Percussion
Chapter 3

Tenuous Connections

Trunks dug through the massive refrigerator, reaching toward the back to grab a bottle of water. He made his way back to the kitchen table and sat down, shoving aside his stack of documents in frustration.

It had been two days since Trunks had arrived in this time period, and he was already developing a sense for how things operated in the Briefs household. His father split his time between working on weapons research and development—something Trunks thought was just asking for trouble—and training. Bulma's primary role had transitioned over the years from that of a scientist to that of a businesswoman, and though she still did a fair amount of inventing and researching of her own, she spent most of her days running the commercial dealings of Capsule Corporation.

Trunks' arrival threw a wrench into all that. Over the last two days, at least, his mother had delegated much of the daily business of running Capsule Corporation to lower-ranked executives. She had thrown herself into her research, trying to find some clue in the terabytes of data Trunks had brought with him from the future. Trunks had printed off hundreds of pages himself, resolving to plow through as much data as he could. Needless to say, so far, it had been bitter work. Even with the most unbroken concentration, Trunks was having trouble understanding what, exactly, he was looking at.

Trunks took a large gulp of his water and heard a pair of giggles come from down the hallway. He knew what those identical laughs meant. His young counterpart was off with Goten, no doubt getting into some sort of trouble.

Being home-schooled meant that the younger Trunks had an exceedingly flexible schedule. That did not come as a surprise to the teenager. The older boy had been home-schooled his whole life, though his studies had taken a backseat to training and fighting over the last four years.

Trunks bit his lip as he forced himself to start poring over the printed data sheets once again, his water bottle still gripped in his hand. Just as his focus was returning, however, he heard two young voices shriek. Trunks startled in his seat, spilling a few droplets of water on the table. The little screams were soon followed by a much deeper voice, growling and hurling a very creative chain of obscenities.

Trunks stood from his chair. "What on earth..."

A blue and purple streak sped into the kitchen, followed closely by an equally fast black and orange streak. Before Trunks knew what was happening, two small boys were standing behind him, each gripping one of his legs.

Trunks twisted his head around to see his younger self, along with Goten, looking positively terrified.

"Alright, what is going on?" the teenager asked.

"Hide me!" responded the younger Trunks, offering no further explanation.

"What?"

"Me too, me too!" cried Goten.

Trunks raised a single eyebrow. "What am I hiding you from?"

"Just do it!" demanded both children in unison.

The teenager stepped to one side, turning to look at the two boys. "I'm not helping you hide until you tell me, one, what from, and two, why."

The little Trunks set his face into a fierce, irritated scowl; for just a moment, the teenager could have sworn he was looking into his father's face.

"You're no help!" The eleven-year-old turned to Goten. "Let's get out of here!" The boys ran for the hall, but fell to the ground as they slammed into the taller figure that had made its path into the doorway.

Vegeta.

The teenaged Trunks stared in amazement as he looked at his father. He was dripping wet, donning nothing but a fluffy white towel, but that wasn't what struck him about the proud Saiyan's appearance. Trunks rubbed his eyes, unsure if he was imagining the sight before him.

The boys quickly stood, looking at each other and trying to find a way out. Unfortunately, there was only one exit from the large kitchen, and Vegeta was blocking it. They shrank back, obviously fearful, and with good reason.

The teenager gaped for a few moments. "...Father?" Assuming Trunks' eyes were not deceiving him, this certainly did explain the chain of curses he had heard earlier.

Vegeta stepped fully into the kitchen, dripping water all along the white tile floor and pointedly ignoring the teenager.

"Trunks, Goten." Vegeta said, his voice even and dangerous as he addressed the two boys. "I am going to ask you this only once." He pointed at his head with his right hand, his left still gripping the towel around his waist. "Did you do this?"

The kids visibly shook in their places. That was all the confirmation Vegeta needed. The prince's calm demeanor evaporated, and even the elder Trunks jumped back as Vegeta curled his right hand into a fist and began screaming at the two children.

"You little idiots! By the time I am through with you, YOU ARE BOTH GOING TO REGRET THE DAY YOU WERE BORN!"If Trunks didn't know better, he would swear his father was foaming at the mouth.

The boys ran. Vegeta did not start after them, instead continuing to stand in his place in the middle of the kitchen. His right fist was shaking in rage as the man struggled to compose himself.

The tense vibrations in Vegeta's fist soon abated. He turned to Trunks, finally acknowledging his teenage son.

"Boy, if I hear so much as a guffaw from you, you will meet the same fate as the two brats." Vegeta needn't have worried. Trunks was far too stunned to laugh, even if he wanted to.

The commotion soon pulled Bulma into the room. Her high heels clacked against the tile as she entered, careful not to slip on the water that splattered the kitchen floor.

"What is going—" Bulma began to ask before she caught sight of her husband's appearance. She immediately bit her lower lip, struggling to keep a straight face.

Vegeta turned on her. "Woman, don't even think about it."

"Oh," Bulma said, the corners of her lips twitching, "I wasn't going to laugh." The subtle tremor in her voice, however, quickly gave her away. Vegeta let out an incoherent growl in response.

Bulma breathed in deeply, leaning against the kitchen counter and trying to calm down. "Honey," she said, her voice saccharine sweet, "why don't you go put on some clothing? I'll, uh, figure out a way to reverse this."

Vegeta grumbled to himself a bit, but nodded. Trunks could only watch as Bulma sauntered her way out of the kitchen, followed by a very wet, very angry, very pink-haired Saiyan Prince.

Bulma had finally managed to concoct a formula strong enough to remove the neon pink dye from the proud Saiyan's pitch black hair. That did not, however, prevent the man from exacting his punishment.

This was why, four-hundred and thirty-seven pushups later, the agonized cries of two children were audible even from outside the gravity room.

Trunks nursed his water bottle, still sitting in the kitchen. It had been two hours since he'd seen his father's state, but his concentration had not returned. He rubbed his temples with one hand, deep in thought. From anyone else, the boys' punishment may have seemed harsh. After all, the dye had turned out to be removable, and the Saiyan's appearance was back to normal. From Vegeta, though, the consequences Goten and Trunks were facing seemed downright mild.

Strangely enough, the events of that afternoon only confirmed what Trunks had begun to suspect since his arrival. In the years since his last departure, his father had become much more open, and even...paternal.

It was that observation alone that had Trunks even considering the request he wanted to make. After all, the last time he had made this suggestion, it had been met with hostility and derision. But—as circumstances kept reminding him—a lot had changed in the past ten years. Trunks squared his jaw and strode out of the kitchen, quickly walking down the hall in the direction of the gravity chamber. His timing was excellent; just as he rounded the corner, he saw the metal door swing open.

Out came the two boys, appearing thoroughly miserable. Trunks almost laughed at the expressions on their faces. Goten looked like he was torn between yelling and crying, while the younger Trunks just looked angry. Both of them were clearly exhausted, and their small, unusually developed arms hung limply at their sides. Vegeta, by contrast, had calmed down considerably. As he followed the children out of the room, Trunks could see that he was dressed in loose grey slacks and a blue shirt, and he looked downright smug.

"So," the teenager heard Vegeta say, "what have we learned today?" The prince's voice was dripping with utter satisfaction.

"That pushups are hard," Goten offered. Trunks just groaned unhappily.

Vegeta roughly smacked the two boys on the backs of their heads. They both moved to rub the spots they had been hit, but they each dropped their arms in pain seconds later. The teenaged Trunks had to agree; under conditions of enhanced gravity, pushups were hard.

Vegeta spoke again. "Now get out of here while I'm still in a generous mood." The boys looked at each other for a moment before obeying. The kids skirted around the older Trunks, paying the teenager no mind. Vegeta turned his head toward his older son, apparently just noticing his presence.

"What?" Vegeta asked tersely. Trunks almost chuckled, but thought better of it. Vegeta was not one for small talk; that, at least, had not changed in the slightest.

"So," Trunks began, "I'm not sure how long I'm going to be in this timeline."

"And?"

"And I figured I might as well get some training in while I'm stuck here."

Vegeta crossed his arms, leaning back against the wall outside the gravity room. "Get to the point, boy."

Trunks swallowed, a bit louder than he'd intended to. He took a deep breath before he continued.

"I was wondering if, while I'm here, you wouldn't mind sparring."

"Sparring," Vegeta repeated.

"On occasion," Trunks quickly added.

Vegeta hummed to himself, apparently thinking it over. That was a good sign; at least he wasn't rejecting Trunks' proposal straight away. Only a few seconds passed before Vegeta spoke once again.

"Under one condition."

"Condition?"

"You agree to spend some time training your idiotic younger self. The brat could use some variety in his schedule."

That surprised Trunks. He was prepared for an argument, not an immediate, albeit conditional, acceptance. He stood silently, pondering this pleasantly surprising reaction. Vegeta suddently cleared his throat, and Trunks quickly realized that his father was waiting for a response.

He perked up instantly. "Deal."

Vegeta nodded, walking around Trunks and making his own way down the hall without another word.

That, thought Trunks, was almost too easy. He shrugged, resolving not to press his luck as he made his way upstairs into the room Bulma had set up for him.

Trunks had been taken aback by the size of the so-called "guest" room. Even with a king-sized bed, large desk and chair, dresser, nightstand, and walk-in closet, the room was very spacious and uncluttered. As he stepped into the bedroom, a flash of silver in the corner of his eye caught his attention.

The capsule holder. Trunks made his way over to the dresser, picking up the metal canister. He popped open the small contraption. The time machine was, of course, still safely tucked away in there, but it was the small scrap of paper folded into one corner that he focused on. The paper on which Goku had scrawled Gohan's telephone number two days prior.

Trunks wanted to see Gohan, he really did. And he wasn't nervous, exactly. He was just a bit apprehensive. That was perfectly natural, Trunks reasoned. The other teenager was going to be the very likeness of his dead friend and teacher. But, no, he certainly wasn't nervous.

Who am I kidding? Trunks winced in response to the voice inside his own mind.

So maybe he was a little nervous. But he knew he had already procrastinated long enough. Steeling his resolve, Trunks unfolded the slip of paper, picked up the phone on his desk, and dialed.

Gohan adjusted his backpack as he placed the key inside the lock of his door. Though the bag was not at all heavy for him, the corner of one of his textbooks was digging uncomfortably into his spine.

It had been a long morning. The university library tended to be less crowded on the weekend, so it wasn't unusual for Gohan to spend the better part of his Saturday in the library. The exception came when Videl wanted to go out, but that was an exception Gohan was more than happy to make.

Gohan finally jiggled the door open. He dropped his bag as soon as he stepped inside, plopping unceremoniously onto the couch of his room.

"Dorm" wasn't quite the right word. The scholarship students were all given subsidized housing in the form of university-owned studio apartments. While the accommodations weren't exactly luxurious, they were several steps above the dormitories available to most students. Again, Gohan was grateful that his admittedly overbearing mother had pushed him to study as hard as she had. Gohan was a natural scholar, but there was no way he would have had this opportunity without his mother's intervention.

His mother's excited reaction when she had learned that he had not only been admitted to East Keio University, but had received a full scholarship, did not surprise him in the slightest. What did come as something of a shock was the level of pride his father had shown at receiving the same news. So much of their bonding over the years had come from fighting and training, and Goku had more often than not been the one to pull Gohan away from his studies. It never occurred to the demi-Saiyan that his father could be excited over his pursuit of the life of a scholar.

He should have given his dad more credit. Just because Goku had devoted his life to fighting didn't mean his son would have to do the same. Of course Goku had made Gohan keep up with his training—and was doing much the same for Goten—but the Saiyan understood that his sons had grown up in a very different world than he had.

Gohan's musings were interrupted by the ringing of his telephone. He reached over to the small coffee table and picked it up.

"Hello?"

"Is this Gohan?" The voice on the other end sounded vaguely familiar, but it was difficult for Gohan to pin down.

"Yeah, it is," Gohan responded. "How can I help you?"

A pause stretched out for a few seconds. Gohan frowned, wondering if the person on the other end of the line had hung up.

"Hello?" Gohan repeated.

"Gohan," came the voice again, "it's Trunks."

"Trunks?" It did kind of sound like Trunks, but the familiar voice was significantly lower and more gravelly than usual. "You sound a bit funny. Are you sick?"

Gohan heard a nervous-sounding laugh on the other end.

"Oh, gods, how do I explain this?"

Gohan was becoming more and more confused as this uncomfortable conversation dragged on. "Explain what?"

"We met several years ago. I came from the future."

Gohan's eyes widened as this new information sunk in. He nearly dropped the receiver in shock.

"Hello? Gohan?" Gohan shook his head; he hadn't even realized he'd gone quiet for so long.

"Oh, Kami, Trunks!" Gohan grinned, shock quickly giving way to excitement. "No way! How have you been? What are you doing here?"

Trunks laughed again. "Yeah, I've been getting that a lot. It's going to take a while to explain."

"Yeah, okay, sure." Gohan nodded, as if Trunks could actually see it.

"Anyway," Trunks continued, "I'm going to be here for a while. I was wondering if you wouldn't mind me stopping by some time this week?"

"Sure! Of course!"

"When's good for you?"

Gohan looked at the clock mounted on his wall. It was just after three, and he hadn't made any plans for the rest of the day.

"Are you busy now?"

"Well, no, but..." Trunks trailed off.

"Hey, if today isn't good—"

"No," Trunks cut in, "now is fine. I'll be there in about an hour."

Gohan nodded again, fully aware of how useless the gesture was.

"Great! See you then." He heard a click, indicating that Trunks had hung up.

Gohan's slow Saturday afternoon had suddenly gotten a lot more interesting.

Trunks was expecting their meeting to be far more uncomfortable than it was. Once he'd arrived and capsulized the small plane he had borrowed from his mother, Gohan had quickly led him inside his small apartment, greeting him warmly and offering him a seat on the couch. They had spent the past hour catching up. Gohan had filled him in on much that had taken place over the past decade, while Trunks described the slow but substantial progress being made in rebuilding his own world. It was as relaxed and friendly an encounter as Trunks had experienced in ages.

Trunks wasn't sure where their chat had taken such a lighthearted turn, but he was not about to complain. He laughed heartily as Gohan wrapped up a particularly absurd tale, detailing a misadventure that apparently had Gohan freeing a small dinosaur from a local circus, and the subsequent fallout when the authorities thought he was kidnapping the reptile.

Gohan chuckled as well, leaning back in his chair. Trunks was pleasantly surprised by how easily the conversation was flowing. He smiled a bit as his laughter ebbed. Something his mother had mentioned was preying on his mind, and he simply had to ask about it.

Trunks' smile broadened. "Gohan, just one more question."

Gohan nodded, his own chuckles quieting. "Yeah?"

Trunks paused for a moment, wondering how best to phrase his query. Finally, he decided to just spit it out.

"...The Great Saiyaman? Really?"

Gohan blushed slightly, looking thoroughly embarrassed. "Your mom filled you in on that, huh?"

"Yep."

"Uh...would you believe me if I said I was young and naive?"

Trunks rolled his eyes. "It was less than three years ago, Gohan."

Gohan turned a deeper shade of crimson. "So I guess I shouldn't tell you Saiyaman still makes an appearance in Satan City every once in a while."

"No," Trunks managed to bite out between chortles, "you probably shouldn't."

An easy silence fell upon the two teenagers as their laughs again died down. Gohan rose and stepped into his small galley kitchen, pouring two tall glasses of water and setting them down on his coffee table. Trunks took the glass, thanking Gohan. Gohan took a long, slow gulp as Trunks merely ran a fingertip idly along the rim.

Then came the inevitable question. "So, Trunks, why are you here?"

Trunks sighed, the amusement disappearing from his face as Gohan took another sip from his glass. "The short version? The time stream has somehow become destabilized. And I'm afraid it might be my fault."

Gohan's eyes widened. He coughed on his water, roughly patting his chest as he set the glass back down. "Come again?" he wheezed out.

Trunks sat back, dutifully reciting the explanation he'd already given so many times. He almost tuned out of his own words, speaking nearly from rote. After a few minutes, Trunks snapped back to attention, taking in the stunned look on Gohan's face.

"Uh, wow." It wasn't much of a response, but it was as useful as anything Trunks had heard over the last couple of days.

"So, no ideas what might be going on?" Trunks asked the question half-jokingly. It wasn't as if he actually expected the other teen to have any answers for him.

"I wish I knew what to do, Trunks. This kind of thing is way out of my league." Gohan paused for a moment before his eyes widened, obviously struck with inspiration. "But I know someone who might be able to help."

Trunks' eyes brightened, an excited smile appearing on his face. "Are you serious?" He hadn't expected his half-serious query to yield any results. "Who?"

Gohan grinned. "Dende! He is the guardian of Earth, after all. If anyone is going to have some information, it's going to be him."

"Dende?" Trunks vaguely remembered the young Namek from his last trip into the past, but his interaction with the child had been limited. "Is it really appropriate for me to approach him about something like this?"

"Of course it is! Dende's an old friend. I'm sure he'll be more than happy to help, if he can." Gohan suddenly removed himself from his seat, plopping himself on the carpeted floor. "I'm going to contact Piccolo and make sure it's alright if we go up to see him. Just give me a minute." With that, Gohan quickly shifted into a meditative pose and closed his eyes. His facial muscles relaxed as he cleared his mind, attempting to contact his mentor.

Trunks watched carefully as Gohan crossed his legs on the floor. Without the distraction of friendly conversation, Trunks could no longer ignore the obvious resemblance between the nineteen-year-old before him and his old master. It had been so easy to divorce the memories of his Gohan from the boy he had fought alongside against Cell. The decade that had passed in this timeline since then dramatically changed that. Though less than a year had passed for Trunks, that brave, extraordinarily powerful child had grown up.

Gohan was once again older than him.

This Gohan, the one casually perched on the floor in a lotus position, was the young man Trunks remembered training him, practically raising him. Certainly, he was less hardened, perhaps even a touch less driven thanks to the era of peace that had come upon this world. But these changes, though substantial, made little difference to Trunks.

The resemblance wasn't merely superficial. Everything seemed the same. His hair was cut into the same set of short spikes, right down to the rebellious single bang that always hung over his face. His voice was as deep and smooth as Trunks remembered, an acute contrast to Trunks' own raspy baritone. Most strikingly, Gohan's personal ki signature, though noticeably more powerful than his dead counterpart's, was unchanged.

Despite the differences between their two worlds, this Gohan still carried with him that same quiet strength.

An unexpected tension came into Trunks' chest. He thought he'd made his peace with Gohan's death, at least once he'd destroyed the androids in his own world. He'd honestly never expected to see his best friend again. And yet, sitting right before him, was that very same young warrior.

Trunks wasn't sure how long he sat on the worn couch, staring at the other teenager, but it must have been long enough for Gohan to communicate with Piccolo and get an answer. Gohan opened his eyes and stood in one fluid motion.

"Okay," Gohan said, "we're good to..." Gohan trailed off as his gaze returned to Trunks.

"Trunks, are you okay?"

Trunks nodded in response. "Why?" Trunks swallowed. His voice did sound a bit strained.

"Because, well," Gohan looked away awkwardly, shuffling his feet in an oddly childlike gesture, "you're crying."

Trunks raised a hand to his right cheek. His fingers indeed came back wet. He stared at his hand, watching the glare from the overhead lights play upon the tears that glistened on his fingertips. Strange that he hadn't noticed.

"So I am."

Fitting. The last time he'd cried had been over four years ago, when he'd found Gohan's body. The memory was like a photograph in Trunks' mind—Gohan, lying in a puddle of muddy rainwater mixed with his own blood, his eyes still open, his body so unnaturally stiff and still—

Not again. Please. Not now.

Trunks closed his eyes, trying to will the image away. His head sank into his hands. Despite his efforts, he knew from years of prior experience that the moment would have to pass in its own time. Attempts to fight the memory were always in vain.

Trunks remained like that for a few minutes, having no option but to allow himself to once again relive the event. He silently swore at his own vivid memory. Normally, it was a trait that served him well. At times like this, though, it felt more like a curse. His anger and disbelief felt fresh, as raw as the day he'd found his mentor's limp form.

Trunks sat still, focusing solely on getting his erratic breathing under control. The whole time, he was painfully aware of the presence of the other demi-Saiyan in the room. A while passed before the image began to recede into the back of Trunks' mind. The tightness in his chest began to fade. The burning in his eyes subsided, and the traitorous lump in his throat soon disappeared.

He took a few shuddering breaths, forcing himself to stand on slightly unsteady legs. He quickly wiped his face on the sleeve of his jacket. He was thankful to see that Gohan had looked away, apparently content to give the other teenager a few moments to compose himself in relative privacy.

"Okay," Trunks said, his voice once again sounding level. "Ready when you are."

Gohan nodded and slid open his window, thankfully making no comment about Trunks' unexpected reaction. After poking his head through and looking around for a few moments to ensure that no one could see them, he gestured to Trunks to follow him, slipped out the window, and took off. Trunks closed the window behind him as he followed.