Percussion
Chapter 2

Reintroductions

Much to Trunks' surprise, Bulma did not lead him into her laboratory. Rather, she quickly took him down the hall into her home office. She sat down at her large mahogany desk, setting the paper files to one side and slipping the data disk into her computer. She gestured to Trunks to take a seat in one of the spare rolling chairs. He did so, pulling his chair up to his mother's desk and looking on as she worked.

Without a word, Bulma began downloading the data, copying it to her computer's hard drive. After a routine virus scan, the newly-copied folder opened, displaying the hundreds of files that had been burned onto the disc. She frowned in concentration as she scanned over the first few files. Trunks wasn't sure what it was she was looking for, but he would not have been much help anyway. Every file was indexed and cross-referenced to a host of others, and Trunks couldn't possibly remember what piece of data was located where. If Bulma knew what she wanted to find, any attempts on Trunks' part to help would just waste her time.

Trunks pulled his gaze away from the glowing screen and looked around the room. Bulma's personal office was massive, brightly lit and hexagonal in shape. Bay windows along one wall allowed sunlight to shine through the room. Bookshelves and file cabinets lined the remaining walls, each shelf and drawer filled with folders and labeled with a series of letters and numbers. Trunks could not decipher whatever code his mother was using to organize her paperwork, but he supposed it must have made sense to her.

The large, neat, luxurious office stood in sharp contrast to the laboratory where his timeline's Bulma spent most of her days. Back in Trunks' own world, Capsule Corp had been more a base of operations than anything else. All other projects had taken a backseat to his mother's goal of successfully constructing a time machine, and it had taken years for that project to come to fruition.

Bulma's office here made it that much clearer how different things had turned out in this timeline. In this world, Capsule Corporation was just that—a corporation. It was, above all else, a business.

And, from the looks of it, a very successful one.

Bulma was still staring intently at her computer screen, scrolling through megabytes of data at a time. Her expression looked more and more vexed as the minutes dragged on, and she was obviously struggling to keep all this new data straight. It was more than a little frustrating for Trunks, being completely unable to help.

Trunks stood up from his wheeled chair, suddenly feeling antsy. Without thinking, he stepped away from the desk and shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. His right hand brushed along something cold and smooth in his pocket.

Of course. The time machine. True, it wasn't likely to get damaged, but if Trunks was going to be stuck in this timeline for an indefinite period, he figured he'd rather err on the side of caution.

"Mother?" He spoke up, interrupting Bulma's thoughts. "I forgot to bring a capsule canister. Do you have an extra one I can borrow?"

"Huh?" the woman said, looking startled. Trunks wouldn't have been surprised if she had forgotten he was in the room altogether.

She craned her head around, not moving from her position in her chair. She blinked twice, as if belatedly processing Trunks' words.

"Oh, sure," she responded after a few seconds. "Right here." Bulma slid open her desk drawer and began digging around. Trunks' gaze followed his mother's finely manicured hand. Just above the drawer in which Bulma was searching sat a small glass dish, filled with grey ashes and what looked like small rolls of paper.

An ashtray?

"Since when do you smoke?"

Bulma handed Trunks a small, brushed steel canister from the drawer before shutting it. He took the capsule holder, popping it open with one hand and placing the time machine inside. He looked back at his mother to find a sardonic smile on her face.

"You'd take up smoking too if you lived with Vegeta."

Trunks slid the canister into his pocket. He smiled a bit at that; his mother had just answered a question Trunks didn't even realize he wanted to ask. Bulma and Vegeta had stayed together after all.

The smile quickly changed into a thoughtful frown. He hadn't seen or heard any trace of the stoic Saiyan since his arrival.

"Uh, where is Father?"

Bulma did not answer his query right away. Instead, she glanced at her watch, glowering. She huffed as she saw the time.

"Damn those two! They've been at it for hours. Trunks does have studying to do." Bulma brushed a stray lock of hair from her eyes, her face set in the exasperated expression of one who had been in this position all too many times already. "Oh gods, I'm starting to sound like Chichi."

Trunks' frown deepened. What was his mother talking about?

"They've been at what for hours?"

"Training in the gravity room. And of course, I'm going to be the one who ends up fixing everything. Your grandfather refuses to take responsibility for the training bots anymore." Bulma sighed. "Not that I can blame him." She furrowed her eyebrows and lowered her voice in a rough impression of her father. "'He's your husband, you deal with him.' Sometimes I wonder why I put up with that man."

Trunks, however, had stopped listening after Bulma's first sentence. "Father's actually training me?"

That certainly did explain things. The reinforced walls of the Gravity Room meant that it was difficult to sense energy levels from outside. Trunks had wondered for a long time what, precisely, those walls were made of. All the visible walls of the domed room were made of steel, but Trunks had no idea what other alloys lay between the two outermost layers. Finding a material that could contain such a massive ki as Vegeta's couldn't have been easy.

Still, Bulma's explanation raised more questions than it answered. Though Trunks had seen a few things in his last visit that indicated that Vegeta cared—at least on some level—the idea that he would take such an active role in his son's development came as a surprise.

"Yeah," Bulma went on, "he's been training you since you were five. I thought it was a bit young, but you know how your father can be."

Trunks broke eye contact with his mother, looking back toward the door of her office.

"I thought I did."

Bulma smiled. Ditzy though she tended to act at times, she had always been quick to pick up on such things. The last time this Trunks had seen Vegeta, the man was hesitant to admit to anything but indifference and impatience toward his son. While he may still have been rather closed-off, the truth was that he had become a family man despite himself.

He was an unconventional one, but Vegeta was a reliable husband and father nonetheless.

Bulma gestured down the hall, pointing vaguely in the direction of the Gravity Room. "You can take a peek if you want. There's a small window in the door."

"Yeah, I remember that." After a moment's hesitation, Trunks strode out the door. Bulma followed after him, her pace nearly matching his.

The Gravity Room sat at the back of the house, at the far end of a wide corridor. The heavy, reinforced metal door was locked. Trunks approached the room, peaking in through the small window.

A pleasurable sense of surprise ran through Trunks as he watched. His younger self was fast—very fast—and though it was clear that Vegeta was the one in control, the little Trunks was giving him one hell of a fight. The kid was a lot stronger than the teenaged Trunks had been at the same age.

What really struck Trunks, though, was the obvious level of concentration Vegeta was putting into this. The Saiyan Prince didn't look the slightest bit bored, or dismissive. He was completely engaged in his son's training.

Trunks watched for a minute or two. Soon, Vegeta had Trunks pinned to the floor, apparently ending this particular training session. After having a quick word with the pinned boy—Trunks couldn't hear what they were saying—Vegeta stood, moving toward the control panel at the back of the domed chamber. The dim lights brightened as the artificial gravity turned off.

The teenager slipped away from the door, leaning against the outside wall so that the two fighters wouldn't see him as they exited. Sure enough, man and boy walked out of the door without looking back, tired and sweaty from hours of intense training.

Trunks cleared his throat, prompting both Vegeta and the eleven-year-old to stop in their tracks turn around. The look of mild confusion on the Saiyan's face soon evolved into one of utter shock. Vegeta's eyebrows nearly went straight into his pronounced widow's peak. Trunks smiled and relaxed his posture, trying to look as nonchalant as possible. Immature though it might seem, the teenager was happy to have caught his father off-guard for once.

Vegeta looked back at his wife, who just shot him a winning smile. Slowly, he turned his head back to the teenager, his expression still one of amazement. Trunks let the awkward moment drag out for a few seconds before he broke the silence.

"Long time no see, Father."

The boy landed against the curved wall of the Gravity Room with a soft thump. It didn't slow him down; in an instant, he had used his left arm to gain the leverage to push himself back. The next thing Vegeta knew, his son was flying at him, fist outstretched.

Vegeta blocked the blow easily, catching his son's fist in his right palm. Again, Trunks was unperturbed. The kid grabbed onto the very arm Vegeta was using to hold him in place, flipping upside down and bending backwards to kick straight at Vegeta's head. Vegeta dodged, and in the process his grip loosened just enough to allow his son to escape.

Not bad. The boy had, in a split second, turned a problem into an opportunity. Trunks floated for just a moment his newly acquired position above Vegeta's head, then dove at him, forcing Vegeta to duck yet again.

Not bad at all.

Vegeta knew his son was several times stronger than he had been at the same age.

Had Frieza seen this? Was this what he had feared? Not the current generation of Saiyans, but their offspring?

It was still difficult to comprehend —the boy had been able to transform into a Super Saiyan by the time he was eight. That had been one of the biggest shocks of Vegeta's already eventful life.

Part of him had been irritated, even insulted. It made no sense. Vegeta had pushed himself for decades. The goal had consumed him; nothing else mattered.

Even Kakarrot, with his unfathomable natural talent for battle, had been pushed to the very edge of his limits before he had achieved that state. Gohan had been unbelievably young as well, but at least Kakarrot's older brat had been forced by the circumstances of Cell's arrival to devote every waking moment to training. How could it be that a mere child—even his child—could have gained the skill so easily?

Yet part of Vegeta—a part he had not been willing to give voice to until all too recently—had also been proud. His son truly was the heir to his royal bloodline, even if the throne to which he would have been successor had been gone for over thirty years.

Vegeta never learned the circumstances of Trunks' initial transformation. He had never asked. If the boy chose to volunteer the story one day, that would be his choice.

Trunks tried to take advantage of the momentary lapse in Vegeta's concentration. He slipped behind Vegeta's back, coming at him with yet another kick. Unfortunately for Trunks, Vegeta's head was back in the fight in an instant.

The child was quick, but he was getting cocky. He frequently forgot that Vegeta knew every one of his moves, and this was something he'd tried before.

The surprised look on his son's face as he grabbed the boy's ankle, roughly flipping him down onto the floor, confirmed Vegeta's suspicions. Trunks had to learn that he couldn't always rely on the element of surprise, especially with someone who knew his fighting style.

A split second passed, and Trunks was thoroughly pinned. Really, did the kid think he could catch his own master unaware?

Contrary to what his shrill mate may have thought, he was fully aware of the fact that he was somewhat harsh with their son. But he also knew Trunks could take it. True, a few bruises were visible on the boy's arms, but Trunks had been quite clear that his father wasn't to go easy on him.

The Saiyan Prince was more than happy to oblige.

Vegeta would not see his son fall into the same trap that Gohan had. The boy would keep up his training, regardless of how peaceful their world remained. The child would not lose touch with his Saiyan heritage.

Vegeta smirked at the irritated look on Trunks' face. The boy huffed; there was no point trying to pull out of Vegeta's grasp. He just glared, narrowing his eyes and setting his lips in a frown. Vegeta idly wondered if it was wrong to derive so much entertainment from his son's obvious annoyance.

"What the first rule of combat?" he asked, his tone much like that of a bored schoolmaster.

"Never underestimate your opponents," the child responded, as if by rote. Vegeta nodded. It was a mistake that Vegeta had made on more than one occasion.

Hopefully, it was a lesson that Trunks would never have to learn for himself.

Vegeta stood, releasing the boy from his rough grasp. Though he was far from delicate with Trunks, he did have to hold back. He wouldn't be so concerned about pulling his punches if his wife had been able to figure out how to construct a healing tank. For the thousandth time, Vegeta wished he had thought to steal a set of the blueprints from Frieza's ship. It wasn't as though they could have the guardian of Earth on standby as their personal first-aid kit, and senzu beans took a notoriously long time to grow.

Trunks stood as Vegeta turned off the artificial gravity, rubbing his sore wrists. Vegeta quickly pushed another button on the control panel, unlocking the door with a mechanical whirr and a loud click. Vegeta quickly walked over to the door, opening it and leading his son outside.

Vegeta badly needed a shower. Today's session had lasted longer than Vegeta had originally intended, but that was hardly his fault. Three hours into their training, the boy had insisted he still wasn't tired. Vegeta wondered if Trunks hadn't simply said that in an effort to avoid his schoolwork for a while longer.

He heard someone clear their throat behind him. Vegeta spun around, fully expecting to see his irate wife. Bulma would probably begin to reprimand him for keeping Trunks so long, again, while Vegeta would insist that training should be a greater priority than those remedial literature lessons anyway. In the course of their argument, Trunks would probably sneak off, sparing himself the brunt of the lecture.

Really, Vegeta didn't know where Trunks got his devious streak.

Just as he was about to turn around, though, he caught a flash of aqua hair at the edge of his vision. Bulma was not behind him; rather, she stood to his side, looking equal parts excited and amused. He frowned and slowly turned, wondering who could possibly be visiting at this time.

Vegeta's gaze landed on the wall behind him. Leaning against it was a slim, muscular young man with a low, purple ponytail and an enigmatic smile on his face.

His son.

College, Gohan decided, was a massive waste of time.

Alright, that wasn't fully accurate. It was absolutely a necessary step in his education, if he ever wanted to fulfill his (and, to be honest, his mother's) dream of becoming a scholar. He couldn't very well pursue a PhD without a university degree.

But the actual classes, those certainly were a waste of time. After years of preparation and intense studying, Gohan had truly expected more of a challenge from his university courses.

It wasn't quite so bad with the few advanced electives he was taking. Those usually kept his attention well enough. But classes like this, the ones that made up East Keio's core curriculum, were downright painful to sit through. Gohan was bored out of mind, and had been for the better part of the semester.

"Psst." Videl elbowed him in the side. Gohan blinked; he was surprised to find the tip of his nose was pressed against the nearly blank page of his notebook. He straightened his posture quickly. Thank the gods he had statistics with Videl. She made a point of nudging him awake whenever he started to drift off, which was more often than Gohan cared to admit to. It wasn't that Gohan was afraid he would miss anything important. He just didn't think that falling asleep in the middle of class would make a particularly good impression on his professor.

Gohan quietly thanked Videl and tuned back in to what the professor—a kindly, but exceedingly boring, woman in her forties—was saying.

"And so, you can see that in this particular distribution, the probability density will increase over time..."

Gohan zoned out again. He would swear upon the Dragonballs themselves that they had gone through the exact same lesson the day before. Gohan maintained that there should have been some way to place out of these basic courses, but the university administrators would hear nothing of it. For someone whose strong suit had always been mathematics, it was absolute torture.

Videl frequently told him he was being a drama queen. He knew better than to point out that his girlfriend really wasn't in a position to be calling anyone dramatic.

"Psst!" The girl nudged him again, this time more forcefully. Damn, he had started to pass out again. He nodded at Videl once more, leaning back in his chair.

Gohan chewed thoughtfully on the end of his black pen. He was in his second year of university, and though he knew he would be able to choose more electives in the coming years, the thought brought him little comfort. While Gohan was the first one to appreciate times of peace and tranquility, there was something to be said for those times he was forced to split his time between training and studying. The Great Saiyaman had apparently been too good at his job. Satan City's crime rate had imploded, as most criminals knew better than to set their sights on that bustling metropolis anymore. Although he and Videl sparred with some frequency, and Gohan was more than happy to provide lessons in both sensing and controlling ki, it just wasn't the same.

Truth be told, Gohan knew what was missing from his life. He needed a challenge.

"Psst!" Videl said again, elbowing Gohan in the ribs. He frowned at her. He hadn't been falling asleep this time. Why on earth had his girlfriend nudged him again?

Videl had an amused twinkle in her large blue eyes, and was suppressing a laugh. She bit her smiling lower lip and made a gesture with one hand, rotating her fingers around her lips in a circular motion.

Gohan raised his hand to his face. It felt oddly...slick. Almost oily. He pulled back his hand to see that his fingertips were covered with some sort of black fluid.

Brilliant. His pen had burst in his lips. He spat out the mutilated writing instrument, sputtering a bit, and set the leaky plastic tube on top of his notebook. It wasn't as if he as actually going to take any notes in his remaining thirty minutes of class.

He winced as he swallowed some of the bitter black liquid that had made its way into his mouth. Yeah, it was going to be one of those days.

To describe Vegeta as "stunned" would have been an understatement. It had been over ten years since he'd seen the young time-traveler, and Vegeta had honestly expected never to see him again. The teenager barely looked any older than he had the last time Vegeta had seen him. Surely some time had passed for the boy—at least enough for him to let his hair grow out—but however long it had been didn't even approach the decade that had passed in this timeline.

The teenager finally spoke, shattering the heavy silence that had fallen upon the hallway. "Long time no see, Father."

Bulma was, as usual, no help at all. She just grinned at Vegeta, her teeth as white as the ridiculous string of pearls she had around her neck. She was clearly enjoying her husband's bewilderment.

Again, silence fell upon the four of them. The child looked from the teenager to his father a few times before talking.

"The hell?"

"Language, Trunks!" Bulma scowled at the young boy. Ah well, Vegeta figured. At least she had joined the conversation.

"Trunks," Vegeta said, finally speaking. "Meet...you."

The boy frowned, though he seemed to process this new information relatively easily. Vegeta supposed Bulma had filled their son in about his alternate future self's journey into their timeline. After a few seconds, the eleven-year-old asked the first question that came to mind.

"Why do I have my hair long like a girl?"

Bulma burst out laughing at that. The teenager quirked a single eyebrow; that clearly wasn't the reaction he was expecting.

Vegeta raised one hand to his right temple. It didn't appear that anyone would provide any explanations until he actually asked.

"Trunks," he said, addressing the younger boy. "Go upstairs. I think your older self and I need to have a little chat."

The child was not happy about that order. Despite his blasé attitude, it was obvious that he had a number of questions of his own. "Why can't I—"

"Just do it."

The younger Trunks grumbled and stomped off, making quite a show of it. He loudly made his way down the hallway and up the stairs, stomping a bit on the upper floor for good measure. Vegeta rolled his eyes. His child could be such a...child sometimes.

Vegeta looked back at the teenager, his composure having mostly returned. "Why are you here?" Astonishment notwithstanding, Vegeta was never one to mince words.

The teen's smile disappeared. A vague, uncertain concern filled Vegeta. The last time the boy had made such a trip into their timeline, he brought with him most serious news. It seemed that was the case this time around as well.

"This is going to take a little while to explain."

Vegeta nodded, letting his wife lead the both of them into the living room.

Trunks wrapped up his account of what had brought him to the present timeline, having given Vegeta much the same speech he had recited to Bulma. The teen leaned back against the rear cushion of the couch. Bulma was sitting next to him, while his father sat in the plush chair across from them. Vegeta frowned, clearly not sure what to do with this new knowledge.

Vegeta opened his mouth to offer some sort of response, but quickly shut it again, turning his head with a scowl. Trunks followed the prince's gaze toward the staircase. He quirked an eyebrow. His younger self was trying, rather unsuccessfully, to hide behind the thick banister as he listened in to the conversation.

A look of dismay crossed the young boy's face. The kid knew he was busted.

"Boy," Vegeta called over from his spot on the couch, "I told you to go upstairs."

"How come?" the young Trunks argued. "If I'm old enough to fight and train, I should be old enough to listen too!"

The teenager bit his lip, not sure how this was going to play out. He didn't have to wonder long. Before Trunks could blink, Vegeta was standing above his young son, grabbing the front collar of the boy's loose t-shirt.

"You can go to your room through your door or through the wall. Choose well."

For the first time since his arrival, the teenaged Trunks shared a look with his younger counterpart. It was clear that their father was not bluffing.

The boy pulled away from the irate Saiyan, quickly taking flight and making his way upstairs.

Vegeta once more faced his mate and older son, again looking more pensive than aggravated. He stepped back towards them, but did not sit down again.

"So what do you hope to accomplish while you're here?"

"To be honest, I'm not entirely sure," Trunks admitted. "Look for clues, I suppose. Try to figure out what's going on, and why my timeline seems to be affected while yours isn't."

"Hmm." Vegeta stroked his chin, but said nothing more. Unlike Bulma, he didn't seem to be particularly worried about this turn of events. He simply nodded at the other two before making his way up the stairway himself, presumably to take a shower.

Trunks was a bit taken aback at his father's abrupt exit. Clearly, some things had not changed in the intervening ten years. He didn't move from his spot on the couch, but turned his head to face his mother.

"Trunks is...kind of a handful, isn't he?" It was a little odd, referring to the boy by his own name.

"Yes, well, unlike you, he's been subject to eleven years of your father's influence." Bulma let out an exaggerated sigh. "I swear, that kid mastered Vegeta's scowl by the time he was three."

"They're close." It wasn't a question, but a statement. Bulma nodded, taking in the almost wistful look on the teenager's face.

The woman deftly changed the subject. "Look, Trunks, while you're here, you might as well get in some time to go visit the others. I'm sure Goku will be absolutely thrilled to see you."

That got Trunks' attention. "Goku? He's alive again?"

"Oh, that's right. You wouldn't know about that, would you?"

"I thought you weren't going to wish him back."

"We didn't." Bulma paused for a moment, trying to put the tale as concisely as she could. "It's kind of a long story, but the short version is that about three years ago, this Old Kai gave his own life to Goku so that he could come back and fight a monster called Majin Buu."

Bulma shuddered at the memory of the deal that had been brokered in order to secure the Elder Kai's help. If one good thing had come out of her having to kiss the old lech, it had been Vegeta's endlessly entertaining reaction. She wondered if her husband had ever fully forgiven Goku for his part in arranging that little exchange.

Trunks, meanwhile, was shocked at the news of this new enemy. "Majin Buu? Was he more powerful than Cell?"

"A lot more powerful. Part of me is still amazed that Goku and your dad were able to beat him." Bulma couldn't help but smile at the memory. Though she was not able to get her mate to divulge any details of the battle on the sacred world of the Kais, she had managed to wheedle the story out of Goku. She had never doubted Vegeta's bravery or wit, but even she had been amazed at Goku's account of the battle.

"Guess I shouldn't be, though." Bulma nodded proudly. "It makes sense that nothing could stop those two once they teamed up."

Trunks struggled to wrap his mind around this torrent of information. "Goku and my father worked together?"

"Wow, it has been a while." Bulma chuckled at her older son's reaction. "Sit down, sweetie, I'll tell you the whole thing." She stood up, moving toward the kitchen.

"Coffee?"

"I'm really more of a tea drinker," Trunks responded, a bit shyly.

"Done."

Forty-five minutes and three cups of tea later found Trunks more than a little taken aback. The whole story sounded almost farcical. Trunks' encounters with magic had been limited to the Dragonballs. He listened attentively as Bulma described how the diminutive, reptilian wizard scoured the planet, gathering energy from the world's strongest fighters in an attempt to raise his monster.

Majin Buu sounded equal parts terrifying and hilarious. Turning living beings into candy went far beyond the pale of Trunks' normal contemplation. The idea that an eons-old, pink, blubbery demon with seemingly limitless strength had lain buried beneath the earth's surface for a thousand years was, frankly, bizarre.

Wait, a thousand years? His timeline had diverged from this one just over a decade before. If Majin Buu had been buried underground so long ago, he should have appeared long before Trunks finally defeated the androids.

Trunks said as much, and Bulma shrugged as she responded.

"I guess without the other fighters around, Babidi wasn't able to gather the energy to awaken Buu. Who knows, that wizard might even have been killed by the androids. If he hasn't shown up by now, I would think he's not going to appear at all."

Bulma could tell that Trunks was not convinced, so she went on. "History shifted in a lot of ways, Trunks. If Buu should ever appear, you'll just have to cross that bridge when you come to it."

"Yeah." Trunks licked his lips, which suddenly felt uncomfortably dry. As much sense as his mother's words made, he couldn't completely quell his anxiety. What if Buu awoke while he was stuck in this timeline? His mother—his whole world—would be defenseless.

Bulma seemed to read his mind. "Hey, kid, don't worry about your mom. She's a tough cookie. Trust me, I know." The woman winked, a furtive little grin appearing on her lips. "Besides, as soon as we get these problems with the time stream figured out, we can make sure to send you back to just a few days later than when you left."

He had no idea how she always managed to do that, but at that moment, he could not have been more grateful for Bulma's maternal intuition. "Yeah, you're right."

"Of course I am." Bulma gave Trunks a cheerful grin. "I'll get one of the guest rooms set up for you. You remember the way to Mount Paozu?"

"What, now?"

"Sure, why not?"

Trunks couldn't think of an answer. So off he went.

The days were getting shorter as the winter solstice approached, so the afternoon was already winding down as Trunks arrived at his destination. It didn't take him long to find Goku. The man was, true to form, training alone outside, performing katas and manipulating his own energy with his signature combination of sheer determination and an almost careless amusement.

Trunks floated far above the older man for a few seconds, pondering how long it would be before he noticed. Less than a minute passed before the Saiyan looked up, apparently having sensed Trunks' familiar energy signal.

Goku shielded his eyes from the afternoon sun that shone behind the teenager. Though Goku did seem surprised, his expression didn't even approach the level of shock displayed by his mother or his father.

"Trunks? Is that you?" Trunks nodded a bit, landing softly on the ground. Even as the weather got colder and drier, the grass was thick and lush.

"I don't believe it!" Goku dashed up to Trunks, clapping him on the shoulder. "How have you been?"

Goku had not changed a bit, but that was to be expected. Trunks knew that adult Saiyans aged at a much slower rate than humans. Besides, Goku had spent seven of the last ten years dead—that alone meant he would not have aged nearly as much as the others. It was actually comforting. Goku still had that same grin, the same gravity-defying spiky hair, the same presence. He even wore the same orange training clothes.

That was another thing his mother had been right about. Just being around Goku was reassuring. Whenever Trunks saw that man, he could genuinely feel sure that everything would work out.

"I've been fine." That was, at least, mostly true. "How about you?"

"Pretty good." Goku's grin widened. "So Bulma told you I was back?"

Trunks chuckled. "I guess we just can't get rid of you."

Goku laughed at the good-natured teasing before posing the inevitable question. "I gotta ask, what are you doing here?"

Trunks' face fell a bit. He really wasn't in the mood to explain the whole crisis yet again. "It's a long story. I'll fill you in later."

"Fair enough." To Trunks' relief, Goku did not press on. "Why don't you come inside?" He gestured toward the small, cozy house at the other end of the grassy field. Trunks did so, and within moments they were perched on two chairs in the Son family's living room.

They chatted for a while, Goku regaling him with stories of his time in the afterlife. Trunks just smiled and listened. It was good to hear that Goku's time in the land of the dead had been pleasant. If anyone deserved a happy ending, it was him.

"So where are Chichi and Gohan?" Trunks asked after a few minutes of recalled misadventures upon the Grand Kai's planet. Though the teenager wasn't sure he would be ready to face an adult version of his old master after all these years, his curiosity had quickly gotten the better of him.

"Oh," Goku said apologetically. "Gohan isn't around right now. He goes to a university near Satan City." Goku looked at the small clock on his living room wall. "Actually, he should be out of class by now. I could give him a call at his dorm if you want."

"Truth be told, Goku, I'd rather you didn't."

Goku gave Trunks an understanding look. "No problem. In that case, I'll get you his phone number." He grabbed a pen and a spare scrap of paper from the coffee table, quickly jotting something down. "You can call him whenever you feel ready to."

Trunks smiled gratefully as he took the slip of paper. He reached into his pocket for his capsule holder, popping it open and placed the small sheet inside for safe keeping.

"Anyway, Chichi's out buying groceries," Goku said, answering the other half of Trunks' question. "Can you stick around for dinner? I'm sure Goten would love to meet you."

"Goten?"

"My other son!" Goku grinned with pride as he said that. "He'll be ten next month."

Trunks frowned, doing the simple arithmetic in his head. "Wait, how do you have a ten-year-old?"

Goku seemed to turn a bit bashful at Trunks' query. He rubbed the back of his neck, as he was wont to do whenever he felt a bit awkward. "I, ah, kinda got Chichi pregnant in the days before the Cell Games."

Trunks laughed at Goku's childlike phrasing. "Kind of?"

As if on cue, a small bundle of energy came barreling into the living room. Trunks blinked a few times, sure that he was hallucinating. No, standing before him was what appeared to be a miniature Goku, complete with an orange gi and blue undershirt.

The mini-Goku pouted in disappointment as he saw the two adults. "Oh. I thought I sensed Trunks here."

"Goten, there's someone I'd like you to meet." Goku beckoned the child over. "This is Trunks."

The little half-Saiyan's eyes widened in confusion. Not sure what else to do, Trunks stood and extended his right hand for the boy to shake.

Goten, however, just stared at the outstretched hand. He glanced up at the teenager's face before shifting his gaze to his father. Goku's eyes held a mischievous, amused gleam usually reserved for those times he would sneak Goten away from his schoolwork to train, all the while hoping (usually in vain) that Chichi would not notice.

Goten looked back up at Trunks, who still had his hand held out. It was obvious to Trunks what the boy was doing. Goten was trying to get a read on Trunks' energy signature, no doubt comparing it to that of his younger self.

The child creased his tiny brow as he spoke again.

"This is gonna get confusing."