seen; no dark room, no candles, no mirror...and no one beside her.
"It's OK, it's OK," she muttered, still clenching the wet fabric of her pajama top. "It was just a dream, nothing to get excited about..."
She felt quite the contrary, however. Any dream with Vegeta in it, however pleasant, always seemed to rile her up for days, and especially since they had been occurring more frequently as time went on. She loved them yet hated them; he was so close in her dreams that she could practically taste him (both figuratively AND literally), yet in reality so unattainable. Such a sweet torture...
She disentangled herself from the sweat-soaked bedcovers, her legs creating friction against the wilted sheets. "All right, gotta forget about this," she muttered to herself, glaring down at her still-pumping chest. "You did NOT like that dream! Those stupid dreams are just another testament to Vegeta's bad memory. He'd WANT me to remember those, the ass...and he never acted like that in bed anyway!" THAT part was true, at least. Powerful painkillers would have been needed in order to make Vegeta as soppy as he was in that dream.
"Dammit all," she continued to mutter to herself as she tripped over a fallen ceiling tile in the still dilapidated hall. She needed coffee, bright lights...something to get her back to the world of reality so that she wouldn't stay in that faraway place of heavily perfumed candles and memories long gone. She needed to be involved in the restoration of Capsule Corp and not off in La-La Land.
***
"Goddammit!" Bulma screamed to no one in particular two hours later in her office, fully dressed and awake, slamming her fist on the half-rotted wooden desk. "I just can't - I just can't-" She trailed off in frustration, glaring at a sparrow chirruping out on the window sill. "I just can't stop thinking about it!"
The dream was still hovering around on the edge of her mind; she couldn't think about the papers in front of her, nor could she concentrate on anything for very long. She hated that; she hated that how even now Vegeta could have such an effect on her (and in such a pleasant way), even if he had been gone sixteen years. But that was how it had always been...
She looked desperately around the room. She needed something to do, something that required all of her attention and concentration, something to keep her mind off it until it faded out memory. Something like -
She looked up as the door to her office suddenly clicked open, revealing one of the staff that worked down in the hangar. "We have the communications apparatus in the docking area in perfect working order, Miss Briefs," he announced. "Do you want us to clear a bay for the ship that's out right now?"
Bulma nodded. "Go ahead."
"All right then," he replied, turning to leave. "Just checking again to make sure." He headed back towards the hangar, shutting the door behind him quietly.
It took Bulma a full two minutes of sitting and pen tapping before what he had been talking about had sunk in. But when it did-
"That IT!" she suddenly shrieked happily, sitting bolt upright in her chair. "I'll go on the viewscreen and talk to Trunks! That'll help me forget! See how he's doing, see if he's all right...he had better be, after all we just went through. Yes, I think I'll go do it right now if I can-" She got up and headed down to the hangar, content with the idea that she'd be talking to her son for the first time in six odd days.
Little did she know that Trunks was going to be going through an excruciating five minutes very soon...
***
"So our little house in Mt. Paoztu's actually still standing?!" Gohan asked incredulously, a wide grin slowly spreading all over his face. "Really, I thought that if started leaning just five more inches over to the side it'd-"
"Oh, it's still standing," Trunks interrupted quickly, "and it's the same as ever. Same furniture. Same decor." He wrinkled his nose. "Same mess, too."
The ship was now hurtling in space back towards Earth; after some long farewells between them and the Nameks earlier that morning they had lifted off and begun the four day journey home. The two were sitting alone together in the Gravity Room, leaning against the pillar that held the controls, Trunks trying to get Gohan back up to snuff newswise. The others were currently out of sight; either on the bridge or in the living quarters.
Gohan scratched his head. "Well, your mother isn't exactly what you'd call the French maid type, Trunks. I mean, for half her life all she had to do was punch a button and she had the bots running at her beck and call. And at our house we couldn't even afford a lower model bot..." He trailed off, sighing, for some reason looking very interested in the gravity machine's bright red power button.
After a short silence he looked sidelong at the younger Saiyan. "The two of you are welcome to keep staying with us, you know. I'm sure Mom would love the company. I mean, there's just two of us now..."
Trunks shook his head. "No, it looks like Mom's hellbent on getting Capsule Corp up and running again," he replied with a hint of wistfulness. "Not that I blame her or anything, but..." Now it was his turn to trail off. He was thinking, rather sadly, that that would have been a wonderful idea. To be with Gohan again after so long...he had always thought of him as a mixture between mentor and brother, but now that they were so close in age he seemed more like a good friend than anything else.
His train of thought was suddenly broken, however, when the sound of a loud thump, closely followed by an agonized yell, was heard from what sounded like the bridge. "What the-"
Gohan, not even bothering to look up, snorted back a laugh. "You don't suppose there's a hentai collection hidden somewhere on this ship, do you?" he asked Trunks, a hint of amusement in his voice.
Trunks shook his head. "No, not unless Dad did something all day other than train up here," he replied rather dubiously. "Why?"
Gohan continued to smile. "That just sounded like Master Roshi getting smacked up there. And, by the sounds of it, by my mother's frying pan too. But how she got ahold of a frying pan up here, I have no idea..." He shook his head in mock sadness at Trunks. "Now that everyone's up and about you'd better get used to a lot of arguments around here...By the way," he added in an unusually high voice, "How can you do that?"
Trunks creased his forehead. "Do what?"
"Call Vegeta 'Dad' like he's been around every day of your life. How can you do that?"
Trunks shrugged his shoulders uncomfortably; he disliked the shrewd look that Gohan was giving him. "Well, I don't know," he began slowly, drawing his knees up to his chest. "It just kinda came naturally...I've told you about my trip back to the past. Back there I've already known him for a year. He is my father and he answers to it whenever I use it, so why not?"
"Just asking..." Gohan trailed off, determinedly trying not to catch Trunks's eye.
Trunks rolled his eyes; this secrecy thing of Gohan's was starting to be a real pain in the ass. "Listen, Gohan," he started firmly, "just what is it that you're trying to hi-"
However, his question was once again, sadly not answered when suddenly and out of the blue came a loud snap from the viewscreen located at the top of the pillar, causing them both to jump in their places. Trunks stared up wide-eyed at it, suddenly feeling like he had been doused in a pitcher of ice cold water. His stomach felt as if it was going to plummet heavily to the floor; there was only one person who knew how to contact the ship, and that was-
"Trunks?" the voice of Bulma inquired from the viewscreen. "Trunks, are you there? Adjust the controls so I can see you!"
"Shit!" he hissed, jumping up on his feet. Luckily the visual apparatus was not tuned and the screen was still a jumble of snow and colors, but that didn't mean she couldn't hear everything...
"Gohan!" he whispered loudly, turning to his friend, who was looking equally bewildered. "Get out of here while I talk to her!"
"What?" Gohan mouthed back. "Why?" Suddenly it dawned on him though, and his expression as stern as the previous day's. "Geez, Trunks, now don't tell me you didn't-"
"No, she doesn't know!" Trunks waved his arms in frustration. "It's supposed to be a surprise! Now shut up and get out of here!"
"OK, OK, I'm going, I'm going," Gohan replied, rolling his eyes and heading for the living quarters nearby. As he went, though, Trunks could have sworn that he heard him muttering, "Geez, Trunks, you are one complex guy..."
When he had finally disappeared Trunks, with an air of desperation, somehow managed to find the screen's control panel and maneuvered the controls so that the visuals back on Earth slowly swam into view. He saw Bulma standing in what looked like the newly-renovated lab, blinking and fidgeting as she waited for him to show up. "Mom?" he asked shortly, wondering what had possessed her to contact him at such a time.
Her face lit up when she saw him. "Oh, there you are!" she exclaimed happily, clapping her hands together. "I was wondering why - oh, never mind. I was just lonely, and I thought I'd come and check how your training was going." She gave him a scrutinized stare. "You WERE training, right? You don't even look like you're breaking a sweat right now."
Trunks fumbled for an excuse. "Oh -uh- that's cause I'm -ah- cooking," he stammered, trying to look straight into his mother's eyes. Damn it, if he ruined the surprise now, of all times, he would absolutely KILL himself...
"Cooking?" she echoed, still looking dubious.
"Well, uh, yeah," he replied, trying to look credible. "I'll starve up here if I don't eat something! And training for more than a couple hours sucks anyway! I need a break!"
"Well, I can definitely believe that, at any rate," she snorted. "People who only care about their training don't have much going for them, after all..." At this Trunks swore he saw her eyes glint dangerously... "But anyway!" she went on, perking back up as if she had never looked disgusted. "When are you planning on coming back?"
"I'm coming right now," he said smoothly. "I should be back on Earth in about three or four days."
"Oh, great! I could really use your help with everything! The restoration of the building's going fine, but maybe not as fast as I'd like. I could use a good strong Saiyan to help me clear out the rubble!"
Trunks, fighting the urge to go out and say "more like three", managed to let out a forced laugh. "Well, it was nice seeing you, Mom, and I'll make sure to-" -at this his eyes widened as he chanced a look down the living quarters' corridor- " -uh- make sure to- make sure to-"
Bulma looked confused. "Make sure to what, honey?"
Trunks gulped. He couldn't remember what he was going to say, nor did he even care. What he was currently saw coming down the corridor was enough to make his blood run cold. Coming down it was Vegeta, and he was headed straight this way!
Bulma was looking worried now. "Trunks, what's the matter? What's wrong?" she asked urgently, positioning herself closer to the screen.
Trunks could only reply in disjointed words. "Food. Cook. Burn. Explosion. Be back in a minute," he managed to croak, then going off in a mad dash down the corridor, praying to the fates that his mother was unable to see very far down it.
Vegeta didn't even stand a chance. Trunks ploughed right into him, knocked him right over as if he were made of cardboard, and then grabbed his arms, dragging him to a nearby utility closet and locking him in. He stared at for it a moment, making sure that his father was distracted for at least awhile, and then ran back down to the Gravity Room, making sure to lock the door behind him. Time to see if it and the walls really had been designed to withstand heavy pressure and Ki blasts...
Bulma was still patiently waiting on the screen. "Everything okay?" she asked him when he appeared back in her line of vision, panting slightly.
He looked up. "Oh -uh- yeah. You know, I never was very good at cooking," he replied quickly, again, attempting to at least sound credible.
"Neither am I, Trunks, neither am I..." She paused for a moment, looking thoughtful.
"I can't help you there. Your father always said I cooked like -to censor it greatly- absolute crap."
At this Trunks started greatly; not from his mother's statement, unfortunately, but from the explosion that had occurred out in the hall.
Bulma wrinkled her eyebrows. "What was that?"
Trunks gave off a rather shrill laugh. "Oh -uh- I think I'd better go," he said nervously. "I really don't think I should be leaving those chili dogs unattended anymore. Be seeing you, Mom!"
He gave off a great sigh of relief as the screen slowly faded and went back to normal. (What a close call. I should honestly just disable that thing,) he thought as he stumped off towards the door, absolutely dreading whatever sight was awaiting him on the other side.
And a dreadful sight it turned out to be, too. The only thing that Trunks could see at first was a steady plume of thick smoke swirling throughout the corridor. Eventually it cleared, though, and he suddenly became aware that someone was standing right in front of him, arms crossed and looking unconditionally pissed.
Vegeta, of course.
His words came in short, angry, barely understandable bursts. "Just - what - the - HELL - do - you - think - you're-" At this point he just shook his fist vaguely at the desecrated utility closet, whose door had been ripped right off its hinges; he was too furious to even finish the sentence.
Trunks could do nothing but give forth a sheepish smile. Vegeta continued to stare at him indignantly, as if attempting to frighten out an answer. When that didn't work after about two minutes, however-
"Just what ARE you?!" he finally just burst out, a hint of incredulousness apparent in his voice.
"Huh?"
"What ARE you?!" he repeated angrily, his boot violently scuffing the dust-layered linoleum floor.
"Whaddaya mean, what am I?" Trunks asked calmly, though he was becoming more anxious by the second.
"Just what I meant, you little brat!" he spat out. "No one, not even Kakarot, would have been able to do what you have just done!" He tossed his head and took a step closer, drawing up to his full height (although that couldn't have been called much, as he was a full foot shorter than Trunks). "And your power level is atrociously high! High even though you've been masking it for the past day! It's almost as if you have Saiyan blood! What - what the hell -"
"I can't tell you why," Trunks replied honestly.
Vegeta snorted. "You mean you won't." He turned around and began to walk away, but thought better of it a moment later, calling out over his shoulder, "I'm not thick-headed like the others, boy. I will figure this out, and when I do you will certainly regret it. I won't be caught off guard again."
Trunks sighed as he watched his retreat. That had been two close calls in only five minutes, and strange ones at that. It was almost as if he was in some whacked-out, badly written soap opera...and the absolute last thing he needed was for Vegeta to suddenly put two and two together. In fact, going by the way that he had been talking, he was surprised that he hadn't figured out that he was his son before...had he forgotten that he had had a one year old son when he died in the first place?!
He walked out of the still smoked-filled hall and off towards the living quarters, eager to tell Gohan about everything that had transpired.
Although he was sure that all Gohan would say was that he had got what he deserved.
A/N: Hmmmmm....what the hell IS going on here? Was Trunks not told something when he was younger? Or is it something on Vegeta's end? Hell, is it just because of the author's inability to write? The next chapter is the beginning of the turning point...
Anyway, as usual, thanks for all the great reviews. They're really helping me with the writing and the direction of the plot. The plot and I have been in a constant power struggle ever since I started writing this, and anything you might say about it really helps! :)
Not sure when I'll be updating next, but it'll only be when I'm done and satisfied with the next chapter. This chapter was written back in the good ol' days when I actually HAD some free time, so I guess I'll have to scrape some up somehow and start writing again. Thanx!