Disclaimer: Let's see... Over the past couple of weeks, I've read a couple of books, beat Kingdom Hearts II, gone to Applebee's, and gone to a soccer game. Nope, nothing that would give me the rights to Dragon Ball Z. Darn.

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Chapter Five: Mutual Secrets

Trunks is walking down a long, stark-white hallway. Faceless children surround him, laughing, reaching for him. He looks down and realizes that he is a child himself, no older than ten.

A girl grabs his hand. She pulls him along, giggling all the way, and they make their way through the crowd of children.

Suddenly the hallway fades away. Now they are outside, standing on a bridge suspended by nothing hanging above nothing. The scenery remains colorless, merely white set off by oddly placed and extremely dark shadows.

The bridge sways ominously. Suddenly, the girl holding Trunks' hand loses her footing; she tumbles silently into the void below.

Without thinking, Trunks dives after her. He reaches her with ease after transforming into a Super Saiyan. After reclaiming the girl, he returns to the bridge and sets her down gently.

Everyone stares at him. He smiles bashfully and rubs the back of his head. He is surrounded by a golden aura, the hallmark of his Saiyan powers.

Unexpectedly, the girl recoils. "Freak," she hisses. "Monster!" shouts another child. Suddenly all of the children surround him, jeering and calling him names. They speak with one voice, the same pitch, the same hatred and disgust dripping from every word.

Trunks curls up into a ball. The warm glow of his powers has faded, leaving only a slight shimmer that serves to distinguish him from the other children, to set him apart, to mark him as an outsider.

Another voice rings out, gruff and familiar. Trunks opens his eyes, though he does not recall shutting them; standing before him is his father, dressed in full battle regalia. He is not there to comfort his child, however.

"How pathetic! A Saiyan,, cowering before a crowd of human whelps. But then again, you're not really a Saiyan, are you, boy?" He spits the last word out as if it were a curse before continuing, heedless of the silent sobs now racking Trunks' body. "No, you're merely a half breed. Pitiful. Even Kakarott makes a better Saiyan than you do! You could never measure up to the weakest of the pure-blooded Saiyans."

Vegeta approaches Trunks, who is once again scrunched into a ball, eyes clenched shut. He leans down next to him and whispers, "No one wants you, Trunks. The humans despise and fear you; the Saiyans mock you and spurn your weakness. Even your half-breed friend, Kakarott's spawn, has deserted you. He, with his bumbling idiocy and joviality, has managed to worm himself into the human world."

The Saiyan prince sneers. "Not you, though. Thoughts of conquest, of death, of war, set you apart. Your bloodlust, the only Saiyan legacy you possess, keeps you alone. Poor Trunks." Vegeta steps back, joining the children. "You're just a freak," he says coldly.

The cry echoes throughout the crowd. "Freak. Freak. Freak." The laughter resumes, taking on a cruel and slightly maniacal quality.

"Freak."

"No…" Trunks whispers to himself. "I'm not a freak." Tears run down his cheeks. "I'm not a failure." He is trembling. "Please… please stop. I'll stop being different. I'll be normal." He is begging now.

"I promise."

Trunks awoke in a cold sweat. He sat up slowly, noting the pain caused by that simple movement; he slid back down to his former position.

After taking a quick survey of his body, he determined that he had cracked at least three ribs, sprained his wrist, and (if the dizziness he was experiencing was any indication) suffered a mind concussion.

"Crap," he groaned, then immediately regretted it as another wave of pain lanced through his body.

"Good morning to you, too." A voice resonated from a dark corner of the room, sounding amused. Trunks strained to see his visitor, receiving more pain for his efforts.

"Actually, it's not really morning yet. I think it's around three A.M. right now." The speaker moved closer to the bed, allowing Trunks to glimpse raven-colored hair and pale blue eyes.

"Akira? What are you doing here?" Trunks struggled to prop himself up.

After watching for several seconds, Akira sighed and reached out to help, ignoring Trunks' protests. "I wanted to make sure that you were okay. You were in pretty bad shape when I found you," he replied as he settled Trunks into a sitting position.

Trunks hesitated. Wording his question carefully, he asked, "Did you see what happened? I mean, how I got hurt?" He wasn't sure what he wanted the answer to be.

Silence. Then: "Yes. But I didn't tell anyone."

A wave of relief swept through Trunks. "Thank you," he whispered. He was unable to suppress a yawn as his body reminded him that he was not at full strength yet.

Akira smiled sadly. "I should go. You need sleep." He rummaged through his pockets. "But Trunks? If you ever need anything, just call me. I'll leave my number on the table." He did just that. "Well, good night Trunks."

Yawn. "Good night, Akira."

Seventeen watched as the lavender-haired man before him drifted off to sleep. He had learned something interesting about his target:

Trunks talked in his sleep.

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The next time Trunks awoke, it really was morning. He was met with singing birds, sunshine, and a slightly hysterical mother.

"Trunks!" She cried, nearly crushing him in her hug of doom. "My baby! You're alright! Oh, you had me so worried!"

Trunks grimaced and tried unsuccessfully to extract himself from her grip. "Sorry, Mom. But I don't see how breaking the rest of my ribs is going to fix that," he managed to spit out while simultaneously struggling for air.

Bulma released him, looking slightly abashed. Suddenly, she produced a breakfast platter laden with all of Trunks' favorite foods, which she offered to him. "Well, you need to eat! Doctors' orders. Besides, you must be a little peckish; you slept through dinner last night."

Bulma remained in the room as Trunks ate, hustling and bustling about, fussing over the state of the room. She straightened covers, picked up laundry, and rearranged the bookshelf. Though not normally one for domestic work, she wanted to ensure that Trunks ate properly. He had been so busy with work and… well, pretty much just work lately that he had been skipping meals.

Bulma blamed herself for this; it was she who had burdened Trunks with the rigors of corporate politics at such a young age. But it was for the best. If Trunks was going to be successful, then he needed to work hard and prove himself in regular society.

The cheery smile that was plastered across Bulma's face slowly faded as she watched Trunks gulp down food indiscriminately, barely pausing to chew or even breathe.

"Trunks?" Bulma whispered quietly. "What happened? You were brought in unconscious. The doctors said that a normal person would have died from the amount of trauma that your body went through."

The use of the word 'normal,' a term subconsciously meant to exclude him, caused Trunks to shiver. He didn't ask to be a half-human, half-alien anomaly.

Normal people wouldn't be in this mess. Normal people wouldn't have to lie to their mothers about how they sustained near-fatal injuries. At least, Trunks didn't think they would. He had an idealized concept of normalcy.

Just as Trunks was formulating a response, there was a knock at the bedroom door. His mother hurried to answer it, the door swinging open to reveal Akira. The dark-haired man was smiling and carrying a small teddy bear bearing the message "Get Well Soon!"

"Good morning, Mrs. Briefs. Good morning, Trunks," Akira said, offering a slight bow to each. He entered the room gracefully, stating, "I just thought I'd stop by to see how you were doing, Trunks. I hope I'm not imposing."

Bulma brushed off his apprehension. "There's no need to be so formal, dear. Call me Bulma. And don't worry, you're welcome here anytime. You found Trunks and brought him back when he was injured, after all. Who knows what would have happened if you hadn't found him?"

Akira smiled slightly. "I'm certain he would have been fine, Mrs…. Bulma. He's very strong, I can tell. Oh, I brought this for you, Trunks." He held out the bear. "I didn't want to show up empty-handed. Sorry, it's not the most creative gift idea."

Trunks took the proffered stuffed animal, touched by the kind gesture. He set it on the bedside table.

"Oh, Akira, you're too kind!" Bulma gushed. "Have you eaten breakfast, sweetie? I'll go get you some food." She hurried off without waiting for an answer, leaving Trunks and Akira alone together.

Trunks smirked. "It's funny, Akira. You really don't strike me as a teddy bear kind of guy."

Akira matched the smirk with one of his own. "Well, what can I say? Deep down, I'm a sensitive guy only wants to make others happy," he professed mockingly.

"I bet you are," said Trunks with a laugh. As silence settled over the pair, Trunks pushed himself out of bed. With a superhuman effort, he managed not to stumble or show any outward signs of weakness. He caught Akira staring at him.

"I'm fine," Trunks insisted. He had, in his opinion, always been rather competent at weaving falsehoods.

Much to his chagrin, he was unable to fool Akira. The dark-haired man leaned close to Trunks and, still smiling, he whispered, "Liar."

Trunks shrugged. "Maybe I am. But so is everyone else. Are you trying to tell me that you've never lied about anything in your cryptic, hidden past?"

At this, Akira's small smile stretched into a positively wicked grin. "Why, I never lie. But if I was a liar, well, one more lie about lying wouldn't really make a difference, now would it?"

Just as Trunks could lie, he was also rather skilled at seeing through the lies of others. Every human he had ever encountered could be seen through. It was all in their eyes: resentment, envy, anger, hate… Humans failed miserably at hiding these emotions.

Other life forms were harder; aliens like Piccolo and Mr. Popo presented more of a challenge. Because they seemed to have more control than humans, they could more easily conceal their thoughts. However, after spending years around their ilk, Trunks had grown able to detect their half-truths and fabrications.

Saiyans… Well, Trunks didn't exactly have a large subject pool when it came to Saiyans. Goku was completely guileless, and so barely ever attempted to lie, much less succeeded at it. His elder son, Gohan, seemed to share his father's fondness for the truth and avoided lying whenever possible. Goten, Trunks' childhood playmate, had no problem fibbing about small matters such as a prank pulled on a neighbor of a piece of food swiped from the kitchen. Nonetheless, Trunks had never known him to take anything seriously enough that lying was vital. Bra and Pan were both children; the concept of deceit eluded them still.

That just left his father, Vegeta, prince of all Saiyans, destroyer of planets, et cetera, et cetera. On the rare occasions that he deigned to communicate with Trunks, Trunks had no idea what to make of him. He showed no compassion, love, or even tolerance of others; his moods ranged from annoyed to furious. Trunks had no idea how much of it was sincere. He had no idea why his father was such a bitter person. Vegeta was the one living creature that Trunks simply could not understand.

Until now.

Staring at Akira, transfixed, Trunks realized that he had no clue what to make of this man who was little more than a stranger. Trunks peered closely at his face for the first time. He had effeminate, almost delicate features: a petite nose; small, soft lips; shoulder-length, gleaming, ebony-colored hair. Yet, his eyes were his most enchanting feature. They were the shade of glaciers, of steel, of frigid January mornings; they embodied cold. Behind them, Trunks could sense no emotion, despite the smile lurking on the other man's face. He might as well have been trying to peer through a mirror to the other side. The effect was disconcerting, but somehow familiar. As if he had seen those eyes on a stranger, or in a movie, or sometime a long while ago.

What had happened to him, Trunks wondered, that had made him so guarded? For Akira was not a cruel person, of that Trunks was certain. The merciless do not carry unconscious strangers home. Sociopaths don't bring teddy bears to injured acquaintances.

Caught up in his analysis of the man before him, Trunks took a moment to realize that Akira had begun to speak.

"… have to go now. Feel better, and stay out of trouble. I might not be there to help you out next time." Akira winked before getting up and heading for the door. Trunks took a few stumbling steps after him, causing Akira to turn around and look at him questioningly.

"I'll… see you soon, right?" Trunks said hesitantly. Since they barely knew each other, Trunks was worried that Akira would just disappear, never to be heard from again. For some reason, that would make Trunks very…

"Will do," replied Akira, tilting his hand in a gesture of farewell as he exited.

Trunks had his number, after all.

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Sorry this update took so long. I've been busy/lazy/sick. The next chapter should be up much sooner because I have the majority of it planned out already.

As always, thank you for reading. I love it when you guys leave comments, so please write a review! Reviews make the world go round. Actually, that might have something to do with the sun... Oh, well! I should have paid more attention in Physics. Until next time!

-Shadow